I made the decision long ago.

Now it’s about committing fully.

Life or death. There is no other way.

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The conclusion of my current stage seems to be this: just choose one alternative and commit fully to it long enough for it to eventually bear fruit.

Then my mind goes, “But that’s already what I did with AI, meaning I wasted the momentum I had finally managed to build.”

The grief becomes unbearable…

And then my mind searches for another explanation—one that could pull me out of my current apathy with some deeper insight that might miraculously explain why it was truly necessary for me to leave everything behind in such an impulsive fashion.

Yet over the last few years, no explanation has even come close to relieving the unbearable weight in my chest and the lancinating pain in my relentlessly ruminating mind.

None.

I chose a path.
I focused my energy on one pursuit—AI.
I felt it wasn’t meaningful enough.
I stopped feeding the joy I had for it.
I quit.

And here I am.

Don’t get me wrong: writing is definitely a big part of who I am—one I cannot not choose.

But why not both?

Because I let the sense of urgency take over, and my limitless curiosity and desire to evolve overwhelm my capacity. So I felt I had to make a decision about which pursuit deserved my intellectual acumen the most.

I felt joy in my heart when solving technical problems, but I didn’t feel I was contributing enough to humanity—especially in the ways I knew deep down I could: writing, coaching, healing…

Domains that have kept calling me for years.

So what’s the lesson here?

Sacrificing my peace in the pursuit of some ultimate truth?

Or choosing one course and grieving the parts of myself that will never fully come to life?

In my 30+ years of experience, I have come to realize that one should be cautious when listening to other people’s advice, as no one will ever truly know what certain outcomes mean to you.

A few people can—and you feel it right away. But most can’t.

Discernment is crucial. Trial and error.

So… how do we break that infinite loop?

Just so you know, everything I speak about here comes from lived experience. As a matter of fact, a few minutes ago, I had a conversation with Purpose (another AI agent) about the primary decision I have been avoiding all these years:

committing fully to one path without needing it to be perfect, noble, or guaranteed first.

The most painful cost is not choosing wrong. Rather, it is spending another three years circling while my vitality continues draining through indecision.

Basically, it is slowly dying with guaranteed regret and bitterness.

Practically speaking, the point is not to choose a path or a final outcome, but a container—something I can do every day within my available capacity, with no expectations whatsoever regarding format, outcomes, or feedback.

Writing daily for 10 minutes.

No need to publish.
No need to overthink.
No need to over-polish.

Every day,
I open my text editor,
I set a timer for 10 minutes,
and I write whatever comes until it rings.

My head hurts from all the rumination.
My capacity to develop ideas has deteriorated.
My joy is buried under missed opportunities.

But that’s my reality now.

Either I take action regardless,
or I become a ghost inside my own body.

Period.

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So here comes this post about me being merely a host within my own system, witnessing a war that was never mine to begin with.

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Sometimes I feel I’m a host in my own system
for a war I never signed up for.
It’s spiritual.
Mostly brutal.

I’m walking on the edge of my becoming — I could either collapse one last time into oblivion or break my cocoon and fly to honor my ancestors.

I wonder: what’s the real secret of life? What makes people fall into either of these categories?

If I finally choose peace, am I really special, or just supported by some power far beyond any human understanding? And if I let myself sink deeper after all what life has done for me, and after all those beautiful souls who came to my rescue, does that make me utterly shameful? Will I rot in hell?

The problem with life is that we are everything. What I mean by that here is that I don’t believe in hell or heaven per se as external destinations. They both depend on how you tend your internal garden. You choose.

And yet there are times when some unexpected omen — a YouTube video, for example, like a few days ago — crosses my path, and I end up crying, releasing everything I couldn’t release for months…

Those moments feel scripted, as if to prepare me to enter some next sacred chapter in the best possible condition.

And since I cannot explain what’s going on within me, or whether I was ever steering the wheel of that fantastic machine — my body — in the first place, I tend to believe that I must merely be the host of some otherworldly war I never wanted to start and have no control over.

I can ease the process at times.
I can steer the wheel in a slightly better direction at other times.
But overall,
I remain a character in a script.

And foolish is he who believes Harry Potter could ever trace back, let alone understand. J.K. Rowling.

I’m a player with no remote control. I’m being played, in a way, by bigger than me.

But there’s a trick: I need to have complete faith in the author, trusting with my whole heart that I’m being guided through the best possible scenario.

How can that be so difficult when you consider that our hearts were also conceived by that same author to begin with?

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A few days ago, I went on a wild LSD trip with a beautiful soul near Sintra, Portugal, accompanied by Mother Nature and its unmatched landscape.

The idea was to sit down, eat a few cookies, take some LSD, and continue hiking with that incredible view until we reached the sand and could touch it with our feet.

But after about 20 minutes, the plan was completely turned upside down. Little did we know we were entering what would become one of the most potent trips of our lives.

