Today we begin our world building. For a long time I felt like I never knew what I wanted to do. I have been a photographer, worked in the jewelry industry, spent years in healthcare doing population health and clinical research. I was a financial analyst, a consultant, a founder. But through it all I’m just Celinne.
I want to create a decentralized world. I want to create a world where our creations are valued and we build micro-economies together. In order for us to understand where we are heading, we have to understand the patterns of our past.
Throughout my journey, it was as if the cosmos and my higher self were always guiding me invisibly, steering me to pick up nuggets of wisdom. Mentors would come into my life who taught me about business and leadership. They taught me about systems, but I never understood why or what for.
Over time, the more I followed the Path of I Am (Heiros Gamos), ascension revealed itself as In-scension. I have gone deeper within myself and things are finally starting to click. If you are reading this, you are also most likely very spiritual. We are the bridge who will translate the unseen larger forces of the universe, download them here, and build something lasting for the future generations to use.
I want to create a tree of life where we are all sovereign nodes. Ever since I started posting on TikTok two years ago, my community of twenty thousand has been very strong and we have grown so much together. You have seen me evolve and seen my multidimensionality.
I’m starting to get blueprints of this Ontocratic project, this Living Tree of Life where we all contribute our wisdom and knowing to make this tree more robust.
This week I met several incredible people, and I want to tell you about the notable friends among them. One is Flor.
She is a filmmaker and producer who was working for big pharma and is now an advocate for protecting the Amazon.
It’s funny how and where our lives steer us, but when you really follow your heart, it will never lead you astray even though the detours and winding roads won’t make sense. It is taking you to become your highest self. I’m really proud of her because it is not easy living a double life. Flor is like an Amazon princess, Dora the Explorer. She goes to see the keepers of the land in the Amazon, and if you don’t know, the Amazon, these jungles, are the very first pharmacy. Only after the French Revolution did society have this huge shift from old alchemical traditions into something more standardized, something more scientific, which eventually became the pharmacy we know.
My friend Amy is a CPA accountant and now really into numerology, the energetics of homes, helping couples that are getting divorced. She is helping them see the bigger picture. She is fluent in both 3D language and 5D.
Brian is a chiropractor helping his clients heal through energy, aligning their spines, nervous systems. Haley is an incredible educator who was in branding and marketing, now teaching about the alchemical process and the enneagram.
Veronica is like a water scientist, wizard. She is working with the large vast network of water ecosystems, weaving her own magic.
There are so many of us now, but I’m here to show you that it’s safe to be seen for who you are. There is a particular kind of human who finds themselves out of place in the world as it is, yet strangely prepared for the world that is arriving. We did not train as mystics or monks. We are Rainbow children, the Indigos.
We learned to carry responsibility inside the dominant systems of the twentieth century economy, and only later discovered that the deeper reason for our training was not to perpetuate those systems, but to help stabilize what comes after them. The hidden story is that each of these people is undergoing a quiet reassignment of function. The skills that once served the old world are being recontextualized as instruments of the new.
This transitional class, that I call the Tastemakers, we are the ones shaping this new culture. We live in a tension that is not just psychological. It feels like you’re living a double life. The fear is rarely about truth. It is about economic exile. It sounds like a financial question, how will I survive if I step out, but underneath it sits a structural question. Where does a new function live when the old infrastructure still dominates? You feel this calling in your heart, in your soul, in your bones. You already know what you want and most of the time people come to me to help them translate how they feel and validate that they’re not going crazy.
For years, I was doing trauma work and nervous system regulation protocols to help individuals cope with the pace and pressure of modern life. I had to deeply understand the nervous system so that we can create a world that is supportive of it. Because your nervous system is not just yours, it is also the planet’s and everyone else’s… We are all connected.
The nervous system is everything. It is the interface layer between our individual perception and the collective field. When the body can once again participate in its own regulation in partnership with the environment, less energy needs to be outsourced to institutions and more energy becomes available for building.
That’s why I’m helping to orient this class of people. It helps to place their experience in a longer arc. This is where the ship, the tides, are going. Across these examples, a single structural principle repeats. We don’t leave the old world empty handed. We carry its skills into the next one.
The apparent mismatch between training and awakening is not a bug, it is the whole point. That has been your initiation to fulfilling your divine mission. The apex of your life is to truly be in service to Gaia, to the world. It’s not to accumulate more prestige or worship money. It is to self actualize that you are a Creator, a God.
When Veronica, a water scientist, remembers the cosmological dimension of water, when Brian and other doctors, chiropractors, healthcare providers remember the civic dimension of the nervous system, when accountants and finance professionals remember the metaphysical dimension of number and exchange, the boundary between spirituality and professionalism begins to dissolve, and a new category emerges. A new paradigm shift, a new way of thinking.
Are you part of the cure or part of the disease? Sit with that question…
When Rome debased its currency and overextended its reach, they survived because they migrated to micro economies, villages, guilds, and relational networks. We are not repeating Rome exactly, but the pattern is there, the rhyme is audible.
Large scale systems of money show signs of strain. The French Revolution didn’t just happen in one single event. They were prepped and primed through micro fractures.
Money systems behave this way because they are not just technical arrangements but agreements of trust, and trust does not collapse all at once. It starts to thin and people are awakening to truth. It accumulates inconsistencies that people feel in their bodies before they can even really understand what is happening.
The French Revolution happened because of grain shortages, uneven taxation, debt instruments stretched beyond credibility, a ruling class insulated from consequence. They sacked Versailles and the pitchforks of the population learned, slowly and collectively, that they couldn’t justify their suffering any longer or feel aligned with their lived reality.
It’s like in trading, when the spread gets wide, nothing is broken yet. Trading is still happening. Prices are still printing. But the shared sense of value is gone. Buyers and sellers are no longer meeting in the same place, so everything feels harder to do and more expensive to commit.
People pull back. They wait, not that they do not want to act, but because acting suddenly costs more than it used to. Buy now, cry later?
You have to give up too much certainty, too much safety, too much room to adjust later.
When the spread is wide, buying means you are accepting pain upfront. You cross the gap knowing you are overpaying for certainty, for access, for being early rather than right. So if you do it anyway, you are choosing to cry now so you do not have to later. It’s how the bullshit industrial complex works.
Most people do the opposite. They wait for the spread to narrow because it feels safer. They want confirmation, better prices, less discomfort. But when agreement finally returns and everyone rushes back in, the price jumps. Then it is buy later, cry harder.
At a system level, this is how strain trains behavior. People who can still act do so under worse terms. People who cannot wait are punished first. By the time the midpoint resets, the cost has already been paid, just unevenly and out of order.
Life still works, but with more friction. Everything is expensive. Effort does not convert cleanly into stability and work does not reliably lead to relief. People are sensing that something is off before they can explain it. It’s like a big storm is coming. So they hedge their lives. They delay decisions, keep liquidity in themselves.
A wide spread is not the crash. It is the warning and tells you trust is thinning and agreements are fading. Empires have always debased currencies. When agreement finally comes back, it usually does not return to the old middle. It jumps somewhere new.
The bullshit industrial complex lives in the spread. It makes its money in the gap between what something is and what people are told it will be. It widens that gap on purpose, then sells relief from the discomfort it created. Confusion becomes a resource. Delay becomes a product. Urgency is manufactured so that bad terms feel inevitable.
