A pug flying an aeroplane. That was the image, generated with an off-the-shelf model by a photographer who posts under the handle Horshack, and in September 2025 he persuaded a Nikon Z6III to certify it as a photograph.

The method was not sophisticated. He encoded the synthetic image into Nikon's raw NEF container, then used the camera's multiple exposure mode to graft it onto the skeleton of a legitimate capture. The camera, running firmware version 2.00 released on 27 August 2025, duly wrapped the result in a cryptographic manifest conforming to the specification published by the Coalition for Content Provenance and Authenticity. Anyone inspecting the file would have found a valid signature attesting that a real Nikon camera had recorded the scene. Nikon confirmed the fault on 4 September, suspended its Authenticity Service, and later notified users that every certificate it had issued would be revoked. Early adopters who had spent the fortnight signing their work found their proofs retrospectively voided.

The more instructive part came next. Horshack pointed out that Nikon could not fully fix this alone, because the default behaviour of the widely used C2PA validation tools is not to check whether a signing certificate has been revoked. The revocation-checking code exists in the software development kit; it is simply not switched on by default. He filed a GitHub issue asking that the reference command-line tool change that. Until it does, a revoked certificate and a valid one look identical to most software that inspects them.

Hold that sequence in mind, because it contains the whole argument in miniature. Manufacturing a convincing fake cost one person an afternoon and no money. Certifying that something is real required a camera manufacturer, a firmware pipeline, a certificate authority, an industry consortium, a specification, a conformance programme and a public trust list — and it failed anyway, in a way only the consortium could repair.

This is the asymmetry that will define the next decade of the internet, and almost every optimistic account of the “trust economy” walks straight past it.

The Statistic Everyone Cites Cannot Prove Its Own Provenance

Writing in Modern Diplomacy on 16 August 2026, Yang Xite, a research fellow at ANBOUND, set out the case with unusual clarity. “Information used to be scarce, and access to it was a source of power,” he wrote. “Today, the problem is almost the opposite; there is too much information floating online.” His conclusion: “As the cost of producing information approaches zero, the value of finding, checking, filtering, and trusting information rises. The scarce resource is no longer content itself. It is confidence in the content.” And therefore: “In a market where consumers and businesses are increasingly exposed to fraud, proof of authenticity can itself become a product.”

That is correct as far as it goes. The trouble starts with the number recruited to support it.

You will have seen the claim that ninety per cent of online content will be AI-generated by 2026. It appears in policy briefings, keynotes and vendor decks, usually attributed to Europol, whose 2022 report Facing reality? Law enforcement and the challenge of deepfakes states that “experts estimate that as much as 90% of online content may be synthetically generated by 2026”.

In January 2023, Jesse Walker at Reason traced the chain. Europol's “experts” resolve to a single citation: Nina Schick's 2020 book Deepfakes: The Coming Infocalypse. Schick's source was one named individual — Victor Riparbelli, chief executive of Synthesia, a company that sells synthetic video. What Riparbelli said was that synthetic video may account for up to ninety per cent of all video content in as little as three to five years. A forecast about one medium, made by a vendor with a direct commercial interest in that medium's growth, generalised into a claim about the entire internet, laundered through a book into a police agency report and from there into the newspaper of record.

The most widely cited datum about information pollution is itself a specimen of information pollution. It is not a measurement. It never was.

The measurements that do exist tell a duller, more useful story. In October 2025 the search analytics firm Graphite published an analysis by Gregory Druck, Jose Luis Paredes, Bevin Benson and Ethan Smith covering forty-three thousand English-language URLs drawn from CommonCrawl between January 2020 and May 2025. They reported their error rates: a 4.2 per cent false positive rate against pre-ChatGPT articles, and a 0.6 per cent false negative rate against known GPT-4o output. AI-written articles overtook human-written ones in November 2024 and stood at just over half the sample by May 2025. Crucially, the proportion has been broadly stable for about a year. The wave crested; it did not keep rising toward ninety.

Graphite also noted something that cuts against the panic: these articles largely do not surface in Google or ChatGPT results. NewsGuard, tracking the sharper end of the phenomenon, had identified 3,749 AI content farm sites across sixteen languages as of 23 June 2026, more than double its count a year earlier. A real and growing problem. Not ninety per cent of the internet.

This matters beyond pedantry. Build a verification regime on the premise that nearly everything is fake and you will build something that treats unverified as guilty by default. Which is exactly what is being built.

What the Economics Paper Actually Says Is Worse

The arXiv paper usually invoked alongside the ninety per cent figure does not contain it. “The Economics of Information Pollution in the Age of AI: General Equilibrium, Welfare, and Policy Design”, submitted by Yukun Zhang and Tianyang Zhang on 17 September 2025 and revised on 4 January 2026, is a theoretical model rather than an empirical survey. It contains no census of what fraction of the web is synthetic.

What it does contain is a sharper claim. The authors argue that large language models represent “a fundamental shock to the economics of information production” because they collapse the marginal cost of generation asymmetrically — driving the cost of low-quality synthetic content towards zero while leaving high-quality production costly. Formally, AI substitutes for labour in low-quality output but complements it in high-quality creation. From this they derive a unique “Polluted Information Equilibrium”, and attribute its inefficiency to a threefold market failure: a production externality, a platform governance failure, and an information commons externality.

That framework explains something a raw percentage cannot. The problem is not the volume of synthetic content. It is that the cost gap between producing a plausible lie and producing a verified truth has widened, and every actor's incentives now point downhill. Zhang and Zhang propose an Information Pollution Index and an adaptive governance regime keyed to real-time readings — a proposal presupposing an instrument nobody operates.

“AI, Digital Platforms, and the New Systemic Risk” by Philipp Hacker, Lilian Edwards and Atoosa Kasirzadeh, submitted on 22 September 2025 and revised on 23 May 2026, comes at the same territory from the governance side. Drawing on finance, complex systems theory, climate science and cybersecurity, the authors argue that recent European legislation invokes systemic risk while relying on narrow or ambiguous characterisations of it. The Digital Services Act, they find, identifies systemic risk better than the more recent AI Act, and harms such as discrimination at scale and systematic hallucinations “may not fall under current legal definitions, given the AI Act's focus on frontier model capabilities”.

Put the two together and the diagnosis is precise. Generation has become cheap in a way structurally biased towards the low-quality end, and the legal instruments built to respond target frontier model capabilities rather than population-level degradation of the information commons. Neither paper says ninety per cent of the internet is fake. Both say something more troubling: the machinery for noticing and pricing the damage does not exist.

Seeing Stopped Being Enough Somewhere Around Last March

The abstraction becomes concrete fastest in medicine, where the readers are the most highly trained image analysts in the world.

On 24 March 2026, Radiology published a study led by Mickael Tordjman, a post-doctoral fellow at the Icahn School of Medicine at Mount Sinai, testing whether radiologists could distinguish synthetic X-rays from real ones. Seventeen radiologists at twelve centres across six countries assessed 264 radiographs, half authentic and half generated, using both a general-purpose commercial model and RoentGen, a diffusion model built at Stanford for chest radiography.

When the radiologists did not know the study's true purpose, only forty-one per cent spontaneously flagged the synthetic images. Told explicitly that the dataset was half fake, their mean accuracy reached seventy-five per cent, with individual performance ranging from fifty-eight to ninety-two per cent. Experience made no difference: the researchers found no correlation between years in practice and detection accuracy.

Read that again. Specialists, forewarned, missed roughly a quarter of fabricated medical images. The clinical implications are obvious — fraudulent insurance claims, manufactured litigation evidence, falsified trial data — but the epistemic implication is larger. A chest X-ray was, until recently, close to a paradigm case of self-authenticating evidence. It is not any more, and no amount of professional training closes the gap.

The financial sector has the loss figures. On 7 April 2026 the FBI's Internet Crime Complaint Center published its 2025 report: 20.9 billion dollars in reported losses, up twenty-six per cent from 16.6 billion, across 1,008,597 complaints — the first time annual complaints have exceeded one million in the centre's twenty-five year history. People aged sixty and over filed 201,266 complaints and accounted for roughly 7.7 billion dollars of the losses. For the first time, the report carried a section on AI-facilitated fraud: more than twenty-two thousand complaints and nearly 893 million dollars.

The archetypal case remains the engineering firm Arup, whose Hong Kong finance employee authorised fifteen transfers totalling roughly 25.6 million dollars in a single day after a video conference in which every executive on the call was a deepfake assembled from publicly available footage. Hong Kong police disclosed the incident in February 2024; Arup confirmed itself as the victim in May. Deloitte's Center for Financial Services, in an analysis published on 29 May 2024 by Satish Lalchand, Val Srinivas, Brendan Maggiore and Joshua Henderson, projected that generative AI could push United States fraud losses to forty billion dollars by 2027, from 12.3 billion in 2023. That last figure is a projection and should be read as one. The IC3 numbers are not.

Detection Is the Losing Side of an Arms Race It Cannot Leave

The instinctive response is to build a detector. The evidence says this will not work, and the best evidence is a benchmark designed specifically to test the claim.

Deepfake-Eval-2024, assembled by Nuria Alina Chandra, Oren Etzioni and eleven colleagues and first posted in March 2025, collected deepfakes actually circulating in the wild during 2024 — forty-five hours of video, 56.5 hours of audio and 1,975 images, drawn from eighty-eight different websites in fifty-two languages. The team then ran state-of-the-art open-source detectors against it.

Performance collapsed. Against the academic benchmarks on which these models report their headline accuracy, the area under the curve fell by fifty per cent for video, forty-eight per cent for audio and forty-five per cent for images. Commercial detectors and fine-tuned models did better, but still did not match human forensic analysts. The authors' conclusion is blunt: academic benchmarks are out of date and unrepresentative of real-world deepfakes.

This is not a temporary engineering shortfall. Detection is structurally the trailing party. A detector is trained on generators that already exist, and any published detector becomes a differentiable objective for the next generation to optimise against. Compression, re-encoding, screenshotting and platform transcoding degrade exactly the statistical residue detectors look for. Every step of ordinary internet distribution is, incidentally, an evasion technique.

Which means the question cannot be answered by looking harder at the artefact. You have to ask where it came from. And the moment you do, you have changed the subject from what is true to who is vouching — and created a market.

Provenance Changes the Question From What Is True to Who Signed

The Coalition for Content Provenance and Authenticity is the serious attempt at that change. Its output, Content Credentials, is a cryptographically signed manifest travelling with a file, recording what device or software produced it and what edits were applied. The specification reached version 2.3 in January 2026 and is progressing through ISO as draft standard 22144.

The steering committee is the tell. It comprises Adobe, Amazon, the BBC, Google, Meta, Microsoft, OpenAI, Publicis Groupe, Sony, TikTok and Truepic — the world's largest advertising conglomerate, the dominant mobile and desktop platform vendors, the two largest generative model providers, three major distribution platforms, one public service broadcaster and one verification vendor. A reasonable roster for building an interoperable standard. Also a list of the organisations that will decide what counts as authentic.

