This series walks the line between myth and reflection. It speaks in symbols, stories, and truths that live beyond me — yet are inside us all. It is my mythic voice: poetic, universal, and reflective of the human condition.
••••• BROKEN TELEPHONE •••••
The Myth I Lived My Whole Life
Life felt like a game I never stopped playing. A constant relay of truth being passed from moment to moment, person to person, and somehow arriving distorted every time. I spent years believing that no matter how clearly I tried to speak, something in the transmission was destined to break.
Every misunderstanding felt like evidence that my voice didn’t matter. Every distortion fed the belief that my message was too much, too strange, too intense, too quiet, too different. I internalised the errors in the system as errors within myself. “Why can’t anyone hear me?” slowly became “What is wrong with me?”
The ego stepped in like a referee obsessed with blame. When the message got twisted, it attacked outward with “What is wrong with you?” or inward with “What is wrong with me?” The illusion of control inflated it, convinced that someone had to be at fault. And the more it inflated, the more distortion filled the line.
I didn’t realise I was playing a game I had named before it even began. I labelled it broken. And once I did, the rules were already set — rules that guaranteed confusion, misinterpretation, and self-doubt. I didn’t see that perception was the first frequency I tuned into. That by expecting distortion, I created it.
The irony was sharp and soft all at once: the lesson was simple, the experience endlessly complex. The message was never broken — the frequency was. I had been transmitting on one channel and receiving on another, hoping everyone would magically understand a truth they weren’t tuned into.
Communication isn’t about perfect words. Connection isn’t about universal agreement. Truth isn’t something every person will hear the same way. The real mastery is choosing the narrative we begin with — choosing whether we declare the system broken, or whether we recognise it as a tool we have the power to tune.
The real game was never about getting the message perfect. It was about choosing to keep transmitting, even after misfires, distortions, and misunderstandings. It was about trusting that one aligned listener is enough to change everything. And it was about realising that the only true failure was giving up on my own frequency before it ever had the chance to be heard.