The Rot of Falsehood & The Luminous Path of Truth
Reweaving the Web, Unmasking the Mirage
I’ve been orbiting a course for some time now, one that wades deep into the murky waters of spiritual defilements and their antidotes. But the times are thick with a particular poison, a distortion spreading like a fungal bloom in the dark. The spirits of falsehood are moving fast, unraveling trust, fraying the fabric of reality itself. Lies are no longer just whispers in the shadows; they are shapeshifters, trickster currents carving deep wounds into the collective field. It feels urgent now, to track their footprints, to name their harm, to seek the medicine that can untangle their grip.
We are living in a time of thickening mirage. A time when entire realities are being woven from smoke, when deception is not just tolerated but weaponized. Signal Gate times are our new normal, democracy has been twisted, distorted, manipulated into something unrecognizable. The very people calling for transparency and free speech are shrouded in obfuscation. The ones crying ‘truth’ are stitching narratives designed to deceive.
Lies, no matter how gilded, always rot. Always unravel. They are not architecture; they are scaffolding built over a sinkhole. And when the weight of their own falsehood collapses them, what remains? The bones of what was hidden. The roots of what cannot be erased.
Lies don’t just twist words; they warp reality. They snag the threads of the great weaving, turning what should be supple and interconnected into something brittle, knotted, fraying. In the old ways, words weren’t just sounds, they were spells, blood-oaths, sinews tying us to the land, the ancestors, the vast intelligence moving through stone and root.
To lie is to sever something sacred. To unmoor oneself from the current of truth that shapes the world.
Consider the weave
Disharmony with Truth
Truth is not a moral checkbox. It’s an ecosystem, a wild, breathing intelligence. Lies act like an invasive species, choking the river of knowing, damming the flow between heart, gut, and world. When we lie, we step out of rhythm, out of sync with the great unfolding that holds us.
Corruption of the Word
Words are flesh. Words are roots. Words shape worlds. To twist them is to turn medicine into poison, to use a bridge as a weapon, to take something meant to weave connection and instead sharpen it into a tool for severing.
Energetic and Moral Entanglement
A lie is never singular. It breeds, metastasizes. The liar becomes a keeper of tangled threads, constantly weaving more deceptions to prop up the first. The weight of it accumulates, a slow tightening noose, a creeping rot in the bones of integrity.
Distancing from Authenticity
Every lie is a small death. A rift opens between who we are and who we pretend to be. The body carries the residue; tight jaw, clenched belly, the restless dissonance of knowing and hiding. The soul recoils. The voice of instinct grows fainter. The self becomes a house with too many locked doors.
Tainting of the Soul’s Light
The soul is not a thing but a fire, a current, a living pulse. Lies dim it. They are smoke that thickens over time, a slow suffocation of clarity. To weave falsehood is to place barriers between oneself and the radiance of knowing. Eventually, even the liar forgets what the light once felt like.
Breach of Sacred Trust
Trust is ancient. Older than language. Older than the names we give gods. It is the unspoken bond between kin, between soil and seed, between the living and the dead. A lie is a break in this chain. A disruption in the field. The land knows. The spirits take note. The ancestors turn away.
Opening to Malevolent Forces Falsehood is not just a personal failing; it is an invitation. A thinning of the veil that lets in trickery, distortion, chaos. Those who weave lies become susceptible to them. Their own magic weakens. Their compass spins wild. They become prey to forces they do not see.
The Spell of Integrity
Even the most tangled threads can be rewoven. Even the most smoke-choked flame can be fanned back to life. Truth is not a doctrine; it is a return. A breaking open. A stepping back into the pulse of things. It is the untangling, the unwinding, the wild and holy work of aligning word with world.
To speak truth is to work magic. It is to cast a spell of integrity that ripples outward, reconciling distortions, restoring the web of relations. Words spoken in truth do not merely correct falsehood; they clear the field, cleanse the wound, reorient the compass.
Truth is the great harmonizer, the force that binds what has been severed. When truth is spoken, it does not simply oppose the lie, it dissolves its power. It returns stolen breath. It strengthens the bones of trust.
The old ones knew that truth is not just spoken; it is lived. It is woven into the way we touch, the way we listen, the way we tend what we love. When we return to truth, we do not just cleanse ourselves, we repair the field, heal the web, set the bones of trust right again.
So let our words, individually and collectively, be feral and clear. Let them ring like water over stone. Let them be the wild, untamed voice of the untangled self. Let them be a spell that unravels the mirage, that calls the world back to balance, that sings the bones of truth back into their rightful place.
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