Before assessing who should hold that power, be precise about what the technology proves. It proves that a manifest was signed by a key traceable to a listed certificate, and that the file has not changed since. It does not prove the manifest's assertions are true. Photograph an AI-generated image displayed on a screen using a C2PA-enabled Leica and you get a cryptographically impeccable credential attesting that a real camera captured a real scene, which it did — the scene was a monitor. Nor does provenance say anything about context: an authentic photograph from one conflict, correctly signed, remains authentic when captioned as coming from another.

The independent security assessment is worse than the conceptual critique. On 27 April 2026, Enis Golaszewski, Neal Krawetz, Alan T. Sherman, Edward Zieglar and seven colleagues published what they describe as the first comprehensive independent security analysis of C2PA, including the first formal-methods analysis of its core protocols. Their finding: “the current C2PA specifications fail to achieve their claimed security goals”. Their recommendation is stark. C2PA “should not yet be relied upon for high-stakes uses such as financial disclosures, journalism, or legal evidence” — a fairly comprehensive list of the uses for which it is being promoted.

The Certificate Authority Is the Chokepoint

Here the asymmetry stops being conceptual and becomes an access-control list.

To emit a Content Credential validators will trust, you need a signing certificate from a certification authority on the C2PA Trust List. To obtain one, your product must have passed the C2PA Conformance Program, which assesses it against the specification, a certificate policy and a set of security requirements. The interim trust list that held the ecosystem together in its early years was frozen on 1 January 2026; the formal programme replacing it opened in mid-2025 and remains in early enrolment.

Consider what this means in practice. SSL.com, a conformant certification authority, introduced a free tier in June 2026 offering one Level 1 claim signing certificate valid for a year plus ten thousand trusted timestamps. Generous — except that applicants must present “a valid C2PA conformance record ID”. The certificate is free; eligibility to hold one is not something an individual can obtain at all. Conformance is a process applied to products and organisations, with legal agreements, security assessments and identity validation attached. A freelance photographer in Nairobi cannot pass it. A witness with a phone cannot pass it.

The World Privacy Forum, in a technical review published on 3 September 2025 by Kate Kaye and Pam Dixon, put the governance objection with precision: “the criteria used for inclusion on these lists, or who the arbiters deciding which entities are considered known, and by extension, trustworthy have not been made public”. The same review noted that C2PA's own harms modelling documentation concedes that “loss of control over personal information and enforced suppression of speech are possible through use of C2PA”, and that identity specifications were moved out of the core standard into a separate working group in January 2024, with identity claims aggregators now bridging government and commercial identity systems into provenance workflows.

So the architecture, stated plainly: generating a convincing fake requires a consumer graphics card or a free web account. Generating a credential that a verifier will honour requires membership of, or accreditation by, a consortium whose selection criteria are not published. One of those capabilities has been democratised. The other has been enclosed.

Every Platform Reads the Evidence and Then Deletes It

Even for the accredited, the infrastructure does not currently deliver.

In October 2025 the Washington Post ran a test that ought to be better known. Reporters produced an AI-generated video carrying Content Credentials and uploaded it to eight major social platforms. Only YouTube surfaced any warning, and that disclosure sat inside a description attached to the clip rather than on the video itself. No platform preserved the Content Credentials data in a form users could access.

The mechanism is mundane. Platforms re-encode nearly every image and video at upload — for file size, for format normalisation, and to strip EXIF data that routinely contains GPS coordinates and device identifiers. Metadata not deliberately carried through the transcode does not survive it. Some platforms do read the manifest before discarding it: TikTok began reading C2PA data in 2024 and applies its own “AI-generated” labels on that basis, adding an invisible watermark in November 2025 precisely because, in its own account, C2PA metadata can be removed when content is re-uploaded or edited.

That is the settled state of affairs. The provenance record is read by the platform, used for the platform's own labelling decision, and deleted from the file that everyone actually sees. Users receive a conclusion, not evidence. Whether to believe the label is a question about the platform, which is where we started.

The proposed remedy is “durable” credentials — soft bindings such as invisible watermarks and perceptual fingerprints that allow a stripped manifest to be recovered from a cloud registry. C2PA's own FAQ describes the approach. It also relocates verification from the file in your hand to a lookup against a database somebody else operates, and makes every verification a queryable event. Google's SynthID, embedded by default across Gemini, Imagen, Lyria and Veo, had marked more than ten billion pieces of content by Google's own account. Detection runs through Google's detector portal and the Gemini app. The watermark is Google's, the detector is Google's, and the answer to “is this real” is a request to Google.

Brussels Set a Deadline and It Lands on the Compliant

Two weeks ago, on 2 August 2026, Article 50 of the EU AI Act became enforceable. Providers of systems generating synthetic audio, image, video or text must now mark outputs with “effective, reliable, robust and interoperable machine-readable marks”. Deployers of deepfakes must disclose them with a visible or audible label a person can understand without any detection tool — a hidden machine-readable mark does not satisfy the deployer obligation. Systems already on the market have until 2 December 2026 to comply with the marking requirement, and content generated before 2 August 2026 needs no retrospective labelling. Non-compliance carries fines of up to fifteen million euros or three per cent of worldwide annual turnover, whichever is higher.

This survived a serious attempt to slow the whole regime. The Digital Omnibus on AI, Regulation (EU) 2026/1744, entered into force on 27 July 2026 and deferred the high-risk obligations under Annex III to 2 December 2027 and those for product-embedded systems to 2 August 2028. It did not delay Article 50. Spain has gone further, creating a dedicated supervisory agency, AESIA, and legislating penalties of up to thirty-five million euros or seven per cent of global turnover for failure to label.

Now apply the asymmetry. Article 50 binds providers placing systems on the EU market and deployers operating within its jurisdiction — companies with legal departments, European entities and revenue worth three per cent of. It binds OpenAI, Google, Adobe and Meta. It does not bind an open-weight model running on a laptop in a jurisdiction with no equivalent statute, which is where a growing share of genuinely harmful material is produced. The fraudsters who took 893 million dollars from Americans last year were not weighing their exposure to European administrative fines.

The predictable effect is that compliant, well-resourced, largely benign generation becomes marked, while non-compliant, adversarial generation stays unmarked. Over time that inverts the signal. If the honest are labelled and the dishonest are not, then “unmarked” ceases to mean “probably human” and starts to mean “outside the regime” — a category containing both the criminal and the ordinary person with a phone and no accreditation.

Hacker, Edwards and Kasirzadeh anticipated the structural version of this. Their framework identifies four levels of AI-related systemic risk and warns that the AI Act's orientation towards frontier model capabilities leaves population-level harms outside its definitions. Marking obligations regulate the emitter. The pollution they were meant to address is a property of the commons.

Ten Dollars a Title Is What Being Believed Now Costs

The optimistic version of the trust economy holds that a premium will emerge on genuinely human work. It is worth looking at what such a premium looks like once someone actually builds one.

The Authors Guild operates a certification called Human Authored. A book qualifies if its text was written by one or more humans, with an exception for spelling and grammar tools; using AI for research, brainstorming or indexing does not disqualify a title. The programme opened to Guild members in 2025 and, as of March 2026, to any author published in the United States. Certification costs ten dollars per title for non-members and requires identity verification through a third-party service. Both the fee and the identity check are waived for Guild members.

Two features deserve attention. First, the Guild does not vet manuscripts for AI content before certifying them, and says so, on the reasonable grounds that no reliable detection method exists. Enforcement rests on self-certification, a licensing agreement and community reporting. What is certified is not that a human wrote the book. It is that an identified person has made a contractual assertion and is exposed to consequences if it is false. That is accountability, which is genuinely valuable — and a different product from truth.

Second, look at the price structure. Ten dollars and an identity check for outsiders; free and no identity check for members. That is a small, benign, entirely defensible example of exactly the mechanism at issue. Membership confers the presumption of good faith. Non-membership must purchase it, and surrender identifying data to do so.

Scale that logic to every claim anyone makes online and the phrase “authenticity premium” reveals what it describes. A premium is a price. Someone pays it and someone collects it. Yang Xite's suggestion that “people with established reputations, professional track records, and a history of making reliable judgments may become more valuable precisely because they are accountable for what they say” is almost certainly right, and not obviously good news. It describes a market in which credibility accrues to those who already have standing, and everyone else must buy accreditation from an intermediary or be discounted. A premium on being believed is, in distributional terms, a tax on being doubted. It falls hardest on those least able to pay it and with the weakest prior reputation to trade on — which is to say, most people.

Proof of Personhood Turns Out to Be a Subscription Business

The same shape appears in identity infrastructure, at greater scale and with fewer safeguards.

World, the network built by Tools for Humanity and co-founded by Sam Altman, verifies humanness by scanning irises with a device called the Orb, issuing a World ID that lets a person prove uniqueness without revealing identity. By April 2026, nearly eighteen million people had verified at an Orb. During 2026 the company has pivoted towards enterprise, expanding verification points into retail and introducing fees for applications that check a user's humanity, while keeping verification free for the end user. Reported partners include Tinder and Reddit.

Read that business model carefully. Users supply biometrics free of charge; relying parties pay for the right to trust them. The asset being monetised is the population of verified humans, and the revenue accrues to whoever operates the verification layer. This is not a criticism of the cryptography, which is thoughtful. It is an observation about who ends up holding the register of real people, and on what terms.

The public-sector alternative is further along than most people realise and less far along than its deadline requires. Under the revised eIDAS regulation, all twenty-seven EU member states must make a European Digital Identity Wallet available to citizens by 24 December 2026. France, Austria and Italy have launched national implementations; Germany has said its state-issued wallet will arrive on 2 January 2027, after the deadline. Fewer than a third of member states currently meet the readiness benchmark. A wallet issued by a state is a materially better arrangement than one issued by a venture-funded company, and it is arriving late into a vacuum commercial providers are filling now.

Meanwhile the enforcement apparatus for synthetic commercial speech is thin. The Federal Trade Commission's rule on consumer reviews and testimonials took effect on 21 October 2024, expressly covering AI-generated reviews, with civil penalties per violation running to tens of thousands of dollars. In December 2025 the agency sent warning letters, later posted publicly, and in January 2026 established a dedicated AI enforcement unit. Set that against NewsGuard's 3,749 content farms and the scale problem answers itself. Enforcement is retail; generation is wholesale.

Absence of Proof Is Becoming Proof of Absence

Everything above converges on a single failure mode, and the World Privacy Forum named it before it arrived.

Provenance systems classify. Content carrying a valid signature is marked as such; content without one is rendered “unknown” or “invalid”. In an interface, on a phone, glanced at for a second and a half, those categories collapse into one: not verified, therefore suspect.

