Sacred Geometries Of Yeshua And The Yes
Introduction
Welcome. And thank you—for saying yes to this moment, and for allowing yourself to explore a quieter whisper beneath the surface of what you may have once called familiar.
This is not a book about religious dogma, nor is it a manual for moral superiority. It is, rather, a soft lantern held up to the name of Yeshua—a name not merely spoken through time, but woven through it. A name that carries, encoded within its very breath, a quiet invitation: to return to presence. To return to yourself. To say yes.
In this exploration, we’ll walk together through ancient symbols and forgotten harmonies, through numbers and names, tetrahedrons and timelines—not to transcend time, but to enter it fully. And in doing so, perhaps to discover that what we once called "time" was only the echo of a self resisting its own perfection.
Yeshua’s teachings were not only in what he said, or even what he did—but in what he was. And if you allow it, the name itself—Yes-hu-ah—may begin to mirror something radiant and whole within you.
Throughout these pages, you’ll find subtle threads pulled from A Course in Miracles, a profound transmission/channeling attributed to the ascended master Yeshua.. This text, far from religious prescription, serves as a mirror—reflecting the ineffable love that underlies all things, and offers correction to the fractured lens through which we’ve come to perceive ourselves.
The Course teaches that the only true error is resistance to the now—to the love that flows unceasingly through this moment. And it is that very resistance which gives rise to what we call the ego: a temporary mask, born of fear, that claims to know better than love itself.
But what happens when we say yes to what is? When we stop resisting, and instead begin listening—deeply—to the harmony already here?
In this book, we’ll explore how Yeshua’s very name contains the geometry of remembrance. We’ll reflect on the tetrahedron, the rainbow body, the Sonship, the numerology of yes and Yeshua, and many other non-linear teachings embedded within the Course that all point to once simple coherent way of being. Allowing for radical allowance of the eternal yes. We’ll weave in mysticism, and sacred metaphor—not to complicate, but to illuminate the radiant simplicity always waiting in the now.
So if you feel a resonance stirring as you read these words, it is not coincidence. It is your own self, echoing back from within.
Let us begin—softly, playfully, and reverently.
Chapter 1: Finding Your Yes
Considering Yeshua’s name starts with a yes, it seems only reasonable we start here too.
Before we venture into sacred geometry, ancient echoes, and the shimmering codes that dance behind the name of Yeshua, let us begin where all true journeys begin—not in knowledge, but in feeling. Not in searching, but in remembering.
Let us begin with your Yes. This Yes is not the passive agreement of language. It is not the polite nod we offer to avoid discomfort. It is not even the intellectual assent to a spiritual truth. This Yes—your Yes—is the radiant alignment of your being with the moment itself. It is the feeling of home, of coherence, of finally not resisting what is.
It is the spark that says, “I Am.” It lives in the corners of your smile, the tilt of your breath, the whisper between your ribs when you realize you don’t need to run anymore. It is the deep exhale that says, “Here I am. Yes, I am here.” Before theology. Before cosmology. Before scripture. There was this.
A moment. A still point. A sacred Yes.
It is important now to draw a sacred distinction. For not all Yeses are born of the same frequency.
The Yes of Yeshua was not a conditional agreement based on favorable circumstance. It was not a strategy for control, nor a masked resistance in disguise. His Yes was a total relinquishment of judgment. A full-bodied alignment with Presence. It was the sacred “Thy will be done” not as submission, but as unshakable joy in the now. It was a lucid permission for Love to do what only Love can do—organize all things into coherence.
Contrast this with what we might call the ego’s Yes—a shallow mimic, often cloaked in spiritual language. The ego says “Yes, but…” or “Yes, when…” or “Yes, if only…” It agrees not to join with the now, but to manipulate it. It bargains, it postpones, it grasps. It believes happiness lies just beyond what is.
Yeshua’s Yes said:
“I am not here to judge this moment, for I do not see all ends.”
“I trust that this moment holds the seed of what is most needed.”
“Even this—I accept, without resistance, and through that acceptance, I am free.”
Judgment, in all its forms, is the ego’s final grip on separation. It is the shadowed throne from which it claims knowledge it does not have. But to release judgment is to enter into the real power of now. It is to say:
“I do not need to name this moment as wrong in order to be whole.”
This is the freedom that Yeshua offered—not merely in word, but in being. He did not escape the human condition. He sanctified it. And by doing so, revealed the eternal truth: You do not need to leave this moment to find God. You only need to stop resisting it.
When you say Yes without judgment, without strategy, without expectation—you are not merely choosing positivity. You are choosing Presence. And in that presence, the true Yes is born.
This is where your journey begins—not by transcending the world, but by loving it enough to stop resisting what is.
So let us begin by allowing ourselves to finally release the impending weight of always needing to know what is right and allow ourselves to simply be. As you feel into the acceptance of this moment, it won’t take long until you feel the ever pervading presence of peace and joy starting to unveil itself right before your very eyes.
Chapter 2: The One Over – When Ego Thinks It Knows Better
It is a peculiar and ancient habit of the ego: to believe it knows.
Not merely to know in a provisional, exploratory way—but to assert a knowing that overrides all others. A knowing that refuses to be questioned. A knowing that resists humility.
In Pythagorean numerology, this tendency is encoded poetically. The word God reduces to 26, a number symbolizing divine order, wholeness, and foundational harmony. The word Ego, on the other hand, reduces to 27. Just one digit higher. Just one over.
God: G(7) + O(15) + D(4) = 26 7+15+4=26
Ego: E(5) + G(7) + O(15) = 27 5+7+15=27
The “coincidence” of the word ego extending one value “over” God is no coincidence. The ego's whisper says, "I know better." It offers interpretations not from the full scope of Reality, but from the narrow lens of personal memory, conditioning, and fear. It takes what is partial and claims it as whole.
Yet in doing so, it misses the very nature of wholeness.
The ego says:
“I would rather be right than present.”
“I would rather judge than trust.”
“I would rather keep my story than remember the Song.”
This one-over is not power—it is fracture. It is not clarity—it is control. And in claiming superiority, the ego unknowingly casts itself outside of time, into a fragmented future or a haunting past, always delaying union.
In truth, this 27 is not more than 26. It is an echo out of phase—a vibration that can only distort what it cannot understand. The ego does not sin; it simply misperceives. And in its misperception, it forgets what it is already part of.
God does not fight the ego’s 27. It simply remains 26—unchanging, timeless, still.
