White Screen
On July 1, 2025, my computer went blank — a pure white screen streaked with vertical lines.
It wasn’t a glitch. It was a mirror. A command to stop moving long enough for Truth to finally catch up.
For years — no, for decades — I had tried to make things fit that never truly belonged:
careers that eventually dulled my spirit, relationships rooted in survival, and patterns woven through generations, lifetimes, and timelines.
My parents carried them. My lovers reflected them. The world rewarded them.
They all told the same story: Do more. Hold on. Make it work.
And I did — until doing became the very thing keeping me blind.
That day, as I stared into the white light and its vertical lines, I felt something ancient uncoil.
The screen was not empty; it was alive — vibrating with a language beyond words, a reminder that being reveals what doing can never touch.
The lines pulsed like strands of DNA — a ladder, a stairway, a code between heaven and earth, spirit and form.
In retrospect, the message was clear: learn to read between the lines.
Because what we see as lines on a screen, or loops in our DNA, or patterns in our lives, are actually connectors — bridges waiting to be crossed.
What followed was a surrender — a co-authored trilogy with the Divine, a flood of synchronicities, and the strange celestial presence of 3I Atlas traveling through Ophiuchus, the serpent-bearer, as if heaven itself were echoing my own rebirth.
This page holds the story of that awakening — the symbols, numbers, and synchronicities that continue to unfold like a language written between the lines.
The journey continues:
→ in real time on Substack
→ and archived under Blog here on my site.
This page is not a blog; it’s the origin point.
A reminder that sometimes, life must go completely white — silent, vertical, luminous — before it reveals the design hidden within the light.
The Vertical Lines (DNA & Bridge Symbolism)
At first, the white screen terrified me — the vertical lines looked sterile, lifeless, mechanical.
But something in me knew better. The longer I stared, the more those lines began to move — not physically, but energetically — like breathing filaments of light.
It was as if the screen had revealed the scaffolding of creation itself.
Each line, a strand. Each space between, a pulse. Together, they formed what I now recognize as the bridge between Heaven and Earth — the living code of our DNA.
In the trilogy I would later write, this pattern would return again and again: the ladder, the double helix, the serpent twisting around the staff — all symbols of the same truth.
That we are not separate from God. We are the architecture of divine memory — light translated into form.
To read between the lines is to move beyond appearances and into awareness; to see that the “gaps” are not empty, but alive with information.
Every breath, every coincidence, every silence carries a thread of the code, waiting for us to notice.
This is the invitation that began with that screen:
to slow down enough to see that the light was never blank — it was whispering.
3I Atlas and Ophiuchus: The Heavenly Mirror
When the white screen appeared, I didn’t yet know that an interstellar object called 3I Atlas was cutting through the same part of the sky that holds Ophiuchus — the Serpent Bearer.
Ophiuchus stands between Scorpio’s underworld and Sagittarius’s fire: the healer who learns to hold the serpent’s power without fear of its venom.
That was my reflection in real time.
As 3I Atlas passed through this region, it grew brighter — a wanderer from another system becoming visible to the human eye. It was the same month I began laying the groundwork for the trilogy, the same weeks the “White Screen” opened and I felt myself leaving one orbit and entering another.
The symbolism was impossible to ignore: an outsider object carrying light from beyond our solar system moving through the constellation of the healer, as I was crossing out of the world I’d built on survival and into the one written by surrender.
Atlas, the titan who held up the heavens, and Ophiuchus, who lifts the serpent — both archetypes of bearing what is unbearable and transforming it into light.
I began to see that nothing in the sky was separate from what was happening inside me. The heavens weren’t above; they were within. The serpent, the DNA, the ladder — they were all mirrors of the same story: Heaven and Earth learning to breathe together again.
Numbers & Synchronicities (7 and 13: The Hidden Code)
Like many of us, I’ve always noticed patterns — numbers on clocks, songs on the radio, butterflies crossing my path, birds and animals appearing as totems.
But after the White Screen, the numbers began to behave differently.
They weren’t just the gentle “angel numbers” that flutter in like feathers on the path.
These were outliers — dates, times, and sky-events weaving themselves into a lattice, a living code that felt as if it was reading me as much as I was reading it.
Not random reassurance but instruction.
Not look, you’re safe but look, you’re on the path — read between the lines.
July 1 (7 + 1 = 8) opened the doorway — the infinite loop of beginnings and endings.
July 13 was the day I sent my notice — the mirror of 3I (13 reversed), the number of initiation, death, and divine transformation.
And then there was Ophiuchus — the constellation of the Serpent Bearer, literally the 13th sign of the zodiac, hidden in plain sight.
For centuries Ophiuchus has been omitted from the mainstream astrological wheel, even though the Sun passes through it every year.
