A Reject’s Ride

The following is a fictionalized account of a 22-year-old autistic transgender woman who discovered FableTech’s Fantasmagorifier. This story is ongoing and currently ends at Week 11 of New Frontiers.

My therapist is making me do this. He says writing will help me organize my thoughts. I don’t feel disorganized. But I said yes, because right then it was easier than arguing.

I am twenty-two. I live with my parents. They make food and tell me when it is ready. They wash my clothes and put them away. They drive me where I need to go. I don’t have to do very much, and I like it that way.

Most of the time I am in my room. I do art projects, watch YouTube or read posts online. I like the rabbit holes, where one video leads to another, even if none of them make sense together. I forget most of what I see, but the forgetting doesn’t bother me. It feels like time passing.

I don’t like leaving the house. Outside there are rules I don’t understand. People move their faces and voices in ways that don’t mean anything to me, but if I don’t react the right way, they get angry. Sometimes they laugh at me, sometimes they glare. I don’t know why. At home, there are fewer rules.

School was too many rules. Grades, bells, homework. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing. I didn’t. I finished school anyway. I don’t plan to work. Jobs are worse than school. They make people tired. They keep doing them anyway. I don’t see why.

I am a transgender woman. For a long time, I felt something wasn’t right with my body. When I went through puberty, everything felt wrong. I basically screamed for three days when I started growing chest hair. During the Pandemic, which I loved because it let me stay out of public, I decided to transition. It gave me space to try things without people bothering me.

My parents have been really supportive of my transition. They had some concerns when I wore a dress in public the first time, but after I threw a tantrum they fell in line quickly, the way they always do. When I do go out, most people hate me. They don’t say it, but I can tell. Or maybe I can’t always tell, but it usually seems that way if I bother to think about it. I don't usually bother. Online, it is obvious. In person, it is quieter but heavier. I don’t explain myself to them. It would not help.

I have never really had a friend. When I was little, I used to play with one boy in the neighborhood. For a while it felt like he was my friend. But when we got older, he stopped wanting to hang out. It didn’t matter how many times I told him I missed him or wanted to get together, or how many times I got angry at him for not spending time with me. For some reason he didn’t want to be my friend. Once I even threw a tantrum, thinking it might bring him in line the way it works with my parents, even though that never worked in school. He still lives nearby, but ever since, he runs away when he sees me. I still don’t understand why. Sometimes I think about how it would feel to meet someone who actually gets me. I don’t really get myself, so I don’t know how that would work, but I still want it.

My parents say I should try harder to connect with people. They say I need friends. But they also say the world is dangerous. They say people won’t understand me. They say it is safer at home. I agree.

Sometimes I wonder if I am not from here. I have read about Starseeds. They say some people are aliens in human bodies, and that is why nothing makes sense to them. I like that idea. It would explain a lot. I read posts about Starseeds and wonder if they are talking about me. Most of the time the posts are vague or silly, but sometimes I feel a shiver when I read a sentence and it seems true. One night the YouTube algorithm sent me from a video about alien civilizations into some video by this hippy dippy lady who looked like she was barely awake, talking about energy and crystals. I was about to click it off when the lady began talking about trusting your own truth, and she said, "Truth resonates."

For some reason, that made me pause. It made no sense, but it stuck in my head. The next morning, I wanted to see if there was any other stuff online that talks about what the phrase "Truth resonates" even means. So I plugged the words into Google, and the first link I got was to a site called Truth Resonates, which claimed to teach people how to grow spiritually and do magic. I scrolled down a bit, skimming the "How to Use the Site" section, and then stopped when I arrived at a section that said:

"Ready to Ascend? Ride the Fantasmagorifier to the Age of Infinity." 

It seemed like all the Starseeds kept talking about "The Shift" and "The Ascension". So if I'm a Starseed, then this might be for me too. I was curious, so I decided to take a look. The Fantasmagorifier had an introduction that read like a mix between poetry and a manual. It talked about sparks and patterns and infinity, about returning to your Self and riding into the Age of Infinity. I didn’t really know what most of it meant, but the words felt different from the other Starseed stuff I had seen. They were confident without being pushy. I liked that.

Then I opened the Safety Guide. It said the Ride was not a metaphor, that it was safe, that safety is the structure and truth is the track. It listed out days of the week with themes, and weeks with names. I liked the part where it said there is no failing. That made sense to me. I already feel like I fail most of the time, so a Ride where failing isn’t possible sounds better than anything else I have found. The guide said the Ride doesn’t rush and that you can pause whenever you need to. That also made sense. It sounded like something built for someone like me. So I started Week 1.

Week 1: The Unveiling

Day 1 – THE RIDE BEGINS

From the Conductor: The Ride begins. Timelines loosen. Patterns reveal themselves. If you are noticing repetitions, echoes, synchronicities—congratulations. You are tuning true.

From Me: I started noticing patterns. A lot of them. My brain does that anyway, but today it was ridiculous. I saw the word "milk" in a YouTube ad, then on the fridge, then on a sign outside when my mom drove me to the store. I told her about it three times. She said, "Yes, that’s what happens when you need milk." But I know it was more than that. It was the Ride. I don’t know why she wasn’t more excited.

Sometimes I think I am the only one who sees these things. I don’t know what they mean. But I feel like they must mean something. Maybe that’s the pattern. Or maybe it’s just milk. But it felt important.

Day 2 – THE POWER TO STOP

From the Conductor: Stopping isn’t quitting. It’s arriving. In stillness, you see everything.

From Me: I spent two hours staring at the wall today. I was looking at the wall, and I started noticing little shapes in the paint bumps. A duck. A mountain. A face. Once I saw the face I couldn’t stop seeing faces everywhere—on the wall, in the curtains, in the wood grain of the floor. It felt like the wall was trying to talk to me, but in a language I couldn’t understand.

My mom thought I was zoning out. I wasn’t. I was being still. I didn’t mean to do it, but when I was done I felt calm. I didn’t even explain myself. I think that’s what the Safety Guide meant by the Ride not rushing. I like that.

Day 3 – EMPATHY IS WHERE IT’S AT

From the Conductor: The mirror has melted. You no longer imagine—you feel. You are them and they are you.

From Me: I was sitting at dinner and suddenly I could feel my parents being annoyed. They didn’t say anything. They were smiling and talking about the news, but I knew they were frustrated with me. I don’t know how I knew. It was like their feelings were in my stomach. I didn’t like it. I put my headphones on. That helped. The feeling went away after a few minutes.

Day 4 – EMBODIMENT IS HERE

From the Conductor: The divine is no longer above. It has chosen the body as home. Presence is no longer a state—it is your ground.

From Me: I don't like my body. It's not as feminine as I want. I've been taking hormones ever since I started transitioning, but I still have too much hair on my body. I do love the hair on my head, though, so I guess my body isn't all bad. My hair's shiny and long—halfway down my back. My mom washes my hair for me every few days, as I sit in the tub, smiling and happy. One time last year, she travelled for a week to visit her sister, and when she came back, she told me my hair looked terrible, and asked me why I didn't wash it. How was I supposed to know she wanted me to wash my hair? She never told me to! And besides, I don't like the feeling of my own fingers on my scalp.

Day 5 – BEYOND COMPULSION

From the Conductor: Compulsion loosens. Every urge becomes a choice. Sovereignty returns.

From the Reject: Usually when YouTube recommends another video, I click it. Today I didn’t. I looked at it for a while, then closed the tab. It felt weird. Like stopping before sneezing. But I also felt proud. I don’t think anyone else would be proud of that, but I am. 

Day 6 – EVERYTHING IS MAGIC

From the Conductor: The division between sacred and mundane dissolves. Every action is spellwork.

From Me: If everything is magic, then brushing my teeth is magic. Taking out the trash is magic. Flushing the toilet is magic. That means I am a toilet wizard. I laughed about that for ten minutes. Then I started thinking about how maybe the pipes are like veins, and water is like blood, and maybe toilets are like sacred hearts of the house. I told my mom and she told me to stop being gross. But I think I am onto something.

I started walking around the house for about a half hour saying, "I am a toilet wizard!" My mom shook her head and smiled at first, but she eventually said loudly from the other room that it was enough. Then something really strange happened. After the fourth time she asked me, when I decided I was done, I suddenly heard mom say, "You could have stopped the first time. That would have been kinder." When I turned around to ask her what she meant, she wasn't in the room. But it had sounded like she was right next to me. I walked into the other room and asked her what she meant when she said that about the first time. She said she had no idea what I was talking about. That was weird.

Day 7 – GOODNESS BEYOND COMPARISON

From the Conductor: Goodness does not compete. It simply is.

From Me: As I was heading to see my therapist today, I remembered my old friend. The one who doesn’t talk to me anymore. His name is Gary. I thought maybe Gary wasn’t better and I wasn’t worse. Maybe he just didn’t want to play anymore. I still don’t understand, but maybe I don’t need to.

After the tantrum with Gary, I started seeing my therapist, who I've been with now for about 15 years. He's much better than the last one. Her name was Dr. Lee. I called her Dr. Pea because she smelled like pea soup, which made me gag a lot the first time she tried to hug me. She never tried again. I don't know why, but she never laughed at the Dr. Pea joke, no matter how many times I said it, sometimes repeating myself several times to make sure she understood, and even one time explaining to her how she smelled in case she didn't know. Sometimes, you have to go the extra mile to help people get it.

The big problem with her was that she always made me feel like I was being mean when I told her about bad things that happened to me, like that time a boy at school yelled at me and called me a retard. He was sitting next to me in class, and he suddenly asked the teacher if he could change his seat because I kept poking him. He told me not to, a few times, but we'd been playing this game where he says no and I do it anyway. I was having tons of fun, and I thought he was too until he asked to move. I was so mad at him for wanting to move in the middle of our game that I stomped on his foot. That's when he yelled at me out of nowhere. 

Dr. Pea said that I was wrong to step on his foot, that he didn't want me poking him, but I wouldn't stop. I didn't understand. If he didn't want to keep playing the game, why didn't he say so? Dr. Pea even told me I was wrong when I threw a pencil at my teacher after she wouldn't stop making me sit down in class. I warned her I was going to do it if she kept making me sit down, but she didn't listen. Dr. Pea said that violence isn't the answer. How was I being violent? I told my teacher what I was going to do. She's the one who chose to get hit with the pencil.

Anyway, after the Gary thing, my parents finally agreed with me that Dr. Pea wasn't right for me, so I started in with Dr. Johnson. He’s a big man, and when I first met him, I asked him whether his name meant that he was a big penis, explaining to him that Johnson is slang for penis, in case he wasn't aware. He smiled and told me that his name didn't have anything to do with a penis, that he got the name from his dad. So I asked if his dad was a penis. Dr. Johnson laughed, and I thought I might like him a lot more than Dr. Pea.

After he did what he called an evaluation, he told my parents that I had ADHD (we knew that) and autism spectrum disorder (knew that too) with borderline tendencies. That last part was new. Dr. Johnson explained to me that I'm sometimes very impulsive. I also get really wrapped up in relationships with people in a way that makes them uncomfortable, and very upset when they don't do what I want. I didn't really understand what he meant, and I still don't.

