Journey To The Center Of The Eggman

Kai had always been different, though for the longest time, he didn’t know why. He was born into a small, tight-knit village where everyone knew each other. Life there was simple, predictable, and safe. He grew up loved by his parents, admired by his friends, and respected by his teachers. But that all changed the day he awoke to his gifts. It had started gradually—a strange awareness that crept over him like a shadow in the night. At first, it was only subtle flashes: a shimmer in the air, fleeting images that would appear in the corner of his vision. He dismissed them, thinking they were tricks of the light or the result of an overactive imagination. But as days turned into weeks, the visions grew more intense. Kai began to see things others could not. Shadows lurking in the fields at dusk, whispers of storms that had not yet formed, and strange figures that walked among the living, invisible to everyone but him. At first, he kept these visions to himself, unsure of what they meant. But the burden of knowing—of seeing the world as it truly was—grew heavier by the day. One morning, Kai saw a dark figure standing at the edge of his village. Its eyes were hollow, and its body seemed to ripple like smoke. Fear surged through him, but when he tried to warn the village, no one listened. “There’s something outside!” he had cried. “A shadow… it’s watching us. We need to be careful.” But the villagers had only exchanged puzzled glances. His father chuckled nervously, trying to calm him. “You’re seeing things, Kai. There’s nothing out there.” Kai’s mother had touched his shoulder gently. “You’ve been working too hard, my son. Perhaps you need more rest.” The dismissals stung, but Kai persisted. As the visions grew more vivid and disturbing, he spoke louder, more urgently. He warned them of coming dangers, of hidden threats, and of the strange figures that seemed to watch their every move. He told his family, his friends, his teachers—but no one believed him. Instead, they began to mock him. At first, it was in hushed whispers, behind closed doors. They thought he couldn’t hear the way they laughed at him. “Kai, the dreamer,” they’d say. “Always talking about ghosts and spirits. He must be losing his mind.” But soon, the ridicule became open. People started to avoid him in the streets, the warmth once shown to him turning into cold glances and sneers. Children taunted him, calling him “the boy with the broken eyes.” Even his closest friends began to drift away, their expressions now filled with pity and doubt. His parents, once so proud of him, began to treat him with a quiet, uncomfortable distance. “Why can’t you be normal?” his father asked one night, frustration spilling over. “Why do you insist on these… lies?” “They’re not lies!” Kai shouted, his voice trembling with desperation. “I see them! The shadows! The storms! Something is coming, and no one will listen!” But instead of understanding, his words only deepened the rift. His mother wept quietly in the corner, and his father turned his back on him. “Enough, Kai. We can’t take this anymore.” The isolation gnawed at him. He wandered the village, trying to ignore the accusing stares and the whispers that followed wherever he went. He tried, again and again, to stop speaking of what he saw, but the visions wouldn’t leave him. They came to him at all hours, vivid and unrelenting. The more he tried to push them away, the more intense they became. He watched as the village unknowingly walked into danger time and time again. He saw crops fail, houses collapse, and people fall ill. And each time, he had seen the warnings before anyone else. He could predict when the winds would shift, when the earth would tremble—but no one believed him. The more he tried to warn them, the more they mocked him, until it became unbearable. One evening, as the sun dipped low on the horizon and the sky turned a blood-red hue, Kai saw something that made his heart freeze. It was a vision so dark, so terrible, that he couldn’t breathe. The shadow that had once lingered at the edge of the village now towered above them all, monstrous and all-consuming. It wore the faces of those he had once loved, and it was coming for them. “This… this is it,” he whispered to himself, his voice trembling with fear and sorrow. He ran through the village, shouting at the top of his lungs. “Please, listen to me! It’s coming! We have to leave! We’re all in danger!” But this time, no one even bothered to mock him. They simply ignored him, walking past as if he didn’t exist. His words fell like raindrops into the dust, vanishing before they could take root. Kai fell to his knees, exhausted and broken. His eyes burned with tears he refused to let fall. How could they not see? How could they not understand? Then, a small voice interrupted his despair. “I believe you.” He looked up to see a young girl standing before him. She couldn’t have been more than ten, her wide eyes filled with innocence—and something else. Understanding. “You do?” he asked, his voice weak and disbelieving. She nodded. “I see them too. The shadows. The figures. I’ve always seen them.” For the first time in months, Kai felt something stir inside him—hope. He wasn’t alone. Perhaps, in time, the village would fall. Perhaps they would never believe him. But now, Kai knew his gifts were real. And maybe, just maybe, there were others like him—others who saw the truth hidden behind the veil of the ordinary world. And with that knowledge, he stood once more, ready to face whatever was coming.