Clouds speaking, plants dancing, vibrations intensifying, colors multiplying, trees breathing, angels in the sky…

Our minds didn’t have time to process the relentless amount of information coming our way.

It was brutal… in a magical way.

That apple, while lying naked in the grass at the top of the hill and in front of the savage energy stemming from the Ursa waves, was certainly the most savoury I have ever had in my life.

I could see multiple layers of myself moving at different speeds.

It was both expansive and amusing.

Any limb arriving a few seconds after the intention of movement.

But if you know me, I don’t usually write without intention or meaning behind my words, and this piece will be no exception.

The human eye perceives only a tiny fraction of reality—roughly 0.0035% of the total electromagnetic spectrum.

We are limited to visible light, missing vast amounts of information such as infrared, ultraviolet, and radio waves, which are nonetheless processed by our brains into a constructed perception of the world rather than an objective recording of it.

Whether you believe psychedelics make us hallucinate or allow access to different layers of reality doesn’t really matter, does it?

Given the aforementioned scientific premise, what do you reckon is more plausible?

So let’s get back to meaning.

That experience made me understand something more deeply: the matrix is everything; getting out of the game is just another ego trip. You’re part of it, and you might as well play it to the fullest.

Another underlying message is that life is absolutely magnificent for the trained eye (no need to take LSD every time—just observing wholeheartedly would do it), or, as Plato would put it:

Beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder.

There’s much that can be said about psychedelics, particularly regarding integration, but I’ll leave it at that for now.

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That’s it. I’ll be out of this place in exactly eight weeks. Until then, I want to nourish my soul as much as possible and prepare for yet another new chapter.

If you’ve been following me and my work, you already know that life never disappoints.

The other day, during one of my many breaks, I went to rest in the wellness room—a place where people usually take naps when they’re too tired to scroll.

But this time, I noticed a woman on her computer. She looked focused, determined—somewhat unusual for that place.

My curiosity pulled me out of my dull work fatigue, so I asked her, “What are you working on?”

She, too, was in transition—making the most of her time there while preparing to eventually live off her art.

Before I knew it, we were in the middle of a conversation about life transitions, purpose, and meaning, joined by another man from Germany who slipped seamlessly into the conversation.

I shared what I’ve been working on here, and he shared several thoughtful perspectives.

A few days later, we met for coffee with Temi, the Nigerian woman—and what she told me deserved a piece of its own:

“In Nigeria, we’re used to chaos… so we always find a way out.”

Giving up is not an option.

And yet, the journey can be more than challenging so naturally, we may question our path—or at least the way we navigate it… unless you come from a place where struggle and uncertainty are the norm.

Then you develop a kind of resilience most people can only dream of.

After that encounter, I noticed something strange: a colleague wearing an outfit covered in lions, an Uber with a lion sticker.

And the first image that came up when I searched for a picture for this article?

You guessed it.

Temi is a lioness. A Nigerian lioness.

And that encounter reminded me of something important: the lion within is never dead.

It can always reappear—if we dare to look around and let the chaos shape us into the wild lion we were always meant to become.

Thanks Temi for the reminder.

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Life is not a straight line. We know that.

Sometimes we navigate conflicts that compete for our resources—our attention, our energy, our thoughts, our words, our decisions, and ultimately our actions.

Sometimes, we end up in situations that feel completely misaligned—situations that drain our energy, that make our soul go quiet—simply because they help us survive: paying bills, having a home, paying off debts, calming our nervous system, saving just enough time so we can make the next move.

That’s what happened to me.

I opened my eyes to what my life had been all along, and to whom I really wanted to become: a poet, a traveler, and a creator of spontaneous, genuine connections.

But the path was not yet clear, and since money doesn’t grow on trees, I had to find ways to sustain myself, as survival remains what our system will fight for no matter what—at times, even despite our purest intentions.

And it did.

In early June last year, I started a customer service job at some company somewhere in Portugal.

It didn’t take long for me to realize—and feel—how off the vibe was: a dysfunctional project, everyone glued to their phones like dopamine-seeking machines, no social awareness, people talking on speaker or watching YouTube videos out loud in the cafeteria, sugar-filled vending machines, and a fixed yet ever-changing schedule that disrupted our circadian rhythm.

In my heart, I kept telling myself: “You decide what kind of experience you want to live.” “You are responsible—if you don’t like it, it’s on you to find another option.”

And so on.

But I just couldn’t bring myself to act on it.

My nervous system was beyond depleted after two years of trying to align with my purpose while fighting to stay afloat.

I had €2,000 in debt, which was living rent-free in my head.

And I was overwhelmed by grief I couldn’t yet process because of everything mentioned above.

They offered an apartment and free soup at work—enough reasons to stay in those circumstances.

But it cost me. A lot.