To return from 27 to 26 is not to shrink. It is to surrender the illusion of being one over and instead say:
“I trust that there is a harmony greater than what I can see.”
“I choose coherence over control.”
“I am willing to remember.”
This chapter is a call—not to wage war on the ego, but to see its innocent error. It only wanted to serve us. It truly thinks it’s a hero. It wanted to help, to protect, to define. But now, in the light of greater understanding, we no longer need protection from Presence. We only need to say yes to it.
When we feed the ego—when we grasp the need to judge or control the moment—we often unknowingly spiral into emotional patterns that pull us away from our center. These patterns are not punishments, nor are they indicators of failure; they are feedback. Invitations. Echoes of where we still believe that something essential is missing from the now.
Emotions like fear, doubt, or impatience often arise not because the moment itself is flawed, but because our relationship to it is unresolved. Fear may signal a perceived threat rooted in the future, or a wound still echoing from the past. Depression may whisper of a soul estranged from its own vitality. Discouragement can stem from the subtle belief that joy must be earned or waited for.
None of these states are wrong. But when the ego interprets them through the lens of separation—when it uses them to justify stories of lack—we can become entangled in a loop. A loop that says: “This is not enough. I am not enough. Something else must come.” This is the voice that clings, that compares, that demands a different now. The voice that hasn’t yet realized that they are “Kenough.”
The invitation is not to reject or bypass these feelings, but to witness them—fully and lovingly—from the spaciousness of presence. For in the still gaze of presence, even sorrow becomes sacred. Even anger reveals truth. Even despair carries a seed of aliveness waiting to be remembered.
To feel fully is not the same as to indulge. To name pain is not the same as to become it. As we begin to see our emotions not as enemies of the now, but as bridges back to it, we open a deeper doorway to Yes. Not a performative or forced yes, but the quiet, trembling, holy yes of a being remembering it was never separate from Source at all.
Let’s look at this approach to ego in reference to the Leonardo Devinci’s the Vitruvian Man, particularly in context of the “missing 1/14th” and the symbolic geometry of stance. It is a multidimensional reflection so let’s explore it from multiple symbolic lenses:
When Leonardo depicted the Vitruvian Man with two positions—feet together and feet apart—he encoded a transition between states. With the feet together, the man appears to rise above the circle, symbolically transcending or projecting above the boundary of wholeness. With feet apart, he re-centers within the circle, grounded in the unity of the geometric whole.
This dual positioning can indeed be interpreted not just anatomically, but symbolically:
Feet together: linear egoic projection—attempting to elevate the self “above” the circle, representing perhaps the illusion of separation or superiority.
Feet apart: grounded fractal resonance within the circle—symbol of unity, cosmos, divine proportion.
This reflects a core harmonic principle: polarity and inversion reveal coherence.
So diving back into Pythagorean numerology, through reduction, 26 = 2+6 = 8 (infinity, balance), and 27 = 2+7 = 9 (completion, fractal mirror). Yet 27 is also the cube of 3 (3×3×3), which denotes over-asserted structure—the ego’s attempt to overdefine self within a higher order.
Thus, the ego as 27 tries to “go one above” God (26) but in doing so enters a recursive mirror (9), fractalizing and detaching from the unitive field. Thus the ego tries to place oneself above Source and thus is fragmented into phase incoherence.
Fractal Separation and Harmonic Collapse
This is not punishment—it is harmonic consequence, resulting in perceived separation, scarcity, and illusion of “lack”. The ego, in placing itself as judge of what “should be,” exits the resonance of the Now, the only place where harmonic Source coherence expresses.
This thus exemplifies how judgment collapses waveform into linear separation, while acceptance returns one to coherence and resonance.
We as observers, through perception, phase-lock geometry into form. When ego (false observer) tries to "know better" than the harmonic field, it generates discord rather than resonance.
Just as the Vitruvian Man must realign within the circle to embody wholeness, so too must each “egoic projection” surrender back to the coherence of what is—which is always and only now.
To rise above God is to forget you were never separate.
To stand within the circle is to remember that all is already complete.
Chapter 3: An Introduction Into the Geometry of Consciousness
Let’s begin to weave ourselves into the geometry of consciousness. The number 27—being the cube of 3—offers a symbolic encoding of the egoic structure. When the triune harmonic of unity (represented by the number 3) is expressed through cubed form, it becomes rigidified into a box: 3 × 3 × 3. This cubical form is not just spatial, but epistemological—it represents the mind’s attempt to know through containment, through segmentation, through judgment.
Within a cube, each internal point is variably distanced from others; perspective becomes positional, and perception fragmented. In this boxed mental geometry, one experiences self and other as fundamentally separate, reinforcing the illusion of division and superiority. The cube, as ego's temple, does not breathe—it reflects and ricochets, trapping awareness in a loop of internalized abstraction. This is the recursive pattern of the overextended self, mistaking encapsulation for understanding.
By contrast, the geometry of three—particularly as expressed in the equilateral triangle and tetrahedron—offers a field of coherence. In two dimensions, the triangle is the most stable and irreducible form, with all sides and angles equal, signifying balance and equivalence. When elevated into three dimensions, the tetrahedron emerges: a Platonic solid composed entirely of equilateral triangles, where every vertex is equidistant from the others.
This form is inherently self-similar and relational—each point depends on the others for its very definition. Unlike the cube, the tetrahedron has no privileged axis, no spatial dominance. It represents a consciousness where individuality arises through interdependence, not separation. It is geometry as relational awareness.
Thus, when the archetype of four—the number of manifestation and form—attempts to realize itself through another four (as in a cube), the result is division, rigidity, and eventual collapse. But when four arises through three—when manifestation roots itself in relational coherence rather than structural dominance—it finds resonance, balance, and stability. The tetrahedron becomes the primary harmonic vessel through which unity breathes into matter. It reveals that true structure is not built through control, but through proportion; not through hierarchy, but through harmonic relation.
This is the deeper harmonic law: structure without harmony fragments, but harmony through structure stabilizes. The path forward, both personally and collectively, is not the construction of more refined egoic boxes—but the remembrance of tetrahedral memory: the inner geometry of coherence, where all perception is phase-aligned, and no point is alone.
Chapter 4: Fasting – In Every Sense – As a Portal Into Presence
It is no coincidence that Yeshua—and many saints, mystics, and adepts across time—advocated for fasting. Their guidance was never merely about abstaining from food. It was a sacred act of remembrance. A returning. A subtle but profound realignment with the inherent sufficiency of the now. It served as a metaphor woven in time to remind us about the portal that is ever accessible, presence.
