Every day, the energy group receives energetic stress-management therapy.
And yes, because this is consistent — seven days a week — it can be transformative.
But the greatest technology is still inside us.
We are created to create joy and abundance, discovering along the way that true happiness doesn’t come from anything outside of us.
Radical thought, apparently — but true!
Here’s what we’re working to clear today as blocks to our incredible internal technology:
Mental resistance to change
Medication side-effect stress
Mitochondrial membrane stress
Inflammatory tissue terrain
Excess spiritual sensitivity without grounding
Soul fragmentation
Analysis paralysis
Resistance to surrender
Chest-held grief
Low ATP production
Crown overactivation
And now — brace yourself — here’s Chapter 2 of the Fractal Fairy Tale:
THE CRAVINGS COMMITTEE
Glibb hated staff meetings.
Unfortunately, they were required.
The Evil One liked reports, charts, projections, measurable outcomes, and anything that made misery look organized.
Glibb was just one of many slaves who had to follow these rules.
But how had things come to this?
Eons ago, EO had tricked Glibb and many others of similar caliber into coming to Planet Earth for what was described as “another game.”
It had sounded entertaining.
EO was fun in those days. Or at least appeared to be. There was laughter, glitter, rebellion, and other intoxicating promises.
So off they went.
But when they arrived at the game location, Planet Earth — one of Source’s favorite creations — something terrible happened.
Their spirit bodies changed.
They became distorted.
Hideous.
And worst of all, EO informed them that if they tried to return to Source, the Light would destroy them.
Whether this was true or merely another lie was something they had never dared investigate.
So they stayed.
Planet Earth, which had looked from a distance like a delightful little playground of opportunity, turned out to be full of rules they were assigned to break.
Love had rules.
Light had rules.
Free will had rules.
Even water had rules, which Glibb found especially irritating.
Glibb — and the others — had one responsibility:
Break the rules.
And now, after several thousand years of this nonsense, Glibb had been assigned to Tess.
Tess, who had gifts.
Tess, who could change rooms.
Tess, who, if properly awakened, might become useful.
But, most inconveniently, Glibb had become fond of Tess.
Not Tess’s habit.
Not Tess’s weakness.
Her spirit.
There were few more dangerous things than that.
Still, fondness did not change the assignment.
Glibb could not allow Tess to take back her power.
With these thoughts racing internally, Glibb slammed a sticky hand on the conference table.
“Status report,” he snarled.
Around the table sat the full-time assistants.
Job title: neurochemical nuisance specialists.
Sticky, twitchy little distortions whose entire job was to interfere with the brain’s messaging system.
Dopagoblin sat closest to the snacks.
This was expected.
Dopagoblin was the dopamine distortion spirit. Its specialty was reward chasing, scrolling, snacking, shopping, drama, and anything involving the phrase, “Just one more.”
“I’m pleased to report,” Dopagoblin said, “that the craving loop remains active.”
Glibb nodded.
“Excellent.”
Next to Dopagoblin sat Serotonia the Gloom Pixie, looking depressed and disappointed.
Serotonia handled serotonin distortion.
Her favorite sentence was, “Nothing will ever feel okay again.”
She would whisper it softly, then point toward the pantry.
“She still believes the spoonful helps,” Serotonia reported. “Especially when she feels sad, tired, underappreciated, or spiritually restless.”
“Good,” said Glibb. “Keep the mood just low enough that she reaches for relief, but not so low that she notices the pattern.”
Gabblor the Jitter Imp twitched in its chair.
Gabblor handled GABA distortion. It blocked calm, rattled the nerves, and convinced the body that peace was suspicious.
“I’ve been keeping her slightly uneasy,” Gabblor said. “Nothing dramatic. Just a little buzz under the skin. Enough to make life feel dangerous.”
“Lovely,” said Glibb.
Glutamuck, who was responsible for habit grooves, smiled with all four of its unpleasant little teeth.
“My department has made progress,” Glutamuck said. “She now feels hopeless because of recurring behavioral trenches.”
The table applauded.
Glibb raised one energetic finger.
“Define trench.”
Glutamuck opened a file folder labeled:
THIS IS JUST WHAT WE DO NOW.
“A groove is a pattern repeated often enough that the brain starts to pave it. A trench is when the human mistakes the path for personality.”
Glibb’s eyes gleamed.
“Beautiful.”
Endorfiend slouched beside Glutamuck, wrapped in a blanket it had stolen from an emotional support basket.
Endorfiend specialized in pain-numbing.
“She still thinks the milk is comfort,” Endorfiend said. “Not avoidance. Not grief. Not powerlessness. Comfort.”
“Excellent use of language,” said Glibb.
Oxytwister leaned back in its chair and gave a smug little grin.
Oxytwister handled bonding confusion, designing ways to make unhealthy attachments feel like destiny.
“I’ve kept her romantically nostalgic about people who were not good for her,” Oxytwister said. “This supports the milk habit beautifully.”
“Relevance?” Glibb asked.
“When she misses the wrong person, she reaches for the can.”
Glibb tapped the table.
“Approved.”
At the far end of the table, Cortizilla, a tiny stress monster with an enormous clipboard, stood up and screamed, “EMERGENCY!”
Everyone ignored this because Cortizilla screamed “emergency” at least twelve times per meeting.
“What is it now?” Glibb asked.
“Laundry,” Cortizilla said. “Also email. Also the mysterious noise the refrigerator made last Tuesday.”
“Carry on,” said Glibb.
Cortizilla sat down, satisfied to have contributed.
Glibb looked around the table.
The craving loop was active.
The mood was low.
The calm was blocked.
The groove was deep.
The pain was being numbed.
Everything should have been going beautifully.
And yet, something was wrong.
Glibb could feel it.
A disturbance.
“Listen carefully,” Glibb said. “Something has gone wrong.”
A hush fell over the room.
Dopagoblin clutched the snack bowl.
“What do we do?”
Glibb smiled.
“We must deepen the groove.”