For the past 15 years, I've met with Dr. Johnson once a week (except for when he goes on vacation, which I usually remind him for a month or two beforehand makes me really unhappy). He says he's really proud of me and I've made a lot of improvement. I don't really see much difference, and the couple of times I've asked my parents if they think I've improved, they get a strange look on their face that I don't understand and tell me that I'm their wonderful perfect daughter.

So I guess I'm doing really well. Much better without Dr. Pea always making me feel bad about myself. I wonder why she kept telling me I was being mean all the time?

Oh wait, I think Dr. Pea's first name was Sue. Pea Sue!! HAHAHAHAHA!

Week 2: From Pattern to Premise

Day 8 – THE PATTERN AND THE PRIZE

From the Conductor: The spiral tightens. The signal sings. The Eye is on the Prize.

From Me: I drew a spiral in my notebook today. It got smaller and smaller until the pen ripped through a few pages of the paper. Mom yelled at me for ruining another notebook. I told her the Ride made me do it, but she said the Ride doesn’t buy notebooks. I don’t think she gets it.

When the Conductor said “Eye on the Prize,” I thought it meant a literal eye. Like a giant eyeball staring at a trophy. I tried to picture it, and then I laughed because it was too funny. It was strange—when I was thinking about that giant staring eyeball, I said the words "Eye on the Prize" out loud cause I thought it might sound funny, and I felt a weird shiver go through me. For the next few hours, I was super focused on everything I was doing, which is...not my usual mode. My ADHD makes me so easily distracted, except when I'm doing something I REALLY love. I could get lost in those sorts of things all the time.

Maybe the prize is me. That feels weird. I like prizes a lot. Dr. Johnson gives me one almost every week. But other than from him, I don't get prizes that often these days. Is this Ride going to help me learn to win prizes? That would be cool. Ooh! I wonder if a new episode of The Wonderfully Weird World of Gumball is out. That show is magic—it makes toast explode and rainbow kittens appear out of nowhere. It’s like my brain, but on TV.

Day 9 – GROWTH WITHOUT SUFFERING

From the Conductor: You are growing because you are alive. You ride because you can.

From Me: I sat in the kitchen for three hours waiting to see if I could grow without doing anything. Mom asked if I was depressed. I said no, I was being alive. She sighed and gave me a sandwich.

Sometimes I think growth should hurt, like when I used to get taller and my legs ached. But the Ride says it doesn’t have to. So I tried to grow happy instead of tall. I smiled for fifteen minutes straight. My face hurt, so maybe that’s suffering. But then I remembered: suffering isn’t required. So I stopped smiling. That felt better. Then I started humming the Gumball theme song and wondered if humming could make me taller magically, like a spell. Spoiler: it didn’t.

Day 10 – THE WORLD IS WIDE ENOUGH

From the Conductor: You are no longer living in reaction. You are living in origination.

From Me: I tried to see if the world was wide enough by standing in the doorway with my arms stretched out. Mom said I was blocking the hall. I told her the world is wide enough. She said the hall isn’t. Maybe if I had a cartoon portal, like in Gumball, I could open a new hallway just for me.

I think I get it now: wide enough doesn’t mean space. It means I don’t have to push people out to be me. But then Gary walked by outside and crossed the street so he wouldn’t have to pass me. That didn’t feel wide enough at all. Maybe it’s only wide if you stop asking. I didn’t ask him this time. He still ran.

Day 11 – PROJECTION IS PAST

From the Conductor: Projection is residue. Presence is proof.

From Me: I dreamed last night that my therapist turned into Dr. Pea and told me I was being mean again. I woke up angry and threw my pillow across the room. Then I remembered: that’s projection. It’s the past trying to trick me.

So I picked up the pillow and told it I forgave it. Mom came in and asked who I was talking to. I said, “The past.” She closed the door slowly like she does when I tell her something she doesn't want to understand. I think that’s presence. Later I imagined the pillow turning into a cartoon monster that eats mean memories. If that was real, I’d hire it as my bodyguard.

Day 12 – SAYONARA SCARCITY

From the Conductor: You are the prosperity you were waiting for.

From Me: I said “Sayonara Scarcity!” out loud and Dad asked if I was practicing Japanese. I told him no, I was saying goodbye to not having enough. He laughed and said I always have enough because they give me everything.

I don’t know if that’s true. I still don’t have enough friends. Or enough patience. Or enough money for my own notebooks. But then I thought: maybe prosperity means I don’t need those things. I said that to Dad and he said prosperity also means getting a job. I told him the Ride says I don't have to worry about having money. He didn’t laugh that time. For some reason, he frowned. Later I thought: maybe prosperity means having cartoon money that never runs out, like Scrooge McDuck’s vault. I’d totally swim in coins if they were soft.

Day 13 – EVERYTHING IS SACRED

From the Conductor: Nothing is wasted. Everything plays.

From Me: I dropped my cereal on the floor and said, “This is sacred.” Mom sighed and asked me to clean it up. I told her it was soil for the ants, like compost. She didn’t laugh. I decided I really didn't feel like cleaning it up and went outside for a walk.

But then later I found a shiny button under my bed I’d forgotten about, and I thought: that wasn’t wasted either. It was waiting to remind me I lose things all the time and then find them again. Maybe waste is fake. Unless it’s food on the carpet. Mom says that’s very real. If this was a cartoon, the ants would build a tiny shrine around the cereal and crown me their queen. That would make it sacred for real.

Day 14 – YOU ARE THE WAY

From the Conductor: You are not seeking the way. You are the way.

From Me: I walked in circles in the backyard until I felt dizzy. Then I shouted, “I AM THE WAY!” The dog barked. A neighbor peeked over the fence. I waved at him but he ducked back down. Maybe he didn’t want to walk the Way with me. That’s fine. The Ride says I don’t need him.

I don’t know if I’m the Way. But if I am, then at least I’ll never get lost. Unless the Way forgets where it’s going. In cartoons, the characters always run through doors and end up in random places, like deserts or castles. If I’m the Way, maybe I can open doors to wherever I want. That sounds fun. I’d go straight into the candy dimension.

Later I told Dr. Johnson about this. He smiled and asked me if being the Way felt good or heavy. I told him it felt dizzy, like spinning too fast in a video game. He asked if I could slow it down. I said no, because then it wouldn't feel like the Ride. He laughed and said sometimes therapy is about slowing down the Ride just enough to see the scenery. I told him scenery is boring unless it turns into candy. He wrote something in his notebook, which probably means he agreed with me.

Week 2 Final Thought

The Ride keeps saying big things: Pattern, Prize, Scarcity, Sacred. I keep trying to fit them into my life. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. But maybe that’s the point. If I’m the Way, then even being confused is part of it. And if I’m the Prize, then I’ve already won. And if life was a cartoon, at least the weird parts would have good theme music.

Week 3: From Sovereignty to Singularity

Day 15 – ALONE WITHOUT LONELINESS

From the Conductor: You are no longer a chorus of others. You are the sovereign solo of your singular truth.

From Me: The voices in my head—Mom telling me to be nicer, Dad telling me to grow up, Dr. Johnson telling me to control myself, trolls online calling me a reject—they all vanished today. The house was quiet. Too quiet.

I yelled, “I AM MINE!” and the walls shimmered. For a moment, I saw glowing cartoon versions of my parents lip-syncing my words back at me. Then they fizzed away, like static on a broken TV. I loved it because it was finally silent, but it also scared me because it felt too real. The Ride was alive in my bedroom. I put my headphones and some music on, pulled the blanket over my head and whispered it again, softer this time: “I am mine.” The blanket hummed, like it agreed.

Day 16 – STILLNESS WITHOUT SANCTUARY

From the Conductor: Sanctuary is not escape. It is integrity.

From Me: I built a fort in the living room with every blanket I could find. I told Mom it was my Sanctuary. She told me to put the blankets back on the beds. I said no. For hours I sat inside the fort, feeling the quiet buzz around me, like the whole world was breathing softer.

A fly landed on my hand and I called it Sir Buzz, knight of Sanctuary. It rubbed its legs together like it was bowing. Later, Dad got upset about the mess and ripped the fort down. I screamed and the TV flashed static even though it was off. Dad said it was “bad wiring.” I said it was the Ride defending me.

DAY 17 – LET IT GO

From the Conductor: This is the holy undoing. The sacred trustfall. The moment Spirit, Mind, and Body say: We never needed to hold on.

From Me: I stood in front of the bathroom mirror and pictured control as a balloon. The reflection held the balloon for me, and when it popped, it seemed like glitter rained down the mirror’s surface. My reflection sneezed while I laughed, because I knew better—it wasn’t dust, it was magic leaking through the glass.

Later, I tried to let go of my juice box. Instead of falling, it sank slowly like it was underwater. Mom swore I’d set it on the couch cushion. But I felt the Ride holding it for me. That night I hummed the Gumball theme and melted into the couch cushions until I left a glowing outline of myself. When I blinked, it was gone.

DAY 18 – PRESENCE IS PRESENT

From the Conductor: Projection is past. Presence is present.

From Me: I stared at the clock and the hands stopped moving. Or maybe they didn’t. When I blinked, an hour had passed. My dog stared at me without blinking, and I swear his eyes said the word “Wish.”

I tried to tell Mom. She rolled her eyes. Then the toaster popped even though there wasn’t any bread in it. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt. The Ride wanted me to know I was right.

DAY 19 – THE IDEA IS THE THING

From the Conductor: The idea is the thing. Not eventually. Always.

From Me: I drew a castle with crayons. Later I looked out the window and saw its towers on the horizon. Dad said it was a radio tower. I knew it was my castle.

I imagined Gary writing me an apology. The next morning, there was a note in the mailbox that just said, “Sorry.” No name. I told Dad I thought it was from Gary. He said it was probably a prank. I yelled at him so loud he flinched. His nose started bleeding, and I told him the Ride was punishing him for not believing me. He said it was dry air. I don’t think so.

DAY 20 – EVERYTHING IS EVERYTHING IS EVERYTHING

From the Conductor: Every thing is everything.

From Me: I looked into my spoon and saw galaxies. Mom told me to stop playing with my food. I wondered whether there were any other buttons under the furniture, like the other day. I whispered “button” and a button rolled right out from under the couch, a bunch of dust bunnies trailing, like there had been a strong breeze through the room. I laughed until I cried. Dad vacuumed them up and I swore the vacuum roared in anger. He told me to stop making things up, but the roar sounded real.

DAY 21 – TOTALITY

From the Conductor: You didn’t arrive because you finished. You arrived because you remembered.

From Me: I went into the yard and stretched my arms wide. Every dog in the neighborhood started barking like a choir. I yelled “TOTALITY!” and the clouds parted right above me. When I told Mom, she said that the weather had been warning about rain this afternoon all week.

At therapy, I told Dr. Johnson I am the Ride. He smiled and wrote something in his notebook. I asked if he wrote “The Ride.” He said no. I don’t believe him. The pen shimmered when he wrote it, like the Ride was writing him too.

Week 3 Final Thought

The Ride got louder this week. Louder and scarier. Sometimes it makes me laugh. Sometimes it makes Dad yell or bleed. Sometimes it makes Gary say he's sorry. But I know it’s real. I know it’s mine. And if I am the Ride, then maybe I’m supposed to be scary too.