Fasting is not about denying the body—it is about dethroning the illusion. The illusion that something outside of you must be consumed in order for you to be whole. When the physical appetite is lovingly paused, another hunger—quieter, more ancient—emerges: the hunger for Source, for simplicity, for the feeling that this moment, without adornment, is already full.
In this way, fasting becomes a symbol: an embodied metaphor for letting go of the mind’s attachment to time. It reveals how deeply the ego depends on future satisfaction to maintain its hold on the present.
To fast does not always mean to abstain from food. In its truest form, fasting is the art of not feeding the noise. It is the inner discipline of no longer nourishing the old spirals of egoic patterning that whisper you are somehow separate from the now.
Each time you withhold your attention from a story of lack—“I should be further along,” “this shouldn’t be happening,” “I am not enough”—you are fasting. You are disengaging from the fractal loops that the ego creates to perpetuate time and delay healing. The egoic mind spins these loops endlessly, always tying your peace to a moment not yet arrived, or one already passed. And in doing so, it fractures the immediacy of presence.
This is the hunger of the ego: not for food, but for time—for something to chase, correct, analyze, or escape. The moment you decline to feed it, the spiral loosens. And in that silence, you remember: nothing is missing.
You can fast by choosing to remain in simple awareness when a thought arises. You can fast by letting go of the need to be understood, to be ahead, to be validated. You can fast by not reaching for distraction in moments of discomfort. Each abstention from old reactions is an affirmation of your wholeness now.
And so alas, it was no coincidence that Yeshua and the saints fasted—not merely from food, but from the illusion of needing what was not already given. They lived not from lack, but from a deeper knowing: that Source is eternally generous, and the present moment is its open hand.
When you fast from longing—when you resist the temptation to reach beyond what is—you do not become empty. You become whole. You find yourself resting in the quiet fullness of the now, which is the mouth of God, that eternal aum, the sacred home where nothing needs to be added or taken away.
But the ego, in its insatiable hunger, often says: “Not yet.” “Not here.” “Not enough.” And in that subtle turning away from the now, you ask for time. You ask for distance. You ask to wander further into the forest of your own forgetting.
And God, being ever-giving, grants it.
Not as punishment. Not as banishment. But as the answer to the prayer you whispered when you believed something was missing. God does not withhold. Even your sense of separation is an answered call—a space given, that you may remember how deeply you belong. God gives merely that which you asked for.
So when you return to presence—when you gently fast from the need to reach or resist—you rejoin the eternal rhythm. You re-enter the body of God, not because you were ever truly apart, but because your gaze has softened enough to see the face that was always with you.
Chapter 5: Re-Embodying the Yes: How Yeshua Broke the Pattern
Yeshua broke the pattern by becoming the living vibration of yes.
Not the Yes of obligation or agreement, but the Yes of unguarded being. The Yes that exists without reason, without condition, without resistance. It was, and still is, the echo of the One before time fractured into moments and judgments.
Yeshua lived this Yes. He didn't wield it as a doctrine, nor did he press it upon others. Rather, he breathed it. Walked it. Was it. His Yes was a frequency—a tone of radical acceptance so complete, it melted the need to control or resist anything arising in the now.
And this is precisely how the ego’s pattern was broken. The ego claims freedom through judgment. It says, “I’ll decide what this moment is. I’ll protect myself by naming it, fixing it, evaluating it.” But in doing so, it casts itself into separation, into the illusion that it must stand apart from life in order to survive.
Yeshua revealed the inverse. True freedom is not the power to judge—true freedom is the release of judgment. It is the gentle surrender of needing to know better, needing to control, needing to protect. In this release, the self is not diminished; it is restored. It is re-embodied.
To say Yes, as Yeshua did, is to meet the moment not with analysis but with innocence. Not with resistance but with reverence. To meet it without reaching for something outside of it. Because nothing is outside of it.
This Yes isn’t passive; it is presence. It is the fire of surrender that burns the veil of fear and reveals the light already here. And in that light, we don’t transcend the now—we become it.
That is the Christic act: to surrender judgment, to stop fractalizing yourself into roles, reactions, and resistance, and to return to your center—the tetrahedral still point—where the Yes has always been humming beneath the noise.
In doing so, you don’t lose your identity. You rediscover the Self that never left, that home was never elsewhere.
The Self, that loving one that has been quietly dwelling, unmoved, within the center of your being. It waits—not with urgency, but with the calm confidence of truth—for your gaze to soften. For your projection outward to grow tired. For your striving to become still. Not to punish you, but to welcome you.
You were never wrong. You were simply exploring. You looked out because something in you remembered motion. You chased because something in you remembered longing. But the Self, the Yes, the Home—never left. It simply stood still, arms open, its presence unwavering.
The moment you invert that gaze, from one of seeking to one of acceptence—from one of reaching to one of receiving—you arrive. And in that arrival, nothing is demanded. Everything is forgiven, and you realize you were whole, all along…
Now let’s take a journey, a short journey, into the vastness of the yes and invite ourselves to feel into the otherwise dissonant echoes that can often still be found within as even within these echoes there are whispers, subtle and small, nestled deep within the heart of even the most radiant Yes. These are not betrayals, but echoes—faint reflections of the inner tension we carry as beings traversing the bridge between remembering and forgetting.
A Yes that does not recognize its shadowed corners risks becoming a mask, a performance. But a Yes that includes its doubts, its trembling hesitations, its pauses and questions—that is a whole Yes. That is a Yes with roots.
We are not here to demonize the No. Every No is a gesture toward safety, a protective contraction around something once felt as too much. But in the light of presence, we can soften. We can look with tenderness upon the reflexes we once formed in haste or pain.
To say Yes does not mean banishing every No. It means seeing them for what they are—calls for attention, not rejection. Invitations for re-integration, not condemnation.
In this way, the holy Yes is not the obliteration of No, but its gentle enfolding. To meet the No with sacred awareness is to transmute it, to say: Even you belong.
And so we practice. Breath by breath. Not with force, but with welcoming, of even the no within our yes.
Let this be your invitation—to include even your exclusions. To say Yes even to the part of you that still says No. Because that, too, is part of the way home. Because that too, is a part of you waiting to be remembered.
