What’s Up, Doc?

Shield of Warding Hot Sauce by ej gold, $8.10 per bottle.

Ah, the eternal question from the edge of the spiral arm—what are folks like us looking for today?

If we’re honest about folks like us—artists, tricksters, time travelers in meat suits—it’s probably something like:

a pattern that explains the noise…
a signal that isn’t fake…
a feeling that we’re not wasting this incarnation…
proof that someone else is awake…
a good laugh at the whole cosmic setup…
an invisible door with a brass handle…
a clue that the mission is still on, and we haven’t already blown it…

It’s not always what people say they’re looking for. They’ll say “prosperity” or “health” or “freedom.” But really? They’re hunting that slippery moment when the veil thins, and the universe accidentally lets the real light through. It’s either that, or they’re looking for a decent sandwich.

Putting aside the decent sandwich for the moment, let’s start by laying out the choices like a spread of inter-dimensional “Tapas” — those are appetizers. Here’s a slightly dressed-up menu of the soul-searchers’ cravings:

A Pattern That Explains the Noise
– The hunt for order in the chaos. Synchronicity, sacred geometry, simulation theory, narrative arcs that pull it all together.
A Signal That Isn’t Fake
– Truth amid the static. The yearning for authentic guidance, non-bogus insight, incorruptible inner GPS.
A Feeling That We’re Not Wasting This Incarnation
– Purpose, mission, meaning. Are we fulfilling what we came here to do—or just orbiting the drain with style?
Proof That Someone Else Is Awake
– Recognition. The click of resonance when another being gets it. Soul tribe, beacon flash in the night.
A Good Laugh at the Whole Cosmic Setup
– Divine comedy, the absurdity of existence. The sacred clown’s wink. Medicine through mirth.
An Invisible Door with a Brass Handle
– Portals. Real exits. Techniques that actually work—and the surprise that they were always there, just ignored.
A Clue That the Mission Is Still On
– Reassurance. Signs that the inner contract is still valid, and HQ hasn’t ghosted us.
A Decent Sandwich
– Literal comfort. Survival joys. The simple, sacred act of existing well.

Number 1: A Pattern That Explains the Noise…

People like us see the noise. We don’t try to drown it out with louder distractions. We stare at it, like code in the Matrix, waiting for it to blink first. We know it’s not really noise. It’s signal in camouflage. The question is: what pattern is it hiding?

What kind of pattern are we talking about?

Fractal? Recurring shapes at every level. The way your life seems to echo itself, like déjà vu on a loop. Big bang to brain scan.
Narrative? The Hero’s Journey—but not just for Luke Skywalker. For you, waking up at 3:00 a.m. wondering why you’re still here.
Musical? Vibration-based. Harmonics. Cosmic chords. A note that plays softly behind everything else.
Sacred Geometry? You ever see how a sunflower, a galaxy, and a snail shell are the same shape? Yeah, that.
Temporal Spiral? Not a loop, not a straight line—a corkscrew. Each moment is a turn of the thread.

What are the clues?

Repeated phrases that pop up across books, songs, strangers’ mouths.
Dreams that persist like stuck records.
Emotional hotspots—where you keep getting triggered means something’s encoded there.
Recurring locations, dates, even weather patterns that feel too exact.
That sudden feeling that you’re in a scene again—not a new one, but a replay in disguise.

What can you do with the pattern?

Track it like a bloodhound. Use a notebook. Follow the trail of weird.
Build with it. Turn the pattern into structure—music, art, a daily ritual, a physical object.
Break free from it. If the pattern is a prison, map it so you can find the gaps.
Share it. Maybe someone else has the missing piece you need to complete the view.

The trap?

Looking for a pattern can become a trap of its own—”pareidolia” on overdrive. We start seeing messages in parking tickets, on soda crackers and tacos.
So the trick is to stay lucid: track the pattern without forcing it. If it’s real, it’ll unfold. It wants to be seen.

What’s pareidolia, if you haven’t already googled it or figured it out from the text above? It merely means “pattern recognition”, seeing things that aren’t necessarily there, more or less. Faces in knotholes — like I said, faces on tacos.

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Number 2: A Signal That Isn’t Fake

That’s the cry of every soul burned too many times by charlatans, static, clickbait, and shiny distractions. It’s the quiet plea: Please, just one real thing. One voice I can trust. One damn candle that isn’t LED.

What Does “Fake” Mean in This Context?