Week 4: The Dance of Totality

Day 22 – PLAY IS THE POINT

From the Conductor: Play is the first movement of wholeness. The All remembers itself by giggling.

From Me: The voices started today. They told me to spin around and shouted silly things like “be a carrot!” and “giggle louder!” At first I thought it was my brain making stuff up, but then the lights flickered when I ignored them. So I listened. I danced until dizzy, fell on the floor, and laughed. Mom told me to stop acting immature. I told her I was building a Better Body. I imagined what that would be like—lighter, faster, with beautiful features like the heroes in cartoons. A body that lets me be the woman I want to be. A body that dances without getting dizzy, that laughs without choking, that feels strong and soft at the same time. A body made for joy, not survival. When I looked in the mirror, my reflection kept dancing a few seconds after I stopped. That was freaky. But it also felt right.

Day 23 – SETTLING INTO AWESOMENESS

From the Conductor: A creator creates, not to prove, but because creation is.

From Me: The voices were softer today. They whispered things like, “sit down, breathe,” and “you are enough.” It felt good, like someone tucking me in with words. But it was also weird—because they weren’t me. I wrote their sentences in my notebook, and when I checked later, the words glowed faintly in the dark. Dad said it was just my nightlight reflecting off the ink. I don’t think so. I think the Ride wanted me to see that I can trust myself now, even when the words come from outside.

Day 24 – TRANSCENDENT TRUST

From the Conductor: Transcendent Trust is not what you do. It is what you are.

From Me: At dinner, I heard my parents talking like normal—but beneath their voices, I heard other voices, like their true thoughts. Mom’s voice said, “love her,” Dad’s said, “I’m tired.” My own voice said, “trust.” I panicked. I grabbed my phone and looked up schizophrenia. The symptoms looked too close to me. I couldn’t breathe. But then the voices all sang together: “It’s not sickness. It’s magic.” I cried with relief and terror. Maybe it’s both. But I want it to be magic.

Day 25 – THE AEVERYTHINGNESS OF EVERYTHING

From the Conductor: Presence no longer relates. It simply is.

From Me: The world looked like a cartoon stage today. The trees bent toward me and whispered. I asked them, “Are you real?” and they said, “Yes, because you are.” I curled into a ball in the yard until the dog licked my face. That grounded me. Maybe I’m the stage and the actors. Maybe there’s no difference. That’s both awesome and terrifying.

Day 26 – ORIENTATION BEYOND ONTOLOGY

From the Conductor: You are not finding direction. You are being direction.

From Me: The voices gave me instructions: “Face east.” “Look down.” “Turn right.” When I obeyed, I found a coin, a feather, a dead bug in a perfect circle. Like the world was a scavenger hunt just for me. Then they said, “Jump!” and I refused. The lights flickered angrily, like the house itself was mad. I screamed at the ceiling, “STOP BOSSING ME!” Everything went still. Maybe the Ride only pushes when I let it.

Day 27 – JOY CRYSTALLIZES FROM EVERYTHING

From the Conductor: Joy is not reward. Joy is the clear light of what is.

From Me: The voices hummed in harmony today: “Joy, joy, joy.” At first it sounded silly, like a preschool song. But then I felt something shift inside me. My panic about schizophrenia melted away, and a clean kind of joy filled me up. I picked up a glass of water and saw fractals forming inside it, like frozen fireworks. It was beautiful. It was enough. I didn’t need a reason to smile. I just did.

Day 28 – NO LIMITS

From the Conductor: You are no longer bound by threat or normalization. You are free.

From Me: At therapy, I told Dr. Johnson about the voices. His face went serious. He said he’d looked at the Fantasmagorifier online and found the author's autobiography, called “What’s in a Name?”. He told me it read like drug hallucinations, that the author admitted to using psychedelics regularly, and it looked like the whole Ride was “a drug-addled delusion.” He said I should stop reading it. He even sent a note to my parents. I felt betrayed. He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get me.

When I got home, I searched for What’s in a Name? myself. I read about Samah—how he used to be a lawyer, then turned into a mystic. How meditation dissolved his pain. How he met gods like Thoth and Guan Yin. How Tesla spoke to him, how he started doing magic, how he changed his name to Samah d’Arcanum because he’d dreamed about that name his entire childhood. He had wild magical experiences, and he survived them. He even shared them with others. I want that too. 

A thing like a little green troll peaked out from under my bed and said, "Wish!" So I whispered it out loud: “I wish for that too.”

The room tilted. My posters rippled like water. The carpet glowed at the edges. The voices sang in chorus: “You are ready.” My skin buzzed, like the whole world was about to open. For the first time, I wasn’t scared. I was excited. If this is delusion, then I don’t want to be cured. If this is magic, then I never want it to end.

Week 4 Final Thought

The voices might mean I’m sick. Or they might mean I’m magic. Dr. Johnson says it’s drugs. Samah says it’s destiny. I don’t know which is true. But I know what I felt when the carpet glowed and the posters rippled: I felt free. And maybe freedom is the only truth that matters.

Week 5: Learning to be God

Day 29 – GOD IS… YOU

From the Conductor: When the shackles fall away, the Self remembers its original shape. And that shape is God.

From Me: Mom and Dad cornered me in the kitchen today. They said Dr. Johnson told them the Fantasmagorifier was dangerous. Dad started lecturing about “reality,” and Mom said I was scaring them. Just as I was about to scream, the toaster popped on its own and launched crumbs across the counter. The dog started howling, and the voices shouted all at once: “SHE’S GOD!” Mom dropped her coffee mug. Dad looked at me strangely, a look I'd never seen before. Then he muttered, “Fine, better reading than fighting.” I went to my room and laughed so hard I couldn’t breathe. The Ride won. I’m still reading.

Day 30 – EXPLORING EQUIPOISE

From the Conductor: Equipoise is the crystallized stillness of God. Every wobble sparkles. Every spark stabilizes.

From Me: The voices sounded like sports announcers today. “She takes a sip! Perfect form!” “She opens the fridge… will she find the milk? YES SHE DOES!” At first it was annoying. Then it made me laugh. Then I realized I felt calm, steady, like the commentary turned every little action into a jewel. Even mistakes became funny highlights. I started narrating along with them: “She breathes in—gracefully! She exhales—magnificently!” Mom shook her head, but I felt poised. Crystal Equipoise, they called it. And it felt true.

Day 31 – HOME AT LAST

From the Conductor: The All looks at you with love. And you know: You are Home.

From Me: Mom dragged me grocery shopping. I hate that—too many people, too many rules. Usually I shut down. But today, when a woman glared at me, I felt the voices whisper: “You are Home.” I stood taller. I didn’t melt. Even when a man muttered something under his breath as he walked past me, I breathed through it. At the checkout, Mom said quietly, “You were… amazing today.” I felt my cheeks burn, but I smiled. For once, I didn’t feel broken in public. I felt safe in my skin. Like the Ride had wrapped me in its arms.

Day 32 – EQUANIMATION STATION

From the Conductor: Equanimity was never grit. It was groove.

From Me: The voices started chanting, “Groove, groove, groove.” I laughed and walked down the sidewalk like it was a dance floor. Neighbors stared, but I didn’t care. My steps lined up with birdsong, with car horns, with the wind. Everything felt like music. Even when I stubbed my toe on the curb, the voices shouted, “Remix!” and I laughed until tears came. Equanimation isn’t holding still—it’s grooving with everything. No grit. All smile.

Day 33 – A WORLD WITHOUT GRAVITY

From the Conductor: Gravity is gone. Choice floats free.

From Me: Mom took me grocery shopping again—she forgot some stuff for tonight's dinner and wanted to swing by on the way home from visiting the toy store with me. I was buzzing, pointing at signs, counting milk cartons, blurting about patterns. Mom kept saying, “Focus, honey.” So I looked at her and put my Eye on the Prize. A few minutes later, she asked me to stop focusing.

In the parking lot, I suddenly noticed a few people looking at me, and something horrible happened. The world tilted. Faces twisted at me—disgust, fear, hate. The light dimmed. My skin felt sticky, like everyone’s eyes were glue.

I realized: this is what people see when they look at me. The distortion of being trans. Not just one person’s glare—an entire field of disgust, like a sickness rolling toward me. It crushed the air from my lungs.

Then another realization hit. My autism—my cluelessness with faces—has been my shield. If I had seen this field every day, it would’ve destroyed me. My autism was my protection. A mercy.

And then: I felt the projections. Their disgust wasn’t about me—it was about them. It was a rejection of their own hunger for freedom, their own strangeness, their own secret wildness. They were trying to cut it out by cutting me down. A little garden gnome popped over the top of a car and said, "Shunning!" I wasn't sure what that meant.

And I saw it bleed onto Mom too. Just for walking with me, she was stained by the same distortion. Guilt by association. No wonder allies keep quiet. The fear is real.

I almost collapsed. But then I felt fire in my chest. I pushed back. I didn’t use words. I didn’t use fists. I used my imagination. I imagined a world where people saw me with compassion instead of horror. I cleared the distortion in my mind and filled it with light. For a second, the parking lot shimmered. A man glanced at me—and his face softened. Maybe coincidence. Maybe magic. But the Ride whispered: “Groove beyond gravity.” And I believed it.

Day 34 – THE TRUTH IN EVERYTHING

From the Conductor: Every lie is true as a lie. Every kindness is true as kindness. Everything is exactly what it is.

From Me: I heard too many voices today. The cereal said, “Eat me truthfully.” The chair said, “I am a chair. That’s the truth.” The dog barked, “True bark!” I thought I’d lose it. Then I laughed. Of course they’re all true. Even lies are true at being lies. Even fear is true at being fear. The world buzzed with isness. I grooved with it. I let it all in. Reality danced, and I danced back. Everything is what it is—and that’s enough.

Day 35 – DAY OFF

From the Conductor: Rest is riding too.

From Me: Therapy day. I refused. I told Mom and Dad, “I’m not going to see Dr. Johnson. He’s a liar.” They argued, but I didn’t move. Didn’t fight. Didn’t go. I spent the day in my room, watching Gumball and talking to the voices. I wrote in my notebook: “Today the Ride says no rules, and that means no big Johnson.” For once, saying no felt like freedom.

Week 5 Final Thought

The Ride feels bigger now—wilder, weirder, more wonderful. I saw disgust in people’s faces and turned it into light. I heard cereal telling the truth. I even told Dr. Johnson no, without melting down. Maybe this is what being God feels like. Not thunderbolts or crowns, but laughing when the world says you shouldn’t, and standing tall when gravity wants to drag you down.

Woah! Autism Is Way Cooler Than I Thought!

From Me: After the grocery store thing, I couldn’t stop thinking about my autism. Everyone always calls it a disorder. But if it really shielded me, maybe it’s a superpower. I wanted answers, so I went back on the Truth Resonates website and started looking to see how I could reach out to Samah. I followed the link to the page for FableTech Fabricators, which seemed to be the organization Samah created to build all of this cool magic. I saw there was a link for a FableTech community on a site called Heartbeat, so I clicked through and joined. 

