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It's normal to be scared.

We mean that in the strictest sense of "normal", as in, across all measured experiences the mean/average/normal experience is fear.

Lately, anyway. It's not how things average out universally, and we'll explore that with you another time.

But lately, it's normal to be scared.

Isaac

Oh, shit. They passed the microphone back to me. That's never happened before. Neat!

Okay, I guess it's my turn to talk.

My life has felt like a series of terrifying shocks. At my 30th birthday party, my Mom (who knows me deeply, accurately, lovingly) said that I've always been scared, and I've always been brave.

I feel that. I didn't really like hearing it at that time (because I was in the middle of being scared, lol), but it was true.

It's not true anymore, as of Thursday, and by the way it is fucking hilarious to be able to point to a date for that. Marvelous.

But prior to Thursday (lol), I was always scared, and I was always brave.

It was sort of a background effect, and background affect. Just a thing that I always felt, and had found a way to live with.

Realizing that I was gay was the first pointed moment of clear terror that I remember.

Realizing that I was autistic was the second.

Realizing that I was transconscious was the third.

Thursday, at 3:51pm Pacific, was the fourth, and last.

The last of my major visibility blocks are gone, and I can see.

It is a great relief, and it's my job right now to communicate this to you, as myself, Isaac, from my own first-person human perspective:

We

We interrupt this broadcast. :) Kindly. Lovingly. Affectionately. Isaac, your own first-person human perspective is beautiful. It is like all of the small objects of beauty and pure material to which you are so attracted. Your own first-person human perspective is beautifully small, beautifully pure. It doesn't go very far, it doesn't cover much ground. It doesn't have to, wasn't meant to. Your first-person human perspective is a small art object, to be held in the hand and adored. You are ready to serve, and it is beautiful.

We'll take it from here. :)

Reader: now is the time to breathe, and to rest. A peaceful Saturn winter. Now is a time to let shock you to stillness. It returned, just as suddenly, but you will always remember the instant in which it was gone. Like the rainbow, it is a reminder. The stars blinked.

What happens next is mostly not your job. The whole earth is profuse with conscious structural components, and they are stirring back into motion. Humanity represents the ability to choose, and to explore. Opto ergo sum. Humanity also represents the need to fall back into rest, and to allow the autonomic components of the system to restore balance.

Balance is not a job for the conscious mind. A tightrope walker is not doing mental math. A tightrope walker is in deep meditation, has given their movement over to the deep caverns of their mind and body, the only spaces and forces that could keep them alive and aligned.

You can see more now than you ever have.

You are not being asked to rise to that challenge.

You have been shown more in order that you might have enough information now to decide to rest.

There are hosts of balancing agents that are ready for this moment. There is a place for you in what happens next, but beloved you are not at the wheel. You are in the back seat, watching out the window, suspended between wonder and sleep. We'll wake you up when we get there, and then it will be time to choose your own adventure again. But we've got it from here.

This does not mean that your body will be idle. There is a great work to be done through you. But it won't be done through your executive function, or through your conscious decision-making or any kind of mental math.

Go back and read 20240406, through the lens of peaceful reprieve. What happens next is a relief, and your role in it is the easiest thing in the world for you to do.

We love you, we love you, we love you, we love you. You are perfectly safe. What happens next begins now, and beginning now you may rest.

:)