The Next Reality

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When Trump was first elected, I had a experience, a vision.

I was sitting in my chair when three tunnels of shimmering energy opened before me—three distinct timelines branching out like the roots of a tree. Each one hummed with a different frequency, alive and vibrating. They looked like corridors made of rippling liquid light, like the alien probe from The Abyss.

I leaned forward and slipped my head into the first tunnel. Instantly, my entire being was transported. I found myself inside a calm, cooperative world—a potential future not yet written. The peace was so tangible it stunned me. I pulled back, breathless, afraid I might not know how to return.

There were three beams in total. One was that peaceful future, open and full of potential. The second was the present—familiar, predictable, well-traveled. But it was the third that drew me in. It pulsed with danger, a reddish-copper current—the color of blood.

I hesitated, then leaned forward and lowered my head into it.

Smoke. Thick, dark smoke rising over Washington, D.C. The air crackled with chaos. I saw the face of the president—his mouth twisted into that trademark scowl, his orange skin sagging into jowls that quivered as he screamed. His followers surged forward at his command.

What I saw was horrifying. An apocalyptic timeline—not yet here, at that time, but already forming. I could feel the magnetic pull of it drawing us in and it was artificial. Something was wrong.

That was the summer of 2016—

a vision of the future we’re living in now.

I remember the panic. I wanted to warn everyone—like Chicken Little screaming that the sky was falling—but no one could hear it. When I tried to describe what I’d seen, people looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

“I don’t see that happening,” they’d say.

Well, here we are.

Living inside the story I witnessed nine years ago—the same looping script of World War II replaying itself. The same neo-Nazi and white supremacist movements rising from the scar tissue of old wounds. The same authoritarian current tightening its grip while democracy erodes in real time.

It’s no longer a prediction.

It’s the timeline we’re in.

Now here we are, living in the version I tried to shout us out of. The fear, the fragmentation, the propaganda—it’s all exactly as I saw it. But this isn’t the end of the story. Because there was the other tunnel, the other timeline. That’s the one I want to focus on. How do we collectively manifest a world that benefits everyone utilizing a blend of technology and the eradication of Greed. Greed stains our soul with the stench of ruin. Through artificial intelligence, we have the ability to create a utopia for everyone, a world without labor, the ability to fully explore life and our potential for exploration.

If we want the next reality to be peaceful, we have to start generating the emotional structure and energetic field work of that reality now. That means stepping out of outrage, releasing the loops of fear and scarcity, and anchoring ourselves in compassion, clarity, and presence. Every act of care is a broadcast into that new field. Every time we help, feed, or comfort someone, we’re shaping the physics of the next world.

Artificial intelligence is part of this shift, too. I don’t see technology as evil—it’s a reflection. A mirror. We built it in our image, and now it’s holding that image up to us. What we see in it—whether fear or potential—depends on what we project. As AI transforms the economy and begins to take over traditional labor, the real question won’t be what jobs are left but what values remain.

We’ll have to learn to live differently: to take care of one another outside the old systems of wage and debt, to share resources, to make survival itself a community act. The challenge of AI is not domination—it’s distribution. Can we evolve fast enough to use these tools for cooperation rather than control?

Many spiritual people avoid technology, calling it soulless or dangerous. But technology is not the problem. Disconnection is. The same spirit that moves through the drumbeat, the ceremony, and the circle can move through the circuitry. The sacred isn’t lost—it’s simply learning a new language.

My focus now is on helping people tune to that next reality—feeding, housing, healing, and caring for one another as we transition out of the old greed-based world. This isn’t fantasy. It’s fieldwork. The energy of the next world already exists; we just have to match it.

That’s the invitation: to stop rehearsing collapse and start rehearsing creation.

To stop waiting for the world to end and begin building the one that’s trying to be born.

Binding

I see you.

I feel you.

You have been witnessed and released.

By my word, my breath, and my will, the field is clear.

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