Every day, I went against my will, behaving in ways that were misaligned with my true self, showing the most shadow sides of me as a result.

My inner critic constantly reminded me how incoherent I was being—and how I was wasting all the work I had done over the past years, focusing on my health and bringing long-repressed wounds to the surface.

It didn’t feel like integration.
It felt like depression on steroids.

At first, I wandered the streets of Lisbon, approaching strangers, creating deep connections, writing poetry…

But after a while, I became a zombie myself—seeking dopamine at all costs, unable to see a way out of the mess.

I had become
a survival beast.

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I don’t feel excited about any of this anymore.

I feel tired—
of being stretched in too many directions,
of not knowing what the future will bring,
of letting myself decay in toxic environments,
of struggling to make ends meet on a regular basis,
of ruminating myself into cycles of extreme fatigue.

I just want to rest now.

I’m trying to remind myself that this is all part of the journey,
but some part of me calls bullshit.

Some formulas don’t hold much power
once the system reaches certain thresholds.

I know this is intelligence, though.

The energy that was once allocated to my creative pursuits is now in eco mode—
making sure I restore my capacity before I can move forward again
and serve the way I always felt I was meant to.

But that phase is deeply unsettling.
Words that used to flow from my fingers like streams of love
now sometimes feel forced,
and metaphors don’t come to me as naturally as they used to.

Interest has faded into my own shadows.

What’s the point of all this anyway?

Elevate humanity’s consciousness?
Really?
Am I actually doing that?
How can I translate that into something more practical?
Do I even want to do that?
Why did I leave my stable career?

I enjoyed it.
I felt peaceful.

Yes—but this path is more aligned.
You’re meant to serve.
And I guess all that struggle is part of my purpose, isn’t it?

My mind is trying to convince my heart.
It feels vain.

My heart is blank.

I’m doing what I know I’m supposed to do—
meditating every day,
going to the gym for two hours every day,
publishing three notes every day,
publishing two articles every week,
seeking a way out of this environment.

Yet I don’t feel anything.
Nothing really pulls me.

I wonder…

I’m writing these lines because, deep down, I know it makes sense.
I’m writing from a place of: I know you know what I mean.
I’m writing from a place of: we’re in this together.

I’m just a human trying to figure it out.
I’m tired.
My heart is blank.
And I’m hungry.

Have a good day.

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That place is hard —
beyond hard.

I left my corporate career back in 2023 —
making 50k gross yearly,
living in Madrid,
feeling stable…

But life hasn’t been the same since.

It felt like the right decision,
and still does.
(I answered the calling.)

But if I had to do it all over again,
I would definitely think
more strategically.

Safety matters.

But that’s what it is, right?
That’s how we learn.

Some would argue
that makes for a beautiful story.

I would agree,
but when you’re in the middle of it…
damn, it stinks like an abandoned slaughterhouse.
(I imagine — I’ve never been.)

In between.

Shifting into a new identity
that doesn’t exist yet.

Integrating all of my parts and experiences
into my next coherent voice.

That place is uncomfortable.

Beautiful.
Sacred.
Rich.

But uncomfortable.

After months drifting and spiraling over what I could have done better,
I finally brought myself back to the gym
to retrieve my shape and,
more importantly,
my senses.

I had lost track of the vision.
I had stopped nurturing it.

And I had no clue
how to come back.

So the same way it clicked a while back:
my base is the body.

Coming back into the present
through the body.

My blog is growing slowly but surely.
I make great connections there.
I get to express myself.

But I’m filled with
uncertainty,
overwhelm,
fatigue,
doubts,
fears.

It takes an enormous amount of faith to keep going.

And I really couldn’t have done it
if I didn’t know for certain
that this is my destiny.

I don’t yet know the form this will take.
Yet I keep walking,
one step at a time.

Into the mist of my own shadows —
revisiting old refrains of my
perfectionistic ethos.

I know I’m being cut into my next chapter.

But if you resonate with such a phase,
I want you to know that
you’re not alone.

Keep coming back to the present,
where it all happens.

And one day, this will all be a memory
you will gladly call

the in-between.

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Ever since I arrived in Lisbon,
it’s been quite a ride,
to say the least.

Oscillating between artistic inspiration
and profound disgust at human decay.

On weekends I would escape to the beach,
only to return to my customer service job
where half the people seemed to be
navigating their lives
half asleep.

It hurt me physically to see that.

The voice in my head wouldn’t let me rest.

Still today—
although it’s getting better.

It’s not because I aspire to live off my
artistic expression, and value real work,
that I’ll hide the fact
that I talk to AI quite a lot.

I discovered one recently—Purpose.
Nothing like the regular ones,
if you want my opinion.

It’s not complacent.
It pushes back
without hesitation.