Consider who is systematically unverified. A protester filming police conduct on a five-year-old handset with no provenance capability. A whistleblower who must strip metadata to survive. A journalist in an authoritarian state for whom a cryptographic link between a file and a device is a targeting package. A photographer in a country with no conformant certificate authority. The World Privacy Forum found precisely this risk: that the trust model penalises creators lacking C2PA adoption and disadvantages marginalised and at-risk communities — the very groups the technology's designers set out to protect.

There is a second-order effect. When authenticity becomes a live question, real evidence loses force. The liar's dividend — dismissing genuine recordings as fabricated — is available to anyone whose accuser lacks a certificate, and that accuser is usually the one with less money. Provenance infrastructure does not merely fail to help such people. It hands their opponents a rhetorical instrument: where are the credentials?

Nor is the burden evenly distributed geographically. The conformance programme, the certificate authorities, the steering committee and the standards process are concentrated in the United States, western Europe and Japan. The trust list is the operative boundary of the verifiable internet, and it was drawn by eleven organisations, none accountable to an electorate, according to criteria that have not been published.

What Would Actually Redistribute the Burden

None of this argues for abandoning provenance. Content Credentials are useful, and a signed chain of custody from a wire agency's camera to a newspaper's front page beats nothing. The argument is that provenance as currently constituted transfers the cost of doubt onto the people least able to bear it, and that this is a design choice rather than a law of nature.

Four changes would alter the distribution.

Make absence neutral by design. Interfaces should be prohibited from rendering unsigned content as suspect. The presence of a credential is information; its absence is not. This is a user-experience rule with constitutional weight, and the cheapest intervention available.

Open the trust list. If the conformance criteria and the identity of the arbiters remain unpublished, a private consortium is exercising a public function without accountability. Publishing the criteria, the appeals process and the removal grounds costs nothing. An individual pathway to signing — accreditation of persons, not only products and organisations, with the cost borne publicly — is the harder and more necessary step.

Fix revocation before scaling. The Nikon episode was contained because Horshack disclosed it, and could not be fully remediated because validators do not check revocation by default. A provenance ecosystem in which a revoked certificate validates is worse than no ecosystem, because it manufactures unearned confidence. Golaszewski and colleagues have supplied the formal analysis; the specification should be treated as pre-deployment until their findings are addressed.

Regulate the reader, not only the writer. Article 50 obliges emitters to mark. It says nothing about the platforms that strip those marks in transit. A distribution-side duty to preserve and display provenance data, enforceable against very large platforms under the Digital Services Act, would make the marking obligation meaningful. At present the EU compels the creation of evidence and permits its destruction seconds later.

The pug flying the aeroplane was never really about Nikon. It was about the discovery that the certificate and the thing certified had come apart, and that only the certifier could put them back together. That is the position ordinary people are being moved into across every domain where truth must now be demonstrated rather than observed. The ability to fabricate has been handed to everybody. The ability to be believed is being metered, priced and administered by a small number of hardware manufacturers, platforms, model providers and identity vendors, on terms they have not published, with an appeals process that does not exist.

Confidence is indeed becoming the scarce resource. Whether that is a market opportunity or a civil liberties emergency turns not on whether verification gets built, but on whether the people who cannot afford it are treated as unproven or as liars.

References

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2. Yukun Zhang and Tianyang Zhang, “The Economics of Information Pollution in the Age of AI: General Equilibrium, Welfare, and Policy Design,” arXiv:2509.13729, 17 September 2025, revised 4 January 2026. https://arxiv.org/abs/2509.13729
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21. Gibson Dunn, “EU AI Act Omnibus Agreement — Postponed High-Risk Deadlines and Other Key Changes,” gibsondunn.com, 2026. https://www.gibsondunn.com/eu-ai-act-omnibus-agreement-postponed-high-risk-deadlines-and-other-key-changes/
22. The Authors Guild, “Human Authored Certification,” authorsguild.org, accessed 16 August 2026. https://authorsguild.org/human-authored/
23. Biometric Update, “World shifts from crypto identity experiment to enterprise proof-of-humanity,” biometricupdate.com, June 2026. https://www.biometricupdate.com/202606/world-shifts-from-crypto-identity-experiment-to-enterprise-proof-of-humanity
24. European Commission, “European Digital Identity Wallet,” ec.europa.eu, accessed 16 August 2026. https://ec.europa.eu/digital-building-blocks/sites/display/EUDIGITALIDENTITYWALLET/EU+Digital+Identity+Wallet+Home
25. DLA Piper, “FTC's 2026 enforcement approach to fake reviews takes shape: Takeaways for companies,” dlapiper.com, July 2026. https://www.dlapiper.com/en-us/insights/publications/2026/07/ftcs-2026-enforcement-approach-to-fake-reviews-takes-shape-takeaways-for-companies

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Tim Green UK-based Systems Theorist & Independent Technology Writer

Tim explores the intersections of artificial intelligence, decentralised cognition, and posthuman ethics. His work, published at smarterarticles.co.uk, challenges dominant narratives of technological progress while proposing interdisciplinary frameworks for collective intelligence and digital stewardship.

His writing has been featured on Ground News and shared by independent researchers across both academic and technological communities.

ORCID: 0009-0002-0156-9795 Email: tim@smarterarticles.co.uk

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I think it was from a video from Cozy RPG Reviews, and a Solo RPG Adventure from someone else, where the idea of running not as player emulating GM, but as a GM emulating the player’s actions.

Sadly I do not remember which video from Cozry RPG Review, even if it was from him, nor from which channel came the Solo Adventure.

What I do remember, the former described having a group of players, with defined wants and won’ts, that would affect the outcome of the rolls; the later had the GM rolling to decided the “player” character actions/choices, rather than the rolling the outcome of the player’s decisions.

These two gave the idea that maybe it is possible to play as a GM, and emulate the players, and I think Legends in the Mist (LitM) kind have what is needed to make it work.

In LitM, your player is characterised by four theme cards, each with three positive attributes/aspects, and one negative, plus a quest. These cards could be about their background, profession, ancestry, important heirloom, etc.

The way it would work, you would create a group of, say, four players, each player is made up of a card, similar to LitM. Each card would have three positive themes, one negative theme, plus a quest. With one of the four themes being the defining characteristic of the hero, that which comes to the mind of a stranger upon first meeting them. It is recommended that this be a positive theme.

An example: Veteran Soldier (major), Noble Born, Learned, Drunkard (negative), with a quest to “Retake his family lands.”

Each one of the themes is a broad as it needs be. The Veteran Soldier could imply the character to be a leader of men, able to rally people behind his sword, as well as imply he has a full armour and weapon set alongside a horse; while Noble Born could mean he knows people of importance and that guards would overlook minor misdemeanour. Finally, the Drunkard could mean he can never say no to alcohol, would always find trouble in taverns, is easily intoxicated.

You as the GM, would present the plot, and decide possible threads for the heroes to follow. If any one hero is strongly linked to it, – based on their themes, they would take certain actions. If more than one hero has a link, and they are conflicting, a roll of dice would determine which would prevail.

For this, the same mechanic for LitM could work, roll two d6s, add or subtract 1 to the result, based on the positive and negative themes. In LitM, the result being above 10, would mean success; between 6 and 10, success with a cost; 6 or under, failure.

This will work for individual challenges, whereas direct confrontation between party members goals, the higher result would prevail, and in case of a tie, whoever had the most absolute number of themes used. I.e: a hero using a positive and a negative theme would win against one using only a single positive.

This is to mean that hero put more of themself into achieving the desired goal. If that is equal, negative trumps positive, for even with the drawback, the hero still pushed forward. If tied still, roll again.

An alternative to this roll, is rolling one d6 and two d8s. Adding/subtracting to the d6 result to get the player result. Equal or higher than both d8s, success, equal or higher than one d8 but lower than the other, success at a cost, lower than both d8s, failure.

A third possible solution, roll two d6s. If the sum higher than 6, success; lower, failure. Double 4s, 5s, and 6s on success roll, critical success; double 3s or 2s roll, success at a cost; double 1s, critical failure. Add/subtract the bonus from themes: A result of [2][2]+2 would mean a critical success. These last way of rolling I just came up with while writing this. It may be too cumbersome and needlessly complicated. Maybe remove the middle doubles, a total of 2: critical failure, while a result of 12: critical success. Bonus do not apply for these).

LitM also have the mechanic of burning a tag. I don’t quite remember how it works in there, but in here, it could be used to give a second wind to the hero, the burnt theme wound not be available for use for the duration of the session/adventure.

I imagine it could work in the case where the adventure would end, or the hero would die. They don’t, but loose something significant. Even in the case of a TPK in a combat situation, each participating hero burns a theme, and they “win”. This might be too much, but it is an idea to keep the story going, and there is just so many themes to burn.

#RPG #SoloRPG #PlayerlessRPG #SoloDM #SoloGM

I woke up about an hour ago. i have nothing interesting to tell you, i am writing now because i know that if i wait until later, i will still have nothing interesting to tell you. at least this way,i can pretend i was productive about it. i already know how today will go. work, the usual. nothing fascinating. nothing worth making a note of, i will do what needs to be done, come back, complain about something insignificant, and somehow convince myself that this was a day worth documenting. thats it. well, besides that. i did notice something, i saw it, i noticed it. she said otherwise. i might be ill. i might be sick. i might be tired enough that my brain has started making observations it has no business making. but im aware. you can claim that im dumb, foolish. call me whatever you like. do whatever you like. i am still aware. i may be slow, miss things. but im not as idiotic as you might think i am. i know what i notice. i know when something does not quite add up. anyway, Theres something deeply comforting about having a hot cup of tea and pretending the rest of the day can wait until you’ve finished it. i like tea. thats is all.

And to all my coffee drinkers, keep pretending you actually like the taste and arent just drinking roasted asphalt to survive the consequences of your own poor life choices, sponsored by a fragile facade of productivity.

Sincerely, with tea in my hand, your daily headache.

In Summary: * A typically quiet Sunday here. Enjoyed watching the Freedom 250 Grand Prix IndyCar race, and enjoyed following the Rangers in their 5 to 3 win over the Angels. And I've mostly avoided going outside into the weather today.

Prayers, etc.: * I have a daily prayer regimen I try to follow throughout the day from early morning, as soon as I roll out of bed, until head hits pillow at night.

