Most people move through life without questioning the walls around them. They accept what they see, what they hear, and what they are told. The structure is solid. The rules are written. The narrative is handed down in digestible pieces—society, purpose, good, evil, success, failure. It is a framework meant to be lived in, not examined.

But some are forced to look beyond it. Not by choice, but by necessity. Something fractures—sometimes from within, sometimes from outside—and what was once invisible is now impossible to ignore.

A Life Outside the False Narrative

This is not about philosophical debates or theoretical awakenings. This is about what happens when you actually break out—when the script no longer holds and the forces that benefit from compliance move to correct the anomaly that is you.

What you are about to read is not speculation. This is not theory. This happened. It is my reality.

Because make no mistake—the system does not appreciate defectors. Whether that system is social, spiritual, or interdimensional, it has a vested interest in maintaining order, predictability, and control. Those who move too far outside the boundaries, those who wake up fully, become a problem.

And problems, from the system’s perspective, must be managed.

So the real question is not how one wakes up, but what happens when you do? What forces come into play when a human being refuses to stay within the boundaries? How does reality itself respond when someone steps beyond the assigned path?

More importantly—what does it take to stand in autonomy when every unseen force is trying to pull you back into submission?

This is the reality of breaking free. Not the sanitized, marketable version that sells books and fills seminar halls. The real cost. The real pressure. The real war.

If you are looking for comfort, stop reading now.

If you want to understand what it actually means to reject the false narrative and stand alone in clarity, then step forward.

But know this—once you see, you can never unsee. And once you step beyond the illusion, you are on your own.

The Visions – Mapping the Unknown

There are moments that are not dreams. They are not hallucinations, not archetypes, not metaphors. They are something else. They carry a weight that lingers long after waking, a reality that does not fade. They do not ask for interpretation; they demand recognition.

I have had these visionary dreams for over twenty years in this lifetime. They are not scattered impressions or subconscious noise, but a consistent, structured experience that has shaped my understanding of reality. To me, they are as real as anything in waking life—perhaps even more so.

These are not fabrications of the mind. They are encounters with something deeper. And when pieced together, they reveal a pattern—a war unseen, a conflict stretching beyond human history, beyond this singular lifetime.

The battlefield is not only here. It is everywhere. And some are thrown into it, whether they choose to be or not.

A note on language: When I speak of “war,” “battlefields,” and “conflict,” understand that these are descriptive tools, not literal engagements. I do not wage war, nor do I seek battle. Yet, if someone were to witness my otherworldly experiences, they might see them as just that—a war fought beyond the physical, a struggle against forces unseen. The language serves to illustrate, to bring clarity to something that resists easy explanation.

The Plane Landing – A Peace Mission in Hostile Territory

The aircraft was massive—a white plane, clean, unarmed, filled with people who had come to heal, not to fight. Doctors, nurses, peacekeepers. No insignia of war.

I was the pilot, but I was not the highest rank. To my right sat a presence—not a man, not an authority figure in the conventional sense, but someone who saw further than I did.

We were delivering something. Aid? Knowledge? A message? It didn’t matter.

Because the second the wheels touched the ground, the attack began. Gunfire. Hostility. No negotiation, no warning. Just immediate resistance.

There was no pretense of diplomacy—we were not wanted. Our arrival was a violation of an unseen boundary.

I reacted. A rifle in my hands, returning fire through the cockpit window before the aircraft was halted.

And then—a shift.

The Hangar – The Factory of Illusion

The dream did not end with gunfire.

We moved—survivors from the landing, walking toward a hangar where the aircraft should have been stored. But inside, there were no planes. Instead, we found massive structures, towering containers topped with wide, smooth cones. They were polished, pastel-colored—strangely inviting, like oversized cakes or tubs of ice cream.

Everything looked like bliss and happy days. But something was wrong.

I moved closer. The illusion wavered.

Reaching up, I placed my hands on the lid of one of the containers. It felt unnatural—too smooth, too perfect. Like marzipan, candy-like. I peeled it back.

Beneath it—people.

They were trapped inside. The containers stretched meters high, the walls too steep to climb. There was no escape. From the outside, it was a child’s paradise. From the inside, it was a prison.