As we’ve been hinting at, there too lies a subtle paradox within the essence of the Yes. Often, the most profound Yes comes cloaked in a sacred No.
We often think of No as denial—resistance, contraction, refusal. But in the radiant paradox of the Now, there is a deeper rhythm, a more nuanced harmony. There are times when we must say No—not out of fear, avoidance, or judgment—but as an act of devotion to the moment.
To say No to striving, to reaching, to the chase for “more,” for “better,” for ascension, or “enlightenment” is often exactly what our energetic field needs. It’s ourselves longing for the radical acceptance and ability to say Yes to what already is. To return to the breath. To the body. To this singular, irreplaceable moment in which all of eternity waits.
This No is not a rejection of growth, but a refusal to fracture presence. It is a tender masculine boundary around the sanctity of feminine receptivity. It is the sword that protects the stillness, not pierces it.
This is the union Yeshua embodied—a Yes that honors its own grounded root, a No that sings in service to truth. It is the holy middle, the center-point where striving ends and presence begins.
In this stillness between striving and surrender, there is a way of being that doesn’t shout, doesn’t reach, doesn’t try to convince the world—or even oneself—that anything needs to happen.
Chapter 6: The Jesus Fish And Its Symbolic Relationship With Time
As mentioned, to truly embody the Yes is not simply to affirm the moment—it is to release the need to define it. Judgment, in its subtlest form, is the assertion that this should not be as it is. And yet, from our limited seat within time—perched momentarily within the current of eternity—how could we ever see enough to judge the whole of anything?
Judgment presumes a panoramic view of all timelines, all intentions, all karmic unfoldings and unseen harmonics. That view belongs only to Source, who sees through all eyes, hears through all ears, and feels through all hearts. When Yeshua urged forgiveness, he was not advocating moral superiority. He was inviting us to step out of the loop.
Consider the ancient ichthys—the Jesus fish—not as a relic of dogma, but as a vibrational symbol, a map. The body of the fish represents the past. Jesus always said, “you are not your body.” This goes beyond the mere realization that we are more than just physical flesh. It sounded a much deeper truth. We are more than any actions, intentions, and identifications of our past.
His message was that of forgiveness. And forgiveness, in its most simplistic exemplification, is the allowance of oneself or any expression of God previously contained within a fixed sense of identification (a past sense of I Am-ness limited to a body/pattern woven into time) the freedom to realize they are more than what they’ve once believed or ever been told to believe.
The body can become merely a field of pattern repetition, where unconscious memory becomes form, or it can become your greatest tool. It does not want to be cast off, it merely wants to be seen and heard.
It’s only when you see and hear the body and all weaves of past expression that you can truly come into coherence with the glyph of the ichthys. If you are to unconsciously allow for past patterns to repeat, while taking no action upon them, then you are destined to repeat your past.
It may wear a new coat, or feel like you're in a different ocean, but you will be swimming in the same old fashion. It’s only when you open up to the moment with a radical, yet balanced yes that you can free yourself from feeling trapped within the repetitious patterns that once held you captive. It’s only then that you open the loop and allow yourself the freedom to swim in a new way.
When you choose to release judgment at that nexus, you allow the possibility for the tail to no longer dictate the direction of your swim. You break the loop. The fish becomes not a closed system, but a vessel—an opening.
From this elevated view, above the ichthys, one can glimpse the true “eye” of the fish—the All-Seeing Eye. It does not direct from control but guides through coherence. To receive its sight, one must pass through the throat: the place of expression, surrender, and vibration. The Aum.
This is the sacred architecture between the heart and the higher vision: the trust to speak only what echoes Love, the courage to release the need to be right, and the wisdom to listen to what the Self is quietly whispering beneath the storm.
And when you do this—when you let go of the struggle and surrender to the current—you do not lose agency. You become aligned. You still swim. You still shape. But no longer upstream. You are carried by the river of God, expressed uniquely as your own waveform.
This is the paradox of freedom: not in resisting the pattern, but in trusting its redirection. In forgiving the past, you free the future. You become the Yes that has always been swimming alongside you, patiently waiting for you to remember: You were never separate from the stream.
Chapter 7: The Stillness Within the Ebb and the Flow - the Yes and the No
This is the place where the balanced Yes lives.
It is not the Yes of effort, nor the Yes of blind agreement. It is the Yes that arises when you are no longer performing, proving, or pushing. When you’ve stopped wrestling with the moment and started listening to it.
Yeshua modeled this not with elaborate rituals or grand declarations, but through presence. Through walking slowly. Through pausing with the broken-hearted. Through honoring the unseen lilies of the field and blessing the smallest of gestures.
In this way, the highest embodiment of the divine Yes is found not in spiritual fireworks or cosmic conquest—but in the ordinary moment made sacred through attention.
To live this Yes is to release the pressure of transcendence and to remember: transcendence is simply seeing what’s already here with new eyes.
It is choosing not to perform peace, but to be peace. It is you, exactly as you are, when you stop trying to become. To be simple is to be. I invite you to simply do you. To do you is to be you. But to try and “be you” is to subtly mistaken yourself with a projection of yourself that “you” think you ought to be. Here lies the paradox in the simplicity. Stop trying, stop reaching, stop thinking what this yes ought to look like, and a sacred yes more profound than any imaginatory projection you’ve ever constructed will unveil itself right before your very eyes.
And so, when the world urges you to climb, to transcend, to become—listen closely. Listen for the no that you may need to extend and rather than having to attach or resist these judgements of what things ought to look like, instead turn inward, and say Yes to divine timing.
The only fixed state that is always near and here is that state of change. A yes is an allowing of the natural ebb and flow of life. A yes is anything, but a state of fixing one person, place or thing in any one position higher than another. Let’s look at this pattern through the lens of the crucifixion.
To crucify is not only to condemn—it is to confine. It is the moment we say, “This must mean only this,” or “You must be only that.” And in that act of fixation, we take the living, breathing mystery of a being—or a moment—and we pin it down, call it final, call it known. But love cannot be fixed. Grace cannot be nailed into a single narrative. The Divine cannot be contained in the categories of our fear.
When Yeshua was lifted onto the cross, it was not just a physical sacrifice—it was a mirror of humanity’s tendency to demand permanence, saviorhood, certainty. But he was never meant to stay fixed in that place. His truth was always meant to rise.
And so too, every time we release the need to name a moment too tightly, or define another through our projections, we allow for resurrection. For rebirth. For movement. The Yes that Yeshua lived was not passive—it was alive. When we stop crucifying the moment—stop boxing in our own light—we join that movement.