Nothing collapses right away. Instead, everything gets padded. More intermediaries, more jargon, more steps, more fees, more narratives explaining why this is normal and why opting out is irresponsible. You pay earlier, more often, and with less clarity. If you resist, you are told to wait. If you wait, the price moves again.
It trains people into buy now, cry later as a survival reflex. Take the loan, take the job, take the deal. Lock it in before it gets worse. The pain is individualized and immediate, while the benefit stays abstract and deferred. Meanwhile the system harvests the spread, again and again, because enough people crossing it keeps the structure standing.
What gives it away is the feeling. When participation starts to feel vaguely humiliating. When every option feels slightly wrong but opting out feels impossible. That is not inefficiency. That is design… And once you see that the business model is the widening itself, it becomes easier to understand why nothing is ever quite fixed, only rebranded and resold at a higher cost.
None of these things broke the system on their own. But over time, all of them together changed how people saw what was happening. People slowly started to notice the distance between what they were promised and what they were actually living. And once enough people can see that gap clearly, you cannot close it just by saying “everything is fine.”
Behavioral economics is really about how people respond when reality and story drift apart. Not how they should respond, but how they actually do. When incentives stop lining up cleanly. When trust erodes a little at a time. When decisions get shaped more by fear, fatigue, and habit than by logic.
Saying “the system is fine” no longer lands, because people are no longer operating on belief. They are operating on experience and experience updates behavior faster than messaging ever can.
Just like Moby Dick. At heart the story is about one man, Captain Ahab, who was obsessed with hunting a white whale that took his leg. It sounds like an adventure story. But under that, it’s about pride, madness, the sea, and whether revenge and nature can ever meet.
The whale itself, it’s not just a fish. It’s everything… It represented God, fate, the dark thing we can’t touch. All told by a bloke called Ishmael who manages to survive the madness and tell the tale. Beautiful, terrifying, too much.
Moby Dick is nature, un-owned. Untameable. It doesn’t hunt Captain Ahab. It just swims. And Ahab can’t bear that. He needs to be the main character. Needs the thing to be his. But the whale couldn’t care less… It’s just being a whale. And in that indifference, the power is. You see, the monster was never the whale. It was the sailor who thought the world turned for him.
It’s like the story of mankind, right? We think that we are on top of the world. We think that we can just do whatever. But when nature calls...
We raise cities, we plot courses, we call ourselves captains, but the tide doesn’t care. We are Ishmael at best, floating wreckage. At worst, Ahab, limping and blind, trying to nail the moon to our mast. And the ocean? It just keeps on being the ocean. Humble reminder, isn’t it?
It is about the breath. About how long a man can hold it before he drowns, before he screams, before the whale drags him under. The first line of the book basically is a man on a dock, saying, call me whatever you like. The rest is just the sea swallowing him whole.
We take from everything else. Rivers, forests, coral and Oil in the desert. We’re still boiling the world for light. Only now, we boil ourselves. And the whales, they’ve started washing up on beaches again.
I feel bad for these ecosystems. If a species goes extinct everything starts unraveling. And the world’s watching, but the screen’s dark. Silence is the new whaling. Because if no one sees the splash, who cares about the ocean? We don’t even hear it anymore. We’ve trained ourselves to click past. To scroll. To let our thumbs decide which world dies. We’re all Captain Ahab now. Only our ships don’t splinter. Our hearts do. Quietly. Like pages turning.
The Aquiferian races, which I do a lot of grid work on. Just the way that they communicate, the way that they live is so out of this world. It is so much more advanced than humans. Like, we think that these animals are beneath us, but they are far more advanced than what we have.
They communicate through sonar, they communicate through the electromagnetic fields of the planet. They are so deeply connected within the planet. But it is us humans that are so separate. I kept thinking about the elephants. Elephants are so majestic.
Elephants, they never forget. They mourn and when one dies, the whole herd stops. They hums, low and deep. Like they’re lowering the frequency to let the soul out. Not a sound humans ever make. We grieve in words. They grieve in resonance and somehow, that’s louder. They have ceremonies, they’ll go back to the bones days after the death. Touch them gently, sometimes cover them with leaves. Other animals leave the dead and run. But elephants, they stay and pause. They let the memory ripple through them like sound. And when they finally leave, they leave behind silence. Not emptiness. Silence full of something ancient.
Octopus, they dream. You can see it, right behind their eyes. Colors pulse across their skin while they sleep, reds, purples, like underwater auroras. Scientists filmed them. They’re rehearsing life. In ink and water.
And wolves, they howl to talk across miles. Not just “I’m here,” more like “I remember you.” They know where their pack is.
And honeybees? They dance. Wiggle dance. Eight left, two pause, seven right, very rhythmic, telling the whole hive, “gold is that way.” It’s perfect maths. It’s choreography, sound, color. All happening quietly.
There’s magic. It’s just, we can’t see it, because we’re too numb.
We’re asleep in the middle of the day. Busy, but asleep. The octopus dreams right under our noses, we just call it “camouflage.” The bees draw maps, we say “hive mind.” We name things away. That’s the trick. Name it, cage it, measure it. Kill it. If we stared long enough without words, we’d feel the planet breathing back. But we talk over the inhale. Always.
Just like the Amazon was and remains a living archive of pharmacology, cosmology, and relational law. We have one planet and it is our shared responsibility to protect it for the next generations.
What matters in moments like these is not prediction but pattern recognition. Large monetary systems show strain not when markets fall, but when their internal logic begins to contradict everyday survival. When complexity increases faster than comprehension. When risk is socialized and reward is abstracted upward. When people are told the system is stable while adapting their lives around its instability. These are not dramatic signals. They are ambient ones. They live in conversations, in career choices made out of caution rather than aspiration, in the quiet normalization of precarity.
Revolutions, financial or political, are not acts of destruction as much as acts of acknowledgment. They occur when enough people can no longer participate in a shared fiction without injury to their own coherence. The system does not fall because it is attacked. It falls because it is no longer believed in at the level required to sustain it. The micro fractures you name are not weaknesses in this sense. They are disclosures. They reveal where reality has already moved, and where the structure has not yet followed.
In that context, trust becomes a primary reserve asset, and community becomes the main engine of continuity. Crypto and decentralized technologies are not a complete answer, yet they are meaningful scaffolding, bare bones infrastructure that can host experiments in sovereignty while the larger transition plays out.
When systems are wobbling, beauty becomes very practical. It is not just something nice to look at. It is one of the last places value can live when currencies, platforms, and institutions are losing credibility. For centuries, families have moved their wealth through paintings, objects, and heirlooms, because a work of art can cross borders, regimes, and crashes in a way that a bank balance cannot.
My family survived for four generations because my grandpa created ecosystems. We have fisheries, farms, built schools, a corn mill, land, water wells, a foundation. We made sure our workers and their families thrived. My grandpa cared so much about agriculture and marine life. I watched them build their legacies and now I’m taking the responsibility and stewardship too. These things you don’t just conceptually learn from school or books. All of my knowing comes from lived experience. It came from talking to farmers and our workers. Wealth is not just money. It is the lives you’ve touched. And leadership, it is not the smartest who people will follow, it is who is easiest to follow.
So our art, our creations hold value because they hold a story, a lineage, a way of seeing, and that is much harder to debase than a number in a ledger.