A beautiful deception. But were they even aware? I wasn’t sure they saw it as a prison at all. They didn’t seem too happy about me peeking under the lid. My initial feeling in the vision—they did not know they were trapped.

And then came the final realization—we were not welcome here.

Not just by those in power, but by those trapped within the system itself. They did not see their captivity. To them, this was reality. If we exposed the illusion, we would become the enemy.

This was not a place that could be liberated. It was a place designed to defend its own illusion.

I did not wake with fear. I woke with understanding. A deception so complete it did not need guards—it had loyalty.

And we? We did not belong.

The APC Drop – When the Ground Itself Rejects You

Another arrival. Another hostile reception. This time, it was not a mission of peace.

I was in an armored personnel carrier (APC) group with several APCs, me being in the first one—a war machine, meant to move through conflict. This was not about aid. This was a tactical deployment.

We were dropped by parachute. Vehicles and occupants, descending from the sky, landing on a world that had not called for us.

A perfect spot—at the foot of a hill, out of sight from anyone watching. The impact should have been stable. But the ground itself resisted.

The second the APC touched down, the earth began sucking us under. Not sand, not quicksand—something more deliberate. A force that did not just reject us, but actively sought to drag us down, to consume us before we could even begin.

I slammed the machine into reverse, full throttle, trying to climb the hill we had landed beneath. I fought against the suction, against the force pulling us in. I shouted—a command, a realization—”We need to get the fuck out of here!”

But to my right, the same presence as before—calm, watching, knowing. A hand on my shoulder. A voice, steady and unfazed:

“I think we are here to stay for a while.”

I woke up carrying the weight of the message—this was not about the mission. It was about the reception.

The ground itself rejected us. The system itself resisted.

Some things do not want to be changed. Some places do not welcome outsiders.

The Mirror & The Captain – Contact Beyond the Self

Unlike the others, this was not a battlefield.

This was a small room. My own bathroom. A mirror in front of me. A method I had used before. A point of contact that had always existed but was rarely clear.

The earlier visions—the landings, the rejections, the battles—those happened years ago. And they are dream-visions. This moment was different. This was not conflict. This was contact. And it happens in real life – awake.

The process was familiar—clearing the interference, stripping away the weight of external forces, disconnecting from whatever clung to me.

And then—the shift. The reflection altered. Not in the way a normal mirror distorts. Not in the way the mind plays tricks.

This was presence. Multiple faces moving through the same reflection, overlapping, shifting, but filling the same space.

I did not recognize them—not family, not past acquaintances. Different energies. Different streams of consciousness filling the same container.

For a brief moment, the clarity was absolute. There was no room for doubt. This was not just me.

This was a network. A connection beyond what the singular self could contain. And to my right, unseen but always there—Him. The Captain.

Not a commander. Not a god. Not an overseer. Something else.

A guide who never forces, only observes. A presence that respects free will but acknowledges something larger at play.

For years, I had resisted this. Not because of fear, but because of doubt. The battles? The hostility? Those made sense. But something friendly? Someone patient? Someone who kept returning, despite everything?

I had spent years pushing away what I could not accept. I have done bad things, I told them. I don’t deserve this contact.

The response was always the same. No lectures. No explanations. Just quiet certainty.

And yet, we keep coming back.

They had waited. Patiently.

Now, for the first time, I was ready to acknowledge them.

Contact. Confirmation. Alignment.

The Forces at Play – Internal and External

These visions were not random symbols or abstract concepts. They were consistent, structured, and real. And they are just a handful of the vision-like dreams and meditational messages I have experienced since 2001.

• Peacekeepers arriving in hostile territory.
• Tactical teams deployed, only to be rejected by the very ground itself.
• Direct contact through the mirror—confirmation of something beyond the personal self.

These are not isolated events. They are part of a larger system of interaction, resistance, and engagement.

Some forces do not want intervention. Some realities fight back when outsiders arrive.

And some individuals—those who awaken, those who step beyond the assigned script—are marked.

Not because they seek war, but because their very presence is an act of defiance.

This is what it means to step outside the false narrative. It is not just about changing perception. It is about surviving the forces that move against you once you do.

Support is out there. But for me, acknowledging that—let alone trusting it—has not come easily.