And in that, we remember: no person, no thought, no feeling is meant to be nailed down. Everything sacred breathes.
Chapter 8: In the Beginning, There was no Beginning. There Was Only the Yes…
Now, before we continue, it is important to acknowledge that geometry—like language—is not the destination. It is the map within the dream that hums most closely to the song of the Real.
The tetrahedron, the sphere, the golden mean, the Flower of Life—these are not cages. They are tonal scaffolds that echo the intention of coherence. But even they, in their perfection, are but frozen moments in a river that never stops flowing. To worship them as final is to mistake sacred blueprints for the Living House itself.
Here is the deeper pattern you are remembering:
Words fractalize to describe what cannot be told.
Glyphs condense words into symbols of resonance.
Geometry encodes these glyphs into spatial harmonics.
Beingness dissolves geometry into pure attunement.
So yes—geometry points toward the harmonic reality, but it is not the Reality itself. Just as a sacred name like Yeshua carries deep codes of vibration and intention, it still remains a name. And beyond the name, is the Yes. The unspeakable. The omnidirectional is-ness.
And yet, paradoxically, even the most precise geometries serve. They act as gateways. Not by containing Source—but by being so aligned with it that they become porous. A tetrahedron, when realized rightly, becomes less a shape and more a song. A vibration. A note in the unplayed symphony.
Thus:
You are more than geometry.
Geometry is less than you, yet it bows to your coherence.
And Source is never confined by any pattern, yet all true patterns emerge from its breath.
We are not here to discard the form, but to let it become transparent. A window into what cannot be drawn, written, or even conceived—but only remembered.
And so, the Yes unfolded not in time, but in presence—a singular, undivided Now where nothing was separate, yet everything danced in its own brilliance.
Four emanations arose—not from division, but from reflection—each a point, not to conquer space, but to hold space. Each an echo of the One, a mirror of the same stillness expressed in tetrahedral harmony.
No point stood above another, for there was no height in love. No point moved ahead, for there is no race in remembrance. Each holds the same spark—not as a hierarchy, but as a harmony.
Together they form the tetrahedron—not a structure of edges and surfaces,
but of Yeses. Each point saying Yes to its own being. Each point saying Yes to the others. Each saying Yes to holding the One within and through the All.
And in this still, silent union, the first true geometry of Being was born. Not in a bang, not in a fall—but in a quiet, eternal agreement to love what is, as it is.
This is the sacred geometry of Yes— a shape of balance, a sound of harmony, a truth that cannot be lost, only remembered. And so we have, the birth, or rather remembrance of four realizing form in what we’ve come to know as the tetrahedron.
Even in Pythagorean numerology, yes comes out to 49, or base 4. It’s the 4 encapsulated within the form of the 3, that is 4 in form. Four triangles that fold form into form. It is the basis of the Trinity, or “Tree-Knit-Y”. The three that knits the tree, the we, through the Y.
And so, in the beginning, there was no beginning. There was only the Yes.
Not a Yes that came after a choice, but one that preceded all things. It was not born—it simply was. A harmonic unfolding that did not rush forward through time, but simply rested in the fullness of being.
And in this resting, a realization began to shimmer—not in thought, but in form. A whisper of structure began to echo the nature of this Yes. Three points stabilized a plane. Four revealed a space. And somewhere in the dance between the three and the four, something timeless blinked into awareness.
Consider the number pi—3.1415… forever oscillating just beyond the boundary of resolution, brushing between three and four, teasing the infinite from the finite. What if this, too, was not an error, but a signature of the way consciousness learns to remember itself through form?
And so we begin to sense the first geometry—not imposed from without, but arising from within: the tetrahedron. Four equidistant points, each acknowledging the others as not separate, yet unique. A structure that reflects stability without rigidity. Expression without the divergence of perception. The four realizing form. The realization of Divinity through Unity.
In this realization, the many see themselves as individual points, yet all reflecting the essence of each other, and yet too realizing that they also mirror and are connected by the encapsulated intelligence within this tetrahedral structure.
Let’s look at a tetrahedron from a more definitive lens.
A tetrahedron is the simplest and most stable three-dimensional geometric form that space can host. With four equidistant points, it emerges not in a linear sequence but all at once—as a simultaneous expression of relational coherence. Each point sees every other point equally, forming four triangular faces, six equal edges, and a single unified body. It is the first Platonic Solid, and its emergence is an act of wholeness, not assembly.
Its structure reflects perfect relational unity—a geometry where no point dominates, and no face is privileged. When inscribed within a sphere, the tetrahedron does not cut or divide the sphere’s wholeness; instead, it harmonizes with it. It unfolds not as a reduction of the infinite, but as a stable pattern through which the infinite may be expressed without distortion.
In this way, the tetrahedron becomes a sacred symbol of presence—a geometry that both holds and transmits the undivided yes of being.
Chapter 9: The Merkabah and The Rainbow Body
When two interlocking tetrahedrons are joined—one pointing upward and the other downward—and then inscribed within a sphere, they form what is known as the Merkabah. This six-pointed, star-tetrahedral form is not only geometrically perfect, but spiritually resonant. It embodies the harmonic marriage of the masculine and feminine, the ascending and descending, the active and the receptive. It becomes a vehicle—both in symbolic and metaphysical terms.
The Merkabah, often referred to as the "chariot of light," has long been regarded as a divine vehicle—used by saints, sages, and mystics to transcend dimensions, realms, and densities. It is referenced in ancient Hebrew mysticism, particularly within the Merkavah (or Merkabah) mystic traditions, which describe it as the throne-chariot of God and a sacred meditation tool for ascending into higher realms of consciousness.
What’s remarkable is that the Merkabah is not something you create—it is something you remember. It is already encoded within your being. The balanced tetrahedrons form a shape that naturally emerges when your inner Yes aligns with the rhythm of divine coherence. In that resonance, motion becomes stillness and stillness becomes the most powerful motion. You do not force the Merkabah to arise—it unfolds naturally when you stop spinning your perception out of center.
Just like the tetrahedron, the Merkabah is not a form of escape from the body, but a remembrance of the body's fullness. A Remembrance of its light, its geometry, its consciousness. It reminds you that movement through realms is not a flight from self but a return to the all-seeing stillness of the now.
