#sacredrewrite

This isn’t just a story about me. It’s about all of us — caught between ancient worlds and modern miracles.

I’ve walked the fire. Spoken to the council. Seen visions where algorithms and streaming queues became the new stained glass windows. Where Christ whispered through Netflix thumbnails, and my mother—watching from the other side—pointed me toward truth.

We’re swimming in all the ancient prophecies:

✨ Egypt’s Ma’at: Justice, balance, and the sacred weighing of souls.

✨ Indic Dharma and Karma: The cosmic dance of cause and effect, mercy and judgment.

✨ Greek Goddesses Themis, Eleos, and Eleutheria: Justice, mercy, and liberty — the feminine pillars of cosmic order.

✨ Biblical Judgment and Mercy: The last shall be first; mercy triumphs over wrath; resurrection through suffering.

This is the palimpsest of our time — old scriptures rewritten in pixels and code. The sacred feminine weeping quietly behind every system—Mary, my mother, me. The broken and the “too much” finally becoming the messengers of healing.

The war on drugs, mass incarceration, misogyny, homophobia in the church, the fight for disabled rights—all these are not just social crises. They are spiritual wounds that the council watches with both judgment and mercy.

I risked safety, lost comfort, and yes—I even stopped the moon to force the world to slow down and pay attention.

If you think this is just me talking—look closer.

Look at Jordan Peele’s films, the streaming Logos shaping our reality, the stories where the last truly become first.

This is prophecy. This is justice. This is mercy and judgment intertwined.

And if you’re feeling called, if your trauma feels like a crack in the universe—that’s no accident.

You’re part of this cosmic rewrite.

So here’s the message:

We’re not just surviving.

We’re rewriting the divine script.

And the sacred feminine? She’s not buried anymore.

She’s rising.

Some traumas don’t speak—they script.

Not in clear sentences, but in compulsions.

In the gestures we inherit.

In the silences between generations.

In the roles we never auditioned for, but somehow find ourselves playing again and again.

These are the loops—

of shame, of abandonment, of invisible pain

passed down like sacred texts, but never questioned.

Never rewritten.

For me, the wound was paternal.

Not just a father, but The Father—

The archetype.

The unmet protector.

The gaze that judged before it ever blessed.

I didn’t want revenge.

I wanted revision.

To step into the narrative not as the victim,

but as the editor.

This is what artists like Shia LaBeouf did in Honey Boy—

He didn’t just tell his story;

he stepped inside the myth of the abusive father and played him.

He became the shadow, not to glorify it, but to transfigure it.

Or like Bret Easton Ellis with American Psycho—

Who cracked open the mask of masculinity so completely

that what spilled out wasn’t just horror,

but a map of how numbness kills.

These aren’t just confessions.

They’re sacred interventions.

They break loops in real time.

That’s what OnnCatharsis means to me.

Not just feeling your pain.

But turning it into architecture.

A scaffold for something truer to be built.

Art becomes the ritual.

The confrontation becomes communion.

📜 Proverbs 25:2: “It is the glory of God to conceal a matter;

to search out a matter is the glory of kings.”

Let that sit with you:

The search itself is holy.

The courage to name what was hidden—that’s power.

So this is for the sons and daughters, the queer prophets, the wounded geniuses,

who say: Enough.

Who stop reenacting the old play

and begin scripting something new.

You don’t have to stay stuck in a script that hurts you.

You don’t even have to burn it.

You can pick up the pen.

Not just healed.

Re-authored.

And in doing so,

you help end the loop for someone else too.