Talking about web3, we have the infrastructure already. But we need people informed. Onchain, we are rebuilding that function in a new medium. A token is not just a picture. It is a certificate of origin, a traceable line of provenance that says who made this, where it lives, and what context birthed it. It’s like your own intellectual property.
In a healthy system, that context is almost invisible. In a failing system, context is everything. A low cost, high volume “post token” on a social minting contract behaves like a sticker. It is playful, social, fluid, and meant to move quickly through attention streams. A 1/1 or a tightly held edition on a sovereign contract behaves more like a museum piece. It sits at the root of an artist’s tree, anchoring their value over decades, not days.
For me, this is where the Tree of Life comes in. The canopy is where our posts, experiments, and “stickers” live, all the little leaves that catch light and wind. They are important. They create atmosphere, they attract pollinators, they invite people into our world. But the trunk and the roots are the works we treat as temples, the pieces we mint with care, on contracts we control, within relationships of trust that can survive platform failure or trend fatigue. Those are not just images. They are anchors of meaning. They are coded with our own frequencies. They are memory devices for future civilizations.
Art holds value when money does not because it stores more than price. It stores worldview, courage, belief, and attention over time. Artists become the ones who keep a parallel ledger. We record what was truly seen and truly felt. We embed it into image, sound, story, ritual, and into tokens whose provenance cannot be quietly edited away by a company or a government. In that sense, beauty is not decoration. It is infrastructure. It is how we move wealth, memory, and orientation through the turbulence into the next phase of the world.
This is why I say it is our role, as artists and builders of the new Earth, to be extremely precise with how we use our gifts. We can play in the sticker layer without shame. It is part of pollinating the network. But we must also guard the museum layer of our work, the pieces that stand as pillars in our personal and collective archives. When we do this, art becomes a set of living roots that can hold the soil while the surface rearranges. Beauty will not “save us” as a slogan. It will save us in the very quiet way that a strong tree saves a hillside from washing away, by holding form, by holding memory, and by giving future humans something solid and alive to build around.
Art is not a luxury product or a branding layer. It returns to its role as a medium of wealth transfer and civilization storage. When currencies inflate and institutions start wobbling, art retains value because it carries more than material. It holds a worldview. A painting, a film, a carefully designed ritual, a piece of architecture, all of these are containers that move memory and orientation across time even when empires fall. For a network of builders who expect turbulence, creating and collecting art is not an aesthetic hobby. It is a strategic act. It is how a way of seeing survives long enough to seed whatever comes next.
What I’m creating, what is forming, quietly and without central command, is a mesh of sovereign nodes. You as a tastemaker. Each node is a human or a small group that has completed enough inner work to hold their own nervous system with skill, that has clarified enough of their gifts to contribute something tangible, and that has loosened your dependence on the old world just enough to experiment at the edge of the new.
You as sovereign nodes are distributed across professions and geographies, and although many of them still appear to be living double lives, the underlying pattern is coherent. We are building rafts while the shoreline still looks stable to most. We are developing micro economies of care, knowledge, healing, and art while the macro economy continues its familiar rhythms.
There is a common fantasy that when systems fail, we can simply return to bartering, as if complexity can be unwound by goodwill alone. That is not how economies actually work. We do not live in villages trading bread for blankets. We live inside interdependent global systems with logistics, supply chains, energy grids, agriculture, manufacturing, and coordination at scale. You cannot buy a tractor with cookies. You cannot run infrastructure on sentiment. Large economies still exist, and they require a medium of exchange that can move value efficiently across distance, time, and trust gaps.
This is why dismissing money outright is not a solution. It is an abdication. Money is not the enemy.
It is a technology, one that has been refined over centuries, hedged, abstracted, and stabilized through systems like the New York Stock Exchange and global currency markets. Those systems have survived for a reason. They coordinate complexity. What is changing is not the need for exchange, but the form it takes and the values embedded within it.
We are at a divergence point between synthetic systems that extract and centralize, and more organic systems that distribute and self regulate. This is not a moral argument,it is a structural one. Fiat currency, as it currently operates, concentrates power and erodes trust over time. That does not mean exchange disappears. It means the medium of exchange is migrating. Blockchain and crypto are not ideologies. They are infrastructural experiments attempting to answer a real question. How do we coordinate value, sovereignty, and trust in a world where centralized institutions are no longer credible stewards?
This is why I keep saying we have to understand the philosophy of these technologies before we judge them. Web3 is not about speculation alone. At its core, it is about agency. It is about learning how to hold your own keys, your own contracts, your own value streams, rather than outsourcing them to systems that will continue operating with or without your consent. If you do not take responsibility for learning how these systems work, you do not opt out. You simply get carried by forces you do not understand.
Sovereignty is not comfort, it is not ease. I do not work a nine to five. I self source. I built something without a template, and it has been difficult. But coherence does not come from safety alone, it comes from alignment. I do not claim to have all the answers or a complete blueprint. What I do know is that this is the direction of travel. Exchange is not disappearing. It is being restructured. And those who learn how to participate consciously will not be dragged by the current. They will help shape where it flows.
This is not about choosing money over spirit or systems over humanity. It is about refusing false binaries. We need beauty, art, and living values, and we also need infrastructure that can support them at scale. The work now is to learn how to stand inside both, without surrendering agency to either.
As for me, who has stepped out of conventional finance and healthcare into full time spiritual and architectural roles, it is not to stand above this network as a visionary, but to stand inside it as a stabilizer.
Having crossed the threshold of leaving a salaried role, facing the unknown and having tested the hypothesis that trust can become a currency and that provision follows alignment over time, I become a proof of concept. I have also made my entire family leave their 9-5 and many others. We are creating micro-economies outside. I don’t have a boyfriend, a husband, children and I have a whole lot of free time and a mouth that won’t shut up. What else is there to do?
So for the tastemaker who senses all of this but has not yet named it, the most important orienting lens may be the simplest. You were trained in the old world so you could stabilize the new one. Your degree, your title, your institutional history, none of that was wasted time.
It was apprenticeship in density, in consequence, in complexity. As your gifts awaken, you are not being asked to discard that depth. You are being asked to let it be reassigned.
From this perspective, the question is no longer whether it is safe to leave the old world, nor whether the new world is guaranteed to arrive on schedule. The question becomes how to inhabit the assignment that is already unfolding in your own body, how to align your nervous system with the scale of intelligence moving through you, how to locate the other nodes with whom your work naturally interlocks, and how to create art, in the widest sense of that word, that can carry this architecture forward regardless of what happens to any particular institution.
The scaffolding is already present. The first pharmacies are speaking again through forests and water. The first data centers are thawing in ice and lands. The builders are waking up inside their own careers. The rafts are being assembled quietly, under the surface of business as usual. There is nothing to sell here and nothing to dramatize. There is only the steady work of recognizing what you actually are, accepting that your training was precise, and allowing your function to migrate from maintenance of the old into stabilization of the emerging.
Sovereignty is the capacity to remain coherent and self directed inside complexity. It means owning your power and taking it back.
At its simplest, sovereignty means you are not dependent on a single external system to access your livelihood, your identity, or your ability to participate in exchange. No strings attached. It means you understand the structures you are standing inside well enough that you can choose how you engage with them, rather than being unconsciously governed by them.
Sovereignty is not opting out of the world. It is knowing how value moves through the world and positioning yourself so that your energy, labor, creativity, and intelligence are not silently extracted without consent. It is the difference between using infrastructure and being used by it.