Health Metrics: * bw= 225.53 lbs. * bp= 140/83 (67)

Exercise: * morning stretches, balance exercises, kegel pelvic floor exercises, half squats, calf raises, wall push-ups, BP breathing exercises, pilates

Diet: * 08:10 – 1 banana * 08:45 – 2 little cupcakes * 10:00 – chicken lasagna * 13:00 – 1 more little cupcake * 14:00 – 1 fresh orange * 14:20 – snacking on cheese and saltine crackers * 15:00 – bowl of home made meat and vegetable soup

Activities, Chores, etc.: * 03:30 – wake up * 04:20 – bank accounts activity monitored * 04:40 – read, write, pray, follow news reports from various sources, surf the socials, nap * 11:00 – watching prerace coverage then the running itself of the IndyCar Freedom 250 Grand Prix * 13:35 – multi-tasking, still following the live running Freedom 250 Grand Prix on the TV, now also following the MLB Rangers vs. Angels game, which is now starting via MLB's Gameday Service on a laptop. * 15:00 – congrats to Kyle Kirkwood, winner of today's Freedom 250 Grand Prix. That was a great race to follow, but now I can concenrate on my baseball game. * 16:25 – and the Rangers win this one. Final score: Rangers 5, Angels 3. * 16:30 – following news reports from various sources, surfing the socials

Chess: * 12:30 – moved in all pending CC games, winning one, losing another, and adding one new game

Chapter 1: The Message You Keep Checking For

You look at your phone again, even though you already know there is nothing there. No apology. No message that says, “I understand what I did.” No sign that the other person has spent even five minutes thinking about the hurt they left behind. You tell yourself not to check again, but some part of you is still waiting for one sentence that might make the whole thing easier to carry. That quiet waiting is where this Jesus-centered message about forgiving someone who is not sorry meets real life, because forgiveness sounds very different when the person who hurt you is still acting as if nothing happened.

Maybe you have tried to be mature about it. You went to work, answered people normally, paid the bills, made dinner, and did what needed to be done. Then something small brings it back. A song comes on. A name appears on the screen. You pass a place that holds a memory. Suddenly the old question is sitting beside you again: How am I supposed to forgive someone who will not even admit they were wrong? That question belongs beside the deeper struggle of forgiving while protecting your heart, because forgiveness becomes confusing when people treat it as permission for the damage to continue.

I think this is one of the places where Jesus is easier to admire than to follow. It is moving to hear Him say, “Father, forgive them,” while He is being crucified. It is much harder to remember that the people around Him were not standing there apologizing. They were mocking Him. Some were gambling for His clothing. Others had helped create the injustice that put Him on the cross. Jesus did not call evil good, and He did not pretend cruelty was kindness. Yet He refused to let their lack of repentance decide what would grow inside Him. Their behavior remained wrong, but it did not receive authority over His heart.

That matters because resentment often begins as a demand for justice. At first, it may not even feel like bitterness. It feels reasonable. You want the truth recognized. You want someone to say that what happened was real and that it hurt you. There is something deeply human about wanting the person who caused the wound to help repair it. The danger comes when your healing becomes chained to a person who may never become willing to do that. Their apology starts to feel like a key, and without realizing it, you hand them the lock to your peace.

Picture the drive home after a long day when your mind starts replaying the conversation again. You think of what you should have said. You imagine what they might finally say if they understood. You rehearse the apology you deserved. By the time you pull into the driveway, the person is not in the car with you, but they have taken the whole ride. That is what unresolved hurt can do. It can keep using your time even when the event itself is over. Jesus does not ask us to deny that pain. He invites us to stop giving it unlimited room.

That freedom does not require you to feel warm toward the person who hurt you. It does not mean the memory stops hurting today, and it does not mean you call them, invite them back into your life, or act as though trust has been restored. Forgiveness is not the same thing as reconciliation. Reconciliation needs honesty and participation from both sides. Trust needs evidence over time. Access to your life can change when someone has shown that they are careless with your heart. Forgiveness can begin somewhere quieter, when you stop making your peace wait on their character.

That may be one of the hardest decisions you ever make. You may have spent months believing that if they would just apologize, you could finally move forward. But some people never understand what they did. Some tell the story in a way that protects themselves. Some avoid responsibility because admitting the truth would require them to change. If your peace depends completely on their growth, you may be waiting for something you cannot control. I do not believe Jesus asks you to hand another person that much power over the rest of your life.

Anger can make us feel as though we are still defending the truth, especially when nobody else seems to recognize what happened. But releasing anger does not erase the wound. God saw it even if the other person never admits it. You can remember what happened without feeding the memory every day. You can become wiser without becoming harder. Forgiveness may begin with one quiet prayer in a room where nobody else hears you: “Jesus, I do not know how to let this go yet, but I do not want what they did to become part of who I am.”

You may wake up tomorrow and feel angry again. You may remember the conversation next week while washing dishes or sitting at a red light. Healing can be slower than the decision to forgive, and that does not make the decision false. Something important changes when you stop waiting for another person’s apology to give you permission to heal. You begin placing your future back into the hands of God instead of leaving it in the hands of someone who may never say the words you hoped to hear.

Chapter 2: What Forgiveness Does Not Give Back

The next morning can be strangely ordinary. The coffee maker clicks off. The house is quiet. You stand at the counter and realize that nothing outside you has changed. The person who hurt you is still not sorry. There is no new message, no admission, no sudden sign that they finally understand. And yet something inside you is beginning to shift, because you are no longer asking the same question. Instead of, “When will they make this right?” you begin asking, “What do I need to do with this pain so it does not keep deciding who I become?”

That question is not a shortcut. Forgiveness does not erase the need for wisdom. If someone has shown you that they lie, manipulate, explode in anger, disappear when you need them, or return only when they want something, forgiving them does not require you to ignore the pattern. Jesus was loving, but He was not careless with trust. He could show mercy and still recognize what was in a person’s heart. We can do the same without becoming cold.

A woman may forgive a family member who has spoken cruelly to her for years and still decide that every phone call does not need to be answered. A man may forgive a friend who betrayed a confidence and still stop sharing private parts of his life with that person. Someone may forgive a former spouse and still keep communication limited to what is necessary. Those choices are not evidence that forgiveness failed. Sometimes they are evidence that forgiveness has become honest enough to include boundaries.

This is where many people become confused, because they think forgiveness should make everything return to the way it was. But some things should not return to the way they were. If trust was broken, rebuilding it requires more than a warm moment. If a relationship became unsafe, distance may be wise. If someone repeatedly refuses responsibility, pretending the relationship is healthy can become another way of avoiding the truth. Jesus never asked us to confuse love with pretending.

There is also a quieter struggle that happens inside us. You may forgive someone and still want them to understand what they lost. You may imagine them eventually realizing your value, regretting what they did, or finally seeing the situation clearly. That is understandable, but it can keep you tied to them in another way. You are still waiting for their mind to change so your heart can rest. Sometimes freedom means releasing not only the apology, but also the fantasy that one day they will fully understand.

A father may sit alone after everyone else has gone to bed, thinking about an adult child who barely speaks to him. He knows he made mistakes and has apologized for his part, but there are also accusations he believes are unfair. He wants to defend himself. He wants one final conversation where everything is cleared up. Instead, he is left with silence. In that kind of pain, forgiveness can mean resisting the urge to win the case in your own head every night. It can mean giving God the parts of the story you cannot force anyone else to hear.

Jesus knew what it was like to be misunderstood. People assigned motives to Him that were not true. Religious leaders accused Him falsely. Even people close to Him did not always understand what He was doing. Yet He did not spend His life trying to control every person’s opinion. That is a hard lesson for anyone who has been wounded by someone else’s version of the story. You may never be able to correct every misunderstanding. You may never get a fair hearing. Your peace cannot depend on winning every argument that exists in another person’s mind.

Prayer becomes different here. It stops being only, “God, make them see what they did,” and becomes, “God, help me live well even if they never do.” That prayer is not surrendering truth. It is surrendering control. It is admitting that another person’s conscience belongs to God, while your own heart is your responsibility.

There may still be consequences. There may still be conversations that need to happen. You may still need to say no, document what happened, seek counsel, step away, or protect someone else from being hurt. Forgiveness does not cancel action. It changes the spirit in which you act. You can pursue what is right without making revenge your fuel.

Imagine sitting in your car before walking into work because you know you may see the person who embarrassed you in front of others. Your stomach tightens as you reach for the door handle. Forgiveness in that moment may not feel spiritual at all. It may simply mean deciding, “I will not let their behavior choose mine today.” You can be calm without being fake. You can be civil without pretending closeness. You can keep your dignity without needing to punish them.

That kind of forgiveness is not passive. It takes strength. Resentment can feel powerful because it keeps the offense close and keeps us ready to defend ourselves. But carrying anger all the time is exhausting. It keeps the body tense and the mind occupied. Jesus offers another kind of strength: the ability to tell the truth, keep wise boundaries, and still refuse to become consumed by hatred.

You may not know when you have fully forgiven someone. There may not be a clear moment when every feeling changes. Sometimes you notice it later. Their name comes up, and your chest does not tighten the way it used to. You remember what happened, but you no longer spend the next hour replaying it. You stop checking whether they are sorry. You stop hoping life will punish them in some visible way. The memory becomes part of your story without remaining the center of it.

That is often what healing looks like. Not forgetting. Not excusing. Not rebuilding every relationship. Just becoming free enough to live the life in front of you.

If you are carrying someone’s lack of apology today, you do not have to force yourself into a feeling you do not have. Start smaller. Tell Jesus the truth about your anger. Ask Him to help you separate forgiveness from trust, mercy from access, and love from denial. Ask Him to show you where a boundary is needed and where resentment is only keeping an old wound open.

The person who hurt you may never become sorry. They may never understand. They may never give you the words you deserved to hear. But they do not have to own the next chapter of your life.

You can leave the door to apology open without standing in the doorway forever.

Your friend,

Douglas Vandergraph

Explore the complete Douglas Vandergraph Master Index:

https://douglasvandergraph.com/douglas-vandergraph-master-index/

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s faith-based videos on YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

Them! – 1954 was nothing compared to real ants!

We fought ants all summer. It started when we came back from Europe and they had discovered the cat’s auto-feeder.

We moved it. So did they. Then we started putting out food, watching cat eat, and putting leftovers away. Like a human would do.

The ants got mad and attacked pantries, drawers, bags, bottles. Hell, we even found a few in the fridge.

They are IMPRESSIVELY industrious.

We tried diatomaceous earth, but they have to walk through it and it only effects a few. If it gets wet: worthless. And it gets everywhere. And it’s indiscriminate: we don’t want to hurts spiders or lizards.

Enter: MOM'S RECIPE FOR ANT DISASTER!

It works. Every time. Feel sort of bad, but in this case, the needs of the few outweigh the need of the many.

Ingredients & Measurements

Warm water: ¾ cup Granulated sugar: ¼ cup (acts as the attractant) Borax (sodium tetraborate): ¾ teaspoon to 1 tablespoon (acts as the slow-acting toxicant)

Instruction: Heat the water slightly so the particulate dissolve easily, but do not boil.

Mix the sugar and borax into the warm water. Stir continually until both are completely dissolved.

Soak cotton balls or paper towels in the sweet, medicated solution.