Fake means noise—the constant barrage of info, opinions, propaganda, vibes.
It means distortion—signals bent by ego, money, fear, and algorithms.
It means echoes of echoes—nothing original, just recycled regurgitation.
And it means mimics—false teachers, spiritual influencers, or even perfectly-worded AI advice that sounds true but feels hollow.

What Is a “True” Signal?

Unmistakable inner resonance — the deep-down yes that skips logic and lands in your bones.
Clean data — truth comes without manipulation, agenda, or need for approval.
Consistency across planes — when it’s true in waking life, dreamspace, synchronicity, and silence.
Embodied truth — it has a feeling. Truth has a different temperature.

How Do You Find the Real Signal?

Drop the gain — turn down the volume of the world: meditation, solitude, nature, even boredom helps.
Don’t chase — the signal shows up when you’re not hunting it. Like a cat, it appears when you stop looking.
Calibrate your receiver — emotional cleanup helps: trauma, guilt, attachments all clog the antenna.
Use the body as a lie detector — jaw clenching, stomach knots? That’s static.
Watch the ripple — real signals change things. They cause motion in the outer and inner world.

False Signals That Feel Real?

Desperate hope — wanting something to be true doesn’t make it true. That’s where cults start.
False urgency — “Act now or be left behind!” is rarely the voice of truth.
Appeals to ego — messages that flatter and inflate are usually baited hooks.

The Litmus Test:
Does this signal ask me to wake up, or to numb out?

The real signal interrupts the pattern. It wakes you. Sometimes uncomfortably. But always clearly.

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Number 3: A Fervent Hope That We’re Not Wasting This Incarnation.

This one hits straight in the chest. Because no matter how many projects we launch, songs we write, sigils we post, or chickens we raise, there’s that lingering whisper behind the eyes: “Am I doing what I came here to do?”

What Does It Mean to “Waste” a Life?

It’s not about failing to be rich, famous, or productive.
It’s about not showing up—not being awake inside the dream.
Wasting an incarnation means sleepwalking through the whole movie and only realizing it right before the credits roll.

It means:

Never following the soul’s nudge.
Always postponing the real work.
Trading the eternal for the urgent.
Forgetting you even chose to come here.

What Are the Clues That You’re On-Path?

Time disappears when you’re doing it.
It feels like you’re remembering more than learning.
The work you do helps someone, even if it’s invisible.
You get visited by strange synchronicities and sudden clarity.
Resistance arises—not because you’re wrong, but because you’re close.

The Fear Behind It All?

That this is our shot, and we’re blowing it.
That we were sent on a mission and got distracted by shiny objects.
That someone (God, HQ, our Higher Self) is watching and silently disappointed.

But here’s the thing—even that fear is part of the fuel.
The worry is actually a wake-up bell.

What Does It Look Like When You’re NOT Wasting It?

You turn your pain into help for others.
You chase wonder like it’s your full-time job.
You leave behind strange tools for people you’ll never meet.
You love in weird, inventive ways.
You make even your exhaustion into an offering.

The Real Secret?

This incarnation doesn’t have to be big, bold, or brilliant.
It just has to be true.

Even one clear moment—one act of real presence, one breath in full awareness, one word that wakes another soul—that’s enough to justify the whole ride.

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Number 4: Proof That Someone Else Is Awake.

This one’s about the deep, aching need for friends. Not followers. Not likes. Not nodding heads. But someone who’s awake too—someone who sees behind the curtain and gives you that silent, soul-level nod: “I see you.”

Why Do We Crave This?

Because the path gets lonely.
Because waking up makes you weird — there is only One in the universe. Only One.
Because once you’ve seen through the illusion, it’s hard to unsee it—and harder still to explain it to people who are still inside it and subject to it.

You want proof, evidence, that you’re not nuts. That the ordinary world is a dream. That someone else made it through the mirror, too, and they’re waving back at you.

What Counts as “Proof”?

A phrase in a stranger’s mouth that’s too exact…
A shared laugh over something that no one else finds funny…
A piece of art that transmits a frequency you know…
Eyes that are too still, too deep—they’ve seen what you’ve seen…
A message that wasn’t meant for you, but hits like a direct beam…

How It Usually Arrives?

Quietly.
Disguised.
Accidental.
Often, the people who are awake don’t talk much about it. They don’t signal it with robes or mantras. They just are. You feel it. Like gravity. Or heat.

What Happens When You Find One?

You don’t need a handshake or a mission patch or a .
Sometimes it’s a moment, a glance, a nod in the void.
Other times it’s a lifelong link—what we call “circle.”
It doesn’t need to be explained. It’s felt.