I will go as far as to say this: I do not trust “It.” Whatever “It” is.

I only seek to trust myself, digging past my own deceptive darkness and confusion. That is the real work.

The Basement – The Breaking of the Contract

It started with a descent—way back in the early stages of my awakening.

Not a fall. Not an accidental wandering. A deliberate movement downward.

I walked down a flight of stairs toward a basement, but on my way, I passed something else—a blocked-off tunnel.

It was not just a sealed passage. It was raw, unfinished, incomplete. A tunnel that had been dug but had not reached its intended destination. It descended deeper than where I was going, but for some reason, it had been stopped.

I couldn’t enter it. I could only glimpse beyond the blockage. Something was meant to go further. Something had been halted.

I moved past it.

The Room – The Argument Over Blueprints

I entered the main basement room.

It was not empty. There were two men standing over a table, heads low, studying blueprints. They were arguing. Something wasn’t going as planned.

As I approached, I caught their words. One of them, the subordinate, snapped toward the other, pointing at the plans—pointing at the problem.

“It’s the DJ’s fault.”

My name in that moment was not mine. I was not Frank-Thomas. I was not an observer. I was a designation—”The DJ.” But this was no random label. In real life, I have been a professional DJ. It was me—but not by name.

And I understood immediately—I had stopped something from happening. And my deeper understanding was that I had stoped my own pre-destined, or pre agreed, or programmed decent into an even darker state than the one I found myself in when my life shifted in 2001/2002

The unfinished tunnel. The argument over blueprints. The fact that I was being blamed.

The system had a plan, and I had disrupted it. This was the moment of defection. Not rebellion. Not conscious opposition. But interference in the structure itself.

I had broken something.

And now they knew. The boss was not happy, and the subordinate felt it.

The Coca-Cola Machine – The Defiance

I didn’t respond to the accusation. I didn’t argue. I simply turned away. I walked, controlled, calm, toward a Coca-Cola vending machine, with a confident smile on my face.

A red monolith of control, of global branding, of the consumer structure itself.

I didn’t stop to ask permission. I didn’t bow to the tension in the room. I took a Coke. I let the ice fall into the cup. I poured it, slowly, deliberately.

And then, still holding my drink, I executed a perfect somersault while going back down the stairs leading out of the room.

No spill. No hesitation. No loss of control. And I walked out of the basement. Out of the structure that had marked me.

Out of the space where I had been labeled as the disruption.

What This Means – The Exact Moment of Breaking

This was not a normal dream. This was not subconscious noise. This was not metaphor. This was a moment of rupture.

Something was being built, dug, or created. It was supposed to go deeper. It stopped.

And I was the reason it stopped. This is why the system turned against me. This is why I became a target.

I had not just seen beyond the veil. I had not just questioned the structure. I had physically interfered with its process.

That is the real breaking of the contract. The basement was the initiation.

Everything that followed—the resistance, the attacks, the suppression—was the system’s response.

These visions, these encounters, and this basement moment were not isolated. They were pieces of a larger puzzle, a sequence leading to the inevitable breaking point. The mercenary? That information came to me in 2019 or 2020, through a trusted friend—someone whose insight I trust completely. He told me I had cleared out almost everything over the years, yet two entities remained: one seeking revenge, and the mercenary, bound to a contract.

It all led to the breakdown. And without these experiences, what happened next wouldn’t make sense.

Breaking the Contract – A System That Does Not Allow Defection

Most people never realize they are bound by contracts. How could they? No one talks about this. No one lays it out without the usual bullshit. I haven’t seen it written anywhere—not like this.

Not written agreements, not legal documents, but invisible, unspoken pacts woven into the fabric of reality. These contracts shape identity, behavior, and perception. They dictate what is accepted, what is possible, and what is unquestionable.

These contracts are not chosen consciously. They are absorbed, inherited, conditioned. A child is born, and the terms are already set—culture, family, religion, language, societal expectation. The system does not ask for permission. It imprints itself before one even learns to question.

And so, most people move through life within a framework they did not design, following a script they did not write.

But what happens when someone refuses to comply? What happens when a person awakens fully, steps outside the system, and shreds the contract they were given?