There once was a man with the soul of a pup, Who’d chase and would fetch, always eager to jump. He’d wag his tail for a pat or a treat, Content in his life, with the leash at his feet. His world was so comfy, predictable, tame, But deep down inside, it all felt the same. He’d run for approval, he’d stay by their side, Yet the leash of that life held him close, kept him tied. Then one fateful day, when it all fell apart, The leash slipped away, and it startled his heart. He’d been left alone, in a place he knew not, A breakup, a move, now what had he got? But wait! He looked ‘round, saw the world open wide, No longer a pet with his life pre-supplied. No more the good boy, all leashed to his chore, He now had a choice, he could be so much more. Like a cat in the night, with a prowl and a hiss, He’d learned that the cage was not something to miss. For a cat hunts alone, picks its fights in the dark, It slinks through the shadows, it leaves its own mark. No master to please, no leash and no chain, The cat has its freedom, its pride to sustain. So he prowled through the night, choosing when to engage, No longer a slave to some comfortable cage. He hunts for himself, does what he will, There’s danger, but oh, the sweet freedom and thrill. For it’s better to wander, to prowl, and be free, Than to sit on a leash, even comfortably. So the man now a cat, with a flick of his tail, Said goodbye to his past and let loose a loud wail. For freedom, my friend, is a gift you must find, When you break from the leash that once tethered your mind!

Two days ago, I found myself walking among the graves of my ancestors. The sun filtered through the trees, casting golden light upon the earth where so many had been laid to rest. I sat beneath a tree, allowing its warmth to touch my skin, opening myself to the quiet wisdom of the place. I came here to honor those who walked before me. To acknowledge the ones who fought, suffered, and survived so that I could stand where I am today. As I sat there, letting the light sink into my third eye, I realized something: they had laid my foundation long before I knew what I would face. Some time ago my ancestors came to me in a vision. They handed me a foundation stone, though at the time, I didn’t understand what it meant. I see it clearly now. That foundation was emotional stability, a gift they placed in my hands because they knew what I would face before I ever did. They saw everything I was blind to, they knew everything I did not, and they prepared me for the battles ahead. I didn’t see any of it coming. I was clueless. But they knew. And they had a list, checking it twice, seeing who was true and who was not. That day in the cemetery, I walked among the graves, and my attention was drawn to something unusual. There were massive gravestones towering over the rest, adorned with symbols of wealth and status. Many bore the Masonic cross, enclosed in a circle, a mark of those who had built their legacy in stone. But then, I saw one that broke me. It was a grave for a young girl. Only twelve years old. I stood there, staring at the carefully built memorial, feeling the weight of her family’s grief. The care they had put into honoring her. The way their love had been carved into stone, as if trying to hold onto something that time would eventually take away. And in that moment, something hit me with undeniable force: It doesn’t matter if you are homeless or a billionaire. It doesn’t matter if your grave is a towering monument or an unmarked stone. Love and loss feel the same in every heart. Grief does not care for wealth. Death does not recognize status. We are all the same in the end. For all that we think we are, we are nothing but dust, passing through, just like those before us. And yet, for all that we are dust, we are also everything. Because even though our bodies fade, love remains. The grief we feel is proof that something deeper than flesh and bone connects us all. It is proof that our value was never in our status, our possessions, or the weight of our names. The people who remember us don’t carry our achievements in their hearts, they carry the moments we loved them. This is what my ancestors wanted me to understand. They built my foundation because they knew what I would face. They knew the anger and fire that would rise in me, the sexual energy that would demand mastery, the spiritual warfare that would test my very soul. And they knew that without a foundation, I could be swept away like so many before me. But I wasn’t. Because I took the stone they gave me and built upon it. I took what they could not finish and carried it further. I learned not just to receive wisdom, but to refine it, to take my pain, my passion, my power, and turn it into something greater. And now, I share this truth: We are all connected. Not by status, not by blood, not by wealth, but by the simple, undeniable fact that we are here. We live. We love. We suffer. We grieve. And in the end, the only thing that remains is the love we leave behind. So love deeply. Be kind. Leave something behind that cannot be carved in stone, but will be felt in the hearts of those who remain. Because in the end, love is the only thing that endures.