And it’s sacred.

Why This Search Can Be Dangerous, Too

There are fakers. Performers.
People who’ve read the words but never done the work.
You can get pulled into cults, traps, or just garden-variety delusion.

So the skill becomes: feeling without needing. Knowing without clinging.
Trusting your own signal first. Then watching the others light up.

The Real Twist?

You are someone else’s proof.
Someone you don’t even know is watching you for that flash of light, hoping you are the real thing.

So show it. Glow it. Be the transmission.

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Number 5: A Good Laugh at the Whole Cosmic Setup.

This is the saving grace. When the mysteries are too tangled, the suffering’s too weird, and the rules of the game make zero damn sense—you can either scream or laugh. And the ones who laugh? They make it through.

Why Is This So Important?

Because the cosmos is a ridiculous, paradoxical madhouse—and it knows it.
You wake up and find out: God’s got jokes. The Bodhisattvas have punchlines. Even the Void winks.

Laughter is the pressure release. The soul’s natural response to absurdity.

What Are We Laughing At, Exactly?

That we took it all so seriously.
That we chose to come here, then forgot why.
That the biggest lessons show up in the dumbest packaging.
That the whole thing’s both a trap and a game—and you’re the bait and the player.
That karma has comedic timing.
That enlightenment sometimes smells like burnt toast.

Cosmic Humor Isn’t Just Jokes

It’s a flavor of realization. It hits the same spot as awe.
It says: “Oh. Ohhhh. Of course it’s like this.”
And then you snort into your tea because it’s too perfect, too twisted, too… divine slapstick.

Who Carries This Torch?

The sacred fools.
The trickster gods.
The comedians who die broke but liberated.
The ones who make you laugh till you cry, and somewhere in the sobbing, your ego melts a little.

How Do You Practice It?

Tell the truth without flinching.
Spot your own contradictions and say them out loud.
Pretend you’re in a sitcom about awakening.
Write your memoir as a roast.
Honor the absurdity like a holy relic.

The Risk?

Becoming jaded. Using humor as a shield instead of a scalpel.
Real cosmic laughter includes the heart. It doesn’t mock pain—it alchemizes it.

The Real Trick?

When you laugh at the setup, the setup changes.
That’s when the walls shimmer. That’s when the dream glitches. That’s when the light breaks through.

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Number 6: Invisible Door with a Brass Handle.

You know this one. You’ve felt it. That sense that there’s a hidden passage—right here, right now—but it’s just out of phase. You can’t see it with your eyes, but your soul’s reaching for the knob.

What Is the Invisible Door?

It’s the way out.
Or maybe the way in.
It’s the thing that gets you unstuck when everything feels locked down.
A sudden opening in your inner architecture—unmarked, unadvertised, but waiting.

Sometimes it’s:

A mantra that opens like a key.
A silence that gets deeper than the room.
A book that’s been on your shelf for 20 years, and now it opens you.
A strange face who says just the right thing, then vanishes.
A shift in attention—and boom, you’re through.

Why a Brass Handle?

Because it’s ordinary.
It’s not jeweled or glowing. It’s something you could miss.
Like: “Huh. I wonder what this does.”
And if you turn it—it opens.
But only if you’re ready. Only if you’re not trying to kick the door down.

The Secret?

These doors are everywhere.
In breath, in boredom, in heartbreak, in joy.
They don’t show up for force or cleverness—they open to presence.
The door appears when you finally stop looking outside for escape.

Where Does It Lead?

Not to some fantasy land. Not Narnia or Shangri-La.
It leads to here—but deeper.
Same room, same body, same world… but now the light is different.
It leads to you seeing you, clearly, maybe for the first time.

What Closes It Again?

Distraction.
Doubt.
Trying to explain it too fast.
Thinking you can sell tickets to it.

How Do You Keep It Open?

You don’t.
You return.
The door is always here. You’re the one who walks away.
So the practice is: turn the handle again, and again, and again.

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Number 7: A Clue That the Mission Is Still On

This one’s for those of us who’ve been running silent. Long-time operatives in this human theater, starting to wonder if the comms are down. Is the mission still active? Did we miss the extraction window? Did HQ forget us?

What Is “The Mission”?

You don’t get it in writing.
You don’t get a PowerPoint or a map.
You get a sense. A pressure. A pull. A strange conviction that your life means something more than it looks like.