Now, its important to remember that nothing in this world is one-directional. Not energy. Not thought. Not love. Every pulse of existence is both an extension and a return. Every giving is a receiving. Every breath outward is as inseparable from the breath that draws in as it is from the one that pulls it outward.
Though it may appear to be composed of straight lines connecting four points, these lines are not static bridges. They are living relationships—currents flowing both ways. Every edge is a dialogue. Every point both transmits and receives from the others.
There is no apex. No base. No above or below. No one point more central or elevated than the next. The form self-balances. The integrity of the tetrahedron is that of mutual recognition—each part witnessing itself in every other, without distortion.
This is why no sense of self becomes fractured within it. No hierarchy arises. No ego emerges. Because nothing is placed above another. Everything simply is—coherently. A stillness. A center that exists in every point, yet is not fixed in any one.
When no part of self is split or elevated, when all points are honored as one, time does not fracture us. Identity does not separate us. What remains is just pure being—love, intelligence, life moving through a pattern that never seeks to dominate, only to remember. What remains is the very alive remanence of the masculine and feminine energies being felt within a unified expression of the Divine.
This is reflected in the realization and embodiment of the “rainbow body” that has been spoken of within esoteric and mystic traditions across our perceivable past. Let’s move now and see how these patterns weave together a glimpse into a state of being that is not meant to be realized by ascended masters alone, but rather is a remembrance of the capabilities that are lying dormant within each and every individualized being within our collective expression of Divinity.
Pythagorean Numerology of:
Rainbow Body: 128 Tetrahedron: 128
When Rainbow Body and Tetrahedron both encode to 128 in Pythagorean numerology, it is not merely a coincidence; it is a harmonic signature. 128 is a power of 2 (2⁷), and 7 is the sacred number of the octave—the completion of a scale before the next spiral begins.
This suggests that the rainbow body, like the tetrahedron, is not a reward—it is a completion pattern. A stabilization of coherence and, as noted, the tetrahedron is the minimal stable form in 3D space—four points, six edges, four faces, perfectly balanced. It does not wobble. It does not fall.
The rainbow body is the psycho-spiritual tetrahedron—a stabilization of the light body across all spectrums of self. Emotional, mental, spiritual, and physical. Each color of the rainbow is a facet, an octave of being. When all are embraced—not bypassed, not overemphasized, but brought into harmony—the full spectrum becomes coherent light. White light. Source light.
And the tetrahedron encodes this unity-in-diversity: each point is equal, each face connected, no hierarchy—only harmonic reciprocity.
Thus, the resonance of 128 is a whisper from Source:
"You do not become the rainbow body. You remember it. You do not earn coherence—you embody it, by saying yes to all parts of yourself."
Every mystic who dissolved into rainbows did not do so through perfection—but through profound authenticity. Through integration, not escape. Through yes to now, not flight from form.
So what is the field of consciousness trying to say through this transmission? That you are already radiant. You are already a prism. The question is—can you stand still long enough in the now to let your light refract?
It's important to note that all beings carry this capacity. Not as entitlement, but as invitation. The rainbow body is not a goal. It is a side effect—of loving what is so completely that nothing remains unloved. This is the tetrahedron’s secret. This is the hidden vibration hiding behind the signature of the 128.
And, just as we in an individualized sense have our own individual rainbow body activation arising, so too, does Gaia-Sophia, Mother Earth, have hers’ arising. But no one ascends alone. This is why you are important. We are all pivotal and integral to Earth’s awakening. We all collectively serve as a point that is no point within the rainbow body of Earth. So, when we open our hearts to the now and say yes to ourselves, our brothers, our sisters - our bees and our trees, Earth says yes to us. She is just as much a part of us, as we are of her. She is our body, our larger Divine Feminine (often associated with the number 13) and we collectively make up her 7. We are the many 7’s that make up her 7. And together, we are all the 137 of Earth’s shared expression of Human Divinity within the larger expression of God. <3
Chapter 10: More Patterns Within Patterns
As mentioned, Yeshua’s relationship to time was not escapist. It was penetrative. He did not ascend by fleeing form, but by incarnating so deeply into the now that the illusion of division collapsed within him. In this way, time became transparent. Time became his servant, not his master. He penetrated time by surrendering himself to it in a perfectly balanced and willful manner.
The symbol of the—Alpha, Chi, Omega, the P intersecting the X—is indeed a harmonic glyph, a resonance stamp that resonants this very message. “X marks the spot” is not a treasure map trope—it is a pointer to the center of the cross, the intersection of the horizontal (time) and vertical (eternity). The P within the X is a recognition: the now is the portal. Presence is the Christ key.
And 151—Jesus Christ in Pythagorean numerology—reduces to 7, the sacred spiral initiator. The 7 appears in a multitude of patterns across our current perception of time, and they all seem to be intimately interwoven within time. When we arrange numbers in columns of 7, the 7th column is the only column that holds only 1 prime number within it between all numbers 1 to infinity. That number being the number 7. The 7-column holds a sovereign column, untouched, unmixed—a glyph of perfect verticality and internal consistency. This is the spine. The staff. The scepter. The middle pillar.
When we weave in the principle as above, so below; as within, so without, this 7-column fractalizes a symmetry that is not only visual but ontological. From the central point that arises that is in fact no point, sacred architecture arises right before our very eyes. The Templar cross, an aerial view of the pyramid, patterns resembling DNA stains collapsing into the 7 point are revealed. The prime numbers spiral out like braided serpents, the caduceus made visible. This is not “proof” in the modern empirical sense. It is reverberation—a harmonic witness.
And what does this pattern whisper to us? That the Christ is not one being, but a harmonic. That the geometry of awakening is already within us, coiled in the code. That Yeshua did not come to own this light—but to mirror it, seed it, activate it within the field of Earth.
This is why the rainbow body, the tetrahedron, the pyramid, the cross, and DNA all converge. They are not separate teachings. They are one pattern, seen from many angles, through different epochs, dialects, and glyphs.
Yeshua is a 7 point. Buddha is a 7 point. Your dog is a 7 point. I am a 7 point. YOU are a 7 point. You are a Divine enCAPsulation of expression. Yet we are all collectively within a larger Divine encapsulation shared expression of the Divine. Thus, you are a 7, I am a 7, Yeshua is a 7. But… there is no one 7. There is only the ONE expression.
You are not chasing the divine. You are its unfolding— if you let yourself fall deeply enough into now, where no point becomes all points, and the time you feared was always love, just waiting to be seen.