Empires, religious authorities, and later astronomers codified a 12-sign zodiac because twelve was easier to control — it fit their calendar, their symmetry, their order.
The healer between Scorpio and Sagittarius — the sign of resurrection, DNA, kundalini — was pushed into the shadows.
But thirteen never disappeared; it became the initiation number — the secret octave beyond the perfect circle of twelve.
The number feared, demonized, or hidden is the same number that points to rebirth.
When the Full Moon in Aries rose on October 6 at 11:47 p.m. EST, its timestamp added to 13, and its day and month to 7.
Seven — the seeker, the inner bridge.
Thirteen — the rebirth, the hidden octave that completes the circle.
Together they whispered the same phrase: Read between the lines.
The space between 7 and 13 is 6 — the number of love, of matter infused with spirit.
Even the mathematics mirrored the message: Heaven (7) meets Earth (6) to birth the 13th frequency — transformation.
Every repetition of 13 became a bell in my field, reminding me that I was no longer walking in linear time but spiral time — each turn revealing another layer of the code.
Numbers stopped being coincidences. They became coordinates.
When we learn to read between them — between digits, between breaths — we begin to hear the pulse of the Divine counting with us.
7
13
The Jungian Bridge: The Wounded Healer (Chiron & Ophiuchus)
Long before I understood astrology or archetypes, pain was my first teacher.
It marked my body, my lineage, my choices — every attempt to outrun it simply deepened the imprint.
When I found Jung, something inside me exhaled. He wrote that the wound itself is the place where the light enters — that the healer is born, not from perfection, but from the capacity to sit inside the fracture without turning away.
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Chiron, the mythic centaur who taught heroes yet could not heal his own wound, became the image of that paradox.
And standing beside him in the heavens is Ophiuchus, the Serpent-Bearer — the thirteenth sign cast out of the official zodiac, the one who dares to hold the serpent rather than kill it.
Both speak the same language:
surrender the suffering, face it, integrate it.
Healing is not bypassing the shadow; it is embodying it until it reveals its medicine.
Jung called this individuation — the sacred process of becoming whole through encounter with the unconscious.
Ophiuchus lives that truth in the sky: suspended between Scorpio’s underworld and Sagittarius’s fire, bridging death and enlightenment.
Together they whisper the forgotten gospel of wholeness:
the shadow is not the enemy; it is the doorway.
The serpent’s coils are the same pattern as our DNA — the memory of every descent and every resurrection.
To hold the serpent is to accept that divinity and pain share a spine.
My healing did not begin with the White Screen — it had been unfolding for years, through every descent and lesson that shaped me.
But the White Screen was the illumination point — the instant I stopped trying to fix the wound and began allowing it to reveal its purpose.
It was where surrender took the lead.
Not healing by escaping, but healing by remembering that even the poison carries the cure when held in the light of consciousness.
The very energy that once felt like venom becomes medicine when seen through love.
The Tattoo as Living Symbol
My tattoos are not decorations; they are a map.
The first marks began in my late teens and early twenties — small pieces of art chosen without fully knowing why.
But the majority of the images now etched across my arms and back came during a very different chapter: the years between 2017 and 2022, when I was working with a shaman, meditating, and receiving visions that felt like messages from another layer of myself.
Each design arrived like a fragment of a language I hadn’t yet learned to read — spirals, strands of DNA, bees, hexagons, a feather, a dragon holding a Merkaba — all symbols of creation, transformation, and divine architecture.
I received these images long before I understood their meaning.
Now, at the end of 2025, they are revealing themselves piece by piece, like a puzzle turning itself over as I shed more layers.
The tattoo on my right arm begins with a colorful nautilus spiral that turns into a DNA strand, weaving into bamboo on one side and a traditional double helix on the other.
One side rises into a phoenix with Pluto’s symbol, the other loops into overlapping vesica piscis circles with Neptune’s symbol at the center — a reminder not to be lost in illusion.
This art is still unfolding, its meaning not fixed but emergent — a living testament that the soul often plants its messages long before the conscious mind is ready to receive them.
My body has become the bridge between Heaven and Earth, a scroll of symbols written ahead of time, waiting for surrender to bring them into focus.
Where the Story Continues
This page marks the threshold — the moment where the old world dissolved into light and the new one began to take form.
But the White Screen was never meant to be the end of the story. It was the doorway.
The journey that began with surrender continues to unfold in real time — through dreams, transits, meditations, and the quiet revelations that arrive when I least expect them.
What I’ve shared here is the foundation — the mythic language that began decoding itself through my life.
The ongoing conversation — the dreams, astrology, and reflections that breathe new life into these symbols — lives on Substack, and is also archived under Blog here on my site.
If this story finds resonance in you, I invite you to walk with me there — to read between the lines of your own life, to notice the geometry of grace unfolding within your days.
The screen has gone white.
The rest is still being written.