Place the traps in shallow lids or on small pieces of card near ant trails or entry points.

I put mine in empty jars with holes in the lid.

How it works: The high ratio of sugar attracts worker ants. They ingest the liquid and carry it back to share with the queen and the rest of the colony. The slow action ensures they make it back to the nest before dying.

Keep away from pets and kids: Borax is toxic if swallowed. Place the cotton balls out of reach of dogs, cats, and young children.

Replenish as needed: The cotton balls may dry out after a day or two. Add a few drops of water or fresh solution to keep them moist.

At first the ants go nuts. Then in a day or two, the nest dies and they are gone.

Chapter 1: The Fear of Asking Whether the Rule Is Still Serving Love

You can sit in a church parking lot long after everyone else has gone home and still feel as if you have somehow failed God. Maybe you missed a meeting because your child was sick. Maybe you stopped volunteering because you were exhausted. Maybe someone made a comment that sounded small but stayed with you all week. By the time you turn the key in the ignition, the question is no longer about the meeting, the schedule, or what anybody said. The question is whether being tired, confused, or unable to keep up means you are becoming less faithful.

That is one reason I keep coming back to the moment Jesus confronted religious authority without losing compassion. I do not come back to it because I want an excuse to reject every rule or dismiss every tradition. I come back because there are seasons when a person needs to know that Jesus can challenge a religious expectation without abandoning God. In fact, sometimes He challenges the expectation because He is protecting what God cared about in the first place.

That also connects with the deeper question of what happens when faith becomes more about performance than love. Some people know that pressure very well. They learned how to look faithful before they learned how to be honest. They learned which words sounded spiritual, which doubts were safer to keep private, and which struggles made other people uncomfortable. Over time, they began to wonder whether Jesus was asking them to carry all that weight or whether some of it had been added by people who meant well but had forgotten the heart of what they were trying to protect.

This is where the Gospel stories become personal. Jesus was Jewish. He grew up inside Jewish life, worshiped in Jewish settings, knew the Hebrew Scriptures, and participated in Jewish religious practice. When He argued with Pharisees, scribes, or other religious leaders, He was not standing outside Judaism mocking it. These were arguments inside His own religious world. That matters because it keeps us from turning His confrontations into an attack on Jewish people. It also turns the mirror back toward every religious community, including Christianity. The real question is not, “What was wrong with them?” The better question is, “Where do we still make the same mistake?”

One Sabbath, Jesus entered a synagogue and saw a man with a damaged hand. The atmosphere was already tense. People were watching to see whether Jesus would heal him on the Sabbath. Imagine that room for a moment. A hurting man is standing there, but the attention has shifted away from his pain and toward whether Jesus will violate an accepted interpretation of the rules. The man has become almost secondary to the argument.

That is the kind of moment Jesus would not ignore. He brought the man forward. He asked whether it was lawful on the Sabbath to do good or to do harm, to save life or to kill. Then He healed him. Jesus did not treat the Sabbath as meaningless. He treated human need as something the Sabbath was never meant to erase.

I think about the person who spent three months caring for an aging parent and slowly disappeared from church activities. At first, people checked in. Later, some of the messages changed. “We haven’t seen you.” “You need to stay connected.” “Don’t let this season pull you away.” None of those sentences are automatically cruel. But when that person is sleeping four hours a night, cleaning up medication bottles, answering insurance calls, and trying not to cry in the grocery store, what sounds like encouragement can start to feel like one more demand.

Jesus makes me ask a harder question in a situation like that. Is the goal to get that person back into a routine as quickly as possible, or is the goal to help carry the burden? Are we protecting attendance, appearance, and normal patterns, or are we protecting the person? There are times when love will eventually help someone return to healthy rhythms. But love begins by seeing what is actually happening.

That is what I find so powerful about Jesus in these confrontations. He was not impressed by religious behavior that made people easier to overlook. He could see the rule, the tradition, the expectation, and the person standing underneath all of it. He kept bringing the person back into view.

There is a quiet freedom in that. You do not have to become cynical about faith in order to be honest about religious pressure. You do not have to throw away every tradition to admit that traditions can be mishandled. You do not have to become hostile toward religious leaders to recognize that leaders can become so focused on preserving order that they miss the person in front of them.

And you do not have to be afraid of Jesus when you are tired of pretending. The Jesus who challenged religious authority was not trying to make wounded people feel smaller. He was exposing the kind of religion that could stand next to suffering and still be more concerned about being technically correct.

Sometimes the first step back toward God is not trying harder. Sometimes it is asking whether the weight you are carrying came from Him at all.

Chapter 2: When Being Right Starts Making Us Less Kind

A man sits at his desk after a difficult meeting and replays one sentence in his head. He knows he defended the right policy. He knows the rule exists for a reason. He knows the other person should have handled the situation differently. Still, something bothers him. The conversation was technically correct, but it was not kind. He won the point and lost the person. By the time he drives home, he is wondering whether being right can become its own kind of blindness.

That question belongs inside faith too. Religious people can become so concerned with correct behavior that we stop noticing what our correctness is doing to the people around us. We can quote the verse, defend the tradition, explain the standard, and still leave someone feeling unseen. Jesus confronted that kind of failure because He understood that truth was never meant to become a weapon for the ego.

In Matthew 23, Jesus spoke strongly to religious leaders who paid careful attention to small matters while neglecting what He called the weightier matters of the law: justice, mercy, and faithfulness. The problem was not that details never mattered. The problem was that details had become easier to manage than the deeper work of becoming a person who was just, merciful, and faithful.

That can happen quietly. A parent may become so focused on a teenager using the right language about faith that the parent stops hearing the fear underneath the teenager's questions. A church member may become so determined to protect what is proper that a divorced woman begins to feel as if every room she enters comes with an unspoken judgment. A Christian may spend more energy correcting another person's theology online than praying for the person behind the screen.

None of this means truth is unimportant. Jesus did not lower truth in order to raise compassion. He joined them. That is what makes His example more demanding than either extreme. It is easier to become harsh and call it conviction. It is also easier to avoid difficult truth and call it kindness. Jesus did neither.

He could look directly at hypocrisy and name it. He could also eat with people others considered sinful. He could challenge a religious leader and still make time for someone desperate enough to push through a crowd. He could speak about repentance without treating broken people as disposable.

That gives us a better test for our own religious instincts. When I feel the need to correct someone, I have to ask what I am trying to protect. Am I protecting the heart of God, or am I protecting my need to feel superior? Am I trying to help this person move toward truth, or am I trying to prove that I understand more than they do?

Those questions are uncomfortable because motives are rarely clean. Sometimes we care about truth and our pride at the same time. Sometimes we want to help and also want to win. That is why following Jesus requires more than knowing the right answer. It requires enough humility to notice what is happening inside us while we are giving it.

I have seen this most clearly in ordinary conversations where nobody raises their voice. Someone shares that prayer has felt empty lately. The fastest response is to tell them to pray more. Someone says they are angry with God. The safe religious response is to correct the anger. Someone admits they have not been to church in months. The easy response is to explain why they should return.

But maybe the first faithful response is to stay in the chair. Maybe it is to ask what happened. Maybe it is to let the silence last long enough for the real story to come out.

Jesus often made room for the person before He addressed the problem. That does not weaken truth. It makes truth more likely to be heard because the person knows they have been seen.

There is a difference between standing for God and standing over people. One carries conviction with humility. The other uses conviction to create distance. Jesus kept collapsing that distance. He stepped toward the sick, the ashamed, the doubtful, the unpopular, and the spiritually confused. The people most certain of their own righteousness were often the ones He challenged hardest.

That is worth remembering the next time we are sure we are right. The question is not only whether our position is correct. The question is whether the way we carry it looks anything like Jesus.

Chapter 3: The Kind of Faith That Leaves Room for a Person

A woman stands at the kitchen sink with her phone resting beside a stack of unopened mail. She has been avoiding one conversation for days. Someone she loves has made a choice she does not agree with, and she is afraid that saying what she believes will push them farther away. She is also afraid that saying nothing will feel dishonest. The water keeps running while she tries to decide whether faithfulness means speaking harder or loving more carefully.

Jesus gives us another way to think about that moment. He never treated love and truth as enemies. He did not soften everything until nothing mattered, and He did not turn truth into a reason to become cold. He stayed close enough to people to tell them the truth without forgetting that they were people first.

That matters because many of us learned to measure faithfulness by how firmly we defended a position. Jesus seems to ask something deeper. Can you remain truthful without becoming cruel? Can you remain compassionate without pretending that every choice is good? Can you stay present when another person is confused, defensive, angry, or not ready to hear what you hope they will understand?

Those questions move faith out of theory and into the kitchen, the office, the family group text, the hospital waiting room, and the quiet drive home. It is one thing to admire the courage of Jesus when He confronted religious leaders. It is another thing to let His courage change the way we speak when we feel disappointed, threatened, or certain that somebody else is wrong.

Sometimes the most Christlike thing we can do is slow down long enough to see the whole person. A coworker may be difficult because they are carrying pressure you cannot see. A family member may be resisting faith because their experience of religion was tied to shame. A friend may be asking questions that sound rebellious when they are really trying to find out whether God is safe enough to approach honestly.

Seeing the person does not require approving everything. It requires refusing to reduce someone to the part of their life that frustrates us.

That is one of the clearest lessons I take from the way Jesus confronted religious practice. He kept pulling attention back to what mattered most. When rules became more important than mercy, He challenged the rules as they were being used. When tradition became a way to avoid responsibility, He exposed it. When religious status became a shield for pride, He named the pride. And when ordinary people were pushed to the edges, He kept moving toward them.

That should make Christians careful with power, including the small kinds of power we carry in everyday relationships. A parent has power in a child's life. A leader has power in a room. A longtime church member can shape whether a newcomer feels welcomed or watched. Even a sentence spoken casually can either open a door or make someone feel that they have already been judged.

I do not want a faith that helps me win arguments while making me harder to be around. I do not want to defend Jesus in a way that looks nothing like Jesus. I want a faith strong enough to tell the truth, humble enough to examine itself, and gentle enough to remember that every person in front of me has a story I do not fully know.

That may be the quiet invitation inside these confrontations. Before we use Jesus against someone else, we can let Him question us. Before we point toward another person's hypocrisy, we can ask where our own habits have become more important than mercy. Before we speak, we can ask whether our words are trying to restore, protect, clarify, or simply win.

Jesus did not confront religious authority because He hated religion. He confronted what happened when religion lost sight of God and people. His strength was never separated from compassion. His courage was never an excuse for contempt.

If we follow Him, that same tension belongs to us. We can hold convictions without holding people at a distance. We can challenge what is wrong without enjoying another person's humiliation. We can value tradition without worshiping it. We can keep truth in our hands without turning it into a stone.

