We like to think we have time — that tomorrow or next year we’ll finally sit down and give life to the things that matter most. But time has never been ours to control. This piece is a reminder, to myself as much as anyone, of what’s lost when we wait, and what’s possible when we stop waiting.
Author: Trance
Artist. Writer. Truth seeker.
We stand at a strange precipice, where the old order frays at its edges and new frameworks are ushered in under the banners of justice, equity, and reconciliation. Yet beneath the surface, what passes for progress often masks deeper manipulations, a rearranging of power that serves the same masters. To look at UNDRIP and its unfolding in British Columbia is to confront that paradox — possibility entwined with peril, renewal haunted by control.
Life on the island has taught me much about simplicity, authenticity, and the contrast between calm community living and the noise of the modern world. As I prepare to leave, even if only for a while, I reflect on what quality of life truly means — and the choices each of us must make to live in alignment with our deepest values.
We live in an age where shock has become ritual, and narrative eclipses reality. Screens light up with the same story, the same images, the same grief — but beneath the spectacle lies a deeper machinery at work. To see it is unsettling; to name it is often branded insensitive. Yet it matters, because if nothing else, our task is to discern what is real from what is staged, and to remember that even illusions shape the world we walk through.
We wander through a maze of narratives, where each turn presents another inversion, another layer of obfuscation, another carefully constructed detour from what is real and true. To pause, to step aside from the rhythm of repetition, is to notice how much of what we’ve been told is fragmented, distorted, or simply fabricated. The deeper we look, the clearer it becomes: truth is not radical, nor hidden in “dark matter,” but elemental — woven into the very fabric of being.