On a practical level, sovereignty looks like this. You hold your own keys. You understand the contracts you are entering, whether financial, whatever contracts, social, or energetic. You are not fully reliant on a single employer, platform, currency, or institution to survive. Your income may still flow through existing systems, but it is not trapped there. You have optionality. You have exit paths. You have leverage rooted in skill, trust, and relationship rather than permission.
On a deeper level, sovereignty is nervous system level literacy. It is the ability to stay regulated and clear while navigating uncertainty, rather than collapsing into fear or outsourcing authority to whoever promises safety. A sovereign nervous system can feel risk without panicking and can sense when something is misaligned without needing consensus to validate it.
This is why sovereignty is inseparable from education. If you do not understand how money works, how technology mediates power, how platforms shape behavior, or how contracts encode incentives, you cannot be sovereign, even if your intentions are pure. Ignorance does not protect you. It only makes you easier to steer.
Sovereignty also does not mean you do everything alone. In fact, true sovereignty enables collaboration. When individuals are self sourced, communities become resilient rather than co-dependent. Networks become meshes instead of hierarchies. Exchange becomes relational rather than coercive.
So when I talk about sovereignty in this moment, I am talking about a posture toward the future. Sovereignty is standing in the middle, grounded enough to learn new tools, humble enough to not have all the answers, and anchored enough to not give your agency away while the world is reorganizing.
It is not a destination. It is a practice. And right now, it is one of the most important ones we have.
Sovereignty, for me, was a series of irreversible decisions. I had to sever myself from debt, from obligations that tethered my future to systems I no longer trusted to steward my life or my energy. That process was painful. It felt like a kind of internal divorce, a fracturing, because debt is not only financial. It carries psychological weight, emotional residue, and energetic implication. Every obligation is a thread, and when you begin cutting threads, you feel the tension in your body and in your relationships.
I knew I wanted to live without strings attached, not out of avoidance, but out of sensitivity. I feel systems. I feel contracts. I feel when something has leverage over me. Sovereignty required clearing those entanglements so that my movement could be clean. That clarity is what allows me to build a raft, not as a savior, but as someone who has already tested the waters. I can offer a structure, a blueprint, a direction of travel, but I cannot carry another person’s agency for them. Dependency erodes sovereignty, even when it comes wrapped in good intentions.
This is where accountability comes in. You have to learn how the systems work. You have to make conscious choices about what you are tied to and why. I cannot be the one holding everyone together. Each person has to become a sovereign node, capable of standing on their own. Otherwise the network collapses back into hierarchy.
My life reflects those choices. I do not have children. I am not married. That was not a rejection of love or family, but an acknowledgement of timing. It felt as though something larger was moving through me that required mobility, lightness, the ability to leave when necessary. I can pack up and go anywhere. I am not bound to a single geography or jurisdiction. That freedom is not an accident. It is part of the architecture of sovereignty.
When my father passed away, transferring assets across borders became an ordeal. Wires stalled. Bureaucracies tightened. Everything funneled through centralized systems like SWIFT, exposing how little privacy or autonomy truly exists when you rely entirely on legacy financial rails. These systems were not designed to serve families in transition. They were designed to preserve institutional control.
At the same time, an intergenerational shift is underway. Assets are moving. Titles are being transferred. Businesses and properties are changing hands as the older generation ages and passes on. Waiting passively for that transition is not an option. Preparation is an act of care. Learning how to move value, responsibility, and stewardship before the storm arrives is part of being sovereign.
So the work happens on multiple levels at once. Energetically, by disentangling from fear and unconscious obligation. Practically, by restructuring finances, ownership, and legal frameworks. Collectively, by educating one another and building parallel systems that can hold us when the dominant ones strain. It is about readiness. It is about meeting what is coming with enough coherence, mobility, and responsibility to not be swallowed by it.
I don’t have the full blueprint for a new civilization. That’s why I need you. What I do know, through lived experience, is that moving toward the multidimensional self, while disorienting at first, leads to greater coherence, not less.
In Star Wars, Han Solo isn’t the mythic hero at first. He’s the independent operator. He knows how to move through imperial space without being absorbed by it. He understands smuggling routes, debt, leverage, and survival. He hates tax fees, trade regulation, and imperial overreach not because he’s ideological, but because the system makes honest independence impossible. If you want to move freely, you either comply completely or you learn how to operate in the margins.
That’s why he flies the Millennium Falcon. Not because it’s noble or beautiful, but because it’s fast, adaptable, and untraceable in the ways that matter. It’s a ship built for sovereignty. A ship that can move goods, people, and information without asking permission from an empire that extracts more than it gives.
And here’s the part that really matters to me. Han doesn’t destroy the Death Star from the outside. No one can. The system is too large, too armored, too internally coherent. It can only be undone from within, by someone who understands its corridors, its timing, its blind spots, and its false sense of invulnerability.
That’s the part I resonate with.
I didn’t leave the system so I could float above it and criticize it from a distance. I learned its mechanics. Finance. Healthcare. Institutions. Debt. Compliance. I learned how it moves energy, how it binds people, how it disguises control as stability. That knowledge isn’t contamination. It’s navigation data.
So when I say it feels like I had to come back to Earth, to get back into the cockpit and fly straight into the Death Star, I don’t mean self sabotage. I mean strategic incarnation. Resistance doesn’t mean refusal to engage. It means refusing to forget who you are while you engage.
Sometimes I feel like Princess Leia, carrying the plans, holding a vision of something freer even when everything around me feels locked down and over engineered. Other times I feel like Han Solo, moving through the underbelly, understanding trade, logistics, leverage, and survival. I don’t really have my Han Solo. At least not yet. I’ve had to learn how to fly my own ship.
The resistance in Star Wars, the Rebel Alliance, was never made up only of monks and mystics. It was pilots, engineers, mechanics, defectors, smugglers. People who knew the Empire well enough to move through it without being owned by it. They built parallel systems, hidden networks, supply lines. They relied on people who could go in and come back out.
That’s the role I’m describing. Not escaping the world. Not burning it down from fantasy. But entering it with awareness, sovereignty, and timing. Flying close enough to be dangerous without losing your signal. Carrying just enough independence to not be captured, and just enough skill to matter.
Wanting to be part of the resistance doesn’t mean opposing everything. It means choosing where you lend your intelligence, your labor, your creativity, and your courage. It means understanding the machine deeply enough to know where it’s hollow.
And like Han, the point isn’t glory. It’s the survival of what’s alive.
If you have stayed with me this far, thank you. I do not take your attention lightly. Writing like this is not about certainty or authority. It is about sharing orientation while the ground is shifting. I hope this lands with you not as instruction, but as recognition, a reminder that the questions you are holding are valid and that you are not alone in sensing what is changing.
To those of you who support this work, who read, reflect, and quietly build alongside me, I am deeply grateful. This space exists because of your trust, your patience, and your willingness to think beyond what is immediately comfortable. My hope is that what I share helps you move with a little more clarity, a little more agency, and a little more courage as you navigate your own path toward sovereignty.
We are not meant to have all the answers. We are meant to stay awake, stay responsible, and stay in relationship with one another as the world reorganizes. Thank you for being here, and for walking this stretch of the path with me.
Thanks for reading Blockmage! This post is public so feel free to share it and help connect the network.