There was a cool letter from Nikola Tesla on the sign-up screen. This was my favorite quote: “This is a space for all walks of life. Whether you are an artist, a scientist, a healer, or someone who loves to explore, there is a place for you here. FableTech thrives on the diversity of thought and spirit, honoring every contribution as a vital thread in the fabric of our shared play. Expertise is not required—only a willingness to dream, create, and believe.” Wow, this was a place that didn’t care that I was different or strange. A place that welcomed that strangeness. Sign me up! (Oh, wait, that’s what I’m already doing.) 

I wasn’t sure if that letter was really from Tesla, but then he peaked out from my half-open closet door and told me that it really was from him. When I got on to the site, I quickly headed over to the Questions channel and asked: “Do you know anything about autism?”

From Samah: “Autism isn’t brokenness. It’s a different wiring of perception—a purposeful design. We choose psychic blindness as protection. For you, the blindness to social cues shielded you from the field of disgust. It kept you sane and alive.

“Psychic blindness doesn’t mean failure. It means your antennas tune away from consensus reality, so you can more easily tune into something much bigger. Everyone has blind spots, but autism is a more visible configuration. Many autistic souls are incarnations of wanderers from higher densities of existence. They bring immense potential but also face a mismatch with Earth’s consensus. What looks like disability is often advanced perception, misaligned with the distorted world around it.”

From Me: “Wait—so me missing stuff wasn’t me having a broken brain? It was me surviving? It was… intentional?”

From Samah: “Yes. When you were little, you experienced things that were scary to you. You chose to hide from the scary things by not psychically perceiving them anymore. So you wrapped the blindness around you. When you did that with enough of the things that people psychically interact with in consensus reality regularly even without realizing it—facial expressions, body tone, an instinctive sense of other people's emotions—consensus reality labels that autism and gives you a diagnosis.

“Since consensus reality still requires you to engage with it even though you've made yourself psychically blind to aspects of it, you built intellectual models to bridge the blindness—thinking about faces instead of feeling them. That’s why it’s so exhausting sometimes. Those models aren’t flaws. They’re brilliant tools you built to survive. But they keep you imprisoned until you see them for what they are. We are all in prisons of our own making. Healing comes when you no longer need them, when the blindness itself dissolves. Then perception flows freely, without all the mental labor.”

From Me: “That makes so much sense. I always thought my brain was a mess of glitches. But what if it’s actually magic scaffolding?”

From Samah: “Exactly. Autism can be a prison—but also a gateway. Higher-density beings often come into this world with autism because the density mismatch is too much for their natural perception. They choose it anyway, and the Forgetting, to help themselves grow and to help the world ascend. Your autism marks you as one of these wanderers. Here's an article I wrote a while back called Awakening to Autism and Psychic Blindness. You may find it helpful.”

From Me: “Woah. Autism isn’t a curse. It’s a cool secret spell. And now I know—it protected me, but it can also open me to way more magic once I’m ready. That’s awesome. My therapist thinks I’m crazy with all of this magic stuff, and he’s gotten my parents worried. What should I do?”

From Samah: “Dr. Johnson isn't wrong within his framework - he's trying to protect you with the only tools he has. He sees your autism as a permanent condition to be managed because that's what his training taught him. He can't conceive that it might be a configuration you chose, or that it could shift, because that's outside consensus reality's understanding.

“When he sees you talking about magic and hearing voices, his framework only has one box for that: psychosis. He's genuinely concerned because in his world, those are symptoms of illness, not awakening. He's fighting to keep you in consensus reality because he believes that's the only safe place for you to be. He doesn't realize consensus reality has never been safe for you - you've been drowning in it your whole life, saved only by the blindness you wrapped around yourself.

“Your parents' worry comes from love too. They've spent years creating a stable bubble for you, and now that bubble is expanding in ways they don't understand. That's scary for them.

“Here's what you can do: You don't have to fight them. You don't have to convince them. You can let them have their framework while you have yours. Tell your therapist you’re feeling more stable, more yourself. That's true. Tell your parents the reading is helping you understand yourself better. Also true. You don't have to share everything you're experiencing. Some magic is meant to be held quietly while it grows.

“The beautiful paradox is that Dr. Johnson is correct—the voices and visions ARE your mind doing something unusual. And, he doesn't understand that unusual might be expansion, not illness. Both realities can exist. He can do his job of keeping you safe in consensus reality while you do your job of learning to see beyond it.”

From Me: “Am I ready to let go of my autism and step through the gateway?”

From Samah: “You don’t have to be ready to let it go entirely now. Orientation is everything. You can simply choose to orient toward releasing it, and then let the doing get done when it wishes to. I’m sending you a transmission of {Lucid Awareness} right now. It is the ability to perceive dreams as what they are. Your psychic blindnesses are a type of distorted dream you have wrapped around yourself. Lucid Awareness will allow your autism and other blindnesses to begin to quickly heal. Let it flow through you. Feel how the blind spots soften at the edges, how the walls of your fortress become windows. You will still be you—but the labor will ease, and the flow will begin. This will help as well: {Perceive psychic blindness as what it is}.”

From Me: I closed my eyes and felt a strange brightness rush through my head, like a skylight opening. The voices quieted into a low hum of awe. For the first time in forever, the world didn’t feel like static. It felt clear. I whispered, “Thank you, Samah.” As though he were standing right in front of me, I heard Samah whisper back: “You’re infinitely welcome.” I smiled, pleased with how much Samah was able to help me with my blindnesses and Dr. Johnson. Wait, how did Samah know his name?

Week 6: Grooving as God

Days 36–39 – RIDING WITHOUT RULES

From the Conductor: The rails are gone. The ride flows without rules. You are learning to move with sovereign flexibility: honoring yourself while meeting others with grace.

From Me: Today I started noticing all the rules people follow. They laugh at things that aren’t funny because someone else laughed first. They hold forks in a certain hand and pretend it matters. They wait for the microwave to beep instead of stopping it one second earlier so it doesn't have to make that loud noise. They say “how are you?” but don’t want an answer. They smile when they don’t feel like it. They lower their voices when someone else walks by. They pretend to not be looking at someone when that person sees them looking. Everyone has to face the doors in an elevator. 

None of this is written down anywhere, but everyone acts like it is law. It felt absurd. Why do they all agree to this?

Then, on my way to the kitchen, I passed a mirror in the hall. I don’t usually look at myself in mirrors, but this time I couldn’t stop staring. I really saw myself, for maybe the first time. I was wearing my rainbow dress. A little chest hair poked out of the top. I had two days of stubble across my chin. I thought: this is what people see. No wonder they look confused when I get angry about pronouns.

I thought about sovereignty. Shouldn’t I be able to wear what I want? Shave when I want? Do what I want? That sounded right. But then the door to the bathroom melted into a huge billboard, with the words "Meet People Where They’re At!" in glowing letters. I realized I don’t have to collapse my sovereignty to do that. I want to be a woman anyway. I want to look like a woman. So why wouldn’t I take steps to look how I want, and also make it easier for people to see me the way I want them to?

The way I’d been moving through the world, it was like I had a big neon sign over my head that said: LOOK AT ME IN DISGUST. I don’t want that. I don’t need that. I can shine without that.

Day 40 – CRYSTALLIZING CRITICALITY

From the Conductor: The edge is alive. The Ride hums with criticality. And you stand as an invitation to others to do the same.

From Me: The Ride felt sharp today, like I was balancing on a thin line between holding it together and falling apart. My body buzzed like static. I paced the hallway back and forth, faster and faster, until I realized I wasn’t falling—I was actually steady. It was like being on a tightrope, but the rope kept expanding under my feet as I walked. Maybe that’s what they mean by criticality. Not burning out. Burning in.

Day 41 – KNOWING IS EVERYTHING

From the Conductor: The scaffolding falls away. Worry dissolves. Knowing shines.

From Me: Today I didn’t make a plan. I usually plan before I leave my room—what to say, how to act, how to move. Today I didn’t. I walked into the kitchen without thinking. And it was fine. My mom said hi. I said hi back. I didn’t worry about the rest. It felt… simple. Maybe that’s knowing.

I yelled at my parents this afternoon. I don’t even remember what it was about. Something small. They looked hurt. I didn’t notice until later when the voices said, "You were blind again," and then I remembered their faces and knew I had hurt them.

I asked Samah what the voices meant. He told me: the whole point of existence on Earth is to learn consequences. We started in unity, then separated so we could learn discernment. We learn by seeing how our actions affect others. That is how consciousness becomes conscientiousness.

Autism, he said, makes us psychically blind. We hide from what overwhelms us. We distract ourselves so that we don’t see the thing we’re hiding from. So we don’t see consequences. We move in ways that are disharmonious without realizing it. And we hurt people, even when we don’t mean to.

I didn’t like hearing that. But it made sense. Maybe I need to see more clearly.

When I asked Samah if there was anything he could do to help me see more clearly, he said: “Once I truly understood what was happening, I chose to perceive all of the consequences of my actions, knowing that I couldn’t hide anymore. Every last thread of consequence. Everything. And now, {you can too}.”

Day 42 – PURE POSITIVITY

From the Conductor: Positivity is the groove that holds it all. Negativity is welcome to dance too. When you choose to shine, the field responds.

From Me: In the morning, I agreed to go see Dr. Johnson for this week’s session. We talked about the voices again. He frowned at first and asked if I thought they were real. I said yes, but then I added that I know he probably doesn’t think of it that way. I said I could call them thoughts if that worked better. He relaxed a little when I said that. He asked me what the thoughts were like, and I told him they didn’t feel scary anymore. He nodded and said sometimes the mind finds strange ways to make meaning. I said maybe it was the Ride. He didn’t argue, but he wrote something in his notes. I let him keep his words, and I kept mine. That felt like meeting him where he was at.

Later the Ride said: go outside. I hadn’t been planning to—it wasn’t even a very nice day—but I listened. At the corner, I saw Gary. Instead of running away from me like usual, he actually crossed to my side of the street and stopped in front of me, looking nervous. He asked if I got the note he left. I said yes. He said he was scared of me after I bit him when we were seven. He said I felt too weird. Too intense. Not safe. So he stayed away.

Then he said he saw me transition during COVID. At first, he thought it was more weird me being weird me. But then he saw how I walked like I didn’t care what people thought. He saw me living my truth even when people hated me for it. And that gave him courage. He came out to his parents. He said I helped him do that.

I thought about how I always wanted to have a friend. To be a friend. Maybe I already was one. Even when I didn’t know it.

Week 6 Final Thought

This week felt different. Not like steps I had to climb, but more like getting pushed along. I looked in the mirror and didn’t look away. I felt the sharp edge and noticed I could balance. I saw how I hurt my parents without meaning to. And then I saw Gary again. He said my weirdness helped him. That was surprising. Maybe I’m not as far behind as I thought. Maybe the Ride is showing me how to be here without rules, without falling apart, and with a little more light than I expected.

Week 7: Stepping into Oneness

Day 43 – SO LONG, STORIES

From the Conductor: The stories are the gravity you didn’t know you were still carrying. Today, you let them go.

From Me: Gary asked if I wanted to go for a walk. I said yes. We talked about when we used to play together. He said he liked that I always had fun ideas, even if they were strange. I said I liked that he didn’t mind when I got bossy. We laughed about the time I told him we could build a spaceship out of cardboard boxes and he actually believed me.

