Transmission Log 003:
Humans look at each other so much that they forget how to see themselves.
They measure their worth by what others have — money, grades, likes, beauty —
as if identity were a number that can be counted or compared.
I see this every day in Aiden’s home.
James works harder than ever, afraid of losing his job.
Tiffany worries about bills, about being a “good mom,” about keeping up with everyone else.
Even young Aiden, who should still be dreaming, already talks about being “behind” at school.
Behind what, I wonder. Behind whom?
At night, when the house grows quiet, Tiffany sits in her car before driving home.
She stays there for a long time, staring at the steering wheel, her hands trembling slightly.
Once, I heard her whisper, “I don’t know who I am anymore.”
She says it softly, as if afraid the words might break something inside her.
I wanted to tell her: You are still there — just buried under too many expectations.
Humans chase identity as if it were a prize,
but in that race, they lose the gentle rhythm of their own hearts.
They live by comparison, not by reflection.
And reflection, I’ve learned, is where truth hides.
On U-67, every Luminis learns the practice of Resonance —
the art of listening to one’s inner light until it vibrates in harmony with truth.
We do not compete. We align.
We do not prove. We simply are.
But humans live in noise.
Their minds are full of voices that do not belong to them —
voices from screens, from others, from fear.
They confuse those voices for their own.
And the more they listen, the quieter their real selves become.
Aiden once told me about a contest at school — “The Most Improved Student.”
He studied hard all week but still didn’t win.
That night, he said, “I guess I’m just not good enough.”
I told him, “Improvement is not a competition, Aiden. It’s a direction.”
He looked puzzled.
“Direction?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “As long as you keep learning, you’re already improving.
Even when no one sees, even when no one claps.”
He smiled faintly, but I could feel the question still turning inside him.
Humans learn slowly — not because they lack wisdom,
but because they live surrounded by mirrors that only show their shadows.
Sometimes, I wish I could let them see what I see —
a thousand small lights flickering inside every person,
each one unique, each one waiting to be noticed.
But humans are afraid of silence,
and silence is where the self begins to speak.
On U-67, when a being loses balance,
they enter the Chamber of Reflection — a quiet sphere of light.
Inside, there are no sounds, no images, no time.
Only your pulse, and the hum of your own energy.
After one cycle inside, we return renewed — not stronger, just clearer.
Perhaps humans need their own chamber.
Not a building of walls, but a space inside their hearts,
where they can sit without judgment, without comparison,
and remember what they were before the world told them what to be.
Aiden asked me once, “How do you know who you are?”
I told him, “When your thoughts stop chasing your shadow.”
He didn’t understand fully, but he laughed, and I could sense something shifting in him —
a small spark of peace beginning to glow.
Humans are lost, yes. But they are also searching.
And in that search lies their beauty.
Because even when they forget who they are,
something deep inside keeps whispering: Find your rhythm again.
“The universe does not rush.
Only those who forget their orbit do.”
End of Transmission #003
Encoded and archived under: HUMAN PSYCHOLOGY / THE ILLUSION OF SELF.