The Thread They Tried to Cut but Couldn’t

There’s something I’ve been piecing together and once you see it, you can’t unsee it.

Every ancient civilisation that really knew, the ones who studied the skies, built with precision we still can’t explain, passed stories down in symbols instead of sound. They all held a truth that feels eerily familiar.

This isn’t new knowledge. It’s old. Ancient. Etched into stone, hidden in stories, buried beneath everything we were told to believe.

Somewhere along the way, it got twisted. Covered over. Turned into religion, into science, into noise. We were taught to ignore it, to laugh at it, to call it myth.

But I remember.

But I remember.

I remember it in the way my body responds to nature…
The way the sun shining through the trees gives you goosebumps that cling to your skin like a truth being spoken in the wind.
The way the air shifts just before something clicks, like nature itself is whispering “look closer.”
It’s that feeling in your gut that doesn’t need proof… it just knows.
It hits you without warning. And when it does, it shakes something loose. Like a memory that was never yours but lives in your bones anyway.

It doesn’t whisper. It shocks you.
Wakes you. And suddenly you’re standing in the same place, but nothing feels the same.

And over the past few months, I can feel something shifting. The energy’s not the same. The dots are connecting faster. The stars feel brighter, like they’re calling something out of me. The sun feels warmer, like it’s not just light, but healing. Like it’s waking something ancient in my blood.

I’m not here to play small. I’m not here to stay quiet.
I’ve spent too long holding it in, dimming it down, trying to make myself make sense to a world that forgot how to feel.

But I’m done forgetting.
And I’m done pretending this isn’t real.

The more I dig, the more obvious it becomes. Mistletoe appearing in ritual after ritual. The same constellations recognised across continents that supposedly never met. Pyramid chambers that echo in frequencies we can’t trace on the musical scale. Stone circles that align with the solstice to the second.

These weren’t coincidences. This was a blueprint. A message. A warning. Maybe even a test.

The ones who came before us weren’t primitive, they were awake.
We’ve been the ones asleep, living in a version of the world that keeps us busy, distracted, disconnected.

But now it’s leaking through again. The cracks are showing. And those of us who feel it… we’re not crazy. We’re remembering.

This isn’t about proving anything. It’s about knowing. Deep down. Beyond words.

And once that switch flips… the system can’t unflip it.