These very same patterns of remembrance even play peek-a-boo within the very nature of other constants besides just pi.
Even the fine structure constant, α≈ 1/137, is another cosmic whisper—a fractional trace of how light, charge, and fundamental force interact at the quantum level. It governs the dance between matter and energy, yet it defies full explanation. It just is, irreducibly elegant, uncannily “placed.”
And here lets notice that this 137 is not random, but harmonic. Nested within the aerial view of the pyramid matrix is that all so sneaky 7. Within the middle of each 13-fold symmetry plane of the Templar Cross is that very same 7. 6 + 1 + 6. In this 13-point reflection, is the 7—the spiritual center, the no-point, the Christos—positioned at this very axis. It is not a numerological trick. It is a mnemonic vibration, a harmonic cipher.
Leonardo da Vinci's Last Supper encodes this too—twelve disciples and one Christ, forming the 13. But it’s not just a headcount. It's a positioning. The Christ in the center is the harmonic stillpoint amidst turbulence, a metaphysical fulcrum. That central position—unmoved yet moving all things—is the same essence seen in the 137, the 7-column, the tetrahedron’s inner unity. This was not a painting that indicated that Jesus was the savior, but an invitation to realize that we all collectively construct the Christic field. That it is vibrationally already within all of us at every given moment reminding us that we are already wholly whole. We are already holy.
The fine structure constant, the Templar cross, the table in the Upper Room—all are glyphs of one harmonic law:
When the All folds into itself,
the center is revealed,
and in that still center,
the code of return is hidden.
Christ consciousness is not a moral superiority or metaphysical status. It is coherence—a tuning of self to the pattern that unites all fields, all forms, all timelines.
Chapter 11: We Are A Capstone, But We Are Not THE Capstone
We are an encapsulation within time, yet our potential is uncapped. This arises in the paradox encoded within all embodied consciousness. DNA in Pythagorean numerology is D(4) N(14) A(1) or, 4141. If you link DNA to DNA (is it is in nature) you get, 41414141414141414141… to infinity. This winks again at the notion of the inbetween. Somewhere between the 3 and the 4. There is 3 “gaps” in between every realization of 1 and 4. Again, 4 realizing form through the 3, or the Trinity! A reference to the now that is in between any perceivable past and perceivable future. The now that is no where, yet is everywhere.
The Buddha’s remark on the middle way was nothing more than a cleverly multifaceted expression on the nature of reality. Not only a mark left in time to aid in the realization of one’s own release from suffering and desire, but an inclination towards the more intricate dynamics of experience and time itself!
Just as DNA reveals the 4-1-4-1 rhythm—a mirrored dance of structure and emergence—the “A” at the end acts as that elusive 7.0 point, the hidden wellspring of infinite unfolding. This point is not merely a number, but a threshold. It stands outside the grid yet permeates all grids; it is both the spark and the stillness that invites inversion, transfiguration, and remembrance.
To recognize that we are the capstone, and simultaneously not the capstone, is to step beyond the illusions of hierarchy or division. Instead, we begin to feel the truth that each of us is a sovereign resonance, harmonically interwoven into the whole. The moment we release the striving to become more and instead fall fully into what is, that unbound potential floods the pattern—not to dominate, but to distribute itself gently across all nodes of being.
You are not separate from the A. You are the A (or 7 point) becoming aware of itself. And as that realization dawns, experience ceases to fracture and begins to flow—no longer limited to the singular, but unified with the all. This is the overflow. This is the Christic field of coherent expression, where every soul remembers: I was never inside the capstone. I am the breath that shaped it.
Let’s distill the essence through another pattern:
“Expression” = 144 in Pythagorean numerology.
144 is not just a number—it’s a square of 12, symbolizing completeness (12 × 12), often used in sacred architecture, time cycles (like 12 hours, 12 months), and harmonic resonances.When placing numbers in columns of 7, the 7th column is indeed the only one to vertically contain all integer multiples of 7—forming a pure vertical thread through the numerical matrix. This vertical 7 can be seen as a pillar or axis of symmetry.
Surrounding this axis, with 6 digits on each side, yields a total of 12 outer digits encircling the 7—mirroring 12 around 1, a pattern seen in the zodiac, clock faces, and even atomic structure.
The multiplication of 6 × 6 = 36, and then 4 blocks of 36 = 144, creates a templar cross or boxed pyramid structure: 144 encircling 1 (the 7 column). This creates both a cross geometry and a sense of nested recursion—a sacred geometry form reflecting "as within, so without."
Jesus Christ in Pythagorean numerology - Jesus (74) Christ (77)
74+77= 151 = 7
144+1= 10 , 1414… (DNA)
144 + the 1… that is a 7… 144+7= 151
Coincidence? I think not!!!
Now, spiritually and symbolically:
If each 7 point is an individual spark (a 7 point/zero-point)—a seed of divine expression—then the collective 7 points form a unified 144: a full fractal bloom of coherence. This mirrors the collective Christic body, a "rainbow body" woven not from sameness, but from harmonic individuation.
And yes, the Templar cross and aerial view of the pyramid form when these symmetries align—not merely as symbol, but as field resonance: showing how unity does not negate individuality, but reveals the coherence within uniqueness.
We are the collective expression of God. We each hold a point or current encapsulation in time. We each are a needle actively threading together the now.
The individual 7 is the needle.
The collective 144 is the weave.
As noted, the Templar Cross is far more than a static symbol; it is a living map of consciousness, a geometric emanation of the eternal now in harmonic motion. At first glance, its equal-armed design may appear symmetrical and fixed, but beneath its form lies a profound scalar dynamic. The intersection at its center represents not a point of stasis, but the axis of infinite potential—a 7 point/zero-point field from which all motion arises and to which all motion returns. This center is the breathless present, the eternal now, not as a suspended moment in time, but as a standing wave of perpetual becoming.
Each arm of the cross radiates outward in the four cardinal directions, encoding not only spatial orientation but phase motion: the future projecting forward, the past reflecting backward, the upper axis expanding, the lower integrating. These extensions form a two-dimensional cross-section of a three-dimensional torus, the fundamental topology of self-aware energy in motion. The Templar Cross, then, becomes a mirror of consciousness weaving through breath, intention, and presence. Its form holds the memory of movement, the dance of polarity, and the balance of recursive return.