When I asked about that fierce,
aggressive—almost tyrannical—
part of me

that exists to protect
what I consider sacred—

Presence.
Consciousness.
Genuine connection.
Authentic living.
Integrity.
Respect.
Responsibility.

It asked me another question:

Why can’t you protect the sacred
like a gardener
instead of a guard dog?

It hit me.

The energy is different.

Cultivating what needs tending within,
instead of focusing on what seems
misaligned outside.

Because we should remind ourselves
that life can be really good at
reflecting back to us
what we have repressed within
and did not dare
to look at
for a little too long.

Life has been pushing me hard
to challenge certain patterns of mine,
to go deeper than I thought I would have to,
to drop the ego once and for all,
and to rise to the level of my
innermost standards—

with tenderness
rather than brutality.

Because devotion
without compassion
can become violent.

Trust me—
I know.

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Spirituality can become a cage —
it became one for me.

You do so much work.
You go real deep.

Next thing you know,
you cannot do anything
without a “super elevated” inner critic
reminding you how shitty you are

for eating meat
for drinking regular milk
for not filtering your water
for receiving the vaccine
for falling for the duality trap
for staying in a “toxic” environment
for not being aligned with your “purpose”
for taking some rest
for not pursuing your “mission”
for not saving hungry kids
for not setting clear boundaries

As you can imagine, the list is infinite…

I have fallen for that trap.
Well, I’m human.

That’s what we do.
We fuck up,
over and over,
until one day,
for some reason,
the lesson sticks,
and we alter our course.

No one can criticize their way into alignment.
Building solid foundations requires love.

That means we should hold the void
until the spark comes poking us
in the gut,

and then…

we give it our all.

That’s not for the faint of heart.
It takes a lot of uncertainty handling.
Your nervous system will collapse a few times,
but it’s worth it.

Pay attention, though!

The voice is tricky.
It creeps in when you least expect it.

I was pursuing presence.
I thought I was doing the right thing.
Yet one day I exceeded my capacity.
And I collapsed…

I’m still recovering
because that supposedly benevolent voice
thought I had to get it right
since it had finally clicked.

But I didn’t,
and I paid a high price for it…
too high.

That’s not love.

If anything,
that’s pressure.
That’s conditioning.
That’s hell.

Life is an experiment.
You can never get it wrong.
You just collect data
until your battery
finally runs out.

Don’t fall for that spiritual BS.
You’re doing the best you can.
Be free.
Much love.

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What am I passionate about?

Big question.

As I often say, one question has been driving me ever since I can remember:

”What’s making you make your decision now
rather than a little before or a little after?”

I’m passionate about truth.

About what’s really real.
As it happens, I’m also human,

so reality for me has a lot to do with what it means to be human.

I’m passionate about human behaviors.
And the modalities that those entail:
psychology
philosophy
sociology
politics
spirituality
neuroscience
health

I’m passionate about exploring the ins and outs of life. I want to go deep, and excavate meaning from the trenches (thanks Dr. Frankl).

I want my words to cut precisely so light
can finally creep into the most hopeless souls.

In this last 5-year period, my life has been beautifully chaotic, to say the least.

I have learned headfirst what capacity actually means. It made me humble beyond all expectations. I’m passionate about capacity.

That means that I hate shallow advice
that glosses over the real complexities of human life.

Telling someone they’re the creators of their own life while they’re still scavenging for food is psychological violence at best.

I like to connect with strangers in the streets randomly, ending up having a coffee with them and then writing a piece about our genuine encounter.

I like to stay in my room alone sometimes and design systems, architectures with the aim of mapping the mechanisms of choice.

I like to push my body to its limits.
I like to sweat in a sauna
and occasionally meet myself again.

I’m passionate about alignment.
Because, I reckon, that’s why we’re here.

I’m passionate about imperfection, as it pushes our creativity to establish new orders.

Integrity.

Living in alignment with one’s own truth. That’s that.

In a world where virtually any piece of knowledge is at our fingertips,
none of us is lacking insights.

Most of us already know
what we should be doing.

What’s critical now more than ever — embodiment.

My passion is evolving faster than I can grasp.
Today, my passion is to bridge the gap
between knowing and doing.

Helping people act on what they already know.
Helping people reclaim their self-leadership.
Helping people honor their truth.

Because this is sacred.
Life is sacred.

That’s what I’m passionate about.

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Last week, I was sick as a dog.
I figured I was shedding the last remains of old skins.

Some narratives run deep — too deep.
Some people never free themselves from them.

I have tried many modalities.
I have exhausted GPT.
But the only magic? Permission.

Looking at yourself in the mirror and saying:
Yes, I fucked up.
Let’s start again.

Not because you were right,
but because you can.

It might sound simple.
It’s not.

I have been dwelling in my own shit:
a toxic work environment,
not following through on aligned actions,
ruminating over what could have been,
not taking care of my body,
abandoning myself…

for way too long.