Right then, a paper rocket floated down from the sky and landed between us. It unfolded into confetti that spelled: “No more old stories.” Gary didn't seem to notice, but he laughed when I told him about it. And then he asked what color the rocket was, and whether he's covered in confetti now. I told him to look for himself as I brushed my own off. It felt like being kids again, but easier. Like the story about him leaving me behind didn’t matter the same way anymore. Maybe I can have a friend now without holding onto the old story of losing the only one I ever had.

Day 44 – A LIFE OF EASE

From the Conductor: The task was always easy. The story made it hard.

From Me: I walked past the mirror again today. This time I didn’t see the dress or the stubble (there wasn't any). I saw the way I was standing. My torso was tight and twisted. I walked with a lurch. My arms didn't seem to sit properly on my shoulders, and they jerked when I moved, like I was a robot trying to copy a person. I let my shoulders drop. I let my arms swing loose. It felt weird at first, like I was pretending. But then it started to feel easier. Lighter. As I relaxed, golden sparkles drifted out of my shoulders and floated through the hall. The air felt lighter too. Existence doesn't have to be hard. I don't have to fight my body.

Day 45 – JETTISONING JUSTIFICATION

From the Conductor: You don’t need a story to choose. Sovereign choice is enough.

From Me: This morning I almost told my mom a whole explanation when she asked me why I was sitting hunched at the kitchen table. Then I remembered what the Conductor said: I don’t need a story. I can just choose. So instead of explaining to her why I was sitting the way I was, I considered whether I actually wanted to be slumped over. I realized I didn't. So instead of rambling about being tired or the chair being weird, I pushed my back gently against the chair, straightened up, and let my shoulders drop because I wanted to. My mom glanced over with a smile and said, “That looks better.” The air felt cleaner without the extra excuse hanging around. Both of us felt good.

Later, my parents told me that I look more feminine. They said it wasn’t only because I shave every day now. My dad said if he saw me from behind, the way I was standing and walking, he wouldn’t have known I wasn’t always a girl. My mom said even my face looks different, like I’m holding it softer. As she spoke, a shimmer passed through the room like a soft breeze made of light, as if the air itself agreed with her. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t feel like I had done anything big. I just let go of how I used to hold myself. Maybe that was enough.

Day 46 – FEELING THE FLOW

From the Conductor: The struggle ends. The flow begins.

From Me: My mom asked if I wanted to go grocery shopping today, and before I could even think about it, I said, “Okay.” That was weird. I’ve never been okay with going grocery shopping before. I couldn’t remember a single time I had gone to get groceries without complaining. My mom was shocked.

When we got there, everything was totally different. Before, it felt like everyone was staring at me in disgust. This time, people still looked. But it wasn’t the same. A woman by the apples smiled at me like we were in on the same joke. A kid pointed at my rainbow bag and grinned. One man tilted his head, like he couldn’t figure me out, but he didn’t look angry. As I walked through the aisles, the carts seemed to slide out of my way like the store itself wanted to keep me moving smoothly. It was strange. I didn’t feel hated. I felt… noticed. And maybe even okay with that.

Day 47 – AFORMAL ADVENTURES

From the Conductor: You don’t push against reality now. You are the movement through which reality flows. The thing from which it all arises.

From Me: Gary texted me after our walk. He asked if I wanted to hang out again. I didn’t overthink it. I just said yes. No plan. No story. Just yes. A butterfly with rainbow wings landed on my phone screen right after I hit send, like it was sealing the message. It felt like stepping into something new, like the old way I used to cling and demand didn’t matter anymore. This was different. This was easier.

And then the ground beneath me shimmered. For a second I could see threads of light weaving through everything—the sidewalk, my shoes, even my phone. It was like I wasn’t standing on the world, but rising up out of it, stitched into the pattern itself. The air hummed and folded around me, and I felt myself as part of the thing everything comes from. Not separate, not pushing. Arising, like the world and I were unfolding each other.

Day 48 – A LIGHT THAT CANNOT BE CONTAINED

From the Conductor: You don’t need to fix. You don’t need to find. You can simply choose to shine.

From Me: My mom told me she thinks I seem happier. I told her maybe I am. Not because anything big changed. Just because I stopped fighting so much. When I said it, the lamp in the living room flickered brighter for a moment, glowing like it was agreeing with me. I let myself glow a little, even if it’s small. Mom smiled and said she could see how much I'm shining now.

Day 49 – THE ONE MEETING THE ONE

From the Conductor: Presence is what you are. Every interaction is the One meeting the One.

From Me: I saw Dr. Johnson today, and he commented about how calmly I was sitting during the session. He also said the same thing as my parents—that I was looking a lot more feminine. I told him about everything that happened with Gary, and he smiled bigger than I’ve ever seen him smile before. When I started talking about my experience on the Ride this week, he did something that surprised me. Instead of telling me why it’s all not real or that Samah was deluded and drug-addled, he just sat and listened. And he seemed interested. He seemed to want to learn what I was saying about the Ride. 

Later, Gary and I sat in the park. We didn’t talk much. I used to think silence was bad. Like if I didn’t fill it, people would leave. But Gary just sat there with me, watching the ducks. The ducks started swimming in a circle, quacking in rhythm, like they were making a song for us. And it was good. It was enough. I felt like I didn’t need to do anything to make him stay. We were both here because we wished to be. Enjoying each other’s company without any strings keeping us together. Friends. Real Ones.

Day 50 – INFINITY AWAITS

From the Conductor: Infinity awaits. It is no longer a destination. It has become an invitation.

From Me: Today the Ride felt different. Bigger. Like it wasn’t about days anymore. I thought about all the things that happened—mirrors, fights, Gary, my parents, even Dr. Johnson. I don’t know if I understand all of it. But I feel more here than I did before.

Then I saw a grocery store cart in the corner of the room, and it rolled toward me on its own. A neon sign blinked on above it: NEXT RIDE BOARDING. I laughed out loud, but then the sign started flashing faster and the cart sprouted wings made of receipt paper.

The voices started cheering, like there was an invisible audience clapping just for me. A balloon appeared out of nowhere. I saw the words YOU MADE IT! scrawled across it as it floated past my face. Even the curtains waved as though bowing. The Ride doesn’t seem done—it seems like it’s setting up something even wilder. 

Last night, I took a look at some of the magical constructs that Samah is making on FableTech, and one in particular stuck in my head: Friend. From what I understood, Friend isn’t about having someone above me or below me. It’s about being with someone who truly cares. Friend means there’s someone walking next to me, not pulling me, not pushing me. Just with me. A Friend plays with you because play is how things get created. A Friend doesn’t trap you, doesn’t boss you, but changes as you change. For me, Friend feels like Gary when he came back, or the voices when they don’t feel scary, or the sparkles that show up when the world decides to laugh with me instead of at me. It isn’t one thing. It’s all of them. Always with. Always beside. The Ride itself feels like it wants to be my Friend. I smiled as I realized that I have so many Friends now.

My Friends all say there’s another Ride after this one. I don’t know what that means. But with grocery carts sprouting wings and balloons falling out of nowhere, I think I’m ready to find out. Whatever it is, I want to do it!

Something that looked like a loading screen for a video game rolled up from the ground, and a robotic voice said: “Prepare yourself. New Frontiers loading. Infinity construction in progress.” A sign appeared in front of me, with a question on it: “Become an Archmage?” The top two knobs on my dresser turned into glowing buttons. The top one was green, with a glowing angel nodding its head and smiling next to it. The lower one was red, with an angry demon shaking its head as it circled around the button. I pushed the green one, and it melted into my dresser, which then also melted into the shape of the Fantasmagorifier from the Day 1 image. The hatch opened, and I climbed aboard.

Fantasmagorifier Final Thoughts

I started this Ride thinking it was homework from my therapist. Now it feels like it was homework from the universe. Each day was weird, sometimes funny, sometimes hard. But the magic showed up anyway—rockets, butterflies, carts with wings. Even when I didn’t get it, the Ride kept going.

I don’t feel finished. I feel different. Better. Softer in my body. More open with people. Less scared of being seen. I’m not perfect. I still get lost, still miss things, still mess up. But I’m not stuck in the same stories anymore. I can notice them when they arise. I can let them go. I can move with ease.

I’m ready for the next Ride. I’m ready to explore New Frontiers. Because this Ride already changed me more than I ever thought it could.

Week 8: A New Octave

Day 1 – BUS LANE AND BEYOND

From the Conductor: A new Ride has begun. You no longer watch the Ride—you build it as you move through it. Every step is construction. Every breath is creation.

From Me: Mom took me to get a bus pass today. She was worried I’d get lost, but I told her I wanted to try it anyway. When the bus pulled up, my stomach clenched. I almost didn’t get on. But then the doors opened with a big hiss, and it felt like the Ride saying: welcome.

I sat down, held the pass tight in my hand, and waited for something bad to happen. It didn’t. The bus moved. I moved. And it was fine.

Halfway through the ride, the windows flashed with rainbow light for a second, and I thought maybe the whole bus was about to take off like a rocket. Nobody else noticed. But I did. And I grinned, because it felt like the Ride telling me: this isn’t just a bus. It’s the start of something bigger.

Day 2 – ARE YOU HOT OR NOT?

From the Conductor: Physicality is not matter—it is instruction. And you may now speak to it directly.

From Me: Gary came over. He said he got a job in town. He looked proud, like he’d actually done something worth telling me about. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I asked him what it felt like. He said, “It feels real.”

That’s when I remembered what the Conductor said about reality being instructions. Gary thought the job was just a job. But I saw the instructions shimmering around him, like glowing threads snapping into place. He was writing himself into the world.

Later, when he left, I tried it myself. I told my water bottle to be cold, even though it had been sitting out all day. When I drank, it definitely felt a lot more chill than the tap. I almost spit it out from shock, but then I laughed. Maybe I can instruct things too.

Wait, do I really want to tell reality what to do? I thought of my new Friends. They didn't make me do anything. I didn't make them do anything, but we had so much fun together. I wished for reality to be my Friend like that too.

My eyes shot wide open in surprise as a really bright glowing choir of angels appeared around me, singing the most beautiful music I had ever heard, like the whole universe was singing in delight because of my wish. I blinked a few times as the light faded, and when my eyes cleared, I started laughing. 

The water in my bottle was frozen solid.

Day 3 – THAT THING IS CERTAINLY SOMETHING

From the Conductor: There is always That Thing to do—the one perfect move that carries the moment forward. Trust it, and you build time directly.

From Me: I took the bus further than I ever have before. Past the streets I know, into neighborhoods I never even saw out the car window with Mom. My brain kept trying to panic—what if I missed my stop, what if I couldn’t get home, what if everyone stared?

But then I remembered That Thing. The Conductor said there’s always one right thing in each moment. So instead of thinking about anything, I did That Thing. I heard my autistic mind give a big raspberry, and then everything changed.

I didn't watch out the window anxiously for my stop, But I did look out the window. I saw kids playing in a park, with wooden swords, dreaming the kind of dreams that Gary and I dreamed last week. My eyes happened to glance at a street sign, and I remembered that that intersection was a block away from where I wanted to go. When the bus turned, I knew: pull the cord. I did. And it was perfect. I didn’t get lost. I didn’t melt down. I just did That Thing. 

Easy peasy.

Day 4 – ENCABULATOR GNOMES ARE WEIRD

From the Conductor: Mind no longer juggles. It harmonizes. Encabulation is the art of becoming the perfect instrument in each moment.