Subscribe to blockmage
<100 subscribers
Today we begin our world building. For a long time I felt like I never knew what I wanted to do. I have been a photographer, worked in the jewelry industry, spent years in healthcare doing population health and clinical research. I was a financial analyst, a consultant, a founder. But through it all I’m just Celinne.
I want to create a decentralized world. I want to create a world where our creations are valued and we build micro-economies together. In order for us to understand where we are heading, we have to understand the patterns of our past.
Throughout my journey, it was as if the cosmos and my higher self were always guiding me invisibly, steering me to pick up nuggets of wisdom. Mentors would come into my life who taught me about business and leadership. They taught me about systems, but I never understood why or what for.
Over time, the more I followed the Path of I Am (Heiros Gamos), ascension revealed itself as In-scension. I have gone deeper within myself and things are finally starting to click. If you are reading this, you are also most likely very spiritual. We are the bridge who will translate the unseen larger forces of the universe, download them here, and build something lasting for the future generations to use.
I want to create a tree of life where we are all sovereign nodes. Ever since I started posting on TikTok two years ago, my community of twenty thousand has been very strong and we have grown so much together. You have seen me evolve and seen my multidimensionality.
I’m starting to get blueprints of this Ontocratic project, this Living Tree of Life where we all contribute our wisdom and knowing to make this tree more robust.
This week I met several incredible people, and I want to tell you about the notable friends among them. One is Flor.
She is a filmmaker and producer who was working for big pharma and is now an advocate for protecting the Amazon.
It’s funny how and where our lives steer us, but when you really follow your heart, it will never lead you astray even though the detours and winding roads won’t make sense. It is taking you to become your highest self. I’m really proud of her because it is not easy living a double life. Flor is like an Amazon princess, Dora the Explorer. She goes to see the keepers of the land in the Amazon, and if you don’t know, the Amazon, these jungles, are the very first pharmacy. Only after the French Revolution did society have this huge shift from old alchemical traditions into something more standardized, something more scientific, which eventually became the pharmacy we know.
My friend Amy is a CPA accountant and now really into numerology, the energetics of homes, helping couples that are getting divorced. She is helping them see the bigger picture. She is fluent in both 3D language and 5D.
Brian is a chiropractor helping his clients heal through energy, aligning their spines, nervous systems. Haley is an incredible educator who was in branding and marketing, now teaching about the alchemical process and the enneagram.
Veronica is like a water scientist, wizard. She is working with the large vast network of water ecosystems, weaving her own magic.
There are so many of us now, but I’m here to show you that it’s safe to be seen for who you are. There is a particular kind of human who finds themselves out of place in the world as it is, yet strangely prepared for the world that is arriving. We did not train as mystics or monks. We are Rainbow children, the Indigos.
We learned to carry responsibility inside the dominant systems of the twentieth century economy, and only later discovered that the deeper reason for our training was not to perpetuate those systems, but to help stabilize what comes after them. The hidden story is that each of these people is undergoing a quiet reassignment of function. The skills that once served the old world are being recontextualized as instruments of the new.
This transitional class, that I call the Tastemakers, we are the ones shaping this new culture. We live in a tension that is not just psychological. It feels like you’re living a double life. The fear is rarely about truth. It is about economic exile. It sounds like a financial question, how will I survive if I step out, but underneath it sits a structural question. Where does a new function live when the old infrastructure still dominates? You feel this calling in your heart, in your soul, in your bones. You already know what you want and most of the time people come to me to help them translate how they feel and validate that they’re not going crazy.
For years, I was doing trauma work and nervous system regulation protocols to help individuals cope with the pace and pressure of modern life. I had to deeply understand the nervous system so that we can create a world that is supportive of it. Because your nervous system is not just yours, it is also the planet’s and everyone else’s… We are all connected.
The nervous system is everything. It is the interface layer between our individual perception and the collective field. When the body can once again participate in its own regulation in partnership with the environment, less energy needs to be outsourced to institutions and more energy becomes available for building.
That’s why I’m helping to orient this class of people. It helps to place their experience in a longer arc. This is where the ship, the tides, are going. Across these examples, a single structural principle repeats. We don’t leave the old world empty handed. We carry its skills into the next one.
The apparent mismatch between training and awakening is not a bug, it is the whole point. That has been your initiation to fulfilling your divine mission. The apex of your life is to truly be in service to Gaia, to the world. It’s not to accumulate more prestige or worship money. It is to self actualize that you are a Creator, a God.
When Veronica, a water scientist, remembers the cosmological dimension of water, when Brian and other doctors, chiropractors, healthcare providers remember the civic dimension of the nervous system, when accountants and finance professionals remember the metaphysical dimension of number and exchange, the boundary between spirituality and professionalism begins to dissolve, and a new category emerges. A new paradigm shift, a new way of thinking.
Are you part of the cure or part of the disease? Sit with that question…
When Rome debased its currency and overextended its reach, they survived because they migrated to micro economies, villages, guilds, and relational networks. We are not repeating Rome exactly, but the pattern is there, the rhyme is audible.
Large scale systems of money show signs of strain. The French Revolution didn’t just happen in one single event. They were prepped and primed through micro fractures.
Money systems behave this way because they are not just technical arrangements but agreements of trust, and trust does not collapse all at once. It starts to thin and people are awakening to truth. It accumulates inconsistencies that people feel in their bodies before they can even really understand what is happening.
The French Revolution happened because of grain shortages, uneven taxation, debt instruments stretched beyond credibility, a ruling class insulated from consequence. They sacked Versailles and the pitchforks of the population learned, slowly and collectively, that they couldn’t justify their suffering any longer or feel aligned with their lived reality.
It’s like in trading, when the spread gets wide, nothing is broken yet. Trading is still happening. Prices are still printing. But the shared sense of value is gone. Buyers and sellers are no longer meeting in the same place, so everything feels harder to do and more expensive to commit.
People pull back. They wait, not that they do not want to act, but because acting suddenly costs more than it used to. Buy now, cry later?
You have to give up too much certainty, too much safety, too much room to adjust later.
When the spread is wide, buying means you are accepting pain upfront. You cross the gap knowing you are overpaying for certainty, for access, for being early rather than right. So if you do it anyway, you are choosing to cry now so you do not have to later. It’s how the bullshit industrial complex works.
Most people do the opposite. They wait for the spread to narrow because it feels safer. They want confirmation, better prices, less discomfort. But when agreement finally returns and everyone rushes back in, the price jumps. Then it is buy later, cry harder.
At a system level, this is how strain trains behavior. People who can still act do so under worse terms. People who cannot wait are punished first. By the time the midpoint resets, the cost has already been paid, just unevenly and out of order.
Life still works, but with more friction. Everything is expensive. Effort does not convert cleanly into stability and work does not reliably lead to relief. People are sensing that something is off before they can explain it. It’s like a big storm is coming. So they hedge their lives. They delay decisions, keep liquidity in themselves.
A wide spread is not the crash. It is the warning and tells you trust is thinning and agreements are fading. Empires have always debased currencies. When agreement finally comes back, it usually does not return to the old middle. It jumps somewhere new.
The bullshit industrial complex lives in the spread. It makes its money in the gap between what something is and what people are told it will be. It widens that gap on purpose, then sells relief from the discomfort it created. Confusion becomes a resource. Delay becomes a product. Urgency is manufactured so that bad terms feel inevitable.