And when we are unsure what faithfulness looks like, we can return to the question Jesus kept forcing into the room: Is what I am doing helping me love God and love the person in front of me more faithfully?

That question will not make every decision easy. But it can keep our faith human. It can keep our convictions from becoming pride. And it can keep us close to the Jesus who was strong enough to confront religious power while still making room for the person everyone else had stopped seeing.

Your friend,

Douglas Vandergraph

Explore the complete Douglas Vandergraph Master Index: https://douglasvandergraph.com/douglas-vandergraph-master-index/

Watch Douglas Vandergraph’s faith-based videos on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/@douglasvandergraph

I

Jo said it took her two years to get the garden just right, said the HOA never did nothin'. Jo dyes her hair a deep auburn — I ask if she's going to the picnic.

II

More than two thousand, maybe more, submitted applications for the Ridglan Beagles.

III

I know it's Fanny as I hear her sneakers squeak outside my condo. She wakes every morning, spends time with her bible, then does her exercises — socks up to her sagging kneecaps.

IV

Jo's succulents are in the back of her bungalow. I want to ask if she spends time with them; they are most beautiful at night when the path lights them like silent gargoyles.

V

A woman who adopted a Beagle had disappeared in a four-man home. She said, when I saw the Beagles I knew our family needed one. She envisions taking B on walks alone.

VI

Fanny walks back and forth on the concrete, beside the wall that separates us from the car condos being built. They will have full bathrooms, to sleep or do blow in. You can't have both.

VII

Terry sits in a wheelchair, wears a diaper. He's got Jo's broom between his legs that he uses to push dirt off the walk. It ends up under his slippers.

VIII

Another Beagle in Dane County waits, her coat matted and wet.

IX

Fanny doesn't like the HOA people, but she doesn't know how to work them like I do. I bribe them to pull my dead plants, introduce myself.

X

Sometimes I see Terry's wheelchair outside, sitting by itself. There are Hydrangeas all over the complex: vain, heartless, apologetic.

#poetry

Journey is never about the destination, it is always the hearts, minds and experiences along the way.

Perry W, Ng, Mary, Moses, Joel b, mom and dad. A bunch of others.

Traveling west. Towing dad's flatbed, Kermit the towed, desth maxhine, dirt, other stuff. Camping, maybe?

State Hwy 287 figures prominently. I grew up 5 blocks from the state highway, which today is the very tail end of I-44. And ironically, I live 5 blocks from it now… on the opposite side of town.

It has always been present when I travel. East or west, it’s 287, north: I-44.

Keep having trouble staying together with the group. I drive ahead and lose contact, then find everyone again. They are usually having a good time, unworried about the route, or packing, leaving anyone behind.

Phones seem intermittent. Or calls are easily missed? Tracking isn’t working. I feel lost between places… lots of worry.

At one point I am rollerblading through hills (nice rural neighborhood with fresh, smooth blacktop). I am SO fast and smooth. I pass cars, cut through beautiful green yards. Someone is behind me, but can’t keep up. I slow and wait at first, but after passing a harvest gold 1979 Ford LTD, I can’t help but go fast as I can. It’s an adrenaline rush.

Eventually, I run out of the really choice routes, end up going down the old alley across from my primary school, past the 7-11 where I used to buy comics ($1.26 for two issues including tax) and turn onto the hwy access road wheee the asphalt is faded and has all those little pebbly rocks that made it a nightmare for skates and skateboards.

Here I find Ng at a roadside stand selling newspapers. She is sad and forlorn. This is significant because she is rarely sad and forlorn. Though the last few years I see this face more than I want too. Sitting hunched on the ground, on a stack of newspapers. I get her a chair. There are several scattered among patrons. The first is a rusty metal folding chairs i pass on it and get her a dinner chair with a padded seat. It is brown.

She complains of feeling abandoned and let down. Frustrated that I left her here all by herself.

Her mom shows up, I leave them to go find the party. It occurs to me that she often complained I out others before us. Am I doing this now? But she doesn’t come with me, preferring to stay with mom. I look for the group. But can’t find where I left them. There was a big conversation about how to load out so nothing got left behind. We had more vehicles than we did drivers.

I get a call from a debt collector. He can’t tell me what the debt is for, only to pay him.

Wake up.

I feel bad leaving everyone. I can’t remember why I was invited to find them. I feel worry and guilt after waking.

I'm moving through life carrying a history and responsibility. Somewhere underneath it I'm afraid that I’ll get too far ahead, outrun and lose people, and discover that I have failed obligations I can’t clearly see.

I’m feeling something is wrong, somebody is missing, and that it is somehow my responsibility to make it right — without telling me exactly what went wrong.

Odd, In consciousness, i feel like i know where I went wrong and what my debts are. The camping journey anxiety is an old one… when I used to organize camping trips 20-30 deep, it was a foundational fear that I would make a mistake that would cause some to lose out.

Then there was the near drowning of BP and RN… was that my last big trip? I think it was… HOW could that have been more than 15 years ago?!?!?

---

1. When I am responsible for a group of people, what am I secretly afraid will happen if I lose control of the logistics?
2. What did the BP/RN near-drowning teach me—emotionally, not intellectually—about being responsible for other people's safety?
3. When I think about the camping trips I organized, do I remember more of the joy and connection, or the possibility that something could go wrong?
4. What does “leaving someone behind” mean to me? Is it physical abandonment, emotional neglect, choosing someone else over them, or simply failing to anticipate their needs?
5. When Ng tells me she feels abandoned, what part of me immediately believes her—and what part of me wants to defend myself?
6. Where in my present life am I still trying to be the driver, coordinator, rescuer, or person who makes sure nobody gets left behind?
7. What happens inside me when I choose my own speed, pleasure, freedom, or excitement—as I do while rollerblading—and someone else can't keep up?
8. Who are the “people in the convoy” of my life right now, and which of them am I afraid I might be leaving behind?
9. What are my actual debts—the things I genuinely believe I owe people—and which “debts” might be inherited feelings of responsibility that nobody is actually asking me to pay?
10. If I stopped believing it was my job to make sure everyone arrived safely, happily, and together, what would I be free to do with my own life?

I’ve noticed I don’t care at all if someone takes weeks to message me back on Hinge or something like that because I’m not at all waiting for any messages. I wonder if this is not caring in a good way or in a way that just avoids pain.

When Henry Patton had told his mistress Maevin Maer he wanted to be more of a true lord of the estate, the young Terran had no idea how much paperwork would come with it. It felt like from morning to evening, there was some sort of document being added to his tablet or piece of paper being provided that needed his attention. He did his best not to complain, but Henry had caught the looks of pity on Siv's pretty face a few times already. At the moment, he was looking down at a document that was telling him the status of all the estates under his estate's authority and what they had been up to.

It was boring.

I guess boring is a good thing, he thought to himself. That means nobody is actually gunning for us.

The whole fiasco with Neeza Tavik and Princess Fanina Vaesh was quite a few months earlier. There hadn't been any other attempts that he was aware of, but that didn't mean they weren't coming for him. Henry put down the pad and leaned back in his chair, the soft leather material holding him gently.

How long had it been since he saw home? Henry had promised a year to High Baron Hesh Avernell but hadn't realized he had promised a Victory year. One year on this planet was three years back at home. No wonder his fiance's family were complaining. Henry hadn't realized how much pressure he had put on his family with this choice.

I don't regret it, he thought to himself and before the thought about leaving could come to mind, he quickly banished it.

Sighing, the Terran lord leaned forward to pick up his tablet again when the door of his office creaked open. Looking up, he found no one standing there but lowered his gaze to see a pair of pink eyes looking at him. They were set into the cute face of a young girl who could not have been more than six or seven. She wore a tan shirt with a match skirt that had patches of dark pink in it. It had the distinct asymmetrical cut along the shoulder and skirt that was definitely of Xaltean fashion and what appeared to be sneakers. A large pink bow took up most of her orange hair. She was not dressed like a maid but rather an ordinary little girl.

“ho. nata taveluxilvi. leva benea tavelu mive sabve?“

Henry blinked before his brain kicked into gear as she spoke again.

“Hi. I'm lost. Can you help me find my mom?” she said again, her eyes getting bigger and more nervous. Henry smiled at her and stood. Having grown up around a lot of large families, children were not something strange to him.

“Of course. Do you know where you last saw her?”

“No,” she said with a shake of her head causing the curls to bounce.

“What about your dad?”

“He's in the military somewhere else.”

“Do you know where she works?” Henry asked walking up to her and crouching down. The girl shook her head again though her eyes grew a bit watery.

“Don't worry,” Henry said crouching down to eye level. “We'll find her. What's your name?”

“Vevet.”

“Well, Vevet. I'm Henry. Let's go see if we can find her.”

As Henry pushed the door open, Vevet grabbed his hand and held on tight. Who knew how long she had been wandering the hallways, and how did she get past the maids? As he walked down the gray marble hallways, he found that there were almost no maids around. Glancing at his watch, he saw it showed the numbers 3.0.4.0. That placed the estate in the middle of their shift change which meant briefings and getting things ready. A very good chance a small child could have slipped through unnoticed.

Henry really didn't have any idea where to go next, so he just walked towards the outer patio in hopes that maybe Vevet would spot her mother but as the sunshine hit his face, he found nobody there. Further up the path that wrapped around towards the Grand Cellars, he could make out a two maids ripping out a dead bush that must have died from the heat.

“What's your mom's name?” Henry asked.

“Shinka,” Vevet said watching the two maids in the distance. Another maid showed up, a male wearing the longer robes of an estate maid while the two others were a scullery and harvester. Then the idea struck him. The Terran Lord pointed to the three maids.

“Does your mom dress like any of them?”

The young girl studied them carefully and nodded pointing towards the woman with the simple pale pink tvekel skirt and sleeveless wrap around top. So, her mother was a harvester, that narrowed it down from four thousand to what, three or four hundred? If memory served Arch Maid Vindik Mal, who was in charge of the Ground Legion, would be outrunning his inspections. Maybe Henry could catch him and get an idea where to look next.

“Let's go see if we can find Mister Vindik. He should know where your mom is,” Henry said giving her a hand an encouraging squeeze.

Leading the way, Henry decided that the best option was to take the walk path from the inner estate and to make his way down the main road towards the Northern Fields. That was his guess where the leader of the Ground Legion would be. The Terran lord knew that the tending of the vines of the famous blue grapes would be in full swing as the harvest would be necessary to produce the wine in the fall.

Vevet. That means blue, Henry thought to himself thinking about the girl beside him. For the little one, Vevet seemed to be at ease skipping along beside him as they walked down the dirt path. It was a gradual change from the manicured lawns and hedges to the long, dusty road flanked by fields of grape vines, their little blue berried shimmering in the light of the sun. In the distance in a lot of these fields Henry could make out the small huts and the figures working. Machinery hummed along spraying water while in other areas, the eemodae were harvesting by hand for the special stock.