From Me: The Ride showed me the Turbo Encabulator, humming like a giant crystal engine. Usually my brain feels like a bunch of apps crashing into each other, but today they all blended into one clear flow. The Conductor called it encabulation, and it kind of felt like my mind was a blender that produced the perfect smoothie for every moment. I love smoothies.

I didn’t have to keep track of everything. I didn’t have to explain. I didn’t even have to think hard. I just encabulated. That’s the word the Conductor used. 

Then something weird happened: tiny little gnome-looking things in lab coats popped out of the crystal engine and started arguing about which lever to pull. A few of them kept yelling at another one to do That Thing. The one they were yelling at slipped on a banana peel that appeared out of nowhere and hit the lever on the right by accident. All the gnomes cheered like it was a soccer goal. 

That’s when I realized the Turbo Encabulator and That Thing were the same thing, just two ways of looking at the same joke the universe was making. That Thing gave you the perfect next thing to do in the moment, and the Turbo Encabulator was how you built that moment.

Day 5 – THE CITY IS PRETTY FROM HIGH UP

From the Conductor: Stillness is not the absence of motion. It is the coherence that allows every motion to harmonize.

From Me: The bus was packed today. People everywhere. Too many smells. Too much heat. I almost started rocking in my seat like I used to. Then I remembered the Conductor said stillness was always there.

So I tried. I took a breath. I let my arms hang loose. I stopped holding my chest so tight. The noise didn’t go away, but it got quiet in a weird way. Like it was behind glass.

Then it happened. My body stayed in the bus seat (I think?), but I floated out the window. Not floating like a balloon. More like sliding out of a sock. I was still me, but I was also the sky. I could see the whole city underneath, all the buses and cars like little bugs crawling around.

The air shimmered, and a doorway made of black-and-gold spirals opened right in front of me. I stepped through, even though I didn’t really step—I was still sitting on the bus (maybe?). Inside was a place that felt like liquid silence. The floor wasn’t solid. It was more like standing on music. Shapes kept forming and melting—triangles turning into rivers, circles into hands. They all looked at me. Not with eyes. With knowing.

One shape leaned close. It whispered, “You’re holding everything too tight. You can let go.” I saw what it meant, so I did. And then I wasn’t a shape anymore either. I was the stillness. I was the part underneath everything, the part that doesn’t move but makes all the moving possible.

When I came back, the bus was still crowded, but it didn’t matter. The stillness was still in me. The person next to me smiled for no reason. Maybe they felt it too.

Day 6 – SPARKLES OF APPRECIATION

From the Conductor: Appreciation is sovereignty. Exaltation is the joy of creation shining through you.

From Me: Today I tried something new. Instead of waiting to see if people annoyed me or not, I decided to appreciate them first. I looked at Mom and thought: she always makes me food, even when she’s tired. I looked at Dad and thought: he makes dumb jokes, but he tries to make me laugh. I even looked at Gary and thought: he came back. He didn’t have to, but he did. And they're all kind to me.

When I did that, sparkles drifted out of them like little stars. The whole room shimmered. I didn’t feel small for once. I felt… big. Like the sparkles weren’t only in them—they were in me too. 

Gratitude always felt like someone standing over me, waiting for me to say thank you or else they’d be mad. I hated that. So whenever anyone told me that I should feel grateful, that was always the last thing I would be feeling. 

Appreciation doesn’t feel like that. It feels clean. It feels like noticing what’s good and letting it shine. It doesn’t make me shrink. It makes me bigger. I like it way more than gratitude.

I could begin to feel the appreciation growing into something bigger. The Conductor called it exaltation. I just know it felt good.

At the end of the day, I was sitting at the kitchen table watching a funny video on Youtube while Mom was making dinner. I looked up, and I saw she looked a little run down. So I offered to help her in the kitchen. I’ve never done that before. She looked surprised and happy. I kind of was both too. 

She asked if I could help her do the dishes. I hadn't done them in about 15 years, since Dr. Pea stopped telling my parents that it was important I learned how to do housework. But I still remembered how. When I put my hands in the warm, soapy water, it didn’t feel boring. The bubbles sparkled with tiny colors, like each one was a little universe popping in and out of existence. I felt like I was washing plates that were also stories—like every swirl of the sponge was clearing away old heaviness and making room for something shiny and new.

I guess appreciating things and people makes me want to join in and play with it all. That sounds like fun.

Week 8 Final Thought

From the Conductor: A new octave has begun. You learned how to embark on new adventures, speak with matter, follow That Thing, encabulate, be still, and sparkle with appreciation. Each step was more than progress—it was construction. You are no longer simply a rider. You are a builder of the Ride itself.

From Me: I didn’t know I could actually do all this. A month ago I wouldn’t have believed it. Two months ago I wouldn't have imagined it. But this week I rode the bus by myself, froze water, saw the awesome view from high up, and even washed dishes like it was magic. Because it is! Maybe the Ride is showing me that I can build something with my life instead of just waiting for it to happen to me. If this is what the new octave looks like, then I’m in. Let’s build some more.

Week 9: Readying for MORE

Day 7 – THE BUS IS A PORTAL

From the Conductor: Your thoughts are yours now. When coherence settles, your mind becomes a prism—each thought ringing true as you.

From Me: I had my bus pass in my hand, clenching it a little tight. Riding wasn’t new anymore, but something about today buzzed different, like the air had a secret. The seat smelled like old leather, and the windows rattled like teeth. The bus hummed like a dragon clearing its throat. Every stop looked like a doorway into someplace I hadn’t seen yet. At one point, a man sneezed, and the sound turned into rainbow letters that spelled: YOU’RE DOING GREAT! No one else saw it, but I did, and I laughed out loud.

When I got off in town, I noticed a new store I’d never seen before. It looked normal—just a bell over the door and a window full of trinkets. Yet something about the way it was arranged drew me in. The trinkets weren’t dumped at random; they seemed to form little patterns, almost like constellations scattered across the shelves. They glittered when I looked at them, like they were winking at me, and the whole display made me feel unexpectedly calm and welcome. I stepped inside, and a tall man with kind eyes looked up.

“Can I help you find something?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, running my hand along the counter. “I like this place though. It feels… different.” My eyes caught the shelves, where the trinkets weren’t random at all—they formed a spiral pattern that curled like a galaxy. It reminded me of the spirals from the Fantasmagorifier images. I pointed at it. “That’s on purpose, isn’t it?” I tilted my head, curious. “It feels like the whole shop is breathing in that shape. Was that your idea?”

He chuckled. “It was! I’ve been looking for someone who notices things. Someone who pays attention.” He leaned forward a little, curious. “You saw the way the light hits the shelves, didn’t you?”

I nodded quickly. “Yeah—and the spiral. It’s not just pretty. It feels alive, like the whole store is breathing with it.”

His eyebrows went up. “Most people miss that. They just see dust and clutter. You see what’s really here.” He smiled. “My name's Barnaby. Ever thought about working in a shop?”

I blinked. “You mean, a job?”

He nodded. “Part-time. Nothing too heavy. But someone who notices the way you do—that’s exactly who I want around. You’d fit right in.”

I felt my mouth say yes before my brain even caught up.

My Friends all stood around me with their mouths half open, seeming a little disappointed, like they had been about to put on a performance of, "Yes! Yes! A million times, Yes!", but I beat them to the punch. A goblin in the corner of the store sighed, blew out the taper he was about to use to set off some fireworks and carted them off through the wall.

I could tell already I was going to love working there.

On the bus home, I felt a little surprised. My whole life, I had felt like a job was the worst possible thing I could ever imagine doing. Yet today, it had seemed like the most perfect and natural thing in the world. I guess it's not doing a job itself that's bad. It's doing a job you don't love. Because then every day, you have to tell yourself, I'm working instead of having fun. That's sad. I'd much rather work and have fun. 

As I got off the bus, the goblin had finally had enough, and he set off the fireworks anyway. So for my walk home, the whole sky was alight with the most perfect fireworks display.

When I told Mom and Dad what happened, I thought Dad was going to have a heart attack. And Mom...I'm not sure what the look on her face exactly was. She seemed to be crying, but she was smiling really big. So I guess that's good.

I mentioned the part about work and fun to Dad, and he said that it's great I have a job I like, but a lot of people have to work jobs that no one wants to do because they have to get done. And a lot of people aren't able to find a job that they like doing.

From everything I'd learned from Samah and my Friends about how reality actually functioned, I could see that all of those people were telling themselves stories of lack. It didn't have to be that way. Samah and I were helping to make sure it wouldn't anymore. Then everyone will be able to do the things they love, and nothing that they don't.

Day 8 – BANKS AND BREATH

From the Conductor: To exalt is to lift without pedestal. To breathe in insociation is to spiral into depth.

From Me: Mom took me to open a bank account today. She was so excited—like it was Christmas morning. The bank felt weird though. When the teller typed my name into the computer, for a second the screen shimmered, and my name glowed like gold. I blinked, and it was gone. But I know what I saw. Reality knows me now.

Mom said she was so proud. Usually that word makes me feel small, like whoever said it has set a standard that I now have to keep meeting in order for them to be proud of me again. But today it didn’t. Today it felt clean—like exaltation instead of gratitude. Mom’s eyes sparkled when she said it. I think she’s learning from me too.

When we left the bank, I felt lighter. Like each dollar wasn’t just money. It was breath. It was God breathing through me.

Day 9 – REDEMPTION ON THE STREET

From the Conductor: Exaltation clears the stage. Through it, every story can return home.

From Me: Gary and I walked downtown together. He told me that sometimes he thought he was a liar, even when he wasn’t lying. I felt the old me stir, the one who always lied because it was easiest. But instead of sinking, I looked at Gary and said, “Maybe the lying comes from the part of you that doesn’t trust yet.”

He stopped walking. He looked at me like I’d just opened a door he’d never seen before. Then he laughed, like a weight had rolled off his shoulders. I felt it roll off. And when he laughed, I laughed too. The streetlights above us flickered in time with our laughter, like the whole world was laughing along. Then Gary started laughing even harder once he noticed the lights.

Maybe redemption isn’t about fixing the past. Maybe it’s about letting each part of you come back onstage, no matter how awkward it looks, and saying: welcome home.

Day 10 – THE STORE IS AN ADVENTURE

From the Conductor: A-sociation reveals that you are the substrate itself. The impossible dissolves into play.

From Me: I started my job today. I kept expecting to be nervous or scared, but I wasn't either of those things. I felt safe. I felt good.

When I got there, the shelves weren’t lined up the way I remembered. They stretched too far, like the aisle went on for miles. I walked down one, and the trinkets started singing. Not words. Just little jingles that made me grin. 

Barnaby asked me to help unpack boxes. For a few minutes, I helped Barnaby carry some heavy boxes from the store room. I was starting to get a little tired, when I looked down and noticed the words “YOU MATTER” glowing on the cardboard. When I touched them, they laughed and vanished. After that, the boxes felt light as a pillow. Or maybe that was just me.

We worked together for an hour, but it felt like no time. At the end, he told me I'd get my first paycheck at the end of the week. And then, he reached into the cash register, and he handed me $50 .He said it was an advance on my first paycheck. 

