Art and beauty have always stood as mirrors to the human spirit — reflections of what uplifts, connects, and endures. Yet in recent times, much of what passes as “culture” seems inverted, hollowed, or deliberately distorted. In peeling back the layers of this narrative, what emerges is not just critique, but a call to discernment: to seek out what is authentic, to remember what resonates, and to notice where ugliness has been normalized.
Author: Trance
Artist. Writer. Truth seeker.
The story they give us is neat, clean, uniform — but reality is nothing of the sort. Nature bends, history breaks, memory distorts, and yet the official chronologies march on as if untouched by chaos. What we inherit is a curated illusion, a scaffolding of narratives that conceal more than they reveal. And the deeper we look, the more obvious it becomes that the “truth” on offer is not truth at all, but a managed performance.
In the quiet places where the noise of consensus fades, healing begins — not in the war on what we fear, but in the tending of what we are. The soil beneath the surface of our being waits patiently, whispering truths older than science, deeper than thought. Here, in the layered dance of body, energy, emotion, and spirit, we remember: healing is not the conquest of illness, but the return to wholeness we never truly lost.
Time — the invisible scaffold we lean on without ever questioning its architecture. We build our lives on its ticking illusion, trade stories about bending or breaking it, and dress the absurdity in Hollywood costumes to make it digestible. But beneath the spectacle, there’s an unspoken truth: the moment anyone could truly “travel” in time is the same moment the integrity of reality itself unravels. The rest is theater, sold to us as science.
Amid new climate lockdowns in Canada, the talk traces the long arc from pandemic restrictions to environmental mandates — through the fires, policies, and manufactured narratives that frame them. It asks not for outrage, but for discernment: to see beyond the spectacle, to question the story, and to guard the small, local sphere where choice still lives.