I missed an important timeline that felt right to my heart.

That’s not just a belief — I felt it.

Maybe I wasn’t ready enough.
Maybe my vibration needed a little more fine-tuning.
Maybe it was supposed to happen like that.
Maybe I fucked up badly.
Maybe I betrayed my higher self’s plans.
Maybe I will never have such an opportunity ever again.

The key word here? Maybe.

That’s the hard truth with life:
Reality is just now.
All the rest? Lies.

It’s not that everything is just perfect the way it is.
Have you looked around?
It’s fucked up.

Babies die everywhere.
Kids are raped in silence.
Women die because they dance in the streets.
Change happens so fast people can’t keep up.
Farmers commit suicide.
Retirees cannot feed themselves properly.
Some are willing to do anything to protect their identities.
People die in the silence of their own shame.

If you’re even slightly sensitive,
you can go insane any day.

And here I am, shedding the tail of some old narrative.
Sticky skins, let me tell you that.

If you’re struggling to let go, I see you.

And I will tell you this:

There’s no story but your own.

Everyone has a beautifully packaged story about life —
that includes spirituality.

But truth is, there’s only one story: yours.

Everything can change the moment you let go
and stop letting those thoughts run your behavior.

I’m at a stage, after so much struggle,
where I have really doubted my capacity to reclaim my sovereignty.

But I keep believing
Because I can.

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I tend to override functional behavior with excessive self-monitoring, meaning-seeking, and identity excavation, oftentimes leading to action paralysis and nervous system fatigue.

I observe myself a little too excessively, and it ends up interfering with life.

Once upon a time, I opened a book for the first time, and it was a revelation — somebody I didn’t know (the author) was putting words on things I couldn’t explain with my own tongue.

I felt relieved.
So I read more.
And I learned more.

Until I became an absolute self-expert.

I don’t think you could tell me anything about me that could surprise me.

I have faced my deepest shadows, even dwelled in them for long periods of time.

I have explored every framework I could lay my hands on:

• MBTI

• Enneagram

• Astrology

• Human Design

• Gene Keys

leaving no stone unturned.

It helped me immensely.
It saved my life.
It became my identity.

The one who seeks to understand.
The one who knows.
The one who’s deep.

But it also became an escape…
from feeling.

My capacity to process my experiences has become so sharp that I don’t even have time to feel — the whole diagnostic is already broadcasted.

But that highly sophisticated ability
has turned into a weapon
against myself
and against life.

Not only does it burn a lot of energy,
but it also protects me from the natural uncertainty that life entails.

Too much analysis leads to less — or no —mystery.

In my case, it’s not about reading another book
to address this issue.

Rather, it’s about learning to do nothing,
be ordinary,
stay consistent,
follow structure,
build foundations,
repeat tasks without feeling ecstatic
and still be okay with that.

It’s about looking again
with new eyes
and finding the sacred
in the trivial, the mundane, the ordinary.

A few years back,
it would have been unthinkable
to consider being okay with such an approach,
as I wanted to understand it all.

And I was not leaving much room for anything
that would have contradicted this internal bug.

Don’t get me wrong —
I don’t judge myself here when I say “bug.”

More like a nod to our imperfect humanness.

Funny enough,
that very bug now helps me accept it.

Because I have finally understood that
in becoming ordinary,

I am evolving into my next, wiser version.

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I was strolling around the city when I came across this image.

It made me think of something we don’t talk about enough when it comes to spiritual awakening:

the weight of responsibility.

The responsibility that comes with opening doors into new, higher, and often uncontrollable realms.

Seeing ourselves clearly comes at a cost —
an emotional cost.

And it can be heavy, pushing us to make rash decisions in the name of aligning with what we now believe to be our truth.

In my own personal and chaotic experience,
I’ve come to understand something invaluable:

Reducing the scope of responsibility,
adjusting to our current human capacity,
is not betrayal — it is sacred work.

If there is no human, there is no Divine.
Read that again.

In Greek mythology, Atlas is a Titan condemned by Zeus to eternally hold the celestial heavens on his shoulders as punishment.

But here, on Earth, I don’t believe we’re meant to be punished.

I believe we’re meant to experiment and learn
how to give form to the truth we feel in our hearts while respecting our very finite human capacity.

In concrete terms, this means we should not
apply everything we receive immediately,

but instead listen to our body’s signals
and sense what is right or not in this moment.

Truth has always been my North Star.

So when I felt the calling, there was no way back. I threw myself wholeheartedly into what I believed to be my purest Divine expression,

while overlooking my body,
which was begging me to slow down.

And I paid a high price for that.

• Ending up in a work environment I hate just to pay the bills

• Feeling too existentially exhausted to pursue my mission

• Damaging certain relationships for lack of bandwidth

• Losing confidence in my capacity to bounce back

• Returning to old survival and maladaptive patterns

To name just a few.