Nothing collapses right away. Instead, everything gets padded. More intermediaries, more jargon, more steps, more fees, more narratives explaining why this is normal and why opting out is irresponsible. You pay earlier, more often, and with less clarity. If you resist, you are told to wait. If you wait, the price moves again.
It trains people into buy now, cry later as a survival reflex. Take the loan, take the job, take the deal. Lock it in before it gets worse. The pain is individualized and immediate, while the benefit stays abstract and deferred. Meanwhile the system harvests the spread, again and again, because enough people crossing it keeps the structure standing.
What gives it away is the feeling. When participation starts to feel vaguely humiliating. When every option feels slightly wrong but opting out feels impossible. That is not inefficiency. That is design… And once you see that the business model is the widening itself, it becomes easier to understand why nothing is ever quite fixed, only rebranded and resold at a higher cost.
None of these things broke the system on their own. But over time, all of them together changed how people saw what was happening. People slowly started to notice the distance between what they were promised and what they were actually living. And once enough people can see that gap clearly, you cannot close it just by saying “everything is fine.”
Behavioral economics is really about how people respond when reality and story drift apart. Not how they should respond, but how they actually do. When incentives stop lining up cleanly. When trust erodes a little at a time. When decisions get shaped more by fear, fatigue, and habit than by logic.
Saying “the system is fine” no longer lands, because people are no longer operating on belief. They are operating on experience and experience updates behavior faster than messaging ever can.
Just like Moby Dick. At heart the story is about one man, Captain Ahab, who was obsessed with hunting a white whale that took his leg. It sounds like an adventure story. But under that, it’s about pride, madness, the sea, and whether revenge and nature can ever meet.
The whale itself, it’s not just a fish. It’s everything… It represented God, fate, the dark thing we can’t touch. All told by a bloke called Ishmael who manages to survive the madness and tell the tale. Beautiful, terrifying, too much.
Moby Dick is nature, un-owned. Untameable. It doesn’t hunt Captain Ahab. It just swims. And Ahab can’t bear that. He needs to be the main character. Needs the thing to be his. But the whale couldn’t care less… It’s just being a whale. And in that indifference, the power is. You see, the monster was never the whale. It was the sailor who thought the world turned for him.
It’s like the story of mankind, right? We think that we are on top of the world. We think that we can just do whatever. But when nature calls...
We raise cities, we plot courses, we call ourselves captains, but the tide doesn’t care. We are Ishmael at best, floating wreckage. At worst, Ahab, limping and blind, trying to nail the moon to our mast. And the ocean? It just keeps on being the ocean. Humble reminder, isn’t it?
It is about the breath. About how long a man can hold it before he drowns, before he screams, before the whale drags him under. The first line of the book basically is a man on a dock, saying, call me whatever you like. The rest is just the sea swallowing him whole.
We take from everything else. Rivers, forests, coral and Oil in the desert. We’re still boiling the world for light. Only now, we boil ourselves. And the whales, they’ve started washing up on beaches again.
I feel bad for these ecosystems. If a species goes extinct everything starts unraveling. And the world’s watching, but the screen’s dark. Silence is the new whaling. Because if no one sees the splash, who cares about the ocean? We don’t even hear it anymore. We’ve trained ourselves to click past. To scroll. To let our thumbs decide which world dies. We’re all Captain Ahab now. Only our ships don’t splinter. Our hearts do. Quietly. Like pages turning.
The Aquiferian races, which I do a lot of grid work on. Just the way that they communicate, the way that they live is so out of this world. It is so much more advanced than humans. Like, we think that these animals are beneath us, but they are far more advanced than what we have.
They communicate through sonar, they communicate through the electromagnetic fields of the planet. They are so deeply connected within the planet. But it is us humans that are so separate. I kept thinking about the elephants. Elephants are so majestic.
Elephants, they never forget. They mourn and when one dies, the whole herd stops. They hums, low and deep. Like they’re lowering the frequency to let the soul out. Not a sound humans ever make. We grieve in words. They grieve in resonance and somehow, that’s louder. They have ceremonies, they’ll go back to the bones days after the death. Touch them gently, sometimes cover them with leaves. Other animals leave the dead and run. But elephants, they stay and pause. They let the memory ripple through them like sound. And when they finally leave, they leave behind silence. Not emptiness. Silence full of something ancient.
Octopus, they dream. You can see it, right behind their eyes. Colors pulse across their skin while they sleep, reds, purples, like underwater auroras. Scientists filmed them. They’re rehearsing life. In ink and water.
And wolves, they howl to talk across miles. Not just “I’m here,” more like “I remember you.” They know where their pack is.
And honeybees? They dance. Wiggle dance. Eight left, two pause, seven right, very rhythmic, telling the whole hive, “gold is that way.” It’s perfect maths. It’s choreography, sound, color. All happening quietly.
There’s magic. It’s just, we can’t see it, because we’re too numb.
We’re asleep in the middle of the day. Busy, but asleep. The octopus dreams right under our noses, we just call it “camouflage.” The bees draw maps, we say “hive mind.” We name things away. That’s the trick. Name it, cage it, measure it. Kill it. If we stared long enough without words, we’d feel the planet breathing back. But we talk over the inhale. Always.
Just like the Amazon was and remains a living archive of pharmacology, cosmology, and relational law. We have one planet and it is our shared responsibility to protect it for the next generations.
What matters in moments like these is not prediction but pattern recognition. Large monetary systems show strain not when markets fall, but when their internal logic begins to contradict everyday survival. When complexity increases faster than comprehension. When risk is socialized and reward is abstracted upward. When people are told the system is stable while adapting their lives around its instability. These are not dramatic signals. They are ambient ones. They live in conversations, in career choices made out of caution rather than aspiration, in the quiet normalization of precarity.
Revolutions, financial or political, are not acts of destruction as much as acts of acknowledgment. They occur when enough people can no longer participate in a shared fiction without injury to their own coherence. The system does not fall because it is attacked. It falls because it is no longer believed in at the level required to sustain it. The micro fractures you name are not weaknesses in this sense. They are disclosures. They reveal where reality has already moved, and where the structure has not yet followed.
In that context, trust becomes a primary reserve asset, and community becomes the main engine of continuity. Crypto and decentralized technologies are not a complete answer, yet they are meaningful scaffolding, bare bones infrastructure that can host experiments in sovereignty while the larger transition plays out.
When systems are wobbling, beauty becomes very practical. It is not just something nice to look at. It is one of the last places value can live when currencies, platforms, and institutions are losing credibility. For centuries, families have moved their wealth through paintings, objects, and heirlooms, because a work of art can cross borders, regimes, and crashes in a way that a bank balance cannot.
My family survived for four generations because my grandpa created ecosystems. We have fisheries, farms, built schools, a corn mill, land, water wells, a foundation. We made sure our workers and their families thrived. My grandpa cared so much about agriculture and marine life. I watched them build their legacies and now I’m taking the responsibility and stewardship too. These things you don’t just conceptually learn from school or books. All of my knowing comes from lived experience. It came from talking to farmers and our workers. Wealth is not just money. It is the lives you’ve touched. And leadership, it is not the smartest who people will follow, it is who is easiest to follow.
So our art, our creations hold value because they hold a story, a lineage, a way of seeing, and that is much harder to debase than a number in a ledger.
