Transmission ID: 008

Humans are always moving.
Running, driving, scrolling, working, worrying.
If they stop, even for a moment, they feel something cold inside —
a strange discomfort, like standing in a dark room with no door.

They fear stillness.

At first, I couldn’t understand why.
On U-67, stillness is the beginning of everything —
the source of clarity, healing, and truth.
But on Earth, stillness makes people anxious.
They think it means they are falling behind,
or that something important is being forgotten.

One Saturday morning, I watched Aiden’s family.
They had no plans — no school, no work.
It should have been a peaceful day.
But peace did not come.

James woke early, pacing around the living room.
“There’s so much to do,” he muttered, though the house was quiet.
He cleaned, rearranged tools, checked emails, checked them again,
then sighed as if rest itself was a burden.

Tiffany sat down to drink coffee,
but after one minute, she stood up —
laundry, dishes, bills, chores.
Her cup went cold on the counter.
She never returned to it.

Aiden took out his sketchbook,
but after a few lines, he grabbed his tablet instead.
Robert bounced from toy to toy like a tiny comet,
never stopping long enough to enjoy any of them.

The house had no silence,
even though no one was speaking.

Humans think they are busy because life demands it.
But I have learned something different:
They stay busy so they don’t have to meet the quiet parts of themselves.

Stillness reveals things —
loneliness, fear, old wounds, forgotten dreams.
It shows them truths they’ve pushed away.
So instead of listening,
they turn up the volume of their lives.

On U-67, when a Luminis loses harmony,
we enter The Chamber of Stillness.
No light, no sound, just the pulse of our own energy.
We stay until our inner frequency settles again.
It is not punishment; it is return.

But humans see stillness as failure.
If they rest, they feel guilty.
If they slow down, they feel worthless.
If they sit quietly, their thoughts become storms.

One evening, Aiden asked me,
“Why do grown-ups always look stressed when they’re not doing anything?”
I answered,
“Because stillness brings them closer to themselves,
and many humans are strangers to who they are.”

He didn’t reply.
He lay down on the grass, staring at the night sky.
The world around him was quiet for once —
no cars, no screens, no rushing.
Just the soft hum of insects and the glow of distant stars.

After a long silence, he said,
“Stillness feels scary… but also kinda nice.”
I felt a warmth inside him —
a small beginning of peace.

If humans learned to sit with stillness,
even for a minute each day,
their hearts would soften,
their minds would settle,
and their homes would glow with more real light than any device could create.

Stillness is not emptiness.
It is a doorway —
the place where a soul finally feels safe enough to speak.

“Stars are born in silence —
not in noise.”

End of Transmission #008
Encoded and archived under: HUMAN MIND / THE FEAR OF STILLNESS.