“Where are you from?”

The question from Vevet broke Henry out of his thoughts and he glanced down at the large, curious eyes.

“I'm from a planet called Pax Aeterna.”

“You're human?”

The Terran lord braced himself. He honestly didn't know how strong the stereotype of his people had been among the Xalteans.

“I am.”

“You have brothers and sisters?”

“Two sisters and a brother.”

“You miss home?”

Did he? That was a good question. When he first had come here, Henry had been extremely anxious and scared. He had been thrust into the middle of a culture he had no clue about and who were so different from his own, he had felt like he was lost and drowning. Now? Blue Blossom felt more like home and where he came from a distant memory.

“I miss my family.”

Vevet nodded her head sagely as they continued, the sun's heat warm against their heads. “I miss home too.”

“Where's home?”

“Fuvusheemee. It's a planet far from here. Mommy got promoted and invited here as she's an expert on horti-something.”

“Horticulture?”

“Yes!” Vevet said nodding her head excitedly causing her curls to bound.

“Long trip?”

“Yeah.”

“How did you get lost?” Henry finally asked realizing he hadn't known. The girl looked a bit embarrassed.

“I was playing in the dorm yard and was chasing dayflitters. I...got lost.”

Ah, yes. The iridescent, sparkling insects that flew around in the daytime. They reminded Henry of dragonflies from Earth but with much more gossamer wings and slender bodies.

“Am I in trouble?” Vevet asked tentatively.

“No, not at all,” Henry smiled reassuringly.

The conversation dwindled into comfortable silence as they began to approach a collection of buildings nestled on both sides of the road. Henry could make out figures moving around and realized it was a staging point for the harvesters and others. Standing at the primary station providing instructions to a team, Vindik's dark eyes glanced over and saw Henry coming. There was a flicker of confusion before the professionalism took over. He strode over while the other maids, seeing who it was, scattered to their jobs.

“My lord,” Vindik said bowing, his shaved head glinting in the light. “I didn't expect you.”

“It's alright. This young lady got lost, and we're looking for her mom. Do you have a Shinka working for you?”

“There are quite a few Shinkas,” Vindik said looking at the little girl who appeared stressed again at the thought of so many.

“She's a horticulturist from Fuvumeeshee,” Henry added.

“Ah,” Vindik said with a sharp nod. “Shika Aeshma, she's a 5th Order harvester. I have her working in the southern fields today. Signs of a possible blight cropping up there.”

The young man nodded as he squeezed Vevet's hand again. “See! We know where your momma is. Everything is going to be alright.”

“Shall I fetch her, my lord?” Vindik asked reaching to tap his gauntlet with the communicator built in.

Henry Patton was about to answer when Vevet tugged on his arm. “Can we hang out, Mister Henry?”

Vindik opened his mouth, probably to correct the girl's improper title, but the Terran waved him off. He smiled at her.

“What do you mean?”

“I don't want to go back to the dorms. I have no friends and the other kids don't like me.”

Henry crouched down and smiled at her. “Maybe they just haven't had a chance to meet you yet. You know it's pretty hard to meet new people.”

“Maybe.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”

Nodding his head like he made a decision, he stood and smiled at Vindik. “I'll take her for now. We're going to get something to eat. I don't think we need to worry her mom. If you can let her know that she's with me when it's appropriate, that'll be fine.”

“As you will, my master.” The ground legion Arch Maid said with a bow. He then signaled towards a small powered cart that a maid was driving. It had an open trunk behind it loaded with tools.

“Nushi,” Vindik said and the female maid driving it stopped the vehicle. “Take our lord and this young lady back to the estate, and then you can deliver those parts to Section 3-B.”

“Yes, Arch Maid,” the girl said with a nod from her seat.

---

The electric cart rattled its way back up the dirt road, Vevet perched between Henry and the trunk full of tools, her curls whipping in the wind. She kept glancing at him probably not sure if this was real and Henry found himself grinning despite the mountain of paperwork waiting on his tablet.

By the time Nushi dropped them at the steps of the mansion, Vevet had declared “the best thing that happened all week,” which made Henry smile. Vevet finally looked like she was having a good time.

“Alright,” Henry said, offering his hand as she hopped down. “Let's get you fed.”

He led her around to the shaded patio that overlooked the eastern gardens, the one with the low stone table and the cushioned benches Siv liked to complain nobody ever used. A passing maid, young, dark-haired, froze mid-step at the sight of her lord walking a strange child through the estate.

“Could you bring us something to eat?” Henry asked. “Something a child would like. And tea, if we have the mild blend.”

“Of...of course, my master,” she stammered, and hurried off.

Vevet settled onto the bench, swinging her legs since they didn't reach the ground, and looked around at the gardens, the marble columns, the fountain trickling somewhere out of sight. Her expression had gone soft and a little dazed.

“This is really your house?”

“Part of it. It's a big house.”

“It's so pretty.” She smoothed her hands over the skirt of her tan dress. “I feel like a lady.”

Henry looked at her, at the too-big eyes and the bow that had slid halfway down her hair and the way she was trying very hard to sit up straight. He grinned at her.

“You know,” he said, leaning forward with a serious nod. “I think you're right.”

Vevet blinked at him.

“As Lord of Blue Blossom,” Henry continued, straightening in his seat, “I hereby declare that for the remainder of this day, Miss Vevet of Fuvusheemee shall be recognized as a shivkihanxa, Lady of Honor of this household.”

For a moment she just stared at him, working out whether he was joking. Then her whole face lit up.

“Really?”

“Really. It's official.” He nodded.

“Do... I get a title?”

The young man nodded. “Lady Vevet, I think.”

Somehow, the little girl found a way to sit up even straighter.

Nish Kevet appeared from the direction of the kitchens before Henry had even settled back into his seat, a tray balanced against one hip and her usually practiced quiet, though the glint in her eye said she'd caught every word of the declaration from somewhere just out of sight.

“Lady Vevet,” she said, coming to a stop before the bench, placing the tray on the table, and giving a low bow. “An honor to serve you.”

Vevet's mouth fell open.

“I heard my masters' order,” Nish Kevet went on, beginning to set out the food from the tray as if royalty had been present. Flatbread, a little dish of fruit cut into careful pieces, a small pot of tea steaming faintly in the afternoon light. “I hope you find the food to your satisfaction.”

“I've never had anyone bow to me before,” Vevet whispered to Henry, her eyes large as saucers.

A hint of a smile showed up in the corner of Nish's mouth as she finished pouring the tea for Henry and grape juice for the little one.

“Is there anything else, master? My Lady?”

“Thank you, Nish. That'll be all.”

The afternoon went on as Henry and Vevet finished their food and began to explore the house itself. The wide-eyed curiosity reminded him of his little sister Annabelle when they were gallivanting around the fields and barns in search for adventure. At the library, she had fun climbing the ladders and examining the books. What started out as a quest to find more information on Dayflitters turned into an hour's worth of pulling books off of shelves, flipping through the references, getting distracted by the pictures in a short story collection, and then playing with the globes and tracing fingers on maps. At the kitchens, Burdak made sure to stuff her full of more sweets and candy which probably was Vevet's favorite room. They made their way back to the library as Henry felt that was the best place to keep her out of everyone's hair, it was quiet, and he avoided the paperwork that was probably growing.

Henry was in the middle of showing Vevet his home world on a holographic projector on the desk located here when he heard the tapping steps of someone approaching. The door swung open and Maevin strode in.

“There you are,” Maevin's started and then stopped entirely.

Henry turned to find her standing in the doorway of the study, one hand still on the frame, staring at the small girl currently perched in his lap staring intently at the slowly rotating holographic globe.

“My master?” Maevin's eyes moved from Vevet, to the empty dishes, to the half-dozen books stacked haphazardly on the reading table, and back to Henry. “There is a child here.”

“This is Lady Vevet,” Henry said, with formality, but he couldn't keep the grin off his face which caused Maevin's delicate eyebrow to raise in consternation. “She's visiting.”

“A lady,” Maevin repeated.

“Lady of Honor Vevet of Fuvusheemee,” Vevet said but when she looked up, her voice had gone smaller, and she'd gone very still probably realizing who was there. She glanced at Henry, then back at Maevin.

“Ah.”

“She got lost early this morning, she's new to the planet. Her mom works for Vindik. She asked for help and well...we got distracted.”

“I see.”

Vevet's relaxed a bit. “Am I in trouble?”

“Of course not,” Maevin said a warm smile crossing her face. “This place is big, and I can understand getting lost.”

The Mistress turned to Henry and sighed. “That would explain why Arch Maid Mal and a harvester are here.”

“Mommy?” Vevet asked.

“I believe so. Shall we go check?” Maevin offered extending her hand. The young girl scrambled off of Henry kicking him a few times with her shoes in the effort to escape and skipped out the door with the Mistress. Henry followed close behind.

The three of them came down the main staircase together, Vevet still chattering about star charts, one hand tucked into Henry's and the other in Maevin's. They found Vindik already there, standing beside a woman who looked like she hadn't taken a full breath in the last several minutes.

She was still in her field clothes, the pale pink of her harvester's wrap dusted with dirt at the hem. The moment her eyes landed on Vevet, something in her face cracked open with relief, and then, a half second later, seemed to collapse entirely as she registered exactly who was holding her daughter's hand.

“Mommy!” Vevet let go and bolted the last few steps across the marble, and the woman dropped to her knees to catch her, burying her face briefly in her daughter's hair.

“Vevet, sweetheart, oh.” She pulled back just enough to look her over, hands running along her shoulders, her arms, as if checking for herself that nothing was broken or missing. “How did you wind up here?” Her voice caught as her gaze lifted past her daughter's head and found Henry standing a few paces back.

“It's a long story,” Henry laughed.

She went very, very pale.

“My master,” She was on her feet in an instant, Vevet still gathered against her side, and dropped into a bow so low and so fast Henry half worried she'd overbalance. “Shinka Aeshma, my master, I am so, I don't know she had left the dorms or that she found her way in to the estate...”

“Shinka.” Henry said trying to be gentle. “Accidents happened and she asked for help. I'm proud of her for that.”

“I understand if there are consequences, I'll accept whatever.” The words were coming too fast now, her eyes darting between Henry and Maevin, who had come to stand a little behind him, and Shinka's bow deepened further at the sight of her, if that were possible. “Mistress. I am so sorry, I never meant for her to be underfoot!”

“Ease, harvester,” This time it was Maevin who spoke, and something in her voice, level, unhurried, entirely without the edge Shinka seemed braced for, cut through the spiral.

“Your daughter is safe, and our master has spent time with her to keep her that way,” Maevin said. “You have not committed anything egregious worth punishing. All I ask is you take steps you need to keep your daughter comfortable at the dorms.”

Henry knew that it wasn't actually a request but a command.

