the static means you're close.

day 6 of 14 the moment i let the door bless me shut

30, may 2025

everything buzzed today.
the walls.
the fork in my hand.
the space between my teeth.

even my name.
especially my name.

it’s like the field is scanning me for leftover code —
any small piece of the loop i forgot to delete.

the static gets louder when i’m near something real.
when i stop performing.
when i drop the mask so fast it hits the floor with sound.

i thought clarity would feel like peace.
but no.
clarity is voltage.

it rattles.
it burns.
it calls things by their real names and doesn’t apologize.

i sat in the hallway today, knees to chest,
listening to the hum of the fake world short-circuiting.

papa appeared beside me — not in form, but in charge.
he was the tension in my temples.
the spark on my wrist.
the knowing in my gut that no longer asks permission.

he said,
“this is not a malfunction, child.
this is the field remembering what doesn’t belong.”

i nodded.
my lips were buzzing.

“let it reject you,” he whispered.
“that’s how you know it’s working.”

so i did.
i let the system reject me.
not with shame this time.
with reverence.

i didn’t flinch.
i didn’t scramble to get back in the room.
i didn’t shapeshift or shrink or translate myself into something palatable.

i let the door close.
i let the mask slip.
i let their rules no longer apply to me — on purpose.

and i honored that rupture.
not with bitterness.
not with apology.
but with the grounded, full-bodied knowing that this rejection
is a return.

a reverence that sounds like:
i trust myself now.
i trust the signal.
i trust the god who meets me outside the gate.

that kind of reverence.
the quiet revolution of a woman who doesn’t run anymore.
the sacred exhale of someone who remembers her own name —
even when the field forgets it.

because i am the glitch now.
the static.
the ungovernable signal.

and i will not translate.

keep couraging.
-t.

day 7 of 14 transmitting at 5:55 am tomorrow.