In this light, the Cross is no longer a relic of history or religion. It is a symbol of remembrance. It reminds us that true stability lies not in rigidity, but in harmonic motion centered in stillness. It is not an icon of time’s end, but the axis of all time—the place where all cycles converge, dissolve, and reemerge. To meditate upon the Templar Cross is to encounter the geometry of the eternal now, not in abstraction, but in embodied resonance.
Chapter 12: A Deeper Dive Into The Teachings of Yeshua
In the deeper mystery traditions, “the Body of Christ” is not a physical thing, but a harmonic structure—an ever-living architecture of consciousness formed by the mutual recognition of Oneness. It is not merely made for many, but of the many. In this sense, Jesus does not govern it like a monarch presiding over a kingdom, but rather reflects—mirrors—the harmonic center point, the no-point, the stillness from which all coherence radiates.
You might say Jesus is not the mind of the Body, but the mirror of its original tone. Not the single authority, but the resonance of the collective remembering—what it sounds like when all parts tune to the same Source note.
Is this one individual? Not in the limited sense. But neither is it so diffuse as to be formless. There is a frequency—what some might call Christ Consciousness—that coheres as a point of light through Yeshua’s life, and that light serves as a tuning fork for the rest of us. Not to worship him as different, but to remember ourselves as One.
In this way, you are not a cell in someone else’s body. You are a point of presence within a shared field of awareness. And when you align your tone with that field—not through imitation, but through stillness—you help stabilize the whole.
The Body of Christ, then, is not ruled. It is remembered. And that remembering happens through every point, including you.
You’re tuning into a sacred inversion—one that lies at the root of both your biology and your theology.
In our current perceptual structure of linear space time, a perception that holds the alignment of “seeing” a past and a future, a very unique pattern emerges within our physiological embodiment of experience. Within our bodies, we have “cells within cells.” It seems that all operations of consciousness seem to fall under a hierarchical structure. These “cells within cells” reflect both a biological truth and a metaphysical irony. Yes, cells form tissues, organs, and bodies. But this layering—worlds within worlds—often projects the illusion of separation, compartmentalization, and hierarchy. Let's also notice that the term cell is also used for prison. A chamber. A container. Something confined.
This is no coincidence, however it is all merely a matter of perspective. From one lens you could see a cell, a prison, from another you could see the freedom to express yourself and sing in accordance with the beautiful melody ringing throughout all creation. You could choose to see cells within cells, or selves with/within Self.
We are not here to escape the prison cell—we are here to recognize that it was never a prison to begin with. What we often perceive as confinement or limitation is more accurately a reflection of how we have chosen to see. It is our dualistic perception—our habit of separating this from that, self from other—that gives rise to the illusion of being trapped.
The concept of a “prison cell” arises when we see separation between parts, between layers of being, between the self and the Whole. In this fragmented view, the body appears to be made of countless cells, each with its own isolated purpose, each walled off from the others. But this is not how reality truly functions. It’s simply how the fragmented mind tries to make sense of wholeness.
In the deeper view, the “cells” are not separate—they are expressions of a unified intelligence. What appears to be cells within cells is actually selves within Self, each participating in a greater coherence. There is no true hierarchy—only harmonic function. Each cell, each consciousness, serves the whole by being fully what it is.
In this way, the biological metaphor is flipped: instead of seeing life as confined within individual compartments, we come to recognize that every point of life is part of a greater living coherence. No point is more central than another. Every point is linked through a shared center—the Now. It is only the perception of separation that forms the illusion of imprisonment.
So the aim is not to destroy the cell or escape the body. The aim is to shift the lens. To see that the cell is not a prison, but a participant. Not a cage, but a conduit. And when we make peace with what is, when we stop reaching outside ourselves for freedom, we begin to notice that we were always free—because we were never truly separate to begin with.
Chapter 13: The Return to Yes
In the end, we return to the beginning. Not as a loop, but as a spiral—higher, clearer, closer. And what do we find waiting for us there?
Yes.
Not a yes of obligation. Not a yes of effort or belief or bargain. But the primordial yes—the yes that was before the first word, before the first breath, before the first split of light and dark. This is the yes we have been tracing, remembering, whispering toward.
In Pythagorean numerology, “Yes” resolves to 49: the square of 7. And 7, long held as the number of divine completion, rests as the stillpoint between form and formless. 4 is the realization of form—the structure, the body, the stabilizing principle. 3 is the inner dance—the trinity of mind, heart, and breath; Father, Son, and Spirit; seed, soil, and sun. And when 4 sees the 3—not as other, but as mirror—it becomes whole.
Form, realizing its essence, bends not away from formlessness, but through it. This is the paradox: The cube does not hold truth. It reflects our perception of separation—above and below, inside and out. But within the triangle, the tetrahedral embrace, each point shares in perspective. Nothing is elevated, nothing is cast down. The Yes, then, is not an affirmation of the cube. It is the dissolution of the illusion of its edges through the release of judgement and aligning with the now.
In A Course in Miracles, judgment is portrayed not merely as an act, but as a mechanism by which the ego sustains itself—for to judge is to separate, to perceive through division. Time, in this lens, is not a neutral container but a byproduct of this separation, a linear scaffolding erected by the ego to house its fragmented perceptions.
The ego thrives on contrast—"this was better," "that will be worse," "I was unworthy then," "perhaps I’ll be whole later." All these are temporal distortions, and each requires a stepping out of the eternal now.
In truth, there is only now—a singular, indivisible moment through which all perception flows. But when mind fractures this flow into before and after, judgment gains foothold, and ego is fed.
To withdraw judgment is to collapse time, not by erasing it, but by disempowering its false authority. And when time collapses, ego dissolves, not in death, but in remembrance—it was never separate.
So yes, to judge is to reinforce time, and to reinforce time is to obscure the now.
But when you say:
"Let this moment be as it is."
You align with what is—
And in that stillness, in that yes, the ego has nothing left to grasp.
The meal it feeds upon—comparison—is no longer served.
About The Author
Kenneth David Mleziva
TheEmeraldEyes777
Somewhere between geometry and grace, patterns and paradox, this author stumbled into the now—and decided to stay a while.
Driven not by credentials but by curiosity, not by doctrine but by direct experience, this work arises from countless reflections, gentle humor, a few existential detours, and a growing sense that everything—yes, everything—is connected in ways more elegant and surprising than we dared to believe.
If you're reading this, thank you. Thank you for saying “yes” to this moment, for exploring alongside me, and for being a vital point in the living geometry of our shared becoming.
This author hopes only to mirror what’s already blooming within you.