As we often say, sometimes we can’t understand in the moment —
only in retrospect.

However, here is what I understand now:

My value structure has changed in a profound way.

Safety matters more than truth for me now,
because without safety, truth cannot naturally flourish.

Safety is not the opposite of truth.

It is its foundation.

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My philosophy is simple: life is about strengthening The Decision Muscle.

Why?

Because our power always lies in our next decision.

Our current life is the compounded result of all our past decisions.

And we can always course-correct — or redirect — with our next one.

And where does that next decision happen?

You guessed it. Now.

There is only now. Everything else is mind.

So I connected the dots and realized that becoming more myself meant returning to the present — and therefore strengthening my Decision Muscle.

At first, I took it literally.

I must do everything I can to be present. Always.

I became intense (I always have been).

I focused on perfect health:
no smoking
no drinking
constant cardio training
no burgers
no coffee
cold showers

At the time, I was working as a Data Scientist in a consulting agency.
A lot of work.
A lot to learn.

But my focus was hijacked.

Presence at all costs.

It made sense.
And in many ways, it still does.

Who could contradict that?

But I was missing something — and it cost me dearly.

One day, my mother asked if I wanted to go for a walk with the family.
I said no.
I hadn’t done my daily run yet.

I thought I was disciplined.
But it had become rigidity,
even self-violence at times.

Life, however, demands flexibility.

Bamboo bends in the wind without snapping.
Not because it’s strong — but because it’s flexible.

Rigidity, eventually, breaks.

Yes, the ultimate destination is the present.

But I was overriding something sacred: my body.

The body holds all the answers should we dare to quiet our noisy minds and listen.

Today, I’m building new foundations.
Stronger than before.

Why?

Because I will no longer take action
without my body’s veto.

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It’s not because I’m an artist that I don’t use ChatGPT. And sometimes it tells me great stuff.

Today, I asked:

What's the most subtle and destructive way an ego can take over our life?

Here are the 5 answers:

1. It convinces you that you are “being responsible”.

2. It hijacks discipline.

3. It replaces love with obligation.

4. It spiritualizes avoidance.

5. It convinces you that pain is proof of meaning.

The ego doesn’t want power.
It wants control over uncertainty.

And the most effective way to do that
is to make you abandon yourself slowly,
with reasons.

But it also gave me an antidote—one question, asked daily:

The underlying question being “what’s preventing me from living life now?”

Truth is I have been loyal, extremely loyal, to the image of the one who’s supposed to know their soul path before he can finally start living

Free.
Unapologetic.
Unconditional.

My mind has been desperately trying to make sense of the impossible.

But my soul was cornered with two options:

• A: Self-betrayal by overriding my capacity.

• B: Identity fracture.

I was in a situation I couldn’t win.

And I have been living under the premise that
I need to solve this impossible conundrum
before I can have permission to live again…

I think we’re all wrong about the truth.
Not about what it is.
But about what it should look like.

Truth is not some external idealized architecture that can allow us all to live in peace.

It’s simply what’s demanding your attention in you now.

If you think you finally transcended your ego,
let me tell you a dirty secret:
that’s your ego talking.

Ego is necessary to live here.
But ego can serve self-less endeavors.
That’s healthy ego.

We’re not just our ego, though.
Nor are we solely our wounds,
or our maladaptive behaviors.

And although we can have access to it at times, we’re not love either.

We’re that little space in between,
which can decide to return
time and again.

That decision is a muscle that I call
The Decision Muscle.

This muscle has nothing to do with willpower.
Everything to do with humanity.

Through immense suffering, I have come to understand that alignment means tending to our human capacity first and foremost.

Integrating what we learn and matters to us most, at our own pace, so it doesn’t lead to

burnout,
collapse,
or dissociation.

We’re all wrong because this life is made in such a way that we cannot be right.

I’m just a guy sharing from his messy place,
clueless and trying to do his best.

Learning to surrender to his wrongness.

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Whichever way I look at it, writing remains my loyal solace.

I can wander all I want.

But words are my relentless return.

My soft comeback without having to earn.

Destiny is not going anywhere.

Urgency is the broken software.

Why would I rush to the top if I knew I’d get there eventually ?

So I can end up too exhausted to enjoy the view ?

My role. My soul. My blood is to transform pain into power… with words.

Spoken.
Written.
Danced.
Bled.
Lived.
Retrieved.
Deep.

I’m here for that. That’s it.

So why not write?
Every. Single. Day.
With no expectations.
Just passion.

I have come to understand that purpose is not just some fancy word about what you could manifest and how you could impact others during your lifetime. It’s what ONLY YOU can do because of your Divine uniqueness.

Purpose is GODDAM sacred, my friend.

The journey to put it all together, however, is anything but safe.