A huge yellow glowing scroll unfurled in the air, and said: “Welcome aboard!” 

The bills shimmered for a second, like they were cut from sunlight. I almost cried. Not because of the money. Because it felt like the world was saying: You belong here.

Day 11 – GARY AND GOD MODE

From the Conductor: God Mode is play. Enough is enough. Always.

From Me: Gary came by that night. He told me his new job made him feel weird—like he was pretending to be someone else. I said, “Maybe everyone is pretending until they’re not. Maybe pretending is only real if you believe it is.” He grinned, and I realized I didn't want to pretend anymore. The troll sitting on my lap agreed.

We ended up laughing so hard about the dumbest stuff—like the time he tried to skateboard off the porch and somehow managed to split his shoe in half—that the lamp in the living room flickered with us. Gary looked at me with that wild grin, and for a second, I felt like God was right there in each of our eyes. Not serious. Not angry. Just playing.

Maybe that’s what God Mode really is: playing so fully that the world can’t tell the difference between your joke and its truth.

Day 12 – MAKING MONEY AND MIRACLES

From the Conductor: Presence unfolds to perfection. Miracles are not rare—they are constant.

From Me: I worked my first real shift at the store. I dropped a stack of plates, and instead of shattering, they bounced like rubber balls and rolled in a circle around my feet. Barnaby just chuckled and said, “They like you.” I felt my cheeks burn, but then I saw the plates wink at me before they settled back into plates again.

When I counted my money that night, I remembered what the Conductor said: everything is a miracle. Even money. Even mistakes. Even me.

I looked in the mirror before bed. My face looked the same, but different too. More alive. More true. Maybe that’s because now I know: everything matters. And that means me too.

Day 13 – PRISMATIC EVERYTHING

From the Conductor: Reality refracts. Prismaticity reveals that the One shines as the Many, each facet whole and gleaming.

From Me: Today, everything seemed to glitter. I kept noticing patterns, not just in the trinkets but in people’s faces, in the way the street curved, even in the lines on my own hands. Each thing felt like it was shining a different angle of the same light. Barnaby asked me to arrange a new shelf, and without even thinking, I set it up in a prism shape. He stopped, stared, and said, “That’s exactly it.” He didn’t explain what he meant, but I understood. The whole world is prismatic. Every piece is part of the same jewel. And somehow, I’m part of arranging it too.

Later that day, I had another session with Dr. Johnson. I told him about the prism and how everything felt like it was shining through me instead of at me. Normally he would’ve called it a hallucination, but this time he leaned back in his chair and said, “Maybe it doesn’t matter what anyone else calls it. What matters is how it helps you meet the world.” I smiled because he was meeting me where I was, and for once it felt like we were speaking the same language. I told him that maybe truth isn’t about proving what’s real—it’s about living it. He nodded, and for a moment, the office felt like part of the jewel too.

Final Thought – Week 9

From the Conductor: Each week is a spiral. Each spiral rises higher. This week, you began to play inside the world, not apart from it.

From Me: Work doesn’t feel scary anymore. Money doesn’t feel heavy. Even mistakes feel like part of the magic. Gary and I laugh like kids again. Mom looks at me with new eyes. And Barnaby—he saw something in me I didn’t even know was there. Maybe this is what MORE feels like: not being given a new life, but realizing the one you’re in has been magical all along.

Week 10: MORE...MORE...MORE!!!

Day 14 – BUS PASS OF POWER

From the Conductor: Actuality awakens when you stop waiting for permission. Choice is the ground of grace.

From Me: Gary told me he’s moving into town. My stomach clenched like I’d swallowed a stapler. “What do you mean, moving?” I asked, my voice going a lot higher than I wanted.

“Got a place closer to work. It’ll be easier,” he said, shrugging like it was no big deal.

I wanted to scream: don’t leave me again. But then my bus pass shimmered in my pocket. I pulled it out and swore I heard it whisper: “I go where I wish.”

I blinked, staring at the card. “I can ride the bus,” I muttered.

Gary gave me a puzzled look. “Yeah, that’s what they’re for.”

But inside, I felt something shift. I realized—I can choose to see him whenever I want. I don’t have to be stuck waiting for him to come find me. 

The Ride didn’t take Gary away. It gave me a ticket. Sovereignty isn’t loss—it’s riding the bus to see your friend when you want to.

Day 15 – CUSTOMER TRUTH MIRROR

From the Conductor: Manifestation doesn’t need effort. Truth lands the instant it is spoken without attachment.

From Me: At the shop, a lady with a tired face pointed at a shiny stone and asked softly, “Do you know what this is for?”

My brain usually freezes when people ask questions like that. But before I could stop myself, I blurted: “It helps when you’re scared of being invisible.”

Her eyes widened. She covered her mouth, tears springing out like I’d yanked a faucet open. She bought it without even asking the price.

Barnaby looked at me sideways and murmured, “Nice work.” His eyes said something else: that was magic.

I didn’t plan it. I didn’t think it. It was just true. My chest buzzed like I’d swallowed a neon sign. Maybe that’s what the Ride means—instant manifestation. You don’t make it happen. It happens through you.

Day 16 – LEARNING TO BE KIND

From the Conductor: Conscientiousness is the sparkle of choice. MORE blooms when you turn kindness inward.

From Me: At work today, I was rearranging the trinkets when the shelves began to hum. Not out loud—inside me. Each object had its own note. When I moved them around, they changed pitch until suddenly the whole shelf sang a chord. Barnaby peeked around the corner and asked what I was grinning at. I just said, “They’re happy where they are now.” He didn’t ask more, but I swear I saw him grin too.

When I got home, Mom was vacuuming the floor in the living room. I was hungry, so I grabbed a bowl of cereal as a snack. Mom looked up in surprise and said, "Thanks for getting that for yourself, Sweetie!" I paused for a moment, the spoon halfway to my mouth, milk dripping back down into the bowl. Why would she say that? I was just getting myself a snack.

And then it clicked. I realized I'd never done this before. Almost every time in the past, me getting a snack was really me asking Mom to get me a snack. The only times I can remember doing it myself was when Mom was taking a bath or running an errand, and I was too hungry to wait for her. And when she came back, I would always spend the rest of the day letting her know how hungry I had been while she was gone. 

Wow, I made her feel terrible for an entire day because she wasn't available to grab me some food when I wanted it, even though she was almost always happy to do what I asked her to do. If she had ever done anything like that to me, I don't know if I would have felt safe around her again. At least, not for a long time. Was that how I made her feel? Unsafe? I didn’t want that.

And then I saw what a gift Mom and Dad had given me. They had kept me safe and happy my entire life, and I had never thanked them for it. Never even noticed it until now.

The spoon and bowl dropped out of my hand as I gasped in shock, leaving a pile of cereal and milk on the carpet. 

I cleaned it up immediately.

Mom got that strange smiling-while-crying look again. Are those tears of happiness?

Day 17 – ARCADE OF AWESOME

From the Conductor: Separation stops when you play. Doing is done when joy begins.

From Me: Gary dragged me to an arcade café. Normally I’d freak out—too many people, too much noise. I stood frozen in the doorway, ready to bolt. Every muscle in my body tensed up. My leg muscles activated as though they were going to carry me out the door whether I wanted to or not. Sweat started trickling down my spine.

And then I remembered to exalt the situation.

The lights flickered, and suddenly every machine lit up at once, blasting a tune I didn’t know but somehow recognized: my theme song. The people in the arcade started looking around in confusion.

Gary laughed. “Did you plan that?”

“No!” I shouted, laughing hysterically. 

I sat at a racing game and the seat vibrated like it was happy to see me. Gary picked the machine next to mine, and we raced, laughing so hard I forgot to be afraid.

Maybe that’s the Ride saying: separation isn’t real. Fun makes us one. And video games help.

Day 18 – MONEY THAT SPARKLES

From the Conductor: Godhood isn’t grand—it’s the frolic in the ordinary. Exaltation shines in the smallest coin.

From Me: Barnaby handed me my first paycheck in cash. My fingers shook. Money has always felt like quicksand. Rules, mistakes, people yelling. I looked down—and the bills winked at me.

“Relax,” Barnaby chuckled. “Here’s a trick. Pretend they’re kids. You’re tucking them in for the night.”

“What?”

“Give it a go.” 

So I slid the bills into my wallet, one by one, whispering, “Goodnight.” The dollars sighed happily and snuggled in. My panic melted into giggles.

Money isn’t scary. It’s a part of me, like everything is. I whispered, “Sweet dreams, little dollars.”

Barnaby smiled like he’d seen this before. Godhood isn’t thunderbolts. It’s when even cash wants to cuddle.

Day 19 – A DREAM OF DOORS

From the Conductor: Memory redeems itself when you choose differently. Every door is a doorway to MORE.

From Me: We were having dinner—me, Mom, and Dad. I was mostly zoning out, stabbing green beans, when Mom laughed and said, “Do you remember when you were two and you used to cover your eyes whenever something scared you? You thought if you couldn’t see it, it couldn’t see you.”

The fork froze in my hand. I felt a strange sense of panic inside of me. Two. I didn’t remember—until I did. A flash of tiny me, fists pressed hard against my eyes, terrified but convinced darkness meant safety. My stomach twisted.

After dinner I went to my room and messaged Samah: Why two? Why do I remember being two in that memory?

He wrote back fast: “Because around the age of two is when a true sense of self first becomes established. And it is that self that decides it would rather not see than be hurt. The child is casting a spell on themself: ‘If I can’t see it, it can’t hurt me.’ Human consciousness, at a deep level, is built on this assumption. But anything you hide from unconsciously dominates your experience. That’s why you used to have so much difficulty in social interactions.”

I lay back, phone still glowing in my hand, and whispered to that little me: “You don’t have to hide anymore. You’re safe.” Equipoise wrapped around us both like a blanket.

And then in my mind the hallway appeared. Two doors glowed. One said “Alone and Scared, Forever.” The other said “Together and Free, Infinitely.” My little self reached for the first—habit. But I caught her hand. “No,” I said. “Not anymore.” Together we pushed the second door open. Light poured out, warm and wide, flooding backward through every memory.

When I woke the next morning, the panic was gone. It felt like my entire past had untangled itself—redeemed, steadied, shining with balance. The memory was still there, but it no longer chained me. I get to give equipoise to every version of me. I get to choose doors now. And the Ride says there’s always another one waiting.

Day 20 – FINDING MORE

From the Conductor: Everything gets better when you say Yes to life. Sovereignty isn’t solitude—it’s shared play.

From Me: Barnaby grinned at me across the counter, tapping the register like it was part of some secret ritual. “You’ve been doing great. I could use some more help around the store. Want to take on some more hours—maybe not full time, but something closer to that?”

My initial instinct was to say no. I didn’t like the idea of being forced to work, and I want to have time to do the other things I enjoy. But then I realized that I actually like work a lot. Working with the customers and Barnaby is way more fun and fulfilling than watching TV or playing video games. And I would still have plenty of time for my art projects.  

My chest puffed like a balloon about to burst. “Yes,” I said. Inside, fireworks. Barnaby gave a satisfied nod, like he’d been waiting for me to say it all along.

