AN EVER EVOLVING STORY

I’ve thought about giving up more times than I can count. But something in me won’t let me.

Sometimes I ask myself the same question people ask me: Why don’t you just give up? Why don’t you let this go and live a normal life?

And I’ve tried - at least in my mind. I’ve imagined choosing something stable, something accepted. But every time I go there, something in my body resists. It doesn’t land.

At the same time, I do think about giving up. A lot.

But then another question comes:

Did I really give everything to this? Or am I just tired of not seeing the results yet?

And that question keeps me here.

I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about imagination, manifestation and this idea that we can shape reality. I know it. I’ve seen it work.

But there’s something else I had to face, something that felt almost uncomfortable to admit: There are limits. Not just the obvious ones - where we’re born, the people around us, the systems we move through. But deeper ones. Something like… the structure of our being. The way we come into this life already carrying a certain configuration - energetic, emotional, relational. The patterns we inherit, the way our sensitivity is shaped, the physical limitations of a country, the narrative of the collective field.

It’s not a prison. But it’s not infinite either. It feels like each of us is given a kind of range. And within that range, there is incredible freedom. Imagination works. Expansion happens. Life can open in ways we couldn’t predict.

But pretending there are no boundaries… that we can jump from one extreme to another just by will… that starts to feel like bypassing something real. For me, it became more honest to ask: What is my range - and how fully can I live inside it?

I really felt this when I was in Morocco.

There was something about being there… it slowed everything down. Time felt different. I felt different. Nature wasn’t asking me to become anything. It was just reminding me how to be. And I realized again how much of my life I’ve struggled with becoming a human doing, but never felt at home in that mode.

When I was younger, I tried to fit into it. Of course I did. I wanted to be accepted, to be valued, to be someone. That drive to be somebody - it’s so deeply ingrained. But if you’re not careful, it can slowly take everything from you.

Things really shifted for me when I had my first experiences with mushrooms, more than ten years ago. They didn’t add something. They took something away.

They showed me that I was climbing a mountain that wasn’t even mine.

They showed me how full life is. How alive nature is. How much beauty and intelligence is already here. And something opened in me—my heart, but also my perception.

I saw myself as part of it, not separate from it.

And I felt how boundless this whole creation is.

After that… there was no way, I could just go back and ignore it.

I was studying graphic design at the time. It made sense on paper - creative, stable, respected. But when I saw what that life looked like—the hustle, the pressure, the constant proving - it just didn’t feel true.

Sitting in front of a screen all day, disconnected from nature, from my body, from life itself… it became unbearable in a way I couldn’t explain to anyone else.

So, I stepped away. And that’s where art came in.

Not as a career. Not even as a choice. It felt like a necessity.

I needed to take what I felt - what I saw - and somehow bring it into form. At first, it was just introspection. It was therapy. A way to process. But over time, I started noticing something deeper. Sometimes when I painted in a very open state - almost like I wasn’t fully directing it - the paintings would reflect things I hadn’t consciously understood yet. And sometimes they would even point toward things that later actually happened. That’s when I started seeing art differently. Not just as expression, but as a way of embedding intention or revealing what’s already moving underneath.

And that created something in me that I couldn’t ignore: A kind of curiosity.

An unquenchable desire to understand what this life actually is.

The last ten years have been… I don’t even know how to label them.

A never-ending vortex of shapeshifting to find my true shape.

Getting my wounded part of the ego involved in it too much, I would fall into illusory bypassing of reality and creating inflated special version of me. Leaving the ego behind, I would dissolve into eternity of infinite potentiality with immense compassion and gratitude, but no tangible anchor from which to build in this reality. And I jumped into the deep waters to find coherence among the noise, before surfing the waves of life again.

Taking jobs here and there—just enough to sustain myself. Never fully committing to something that felt wrong. And going deeper. Into silence. Into observation. Into trying to listen instead of forcing.

And in a way, those ten years were preparing me.

Not by giving me answers - but by making me ready to step forward, even without them.

Still, I question it. Why this path? Why not something easier? But when I look honestly… It’s not about choosing difficulty. It’s about choosing what feels real. Success, for me, changed completely. It’s not about recognition. Not about status. What matters is whether what I create actually reaches someone, moves them, touches them. Whether it cuts through the noise - even just a little. Whether it reminds someone of something real inside themselves. Because we are surrounded by so much distraction and it’s slowly pulling us away from ourselves.

At the same time, I’ve been facing something that many of us feel but don’t always say out loud.

Money.

I’ve noticed that intuitive people who feel deeply, who see through things more easily - they often don’t have this natural drive to accumulate wealth. But I’m starting to see that we can’t ignore it either. If we want to create, support, build - we need resources. So, I’m learning that too. Not for the ego. But for capacity.

And then there’s sharing.

Social media.

Sometimes it feels like we’re inside a casino. Every time we post, every time we share something meaningful, we’re also… placing a bet. Will it be seen? Will it reach someone? Will it disappear?

And while we’re trying to connect, to build something real… We’re also feeding the system itself. It’s like we’re putting coins into a machine that runs on attention. And that machine doesn’t just connect—it extracts. It amplifies, but it also shapes behaviour. It rewards certain things, suppresses others. So, there’s this strange duality: I want to reach people. But to do that, I must participate in something that doesn’t fully align. And I don’t have a perfect answer to that.

What I do know is this: I didn’t do this alone.

There were so many times I needed support. From my family. From friends. Moments where I had to receive instead of stand on my own. And I used to feel ashamed of that and forced myself to work hard to prove I deserve it. Like I wasn’t independent enough. Like I hadn’t made it. But now I see it differently. That’s not failure. That’s community.

We were never meant to do this alone.

And I feel like something is shifting. I don’t know exactly how—but I can feel it. It’s like things are splitting. One direction is more control, more comfort, more disconnection. And the other… is people coming back. Back to connection. Back to nature. Back to each other.

Sometimes it feels like I’m waiting. But maybe it’s not waiting. Maybe it’s preparation. Everything - uncertainty, doubt, exploration, resilience - it’s building something. And I feel like many of us are in that place right now.

For me, it’s becoming clearer: I want to create something real. I want to live in alignment. I want to be able to support myself—and others. Not one or the other. Both.

And maybe that means I’ll have to move. Explore. Find different environments. Because where I am now, I feel the gap. Especially as an artist. There’s still this idea that it’s not real work. But I see it differently. Spending your life doing something that doesn’t feel meaningful… That feels like the real loss.

So I’m still here. Still questioning. Still moving. Still not fully knowing. But I know this: I’m not alone in this. And neither are you.