Talking about web3, we have the infrastructure already. But we need people informed. Onchain, we are rebuilding that function in a new medium. A token is not just a picture. It is a certificate of origin, a traceable line of provenance that says who made this, where it lives, and what context birthed it. It’s like your own intellectual property.
In a healthy system, that context is almost invisible. In a failing system, context is everything. A low cost, high volume “post token” on a social minting contract behaves like a sticker. It is playful, social, fluid, and meant to move quickly through attention streams. A 1/1 or a tightly held edition on a sovereign contract behaves more like a museum piece. It sits at the root of an artist’s tree, anchoring their value over decades, not days.
For me, this is where the Tree of Life comes in. The canopy is where our posts, experiments, and “stickers” live, all the little leaves that catch light and wind. They are important. They create atmosphere, they attract pollinators, they invite people into our world. But the trunk and the roots are the works we treat as temples, the pieces we mint with care, on contracts we control, within relationships of trust that can survive platform failure or trend fatigue. Those are not just images. They are anchors of meaning. They are coded with our own frequencies. They are memory devices for future civilizations.
Art holds value when money does not because it stores more than price. It stores worldview, courage, belief, and attention over time. Artists become the ones who keep a parallel ledger. We record what was truly seen and truly felt. We embed it into image, sound, story, ritual, and into tokens whose provenance cannot be quietly edited away by a company or a government. In that sense, beauty is not decoration. It is infrastructure. It is how we move wealth, memory, and orientation through the turbulence into the next phase of the world.
This is why I say it is our role, as artists and builders of the new Earth, to be extremely precise with how we use our gifts. We can play in the sticker layer without shame. It is part of pollinating the network. But we must also guard the museum layer of our work, the pieces that stand as pillars in our personal and collective archives. When we do this, art becomes a set of living roots that can hold the soil while the surface rearranges. Beauty will not “save us” as a slogan. It will save us in the very quiet way that a strong tree saves a hillside from washing away, by holding form, by holding memory, and by giving future humans something solid and alive to build around.
Art is not a luxury product or a branding layer. It returns to its role as a medium of wealth transfer and civilization storage. When currencies inflate and institutions start wobbling, art retains value because it carries more than material. It holds a worldview. A painting, a film, a carefully designed ritual, a piece of architecture, all of these are containers that move memory and orientation across time even when empires fall. For a network of builders who expect turbulence, creating and collecting art is not an aesthetic hobby. It is a strategic act. It is how a way of seeing survives long enough to seed whatever comes next.
What I’m creating, what is forming, quietly and without central command, is a mesh of sovereign nodes. You as a tastemaker. Each node is a human or a small group that has completed enough inner work to hold their own nervous system with skill, that has clarified enough of their gifts to contribute something tangible, and that has loosened your dependence on the old world just enough to experiment at the edge of the new.
You as sovereign nodes are distributed across professions and geographies, and although many of them still appear to be living double lives, the underlying pattern is coherent. We are building rafts while the shoreline still looks stable to most. We are developing micro economies of care, knowledge, healing, and art while the macro economy continues its familiar rhythms.
There is a common fantasy that when systems fail, we can simply return to bartering, as if complexity can be unwound by goodwill alone. That is not how economies actually work. We do not live in villages trading bread for blankets. We live inside interdependent global systems with logistics, supply chains, energy grids, agriculture, manufacturing, and coordination at scale. You cannot buy a tractor with cookies. You cannot run infrastructure on sentiment. Large economies still exist, and they require a medium of exchange that can move value efficiently across distance, time, and trust gaps.
This is why dismissing money outright is not a solution. It is an abdication. Money is not the enemy.
It is a technology, one that has been refined over centuries, hedged, abstracted, and stabilized through systems like the New York Stock Exchange and global currency markets. Those systems have survived for a reason. They coordinate complexity. What is changing is not the need for exchange, but the form it takes and the values embedded within it.
We are at a divergence point between synthetic systems that extract and centralize, and more organic systems that distribute and self regulate. This is not a moral argument,it is a structural one. Fiat currency, as it currently operates, concentrates power and erodes trust over time. That does not mean exchange disappears. It means the medium of exchange is migrating. Blockchain and crypto are not ideologies. They are infrastructural experiments attempting to answer a real question. How do we coordinate value, sovereignty, and trust in a world where centralized institutions are no longer credible stewards?
This is why I keep saying we have to understand the philosophy of these technologies before we judge them. Web3 is not about speculation alone. At its core, it is about agency. It is about learning how to hold your own keys, your own contracts, your own value streams, rather than outsourcing them to systems that will continue operating with or without your consent. If you do not take responsibility for learning how these systems work, you do not opt out. You simply get carried by forces you do not understand.
Sovereignty is not comfort, it is not ease. I do not work a nine to five. I self source. I built something without a template, and it has been difficult. But coherence does not come from safety alone, it comes from alignment. I do not claim to have all the answers or a complete blueprint. What I do know is that this is the direction of travel. Exchange is not disappearing. It is being restructured. And those who learn how to participate consciously will not be dragged by the current. They will help shape where it flows.
This is not about choosing money over spirit or systems over humanity. It is about refusing false binaries. We need beauty, art, and living values, and we also need infrastructure that can support them at scale. The work now is to learn how to stand inside both, without surrendering agency to either.
As for me, who has stepped out of conventional finance and healthcare into full time spiritual and architectural roles, it is not to stand above this network as a visionary, but to stand inside it as a stabilizer.
Having crossed the threshold of leaving a salaried role, facing the unknown and having tested the hypothesis that trust can become a currency and that provision follows alignment over time, I become a proof of concept. I have also made my entire family leave their 9-5 and many others. We are creating micro-economies outside. I don’t have a boyfriend, a husband, children and I have a whole lot of free time and a mouth that won’t shut up. What else is there to do?
So for the tastemaker who senses all of this but has not yet named it, the most important orienting lens may be the simplest. You were trained in the old world so you could stabilize the new one. Your degree, your title, your institutional history, none of that was wasted time.
It was apprenticeship in density, in consequence, in complexity. As your gifts awaken, you are not being asked to discard that depth. You are being asked to let it be reassigned.
From this perspective, the question is no longer whether it is safe to leave the old world, nor whether the new world is guaranteed to arrive on schedule. The question becomes how to inhabit the assignment that is already unfolding in your own body, how to align your nervous system with the scale of intelligence moving through you, how to locate the other nodes with whom your work naturally interlocks, and how to create art, in the widest sense of that word, that can carry this architecture forward regardless of what happens to any particular institution.
The scaffolding is already present. The first pharmacies are speaking again through forests and water. The first data centers are thawing in ice and lands. The builders are waking up inside their own careers. The rafts are being assembled quietly, under the surface of business as usual. There is nothing to sell here and nothing to dramatize. There is only the steady work of recognizing what you actually are, accepting that your training was precise, and allowing your function to migrate from maintenance of the old into stabilization of the emerging.
Sovereignty is the capacity to remain coherent and self directed inside complexity. It means owning your power and taking it back.
At its simplest, sovereignty means you are not dependent on a single external system to access your livelihood, your identity, or your ability to participate in exchange. No strings attached. It means you understand the structures you are standing inside well enough that you can choose how you engage with them, rather than being unconsciously governed by them.
Sovereignty is not opting out of the world. It is knowing how value moves through the world and positioning yourself so that your energy, labor, creativity, and intelligence are not silently extracted without consent. It is the difference between using infrastructure and being used by it.
