What happened to me? (The Answer A)
Albedo
" There's a lady who's sure all that glitters is gold
I didn’t know what was happening to me. The only thing that
was absolutely clear was that I had died and then been reborn. But
this time, I could remember my entire past life—the first part of my life, my Old Testament.
Nothing affected me,
nothing shook me. I had complete clarity about all my past traumas, but they no
longer bothered me, nor did they govern my behaviors, my actions, or,
consequently, my life.
When I lived my Old
Testament, I no longer felt joy in the simple things of life. I felt no happiness sitting with friends at a bar or restaurant table unless I was drinking. My joy depended entirely on external factors, things or people.
Boredom was recurring,
so I constantly needed more and more from the outside to anesthetize it.
I was probably
addicted to dopamine as well, but that had started somewhere completely
inaccessible at that point, buried under so many layers that I could hardly
reach the origins of such an occurrence, let alone heal them. I felt doomed to
that life—or so I thought.
I often prayed to God.
It was what I desired most: to one day see the simplicity in life again because
I hadn’t been born that way. I knew it was something
learned. But this learning was so
deeply ingrained that it was no longer
an external factor—it had become who I was.
I had reached the Putrefaction phase. That was precisely how I felt. There was no solution for me. I was
utterly ruined, with no way back.
This was reflected not only in destructive habits and
addictions but also in my relationships with people and the world, as well as
in my health and the aesthetics of my body. My physical state was nothing more than
a response to my rigid, limited way of seeing the world and myself. I was a
slave to that stage of consciousness, which seemed to be the only one that
existed.
However, since there
was no way back, my only options were to keep moving forward or throw myself
off a cliff.
I didn’t want
to die, so I sought to make peace with God—and His medicine saved me.
The Ayahuasca ceremonies, the visits to God’s house, were a turning point—they were the Separeto.
The Separeto wasn’t a
phase; it was a prelude at most. It was the recognition and perception of my
consciousnesses, which were now more than one yet still inhabited a unified
self.
I received five doses
of Panacea, one per month, and each of them taught me something different that
I had to put into practice.
As I began to apply those lessons over about a year, the true rebirth occurred.
I had stopped
identifying myself as something immutable and could see what was spirit and
what was matter—and somehow, I could manipulate them. I was no longer a victim
of my own life and history; I was its protagonist.
The matter—the
physical vessel, like electrons orbiting the nucleus of an atom—had been
consumed. I was a blank page, and I could write whatever I pleased from that
moment on.
The essence, the soul,
was intact and crystal clear, offering me all the possibilities to start a new
story. It was The Fool
on their journey, moving through the Magician’s Arcana.
I had all the tools to manifest anything.
Even though this was
the scenario and how I felt, I wasn’t fully conscious. I
simply
felt a soul-deep ecstasy and profound gratitude filled my days, no matter what
happened.
Hatred, when it appeared, was apathetic—just an observed
emotion that never impacted my physical body or inner being. Tears visited me rarely; when they did, they were often accompanied by laughter. They were only cleansing, brief, and
never tied to sadness—just the feeling of purging something my body no longer
needed.
Anguish no longer
existed—neither inside nor outside me, much less in my chest, where it had
continuously resided during the Nigredo.
Now, I cried with joy
watching trees sway in the wind and felt gratitude as I looked out my window,
remembering when all of this seemed unattainable.
The pleasure of life’s
simplicity had returned—it was the beginning of Albedo.
I found joy in
solitude, contemplating nature, and realizing that I was part of it. I found
happiness in observing swans swim, the cycles of plants, the positions of stars
in the sky, and interpreting them as intrinsically my own.
The love I felt for
myself and the world was immense, barely contained within me. My compassion for
others was enormous—I could see their souls. I believe the ability to see someone’s
soul is granted only to those who possess genuine compassion and do not exploit
others' vulnerabilities. Perhaps this was why I had been given
this gift.
The Panacea had not
only healed all my ills but also erased my old neural connections, offering me
the chance to rebuild and construct a new kind of neuroplasticity.
Yet I believe this
transformation wasn’t due solely to the
medicine. This might
explain why some use it but don’t experience the same profound results.
The Fire
was the catalyst for all transformation. In the past, I had been exposed to it repeatedly, burning it to ashes and then rebuilding from it. This
continuous process led me to the Mortificato, where I burned my ego in an immense blaze. Only
then did I reach the Albedo.
My past identity no
longer defined me, and no adversity could shake me.
However, just as a
child begins their process of trauma in the womb, the very moment I was reborn,
this process also began anew for me—the construction of a new ego.
The reason the word "adult" stems
from "adulteration"
is that life’s
purpose is to adulterate.
Material life is the
constant adulteration of the soul, starting in the womb.
This process occurs
voluntarily or not, regardless of our will. It marks the beginning of
neurological development, starting with the myelination of the spinal cord and continuing throughout life.
It’s constructing a false self, the flat citizen who
must exist in Flatland.
But how can you, a
soul that neither possesses nor requires an ego, survive in Flatland, where
everyone else is already traumatized and adulterated?
You must become one of them.
Thus, your mother's sensations, emotions, and actions reverberate within you as a fetus. Once you are born, interactions with family, others, and the external world generate responses. Small and large traumas teach us which paths to take—or avoid—to survive. It is the only utility of the ego: to make the matter survive.
Life itself is trauma. Living means constantly traumatizing oneself. Some experience more; others, less, or others go through the Fire more frequently and faster than others, catalyzing the process.
Layers begin to form.
They are built through interactions with the external world to protect and
shield us from its dangers. These layers ensure our survival—a camouflage for
the three-dimensional being in a flat figure.
The three-dimensional figure was God, the God that Nietzsche did not kill but instead recognized, and the observer of such a God was Zaratustra.
It was the real God unable to recognize itself as such
because it is buried beneath countless layers of a false self. These layers
are, however, necessary for survival in Flatland—a flat world unaware of its own flatness
or its limited vision of the whole, incapable of recognizing or perceiving its own
three-dimensionality because it is
confined to a flat perspective.
Only now do I
understand this phase. I spoke everything I wanted without fear of judgment or
criticism. I danced, even if clumsily, without shame for being ridiculous. And,
as we are mere projections, I could see the souls of others purely and clearly. Yet I
could not see an inch beyond my nose when it was about recognizing others' egos
or the personality of matter.
I was purely The
Fool—joyful and excited about what would come on my new journey, oblivious to
the cliff ahead. Ignorant of the obstacles that might arise, I lived in the
innocence of that state of spirit.
I had to fall from
that cliff countless times to understand: either I adapted to Flatland or would
never survive here.
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