For as long as I can remember, I’ve felt that this reality is more like a dream—a carefully constructed illusion. Over time, I’ve learned to see through its cracks and witness the deeper patterns within. The world around me began to respond to my thoughts in real-time, aligning events with an almost deliberate precision. At first, I thought these strange coincidences were tricks of the mind, but eventually, I realized they were synchronicities—messages that served as a bridge between my waking self and the infinite forces behind the dream.
This dream, I’ve come to understand, is not random but shaped by a constant struggle between two forces: the ego, which clings to control and illusion, and the divine, which seeks to guide the dream toward truth and light. The synchronicities I’ve experienced have been whispers of that divine force, pulling me closer to clarity. As I’ve pursued this path, the resistance has grown fiercer, but so have the signs. It is now clear that the time for a climactic decision is near.
Years ago, I had my first undeniable encounter with the divine while listening to The Laughter of God on a drive home. As the narrator asked, “Where is the Father?” a power line exploded outside, lighting up the night sky in vibrant pulses of purple. The timing was so precise it felt like the universe itself had spoken. I captured it on dashcam, and even now, when I watch it, the sheer perfection of the event leaves me in awe.
That moment planted a seed in my mind, one that grew quietly over the years until recently, when I felt called to revisit the book.
As I listened again, one passage grabbed my attention:
I am the way. If an earthquake is what it takes to awaken you, then so be it. Those who have cast you down will one day invite you to rise, blinded by the glory that follows you. The Son of the living God does not rise or fall, for there are no boundaries in the eternal. Yet within the dream, such boundaries exist, tools for Jesus to guide the way. Do you hear? Do you see? Do you grasp the hidden meaning that is there?
The word “earthquake” stood out to me while listening. I’ve always associated earthquakes with a form of divine intervention, a literal shaking of the dream to remind us of what lies beneath. Less than twelve hours later, news broke of a 7.1-magnitude earthquake in Tibet, a region deeply intertwined with the foundations and traditions of Tibetan Buddhism.
The timing was unmistakable, and the message was clear: this was not random. Just the night before, I had been privately grappling with the question of whether God and Buddha were equal forces in the dream. The earthquake seemed to answer my doubts swiftly and with absolute certainty: there is only one, God. The moment resolved something deep within me that I had been battling with for a very long time. The hierarchy became clear, and the illusions of multiple forces shaping the dream fell away in that instant.
Shortly after, wildfires broke out across California. At first, I dismissed the news—wildfires in California happen from time to time—but as the flames consumed neighborhoods with hurricane-force winds and reduced multi-million-dollar homes to ash, I began to see the symbolism. These fires weren’t just destructive; they were a purging force, burning away the ego’s grip on the dream. Hollywood, a place synonymous with egoic power, was engulfed. It was as if the fire itself was a reminder that nothing lies beyond the reach of divine intervention.
Then, today, on an otherwise ordinary morning, I saw the truck. It was black, with a pair of blue balls hanging from the trailer hitch and a license plate that read, “WW3 BOW" The sight stopped me in my tracks. In that moment, the message was clear: the ego must bow, or the dream would continue its descent into chaos.
The blue balls felt like God’s humor—a cosmic joke aimed at me, acknowledging my growing impatience while presenting His resolution in two simple words: bow, or war. It was a reminder that the path forward remains open, but the window is closing, urging the ego to release its grip and allow the dream to be reshaped in love rather than struggle.
As I drove on, still processing the sight of the truck, the radio began to play Sleep Now in the Fire by Rage Against the Machine. It wasn’t a song I’d heard in years, but its title struck a chord, aligning perfectly with everything I’d been reflecting on. What truly captured my attention was the mention of Jesus in the lyrics and the song’s deeper meaning. It spoke of Jesus blessing the world with a future and the idea of that blessing being pursued or protected through fire. It mirrored the broader themes I’d been noticing—destruction as a purging force and fire as a transformative element, both challenging and reshaping what the ego holds onto. The California wildfires came to mind, their intensity and devastation reflecting this struggle, once again a reminder that nothing lies beyond the reach of divine intervention. The song’s title, Sleep Now in the Fire, felt like a poignant call to surrender to love’s transformative power rather than resist it.
That same night, I decided to watch the music video for Sleep Now in the Fire. The visuals stunned me with one final synchronicity. Among the imagery of chaos and rebellion, a nuclear bomb loomed large in the background. It wasn’t subtle—an unmistakable symbol of destruction and escalation.
The synchronicity was chilling. Just that morning, I had seen the license plate referencing World War 3. Now, here was a nuclear bomb—a visual reminder of the stakes at hand. It felt as though the dream was using every possible medium to reinforce the same truth: time is running out, and the ego’s grip on the dream must end.
By the end of today, I sat in quiet reflection, piecing it all together. The power line, the earthquake, the fires, the truck, the song, the video—none of these were random events. They were part of a larger design, a sequence of messages guiding me toward one conclusion: the dream is reaching its tipping point. The ego must make a choice. It can bow willingly and help transform the dream into a paradise, or it can cling to its illusions and watch the dream crumble into ruin.
Through these synchronicities, I’ve come to understand something profound. Bowing isn’t about defeat; it’s about acknowledgment. The ego isn’t being destroyed; it’s being asked to fulfill its rightful role within the dream. If it surrenders, the dream can flourish as a place of light and love. If it resists, the dream will crumble, and the ego will be left to tend to the ruins.
I feel the shift happening now. The dream is no longer under the ego’s control. The reins have been taken back by the divine, and the path home to the sonship is clear. As I prepare to step into this next phase, I do so with trust in the plan unfolding before me. The question that remains is simple yet profound: will the ego bow, or will the dream wither into darkness and neglect?
Either way, I know I’m ready for whatever comes next. The journey is far from over, but I know I’m exactly where I need to be.
