Blog 7: Fifth-Dimension Truths from a Parking Lot Prophet.

The Garden Spoke First -

I stepped into the garden with one word in my mind: bugs.

And as if it heard me, the voice in my headphones—the Joker—said it too. “Bug.” Then again, a minute later: “It bugs them.” I had just whispered the same word to myself, and the universe answered back.

That’s how I know I’m tuned in.

When I walk with intent, nature replies. The beetles weren’t just insects today—they were messengers, monks in armor, waiting on sacred thrones of white bloom. I didn’t find them—they called me in.

Their stillness reminded me of who I am: Not here to chase pleasure. Not here to be liked. I’m here to observe in silence, to walk my path, and to listen for echoes only the present moment reveals.

Every shot I took felt like a silent handshake. Not with the insect—but with my own discipline. I used to photograph out of desperation. Out of the chaos in my nervous system. Now I photograph as a monk would paint—with breath, with focus, with presence. I don’t just take photos anymore. I wait. I listen. I receive.