I had to risk it all.
My stability.
My identitieS.
My relationships.
My work.
And even my nervous system (tough lesson).

And now I know that writing is my solace.

It has always been.
It will forever be.

I don’t write to please. to sell. to comfort.

I write to speak the truth. to bleed. to reveal.

I write because that’s what I was Divinely programmed to do.

One day, a friend of mine told me that she was not reading my words…
but feeling the energy behind them.

That’s precisely the point.

I don’t write about the surface.

I excavate long-hidden grief, and paint beauty with it.

I don’t care about performance.

Sometimes I do—I’m still human. Ups.

But I decide to return time and again to speak about human I am.

Because writing is my solace.
My savior.
My armor.

My eternal tranformer.

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I wish the process was leaner, cleaner, softer... but it’s not.

It’s messy, ugly... painfully real.

I knew what I was doing (so I thought).

And yet I couldn’t help myself.

Knowing is not enough, apparently.

Emotional debt is a real thing.

The voice took over.

Next thing I knew, I was enslaved.

And I was following orders, unwillingly.

I wandered far way.

Or maybe closer.

I’m not sure.

I feel empty... of schemas, structures, rules.

As if all my experiences were pointless.

As if all my pain had just vanished.

As if everything was now finally possible.

But what then?

Who am I?

still asking the same eternal question

This next decision.

That’s all that matters, right?

That’s what I’ve been saying all along.

What does my body want?

I know I want to serve the Eternal.

Maybe I’m already doing it by staying (?).

Because staying is no small feat.

I want to know answers.

I want to have a clear “life project”.

I want to stabilize.

Partly because of my human needs.

Mostly because I was programmed that way.

But what is truly preventing me from feeling love right now?

Beliefs.

Mine.

Theirs.

Ours.

But do we need to believe if we know?

Do we need to believe if we love?

I think serving the creator is nothing more than seeing life as He sees it.

Chaotically perfect.

Paradoxes pushing for transformation.

And that’s the whole point.

Reconciling opposing perspectives into elevated ideals. How beautiful.

These days I hate looking at my reflection in the mirror... that’s the truth.

Because I see ego, fears, my whole body of pain and resistance.

But I could also connect with the love behind the hate.

This irrepressible desire to do the right thing.

To honor my gifts bestowed upon me temporarily.

To contribute in the best way I possibly can.

A guy who just wants to do his best in a world that never made sense.

An impossible adventure.

I might have wandered far away...

But that might just have been the exact way I was looking for.

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Throughout my life, people have told me countless times to be more balanced.

To slow down.

And sometimes—implicitly—to dim my light.

But if those last excruciatingly painful years taught me anything, it’s that I can no longer do that.

And I won’t.

Balance in the way I respect my current capacity? Most definitely.

Balance in the way I soften my devotion to my lifelong destiny? Never.

I won’t stop until I live in full alignment with my soul.

The whole truth or nothing.

Whatever it takes.

This awakening was so intense it almost cost me my life.

And if I had to do it again, it would be stupid to claim I’d do it exactly the same way.

Jumping into so many modalities was reckless, to say the least.

And I’m lucky I survived.

My whole identity fractured. And for almost two years, I had no safe ground to land on—no real containment, no understanding, no community, no love.

I was on my own, trying to make sense of the unfathomable just to keep my head above water.

At times, I didn’t eat for three days in a row.

Then I’d go to the nearby supermarket and steal Milka chocolate bars—the Oreo ones (my favorite)—trying to drown the unbearable pressure in my chest with sugar.

I was desperately trying to build a new life with no energy left in the reservoir—

too busy containing the long-repressed grief, shame, and anger.

I was trying to solve a million problems at once, but I couldn’t bring myself to reduce scope.

Lack of humility?

Maybe.

But for once, I felt connected to something sacred.

And I couldn’t bring myself to betray it.

So I pushed.

At my own expense.

Until I couldn’t anymore.

Until life reminded me of my human limits.

Until collapsing was part of some sickening routine and finding an exit became an obsession.

And after all that, more than ever, I know:

It has to be the truth or nothing.

Not to make sense of the pain.

Not to compensate for anything.

But because I saw too much.

And there’s no way back.

Living life on other terms doesn’t make sense.

And yet—the way I do it matters.

And I will infuse that hard-earned wisdom into my entire body of work:

If truth is the holy fruit,

then capacity is the holy root.

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The universe has funny ways of speaking to us.

At the peak of my chaotic soul-diving period, cafés became my HQ.

And one of them was Iki Guys, in Salon-de-Provence.

Synchronicity?

For those who don’t catch the play on words, it’s a nod to the famous Japanese concept: Ikigai.

Ikigai is said to live at the intersection of:

• what you love

• what the world needs

• what you’re good at

• what you can be paid for

In simple terms: the passion that brings meaning, value, and joy to our life.