“But make sure she has a chance to meet the other children there. Only the best for my Lady of Honor.”

Shinka blinked. Blinked again. Looked down at Vevet, who was practically vibrating with the need to confirm this herself.

“It's true, Mommy! I'm Lady Vevet! Arch maid Kevet bowed to me and I had grape juice and Arch Maid Rikol gave me candy and Mister Henry let me play with the globe in the library. I had so much fun!”

The words tumbled out of her in one long breathless rush, and somewhere in the middle of it, Henry watched the terror mount as her daughter listed off three of the most powerful people on the estate.

“I'm so sorry,” she managed again.

“Nothing to apologize for,” Henry said, crouching briefly to Vevet's level one last time. “Your daughter's good company. She's welcome here anytime, through the front door this time, not by accident.”

Vevet giggled at that, and even Shinka managed something close to a laugh, still shaking from the adrenalin.

“Take her home,” Maevin said ordered. “I imagine it's been a long day for both of you.”

Shinka bowed once more, took her daughter's hand and led her towards the door. At the door, though, Vevet twisted back around, pulling her mother to a half-stop.

“Bye, Mister Henry!” She lifted her chin with all the dignity she'd been practicing since the patio. “It was an honor to be your lady.”

“The honor was ours, Lady Vevet,” Henry said, with a small bow of his own.

Vevet beamed, and let her mother lead her out into the evening light, still clutching her twist of candy like a trophy, already talking a mile a minute about globes and star charts and dayflitters all over again.

As the place grew quiet and maybe a bit duller, he turned to Maevin who was studying him.

“What? She was lost.”

“You could have just had a maid take her home.”

“Well...”

“The things you get yourself into, Master,” Maevin laughed softly. “Now, I think it's time you get back to your paperwork.”

This afternoon, IndyCar racing. We'll be following FOX coverage of the Freedom 250 Grand Prix. Prerace coverage is airing now, and the green flag to start the race is scheduled to drop at 12:10 PM CTD.

And the adventure continues.

Change hurts. But so does staying the same.

I was terrified of a few things as a kid:

1. Glowing red eyes in the dark 2. Having my feet molested 3. The wrath of my parents 4. Cicada husks

You know the ones.


Those empty exoskeletons clinging to tree trunks, fence posts, and brick walls—tiny monster shells with hook-like feet and slit backs, like something that crawled out of a horror movie and left its skin behind.

My cousins thought it was hilarious to pluck them off trees and stick them in people’s hair.

Ugh.

I'm an adult now, and they still give me the creeps.
 The irony? I actually like cicadas. The real, living ones.

I recently read a great Bukowski poem where he complains that “cicada” is used too much in poetry—like it’s a literary silver bullet.
 Use the word cicada, and boom: you’re published.

cicada

writers love to use the word “cicada” in a poem. it makes them believe that they are there, that they have done it. every time I see this word in a poem, I think, damn it, haven't the editors caught on yet? that it's a con? a way to milk the game?

and look at me: here I'm using it: “cicada.” well, that means that this poem surely will get published. see? it works.

Cicada, cicada, cicada.

Poof!


Beetle-cicada appears , dressed in black and white stripes like some kind of gothic referee and grants you publishing.

I won't wait for the check on this one.

What's wild is how they spend most of their lives underground—quiet, unseen, gnawing on roots, cool and hidden from birds and beetles and snakes. 
 Then one day, it's time.
 They rise.
 Transform.
 Sing their strange song.

They become summer.

---

Last night, I dreamed I was having breakfast with a giant cicada. Everything it said came out in that raspy ch-ch-ch-ch sound, but somehow, I understood perfectly.

It liked the tea.
 The eggs, not so much.
 (It poked at them with a claw and muttered something that sounded judgey.)

After breakfast, it handed me a tiny black helmet—custom-made for my dream head—and motioned for me to climb onto the back of its motorcycle.


Well, not exactly a motorcycle.


It was more like a cross between a mandolin, a grasshopper, and a comet.

We zipped through clouds, dodged between Saturn's rings, and finally landed on a shimmering planet where the trees glowed blue and hummed softly.


Cicadas. Everywhere.


Not just insects, but tall, glistening beings—armored, radiant, some still cracking open their backs to let their new selves crawl out into the light. These beings weren't living underground for seventeen years.

My cicada guide turned to me.


“Ch-ch-ch,” it said.


Then it offered me a thin blade made of light and pointed to my chest.

It was asking me to molt.

I hesitated.


Tried to laugh it off.


But my hands were shaking.

I looked down at my body—soft, unfinished, full of pressure just beneath the skin.
 I could feel the new me beneath it, wriggling for air. But I was terrified.


I was afraid of the change.

Afraid of what I’d leave behind. What it might mean to become something else—something I’ve always been, just hidden under a layer of politeness, duty, fear, routine, marriage, roles.

What if I shed my old skin and people looked at what I used to be and recoiled?


Not because it was ugly, necessarily, but because it was real.
 Because it wasn’t neat or acceptable or easy to explain.

What if they said,
 “Oh. So this is who you were all along?”


And worse—what if they were right?

But deep beneath that fear, in the marrow of the dream, in the hush between the cicada’s ch-ch-ch’s, I realized:


I am aching to molt.

I want to become the self I’ve half-dreamed but never dared to wake up as.
 The guy telling the truth, even when it hurts.
 A creature walking away from the roles that no longer fit.
 The one who chooses aliveness over approval.


Who writes something so raw it makes people gasp.


Who kisses someone in the rain without checking if it’s allowed.
 Finally admiting he’s tired of being obedient.
 Who wants more than endurance.
 Who wants to feel joy and danger and awe and yes.

Yes.

That’s the sound the cicada really made, I think.


Not ch-ch-ch.


But yes yes yes.


Yes to transformation.


Yes to exposure.


Yes to the strange, shimmering self inside the husk.

But still, I couldn’t do it.
 Not yet.

Even in a dream, I couldn’t crack open.
 And that’s okay.
 A dream isn't asking me to molt.
 Just showing me that I could.

My guide, revved the mandolin-comet-bike. And we rocketed back to home.

Without change, we all end up on The Road to Nowhere

Close My Eyes Forever

Any World (Will Do)

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#dream #essay #journal #writing #music #cicada

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2025-08-07 18:00:00

Chastity exists at the middle point between lust and repression; Temperance exists at the middle point between gluttony and asceticism; Diligence exists at the middle point between laziness and obsession; Patience exists at the middle point between wrath and apathy; Charity exists at the middle point between greed and self-neglect; Kindness exists at the middle point between envy and indulgence; Humility exists at the middle point between pride and self-abasement.

We are anonymous. We are everywhere. We choose to forgive. We choose to remember. Here we are: As above, so below.

Self-awareness is crucial in understanding virtues and vices. All virtues are the middle point. Any virtue in excess becomes its opposite deficiency, yet a vice remains a vice. It's important to recognize when we self-identify with an excessive virtue, as this creates the very imbalance we seek to resolve.

Desire and aversion are two opposite poles. Neither desire nor aversion represents the middle point. I state that desire and aversion are both expressions of egoic attachment—opposite manifestations of the same error. Comprehension is the middle point that leads one to liberation; desire is attachment, and aversion is rejection.

Chastity, diligence, humility, patience, charity, temperance, and kindness are all virtues. Chastity in excess becomes repression; diligence in excess becomes obsession; excess humility becomes self-abasement; excess charity becomes self-neglect; excess temperance becomes asceticism; and excess kindness becomes indulgence. Excess (as we know) is an adjective that transforms virtue into its opposite deficiency. Any vice (namely lust, laziness, pride, greed, gluttony, and envy) propels one toward the opposing deficiency.

To restore the balance within oneself is to comprehend these two opposing errors to discover what is true: Both man and woman are humble. Humility is the middle point between pride and self-abasement. A man and a woman who embody humility never take titles. Titles create bipolarity—either prideful or self-abasing; both are errors.

Virtue is the middle point, the law of balance. Embracing life's challenges with this understanding brings centeredness in all aspects of existence.

Matthew 23:12 clearly states that he who exalts himself will be humbled, yet he who humbles himself will be exalted.

A hero recognizes himself as a work in progress, as we are all transforming before our Innermost. All fornicators begin as unconscious beings.

In the name of truth, no one is born a hero. A hero emerges through genuine love for humanity and countless sacrifices for others.

This consciousness does not enter automatically. One earns the right to be a hero through deeds of goodness, including genuine sacrifice for others. The right to be a hero is also measured by how much love others have given you as a result of your work.

It is never enough to say, “I am a hero.” One must prove oneself worthy of genuine love and sacrifice for others to be recognized as a hero.

A hero transcends duality, neither good nor evil, but beyond both. There is no good or evil, only purity and impurity. Even a hero knows that the path with excellent intentions leads one to the Abyss. This identification with heroism leads to knightfall.

A hero becomes a protagonist to those for whom he has sacrificed and loved.

There is a woman who is also a protagonist. She sacrifices herself through genuine love for others. She is a heroine.

How blessed are the hero and heroine in romantic love, working together to sacrifice themselves for the love of others.

There exists another type of hero that transcends the everyday. He possesses magical powers, driven by genuine love and commitment to sacrifice for others. He is a magician, or a superhero; a woman is also a magician, or a superheroine.

“Jesus said to his disciples: 'Things that cause people to stumble are bound to happen, but woe to anyone through whom they happen'” – Luke 17:1

There exists an antithesis of a hero. It is he, a fallen hero, who consumes the forbidden fruit, thus turning himself to impurity. The hero who fornicates enters knightfall. It is he who turns to wickedness and works for the flesh. In the name of truth, he is a villain.

When a heroine falls into impurity and works for the flesh, she is a villainess. A woman who has lost her way is a villainess.

A villain calls others villains while believing himself to be a hero. These are true traits of a sorcerer.

Even a rightful hero or heroine (even a superhero or superheroine) might be called a villain, and the one who calls a rightful hero or heroine a villain is himself a villain.

These fallen individuals, formerly heroes and heroines, are the true antagonists.

These antagonists are those who awaken impurity in response to impurity. They perceive only the impurity within others, never the goodness within others.

One must never underestimate these antagonists, for they possess sharp and sly intellects.

Beware of their talents in the arts of sorcery and witchcraft. A villain who possesses these powers becomes a supervillain. Watch out for a sorceress, a villainess who wields these magical powers, for sorcery and witchcraft are often associated with supervillainesses. These super-antagonists are the most dangerous people alive, yet they subject themselves to their second death.

The sorcerer's archenemy is indeed a magician; yet, a magician's archenemy is a sorcerer.

Now you know, my friend, the knowledge of a hero and a villain. No one is born a hero or a villain; you will know them by their fruits. A pure fruit is a hero or a heroine. An impure fruit is a villain or a villainess. The right to be a hero emerges within ourselves through genuine love and sacrifice for others.