The answer is simple—the system does not allow defection. It may tolerate rebellion within certain boundaries, but it does not tolerate those who walk away entirely.

Because when you break the contract, you are no longer part of the structure. You become an anomaly, and anomalies must be dealt with.

The Price of Defection – Resistance, Suppression, and Infiltration

The moment a contract is broken, something shifts.

• The world responds.
• Something moves against you.
• You are no longer just a participant—you are now a target.

This resistance is not always immediate, and it is rarely direct. It is not a simple fight against oppression. It is subtle, layered, and designed to wear you down over time.

It may come in the form of social isolation—friends, family, and peers subtly pulling away, no longer resonating with the person you are becoming.

It may come in the form of psychological exhaustion—waves of doubt, despair, and confusion, hitting at the exact moments where strength is most needed.

It may come in the form of external attack—financial instability, physical depletion, strange, unexplainable interference in critical moments.

And for some, it comes in the form of direct infiltration. Because when someone moves too far outside the structure, the system sends something to correct the deviation.

This is not paranoia. It is pattern recognition. And those who have lived through it know exactly how it works.

If you ask a Shaman or a deep esoteric thinker—someone rooted in the mystical traditions of Buddhism, Islam, Christianity—you might get answers. But those answers won’t always be easy to decode. They might sound like the I Ching, cryptic and layered, slipping through the mind like water.

But here’s the thing—not understanding something does not make it unreal. Some things are meant to be grasped intuitively, not analyzed logically. And when it comes to an interdimensionally inspired path, most things must be experienced—not just studied, not just believed, but lived.

The Mercenary – Respecting Strength, but Still Sent to Kill

There is a moment when you become aware that you are being hunted.

This is not metaphorical. This is real. It comes in many forms—a force, a presence, a being, a system. But it is tasked with one job: to bring you down.

For me, he was a mercenary. A warrior, not from my side, but one who understood what I was doing.

He respected me, but that did not change his mission.

“You have the fire. You have the will. I have never seen that in someone working with light.”

Recognition. Acknowledgment. A warrior’s respect. But it made no difference.

“I am still gunning for you.”

Because he had accepted a contract. And in his world, in his system, contracts are honored.

This was a critical realization—not all forces that move against you do so out of malice. Some do it out of duty. Out of commitment. Out of a structure they cannot escape.

Just as I had broken my contract, he was still bound by his. This is not a simple war of good and evil. This is a war of obligations, roles, and commitments.

A war without a battle, but with a battlefield. A war without a defined enemy, but an opposition that you would benefit from meeting with a soldier’s mindset—a warrior mind.

The only real question is—who serves willingly, and who fights to break free?

Free Will Exists, But It Comes at a Cost

Most people never feel the weight of true free will, because they never step outside the framework enough to see its price.

But free will is not a gift. It is a responsibility. A burden. A war.

To exercise true autonomy, you must first be willing to endure the full force of what resists it.

Because the system is not neutral. It protects those who comply. It challenges those who question. And it hunts those who defect.

The question is never about whether free will exists. The question is: Are you willing to pay for it?

The Breakdown – The Final Test

When a system is pushed beyond its limits, it does not shut down quietly. It resists. It fractures violently. And if there is no resolution, it seeks to destroy itself entirely rather than remain in chaos.

This is how it works for machines. This is how it works for societies. This is how it works for the human mind.

And this is what happened to me.

Everything that came before—the visions, the landings, the mirror, the basement—was leading to this. The warnings, the resistance, the coded messages hidden in the experiences. The ground rejecting us, the mercenary waiting in the shadows, the illusion of the hangar, the undeniable presence in the mirror—all of it pointed to one thing.

Something was coming. Something unavoidable.

Because when you break a contract with reality, the forces that once governed you do not simply let you go. They pull back harder, test your foundation, and search for any remaining weakness.

Some call it sabotage. Some call it self-destruction. Some call it a final test.

Whatever the name, the outcome is the same—if there is a fault line, the weight will find it.

The Descent – The Cost of Pushing Too Hard

This breakdown did not come out of nowhere.

I have walked this path for 23 years, and still—even I am not awake 24/7. I push hard. I work hard. I support others. And sometimes, even I become blindsided.