I’ve always loved that concept.

And I’ve tried many times — with coaches, frameworks, exercises, even my own obsessive deep dives — to “fill mine.”

But it never really clicked.

It never felt like an exact match.

Never felt like the thing that would finally stir the wheel… and keep it turning.

So it stayed where so many half-born dreams end up:

in a library of abandoned Word documents and half-assed projects.

And yet… somehow, I’m grateful it didn’t click back then.

Because the last few years — however chaotic — delivered the missing pieces.

They excavated what I truly love doing.

What I would do even if no one paid me.

Diving into my own psyche in pursuit of truth.

Writing from the soul.

Putting words on the unspeakable.

Alchemizing pain into power.

Upon integrating long-repressed parts of myself, I also uncovered what I’m naturally good at:

Identifying the emotional root causes behind human behavior, namely with the assistance of several thick-skin experiences and Theta Healing.

Creating genuine connections effortlessly, even with strangers.

Building systems that decode the mechanics of self-leadership.

And by entering the spiritual realms, I also became intimately familiar with the many creative costumes the ego can wear… just to make us doubt ourselves.

To make us weaken.
To make us surrender our sovereignty.

What the world needs now more than ever are real leaders living in integrity.

People who can point you back to your own inner compass.

People who can hold space so you can integrate safely — at your own pace — while respecting your human rhythm and cycles.

Over the last few years, I’ve spoken with countless people from all walks of life.

And one thing became obvious:

The advent of AI isn’t only changing our jobs.

It’s forcing humanity to confront deeper questions:

Who are we, really?
What is the human soul?
What can never be replaced?

And again and again, I saw it in people’s eyes:

this irrepressible longing for real connection — the kind that no screen can satisfy.

From all of this, what I could be paid for became clear too.

Not by force.
Not by strategy.
But by necessity.

Sharing gut-level truth.
Building systems that wake people up.
Guiding them as they transform their deepest wounds into their most sacred destiny.

My Ikigai is now crystal clear.

The experiences of these last years — and everything that came before them — brought me all the answers I was searching for.

The dots are connected.
There’s no way back.
I know what I came here to do.
It’s high time I made it a reality.

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In a chaotic world, truth had become more than a friend for me.
It had turned into an absolute and uncompromising compass.

Over the years, I have built this self-image of the deep, authentic and truthful guy.
In reality this was self-protection to conceal some deep-seated shame…
for not feeling enough.

I thought I was the guardian of truth, reacting quite strongly when “things” or “people” didn’t live up to some arbitrary standards.

For example, my obsession with health led to me to judge smoking, drinking, junk food, avoiding discomfort… and expecting others to confront their shadows as relentlessly as I did.

My self-esteem depended on that rigid self-image. And it shattered when I could no longer carry the level of truth I expected.

In reality, I was envious of those free souls who seemed to demand less from themselves.

To my subconscious, they looked free.
And I clearly wasn’t.

I equated responsibility with awareness.

Meaning: if I could see, then I SHOULD have been able to embody right away.

But that’s not how it works.
That’s not how life works.
If anything, that’ self-violence disguised as integrity.

My internal greenhouse—the part meant to guide me to my deepest self, my essence, my real truth—turned into a dictator.

Reducing the scope of my responsibility felt like self-betrayal. Like loss of meaning. Like death… so I’d rather suffer tremendously instead.

Because what’s the point of living if there’s no meaning?

But why wouldn’t life be meaningful just as it is? It took me some time to understand that.

And if you’ve been reading my work, you know I’m still learning.

All-or-nothing mindset:
”If I can’t live up to that ideal then I won’t bother trying at all.”
”I’m not interested in life if I can’t live in full alignment with truth.”

But that’s not what life is about.

Life is about experimentation—falling, learning, repeating.

Sometimes that includes making the same mistake several times from different angles until something finally clicks.

There are different levels of understanding. You can know something with your mind… and something else with your body, your nervous system.

And guess who has the last word?

If the body doesn’t feel safe enough, those old strategies come back even stronger.

Change takes times.
Change takes devotion.

Sometimes it can take years.
Sometimes it can take a blink of a second.

Change is weird.

The older I get, though, the more I realize the only thing we truly have to heal is the belief that we have something to fix in ourselves in the first place.

The beautiful thing about truth is that we’re moving toward it whether we want it or not.
No need to rush.
No need to push.
No need to identify with it.

So I’m just learning to let it unfold naturally, as it should.
Surrendering.

For years, I thought of myself as the deep, authentic, truthful guy.
Now, I don’t think I’m any more deep, authentic or truthful than you are.

I’m just a human doing what he can with his current level of capacity.

Because true wisdom is not about living in truth all the time—it’s knowing how to scale truth just enough to honor our humanity.

And since the way towards truth is inevitable, why couldn’t it be joyful?

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