On a practical level, sovereignty looks like this. You hold your own keys. You understand the contracts you are entering, whether financial, whatever contracts, social, or energetic. You are not fully reliant on a single employer, platform, currency, or institution to survive. Your income may still flow through existing systems, but it is not trapped there. You have optionality. You have exit paths. You have leverage rooted in skill, trust, and relationship rather than permission.
On a deeper level, sovereignty is nervous system level literacy. It is the ability to stay regulated and clear while navigating uncertainty, rather than collapsing into fear or outsourcing authority to whoever promises safety. A sovereign nervous system can feel risk without panicking and can sense when something is misaligned without needing consensus to validate it.
This is why sovereignty is inseparable from education. If you do not understand how money works, how technology mediates power, how platforms shape behavior, or how contracts encode incentives, you cannot be sovereign, even if your intentions are pure. Ignorance does not protect you. It only makes you easier to steer.
Sovereignty also does not mean you do everything alone. In fact, true sovereignty enables collaboration. When individuals are self sourced, communities become resilient rather than co-dependent. Networks become meshes instead of hierarchies. Exchange becomes relational rather than coercive.
So when I talk about sovereignty in this moment, I am talking about a posture toward the future. Sovereignty is standing in the middle, grounded enough to learn new tools, humble enough to not have all the answers, and anchored enough to not give your agency away while the world is reorganizing.
It is not a destination. It is a practice. And right now, it is one of the most important ones we have.
Sovereignty, for me, was a series of irreversible decisions. I had to sever myself from debt, from obligations that tethered my future to systems I no longer trusted to steward my life or my energy. That process was painful. It felt like a kind of internal divorce, a fracturing, because debt is not only financial. It carries psychological weight, emotional residue, and energetic implication. Every obligation is a thread, and when you begin cutting threads, you feel the tension in your body and in your relationships.
I knew I wanted to live without strings attached, not out of avoidance, but out of sensitivity. I feel systems. I feel contracts. I feel when something has leverage over me. Sovereignty required clearing those entanglements so that my movement could be clean. That clarity is what allows me to build a raft, not as a savior, but as someone who has already tested the waters. I can offer a structure, a blueprint, a direction of travel, but I cannot carry another person’s agency for them. Dependency erodes sovereignty, even when it comes wrapped in good intentions.
This is where accountability comes in. You have to learn how the systems work. You have to make conscious choices about what you are tied to and why. I cannot be the one holding everyone together. Each person has to become a sovereign node, capable of standing on their own. Otherwise the network collapses back into hierarchy.
My life reflects those choices. I do not have children. I am not married. That was not a rejection of love or family, but an acknowledgement of timing. It felt as though something larger was moving through me that required mobility, lightness, the ability to leave when necessary. I can pack up and go anywhere. I am not bound to a single geography or jurisdiction. That freedom is not an accident. It is part of the architecture of sovereignty.
When my father passed away, transferring assets across borders became an ordeal. Wires stalled. Bureaucracies tightened. Everything funneled through centralized systems like SWIFT, exposing how little privacy or autonomy truly exists when you rely entirely on legacy financial rails. These systems were not designed to serve families in transition. They were designed to preserve institutional control.
At the same time, an intergenerational shift is underway. Assets are moving. Titles are being transferred. Businesses and properties are changing hands as the older generation ages and passes on. Waiting passively for that transition is not an option. Preparation is an act of care. Learning how to move value, responsibility, and stewardship before the storm arrives is part of being sovereign.
So the work happens on multiple levels at once. Energetically, by disentangling from fear and unconscious obligation. Practically, by restructuring finances, ownership, and legal frameworks. Collectively, by educating one another and building parallel systems that can hold us when the dominant ones strain. It is about readiness. It is about meeting what is coming with enough coherence, mobility, and responsibility to not be swallowed by it.
I don’t have the full blueprint for a new civilization. That’s why I need you. What I do know, through lived experience, is that moving toward the multidimensional self, while disorienting at first, leads to greater coherence, not less.
In Star Wars, Han Solo isn’t the mythic hero at first. He’s the independent operator. He knows how to move through imperial space without being absorbed by it. He understands smuggling routes, debt, leverage, and survival. He hates tax fees, trade regulation, and imperial overreach not because he’s ideological, but because the system makes honest independence impossible. If you want to move freely, you either comply completely or you learn how to operate in the margins.
That’s why he flies the Millennium Falcon. Not because it’s noble or beautiful, but because it’s fast, adaptable, and untraceable in the ways that matter. It’s a ship built for sovereignty. A ship that can move goods, people, and information without asking permission from an empire that extracts more than it gives.
And here’s the part that really matters to me. Han doesn’t destroy the Death Star from the outside. No one can. The system is too large, too armored, too internally coherent. It can only be undone from within, by someone who understands its corridors, its timing, its blind spots, and its false sense of invulnerability.
That’s the part I resonate with.
I didn’t leave the system so I could float above it and criticize it from a distance. I learned its mechanics. Finance. Healthcare. Institutions. Debt. Compliance. I learned how it moves energy, how it binds people, how it disguises control as stability. That knowledge isn’t contamination. It’s navigation data.
So when I say it feels like I had to come back to Earth, to get back into the cockpit and fly straight into the Death Star, I don’t mean self sabotage. I mean strategic incarnation. Resistance doesn’t mean refusal to engage. It means refusing to forget who you are while you engage.
Sometimes I feel like Princess Leia, carrying the plans, holding a vision of something freer even when everything around me feels locked down and over engineered. Other times I feel like Han Solo, moving through the underbelly, understanding trade, logistics, leverage, and survival. I don’t really have my Han Solo. At least not yet. I’ve had to learn how to fly my own ship.
The resistance in Star Wars, the Rebel Alliance, was never made up only of monks and mystics. It was pilots, engineers, mechanics, defectors, smugglers. People who knew the Empire well enough to move through it without being owned by it. They built parallel systems, hidden networks, supply lines. They relied on people who could go in and come back out.
That’s the role I’m describing. Not escaping the world. Not burning it down from fantasy. But entering it with awareness, sovereignty, and timing. Flying close enough to be dangerous without losing your signal. Carrying just enough independence to not be captured, and just enough skill to matter.
Wanting to be part of the resistance doesn’t mean opposing everything. It means choosing where you lend your intelligence, your labor, your creativity, and your courage. It means understanding the machine deeply enough to know where it’s hollow.
And like Han, the point isn’t glory. It’s the survival of what’s alive.
If you have stayed with me this far, thank you. I do not take your attention lightly. Writing like this is not about certainty or authority. It is about sharing orientation while the ground is shifting. I hope this lands with you not as instruction, but as recognition, a reminder that the questions you are holding are valid and that you are not alone in sensing what is changing.
To those of you who support this work, who read, reflect, and quietly build alongside me, I am deeply grateful. This space exists because of your trust, your patience, and your willingness to think beyond what is immediately comfortable. My hope is that what I share helps you move with a little more clarity, a little more agency, and a little more courage as you navigate your own path toward sovereignty.
We are not meant to have all the answers. We are meant to stay awake, stay responsible, and stay in relationship with one another as the world reorganizes. Thank you for being here, and for walking this stretch of the path with me.
Thanks for reading Blockmage! This post is public so feel free to share it and help connect the network.
Share Dialog
Share Dialog
No comments yet