On The Jones Plantation, no one’s coming to save you… but you.

Not Trump, ‘Father of the Vaccine, National Debt, and Remote Control Wars’. Whose biggest achievement so far has been to remove drag queens from libraries and manufacturing the problem that requires MORE soldiers on streets and MORE AI surveillance and control by techbros like Larry Ellis and Peter Thiel. Nothing to see here, folks.

Not RFK Jr., who is doing nothing to stop the roll-out of the new and improved self-assembling and self-spreading death jabs by Satan’s Pharma Trifecta. (There’s good news, though, I’m about 99% sure we’ve found the cure)

When I last spoke at FreedomFest, over a decade ago, I still used to think that governments were our biggest enemy. And, central banks, who can control almost everything in the world if people use their currency, because currency is energy.

Today I know our worst enemy is ourselves.

This is great news, because it means you are able to save yourself and be the hero in your own TRUE-MAN Show.

Have you ever heard of the Hero’s Journey?

Joseph Campbell laid it all out, step by step. It’s a mythological formula—used in everything from ancient stories to Hollywood scripts. You’ve got the call to adventure, where the hero is presented with a challenge or opportunity that sets them on their path; the crossing of the threshold, leaving behind the known world and venturing into the unknown; various tests, trials, and allies that help the hero overcome obstacles along the way; a confrontation with a major enemy or obstacle; and finally, the return home, transformed and changed by their experiences.

The call to adventure? For me it came from too many mornings waking up hungover in a room that smelled like stale liquor and regret. No message at first, no mentor—just a quiet sense that if I didn’t change something, I wouldn’t make it much longer.

Refusal of the call? Absolutely. For years. I told myself I was fine. That the drinking wasn’t that bad. That the numbness would pass. I buried the pain so deep I forgot who I was.

Then came the message, ‘let others help you’, and the mentor, though not in a robe or with a staff. It was a therapist, actually. Quiet, patient, relentless. He didn’t rescue me—just handed me a shovel and said, “Start digging.”

The tests and trials were brutal. Detoxing. Facing the raw truth of everything I’d been running from. For me, the ordeal—my symbolic death—was letting go of the story I’d clung to: that I was broken beyond repair. I sat with that belief. I grieved it. And then I let it die.

Resurrection didn’t feel like a lightning bolt. It felt like waking up one morning, meditation, spending time with my family, and realizing I didn’t hate myself. The reward wasn’t flashy. It was being fully present, every moment. Connecting with source. Peace. Truly feeling free.

Return? Yeah, I came back. Different. Softer. Stronger. I tell my story now—not because I think I’m some kind of guru—but because I know what it’s like to believe you won’t make it out. And I did.

And freedom? For me, freedom is the choice to stay awake. To stay here. To stay human.

My final words of advice in a very different blog than usual: If you’re going through hell, don’t stop.

Ye Wrote an Opera?

The Lord of Spirits

Nebuchadnezzar II: Ascension and Early Achievements

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