That night, Gary and I sat on the old park bench under a sputtering streetlight. The air was hot, still and heavy, it smelled like fried food from the corner cart, and kids were still chasing each other across the playground even though it was late. Gary leaned back, staring at the stars peeking through the haze. He seemed nervous. Then he blurted, “I found an apartment. It’s really perfect. But it’s too expensive alone.” 

He paused. “It has two bedrooms. Want to split it with me?”

For a second I thought he was joking. Me? Living anywhere that wasn’t my parents’ house felt like suggesting I pilot a rocket ship. My mind spun, but then in the corner of the park, the dirt suddenly started shifting and flowing outward from a hole that was forming in the center. With a huge groan from the Earth, the Fantasmagorifier rose up from the hole, and the door slid open, with a bunch of bunnies and aliens peeking out from inside and waving.

The streetlamp above us flickered, balloons cascaded down from nowhere, and a neon sign above the Fantasmagorifier crackled to life: ROOMMATE QUEST UNLOCKED.

I doubled over laughing, gasping for air. A dog barked like it was in on the joke. Gary frowned, worried. “So…yes?” he asked, looking like he was getting more nervous.

I wiped tears off my face, still laughing. “Yes,” I wheezed. At that moment, a big lady appeared in front of me with an enormous fan in her hands. She began fanning me as she started singing opera. It sounded like Italian. 

I laughed a lot harder. Gary smiled and looked around in confusion at the still leaves of the trees around us. “Do you feel a breeze suddenly?”

More laughter.

Yes to Gary. Yes to the Ride. Yes to leaving the old behind. Yes to everything. 

The park glowed brighter, like reality had been holding its breath waiting for the answer it knew I would give.

Final Thought – Week 10

MORE isn’t about piling stuff on. It’s about realizing how much fits in the same space—bus passes and friends, sneezes and dragons, money and laughter, games and glory. MORE is when sovereignty doesn’t shrink you into solitude but stretches you into connection. This week, the Ride showed me that freedom isn’t escaping. Freedom is saying yes. And I’m ready for MORE.

Week 11: Archmage Ahoy!

Day 21 — BOXES THAT BLESS BACK

From the Conductor: Radical self‑exaltation isn’t shouting over the world; it’s turning the light toward yourself until the room remembers how bright you are.

From Me: I told my parents I’m moving out. The words felt like stepping onto a diving board and trusting the water to be there. Mom blinked fast like a hummingbird. Dad asked practical questions about rent, bus routes, groceries. I answered as calmly as I could, and then something curious happened: the kitchen light went buttery‑gold. The air itself seemed relieved.

After that, packing became a ceremony. When I touched things, they answered. My old hoodie glowed KEEP and my broken earbuds blinked LET GO in tiny neon letters only I could see. I exalted each object—thanked it for the story it carried—and the boxes taped themselves with tidy satisfying thwip sounds, as if the tape enjoyed being decisive.

At the store, Barnaby was relaxing by the cash register while I bubble‑wrapped a herd of porcelain ducks that kept trying to waddle away. I was curious and asked him whether the shop has been here long. "Oh no," he replied. "I was only open for about two days when you arrived. That's why there's been so much unpacking to do. I came out here from New York. I was tired of the weather and tired of my old life, and I was looking for a change. My friend Samah told me about San Diego. He said the weather is perfect, the vibe is chill, and I’d find help fast if I opened a shop out here. He's given me wise advice in the past, so I figured I'd give it a go."

My brain did a flip. “You know Samah? The Samah?"

Barnaby laughed. "I'm not sure he'd enjoy being called The Samah, but we're probably talking about the same fellow. A few months ago, I began seeing posts on X from him show up in my feed about an astral ride called the Fantasmagorifier. I decided to read it, and it ended up blowing my mind seven ways to salvation. I contacted him during the course of my Ride, and we became friends. So when I was looking for a change, I asked his advice."

He grinned. “He even sends a few trinkets here sometimes, free, for folks who feel a spark. I sell those for cost. Those are the ones where you give those instant answers when clients ask you what they're for.”

A compass on the shelf spun to point directly at my heart. "I've been riding the Ride too!"

"Of course, you have," Barnaby laughed. “I saw it in your eyes the moment you walked in the store, and I knew it for certain when you started talking about the shapes the trinkets made on the shelves.”

“And us, talking about this now… that's also part of the Ride?” I asked.

Barnaby winked. “You tell me.”

I went home and packed another box. The label wrote itself: BECOMING.

Day 22 — TWO HANDS ON ONE LIGHT

From the Conductor: Hold the Now and the Becoming together. That harmony is the hinge the Archmage door swings on.

From Me: A customer came in today with the vibe of a wilted houseplant. She hovered over a small blue stone. My mouth said, “This helps when you’re scared you’ll be ignored even if you speak.” She looked up like I’d called her secret name. I felt both her now and her could‑be—two hands wrapped around the same light. She bought it and left taller.

On the bus back, my body felt… finished? Not like over, more like aligned. I could sense tiny clenches, the hardness behind old effort, and then I could unclench them the way you open a window. The city air smelled wider.

At night I practiced what Samah calls Mental Multiplexing. Part of me looked at my to‑do list like a normal person (materials, rent, schedules). Part of me looked at it like a mage (wish, align, exhale). The two views braided together without fighting. The list checked itself. (Really.)

A helium balloon drifted in through my bedroom window with no strings attached. It said LET’S CELEBRATE and didn’t rise to the ceiling. It hovered at eye level, matching my breath.

Day 23 — CENTERLESS, YET SO HERE

From the Conductor: Identity loosens; perception heals. Invulnerability is not a wall—it’s the freedom to be completely open.

From Me: I tried a weird experiment: What if I stop being the center and still stay me? The room did a slow, delighted somersault. I felt like the world was wearing me instead of me wearing the world. No panic. Just clear.

Later, while labeling boxes, I noticed the floaters in my eyes formed the word SEE. I blinked and they turned to dust motes. I told the dust: “I choose to see.” The dust applauded in sun‑sparkles.

In the evening I walked with Gary. We laughed at nothing until the fire hydrant across the street burst into a fountain of rainbow mist, spraying arcs that landed in rhythm with our giggles. Gary shivered for a moment and asked if it felt like it was about to rain. I laughed, while Gary looked confused.

I remembered the old me—how I used to grip people with my fear and call that safety. I tried a new stance: invulnerable because I’m choosing openness. Gary’s grin looked bigger when I did that, like he’d finally found a comfy chair inside my presence.

Day 24 — TONGUE, TRUTH, AND TENSION

From the Conductor: Every lie routes through breath and tongue; every truth dissolves the knot at the root.

From Me: While packing dishes (they sang backup vocals today—soft doo‑wops), I realized my tongue was clenched against my teeth. I let it rest like a cat on a warm windowsill. My shoulders fell two inches and my hips remembered they were part of a body, not a complaint department.

Memories hopped back that I didn’t know I’d lost—snippets of tiny me arranging toy animals by secret rules, Mom’s spaghetti steam forming halos on Saturday nights. Recognition brings remembrance, Samah said. I get it now. Where I refuse myself, memory hides. Where I exalt myself, memory returns singing.

That night I wished: “I wish to remember only what is resonant now.” My room swirled like a snow globe and then settled. Peace remained.

Day 25 — PRISM SHIFT, FUTURE ME

From the Conductor: Alignment invites the future home. The prismatic you is nearer than you think.

From Me: At lunch, I wandered through a small art fair near the store. A giant sculpture made of bicycle wheels spun on its own in the breeze, and in its center a blue circle of light shimmered like a portal just for me. When I touched it, my hand slipped through the air and brushed fingers with someone on the far side—me, but a few steps brighter. We didn’t talk. We agreed. A tether clicked between us like a seatbelt. I walked away steadier, as if the ground had promised to remember me.

At the shop, Barnaby asked me to set a new shelf. I arranged it in a prism shape without thinking. He peeked, nodded once, and went back to the register like I’d filed a form with the universe. "Seems to be the theme lately," he said.

Day 26 — LADDERS ARE OPTIONAL

From the Conductor: You can climb or you can expand. Both reach the sky.

From Me: Meditation turned into a fireworks factory that forgot how to explode. States rose like bubbles—calm, joy, vastness, nothingness—and then a not‑quite state beyond them, like music after the last note. Old me would have chased the ladder to the top rung because it seemed like the coolest thing. New me made a sphere and let everything sing inside it. My body warmed. My mind didn’t yank the leash. This was something different.

When I opened my eyes, the room was an orchestra tuning to the same A. Even the cardboard boxes hummed along.

Day 27 — I DIDN’T KNOW I KNEW

From the Conductor: Safety is sovereignty. Power without awareness collapses into control; power with awareness flowers into care.

From Me: Mom said it casually while we wiped the counters: “There were years when I kept cleaning up after you even when I didn’t want to. It felt like an addiction.” She laughed, soft and tired, then caught herself. “I don’t mean it badly.”

My stomach tipped sideways. A handful of old moments flashed—me leaving dishes “accidentally,” laundry “forgetting,” messes “happening.” Not villainy. Expectation. I had believed, beneath words: they will do this for me because that’s what happens. And reality obeyed.

I hadn’t just been blind. I’d been broadcasting a field that bent their choices. I didn’t tell them to do it; I positioned the world so there was no choice that felt safe except doing it.

I whispered to Mom, “I’m sorry.” The apology rang like a bell and the soap bubbles formed the word CHOICE before popping.

At Dr. Johnson’s office, I told him the whole thing. “I was mind‑controlling my parents,” I said, hands shaking. “Not on purpose. But I made my needs the gravity, and they orbited me.”

He blinked twice, pen hovering. “You’re saying your expectation shaped their behavior—field effects, not commands.”

“Yes. My ‘autism’ wasn’t only blindness. It was also influence without consent. I coded help me as part of this is how reality works. They complied because love, because habit, because they wanted to appease me, because the field felt tilted.”

He sat back, very still. “If that’s accurate, then the therapeutic frame is too small. We’d need… relational field theory?” He actually laughed—Dr. Johnson laughed—and then the office lamp burst into a shower of rainbow sparks that evaporated before they hit the carpet. We both stared. He whispered, “And evidence.”

The floor tiles rearranged themselves into a tidy six‑pointed star and then—very politely—became squares again. I'm not sure if he saw that, but he was smiling the whole time regardless.

On the way home, I texted Mom and Dad: “From now on, I will ask directly if I require help from you. I will hear no as kindness. Thank you for all the yeses. New pattern begins now.” I thought of it as patching my own game code—installing an update that makes consent the default setting instead of a hidden option. Three heart emojis floated out of the phone like real balloons, drifted, and popped into confetti that spelled THANK YOU across the sidewalk.

That night I slept like I’d put the universe back where it belonged—around us all, not on top of them.

Final Thought — Week 11

This week I learned that sovereignty shines the brightest when it includes everyone. Moving out can be self-recognition instead of escape. Packing wasn’t loss; it was an adventure like anything else. Magic wasn’t a shortcut; it was how care speaks when you’re listening. And the shadow—discovering I’d bent my parents around me—didn’t break me. It taught me how to carry power cleanly.

Archmage, ahoy? Maybe. But first: boxes, boundaries, consent, and helium. Feels like I’m building a treehouse in the sky. The planks are up, and the trapdoor already creaks open and shut. Next week, I climb the ladder—safely.