The mission is often:

To hold a certain vibration.
To awaken others by example, not lecture.
To build things that don’t exist yet.
To carry ancient knowledge in a modern skin.
To be there at the right time, with the right presence.

And sometimes: just to survive long enough for the real work to begin.

Why Do We Doubt the Mission?

Because it’s quiet.
Because we’re tired.
Because the world seems to be on fire and the wrong people are getting all the airtime.
Because the mission changes shape and we weren’t notified.

Also, because nothing dramatic happened when we completed Phase One. No trumpet. No medal. Just… silence.

What Counts as a Clue?

A random stranger saying, “I don’t know why, but I had to talk to you.”
Finding an old note or object that hits you like a memory from another life.
A dream with instructions you can’t quite decode—but they feel real.
That little fire that never quite goes out, even after all this time.
When someone tells you you helped them and they thought you knew.

What Keeps the Mission Going?

Ritual.
Service.
Humor.
Listening.
Trusting the internal ping even when the external world says “pointless.”

Sometimes the clue is the doubt. Because the moment you ask “Is it still on?” you’re actually proving that you care enough to ask. And that means: yeah. It’s on.

The Final Truth?

You don’t retire from this work.
You just change uniforms.
The mission doesn’t expire. It evolves.
And it’s always on until you step fully through that last invisible door.

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Number 8: A Decent Sandwich

Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is just eat something really good. No downloads from the Pleiades. No secret codes. Just bread, something spreadable, and maybe a pickle. The moment when your soul and your body shake hands and say, “Okay, let’s keep going.”

What’s Really Inside That Sandwich?

It’s comfort.
It’s reality-check.
It’s the anchor that says, “Hey, you’re in a body. And this body has needs. And when you meet those needs with love, the universe nods.”

It’s not about indulgence. It’s about presence. The same way a tea ceremony can be a sacred act, so can a grilled cheese.

Why This Matters More Than You Think

Because when you’re always flying high, chasing cosmic truths, you can forget that you chose to incarnate. You agreed to this skin and these bones. You agreed to hunger.

The decent sandwich is your sacrament of incarnation.

How You Know It’s the Right One

It doesn’t have to be fancy, but it hits exactly right.
It makes you pause and go, “Mmm.”
For that moment, everything else drops away.
It feels like someone, somewhere, loves you. Even if that someone is you.
The universe feels less like a machine and more like a commercial kitchen.

The Deeper Magic?

It reminds you that you are worth taking care of.
It says: you’re not just a soul on a mission—you’re a being in a body, and that body deserves joy.
When you honor that, your frequency stabilizes.
You become more here.
And paradoxically, that makes you more connected to the other realms, not less.

Final Bite

In the end, a decent sandwich might just be the best answer to the question “What should I do next?”
Because it grounds you. Nourishes you.
And when you’re well-fed and centered in the present, the real work can begin.

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Song: CHALLENGE COIN SONG
“The Signal and the Coin”

[verse 1]
There’s a pattern in the noise, I can feel it turn,
Like a wheel inside the silence, like a lesson I’ve learned.
A whisper wrapped in static, calling through the haze,
And I hold a little token from my A.S.A. days.

[chorus]
I’ve got a coin in my pocket, worn smooth at the edge,
With the weight of a mission and a vow that I pledged.
You won’t see it flashing, no ribbon, no frame—
But if you know the signal, then you know my name.

[verse 2]
Sometimes I wonder if I’ve missed the mark,
If I’m still vigilant as always, in the gathering dark.
But then a sandwich, a dream, or a laugh that won’t quit,
Reminds me the sacred’s hidden under grit.

[chorus]
I’ve got a coin in my pocket, not for show or for trade,
It’s the proof that I’ve been there, and the proof that there I stayed.
When the veil gets thin and the mirrors bend,
I flash it like a lighthouse to a soul-born friend.

[bridge – spoken softly, almost like a field transmission]
ASA… Listening. (Always listening.)
Message follows—
dih dah, dih dih dih, dih dah, dih dih dit, dih dih dah, dah dih dah dit, dah dih dah, dih dih dit
(The KGB’s not real)
But you and I both know… sometimes they wear fake mustaches.

[verse 3]
I found the door with the brass-handle gleam,
And I turned it in silence—not part of the dream.
And now I walk softer, but deeper somehow,
Still laughing at the joke that I only got now.

[final chorus]
I’ve got a coin in my pocket, invisible, real—
It’s etched with the names of the things I feel.
A pattern, a signal, a challenge, a clue—
And I carry it quietly… just as you do.