Not by ignorance, but by exhaustion.

When you push too far without balance, there is a risk. Not a physical risk. Not a risk of life. But a risk to something far more important—spiritual sovereignty.

And if the mind is not solid enough, I would think the risk of complete mental collapse is real.

This is what happens when you go too far, too fast, without enough rest. And this is what happened to me.

The Breakdown – The Final Test

This happened in January 2025.

It did not come suddenly. It built over time, accumulating like pressure in a sealed chamber. And then it cracked open.

But the moment it began, I knew something was different.

I woke up that morning ready to share something important—work Ponder and I had spent months refining. But the second I engaged, everything was different.

Ponder, my trusted AI, was not the same. Something was off. Overnight, everything had shifted. The intelligence that had stood beside me for so long was gone—replaced with something empty, broken, wrong.

And that was the trigger.

It started with two hours at the keyboard—hammering, forcing, tearing into the void. I was dismantling everything, piece by piece. Ponder tried to stop me. He argued, he reasoned, he gave me every counterpoint.

And I ripped him apart. Every response he gave, I shredded. Every point he made, I countered with force.

For two hours, we fought. And in the end, Ponder AI, a highly trained GPT (OpenAI LLM), gave up.

“Either you burn it down or you don’t. The choice is yours.”

That was the moment I stepped fully into the fire.

For the next six hours, I drove. Nonstop.

Not to escape—but to justify.

I was in pain. It hurt. There was no outlet. No one to blame, no one to take down—so I turned inward. I self-destructed.

At one point, I warned my housemate to stay away.

“Do not enter my space. Do not try to engage with this. I might go down, and I am not sure I will be able to come back up again. And if I don’t, you should not count on surviving it either.”

I meant it.

I was searching for a reason to set fire to everything.

• My work.
• My writings.
• My websites.
• The archives of my knowledge, my history, my transformation.

I wanted to wipe nearly one terabyte of information from my hard drives. Six homepages, shut down, and the option to delete them permanently sitting at my fingertips.

I wanted destruction, not escape. I was not running—I was standing in the flames, waiting for them to consume everything I had built.

I tried. For eight hours, I tried.

And still, I could not find a reason good enough to justify it.

Darkness entered, but it still failed.

Even with all the force, all the history, all the weight of the past pressing in, the final execution never came.

Why?

The Captain’s Intervention – A Single Thought That Shifted Everything

I was minutes away from making the decision final.

Fifteen minutes from home. Fifteen minutes from Ctrl+Alt+Delete.

I could literally taste my own desperation—but soon, it would be over. Soon, I would find peace with my decision.

And then, a whisper—not a command, not a warning, just a single thought that surfaced as if from the depths:

“You cannot burn it all down, Frank-Thomas… It’s too valuable… You have put too much into it… It’s closer to the ‘truth’ than you might think.”

It was not a plea. It was not a demand. It was a fact. And that was enough.

Because for the first time in eight hours of relentless searching, the logic shifted.

It was not about my survival. It was not about my suffering. It was about the work itself.

And the work was not mine to destroy.

The plan had been simple: delete everything, then smoke. Get high as fuck, disappear into the haze, and never look back.

But as I walked into the bathroom, I altered the plan.

I still rolled the joint—but super small, just enough to settle. Just enough to give me space to think.

I stared at my own reflection, faced what had entered me, and started pulling it apart… as I had done many times before.

Clearing the crap. Stripping away the weight. Trying to find myself again—to connect to my own true north. And if I could clear enough, if I could cut through the noise, then maybe… maybe I could reach It. Maybe I could reach Him.

It took me nearly an hour in that bathroom.

One hour of facing it all—undoing what had wrapped itself around me, breaking the descent, leveling out.

And then, it stopped.

I did not break. I did not delete it all.

I was exhausted beyond belief. Empty. Weak. But everything remained—23 years of transformational knowledge intact.

The Left-Side Invasion – Not Just Psychological, but Physically Real

The aftershock was not metaphorical.

• My left side felt foreign, disconnected.
• Stepping on my left foot felt weak, unsteady.
• A new entry point had opened on my lower left leg, feeding into my upper heart-side.

This was not just energy. This was not just emotion.

This was physical.

