The brain is taking in far more information than our conscious mind can ever fully track.
Some estimates suggest we process 400 billion-plus bits of data every second, while conscious awareness only handles about 4,000. So yes, what we call “reality” may be less like the whole picture and more like the little edited version our brain allows us to notice.
So maybe the Fractal Fairy Tales are more real than we realize?
Just a thought.
A few more chapters of The Room That Forgot Its Song are coming and starting tomorrow we’re also going into stress related to sugar addiction — because apparently the body, brain, field, cravings, mitochondria, and old coping loops all got together and decided to form a committee.
Meanwhile, here’s what we’ve been working with yesterday and today, along with our normal routine.
Yesterday’s focus was on blocks to healing:
Bacterial stress
Loneliness as companion story
Intrusive spiritual influence
Lack of purpose
Energetic interference from unforgiveness
Biofilm patterns
Panic
Today, so far, we’ve been working with the mitochondria, the causal body, clearing emotional pathways, and the solar plexus.
New cocktail available:
Sever Non-Beneficial Solar Plexus Memory Cables
Call or email if you’d like a copy.
And as always, the focus is simple: clearing what interferes, strengthening what restores, and helping the body-field remember that healing is not fantasy.
And now, Chapter 3 of The Room That Forgot Its Song, where Tess discovers that a craving may be less of a character flaw and more of a groove in the operating system.
Chapter 3
HEAVENLY TECHNICAL SUPPORT
Tess sat at her kitchen table, exhausted, staring at a spoon.
Not unusual.
The can of sweetened condensed milk sat nearby, innocent-looking and fully prepared to assault her nervous system.
Tess sighed.
“I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”
At that exact moment, the air beside the refrigerator shimmered.
A being of light appeared.
“Hello,” the being said pleasantly. “I’m from Heavenly Technical Support. We’ve received a ticket.”
Tess blinked.
“Where did you come from?”
The being smiled.
“You are surrounded by beings at all times. Some of the Light. Some not so much. I am of the Light, and I received your ticket.”
“A ticket?”
The angel checked a clipboard.
“Yes. You are requesting service for brain circuitry malfunction.”
Tess stared.
“And you received a ticket?”
“Yes.”
“From whom?”
The angel looked at the clipboard again.
“Your spirit filed it.”
Tess sat very still.
“My spirit?”
“Several times, actually. You’ve been saying that one-word prayer you read about.”
Tess lowered her eyes to the spoon.
“Yes,” she whispered.
The angel smiled kindly and placed a small device on the table.
“What is that?” Tess asked.
“A diagnostic interface.”
“It looks like a laptop computer.”
“Yes,” said the angel. “Amazing devices. Modeled, in a very limited way, after the human brain.”
The angel opened the device.
It began to glow.
Tess watched as symbols, colors, and lines of information moved across the screen.
The device scanned the kitchen first.
Then Tess.
Then the spoon.
Then the can.
The screen flashed:
PATTERN IDENTIFIED: GROOVE DETECTED
Tess frowned.
“Groove?”
“Yes,” said the angel. “That is the label.”
“What does that mean?”
“A groove is repeated writing in the brain’s operating system,” the angel said. “A pattern that borrows your own circuitry until you begin to mistake it for yourself.”
Tess looked down.
The angel turned the screen toward her.
“Your brain is not broken. It is repeating.”
The screen flickered again.
SECONDARY FINDING: PROCESSED-FOOD ENTITY INVOLVEMENT
The angel’s expression changed.
“Oh dear.”
Tess straightened.
“What does ‘oh dear’ mean?”
“It means this started earlier than Glibb.”
“Glibb?”
The angel paused.
“You haven’t met Glibb?”
“I don’t think so.”
“You would not have met him directly. Not at first. Trauma usually lets him in through the side door.”
Tess glanced toward the can.
“That explains several evenings.”
The angel pointed to the screen.
“Glibb is involved now. But the original groove formation appears to have been assisted by a processed-food entity.”
Tess stared at the can.
“There’s a demon for processed food?”
“There is an entity for almost everything humans have allowed to replace God, truth, nourishment, peace, or common sense.”
Tess considered this.
“That seems like a lot of entities.”
“It is,” said the angel. “And they are very busy.”
The screen brightened.
A figure appeared in the diagnostic field.
It was sleek, shiny, and smiling widely. It wore a long dress made entirely of labels, coupons, bright colors, nutrition claims, childhood memories, and very small print.
The angel sighed.
“Ultra Processa.”
Tess leaned forward.
Ultra Processa gave a theatrical bow from inside the scan.
“Convenience,” it purred. “Comfort. Reward. Childhood memory. Shelf stability. Emotional sparkle.”
Tess shivered.
The angel tapped the screen.
“Ultra Processa specializes in early groove formation. It does not usually begin with addiction. It begins with association.”
“Association?”
“Yes. Celebration equals sugar. Reward equals sugar. Comfort equals sugar. Love equals sugar. Eventually the brain stops asking for love directly and starts asking for whatever once stood in for it.”
Tess looked at the can of sweetened condensed milk.
“In my case,” she said, “apparently love comes in a can.”
“Temporarily,” said the angel.
The scan hummed.
Ultra Processa smiled from the screen.
“Humans are very easy to train,” it said. “Pair sweetness with comfort. Pair comfort with reward. Pair reward with loneliness. Repeat until the body reaches before the soul can speak.”
Tess swallowed.
The angel’s face became very still.
“That is the groove.”
“So I’m not just weak,” she whispered.
“No,” said the angel.
Tess’s eyes filled.
“Weakness was never the diagnosis,” the angel said. “Repetition was. Comfort was. A nervous system looking for relief was. A lonely part of you trying to solve pain with the only language it had been taught.”
Something in Tess loosened.
For the first time all evening, she did not reach for the spoon.
The angel touched the edge of the glowing screen.
“Processed foods are designed to be easy to want and hard to leave alone,” the angel said. “They are engineered to create craving grooves. But a groove is not a life sentence. It is a path worn by repetition.”
Tess wiped one eye.
“And paths can change?”
“Yes,” said the angel. “But first, you must stop calling the path you were trained into your identity.”
The kitchen became very quiet.
Ultra Processa’s smile faded slightly.
Tess took a slow breath.
Then the lights flickered.
The refrigerator made a sound it had absolutely no business making.
The angel looked toward the doorway.
“Oh,” the angel said.
Tess stiffened.
“What?”
A small, sticky, unpleasant presence oozed into the kitchen.
It smelled faintly of old disappointment, fake vanilla, and unprocessed grief.
The angel closed the diagnostic interface.
Tess whispered, “Is that Glibb?”
The thing grinned.
And Glibb entered the kitchen.