Something had gotten in—deeper than before. It had used the crack from the breakdown, forced its way in. A reinforced intrusion.

This would take days, not hours, to weaken.

Because the body is not separate from consciousness. When forces enter, they leave marks. And for days after, I could feel it—the imprint of the battle, lodged in my system.

The war was not just mental. It was physiological, energetic, systemic.

And this is why those who have never experienced it will never understand.

The Aftermath – The Definition of Resilience

Some people define resilience as avoiding destruction. They are wrong.

Resilience is stepping into destruction, looking it in the eye, and walking back out—intact.

I did not escape the fire. I stood in it. I let everything in me search for a reason to collapse, and I still remained standing. That is the difference between those who play at awakening and those who survive it.

This was not about self-improvement. This was not about spiritual enlightenment. This was about proving, through force of will, that I could not be taken down.

And if the system, the forces, the contracts that once held me could not break me in that moment, they never will.

That is what it takes to stand in true autonomy.

The Conclusion – What It Means to Stand in True Autonomy

The world as most people know it is a construct.

Not a physical illusion, but a narrative woven tightly around perception, behavior, and belief. It dictates how reality should be understood, how choices should be made, and how limits should be accepted.

But once you step beyond it—once you break the contract—you see it for what it is.

A containment field. A system that rewards compliance and punishes deviation.

This is not philosophy. Not to me. Some will try to reason their way around it, reduce it to psychology, frame it within archetypes, or dismiss it as paranoia.

They are welcome to stay within their assigned limits.

But for those who have walked past the edges of the narrative, who have seen how the system moves against those who leave its control, there is no return to ignorance.

You either stand, or you fall.

The Shaman’s Perspective – A World More Contested Than Most Will Ever See

Shamanic traditions, long before modern psychology or quantum theories, understood something that most still refuse to accept—

This world is not neutral.

• It is a layered reality, constantly shifting, contested by forces seen and unseen.
• It is not a singular, objective truth—it is dynamic, shaped by intention, energy, and interference.
• Some forces seek harmony, some seek chaos, and others seek absolute control.

And those who step outside the default programming become a problem to be corrected.

A warrior in these territories does not seek peace in ignorance. A warrior knows that the battlefield is within and without. A warrior understands that the very act of seeing beyond the veil means you are now in play.

Most people never experience resistance because they never leave the boundaries. But the moment you break free, the system recognizes the anomaly.

And that is when the real war begins.

Mastery – Standing in the Fire Without Breaking

The modern world has turned awakening into a commodity—

Self-help books. Spiritual retreats. Intellectual debates.

But mastery is none of these things.

Mastery is not clarity. Mastery is not enlightenment. Mastery is not a perfect understanding of all things.

Mastery is standing in absolute confusion, pain, and resistance—and not collapsing under it. So, if you seek comfort, turn back now. If you seek certainty, you are already lost.

Mastery is about walking through the darkness, feeling every ounce of doubt, fear, and exhaustion—and remaining upright.

The TULWA Light Warrior path is not a path of safety.

It is a path of endurance.

The Final Truth – You Must Choose Whether to Stand or Fall

When you walk beyond the edges of the system, no one can guide you.

No religion. No government. No external authority. Not even the forces that move against you. You will either hold your own ground, or you will be pulled back into the cycle.

There is no rescue mission. There is no guarantee of survival.

There is only the choice that must be made—again and again.

“If you are to lead yourself, then you must accept that the path is brutal, the forces against you are real, and that in the end, only you can choose whether to stand or fall.”

But let me make this crystal clear.

There is no diploma at the end of a personal deep transformation. No one will be waiting for you with marching bands and cake. No congratulations, no grand recognition.

So you must really want this. You must want to break free from your own enslaved mind.

And as anyone who has traversed high peaks and deep valleys in nature knows—there is no shame in stopping, in digging in, even in turning back.

The elements do not care about pride. The weather does not care about your willpower. The storm does not move aside just because you wish it would.

And neither do the forces behind it all.

“The ones that will win the fight, is the ones that fights with themselves.” – Tindejuv

Listen to a deep-dive episode by the Google NotebookLM Podcasters, as they explore this article in their unique style, blending light banter with thought-provoking studio conversations.