The Capstone Within

Introduction:

What if you were not just in time—but a point of time itself? Not the capstone, but a capstone. An individual expression of a vaster wholeness, reflecting a collective harmonic too large for any one being to hold, yet precise enough to be mirrored within each of us. This is not metaphor for metaphor’s sake—it is the subtle geometry of our own becoming.

This short reflection invites you into the paradoxical simplicity of what already is. A hidden capstone, unseen above the pyramid, yet held within every breath of your now. You are both the vessel and the reflection. And within the metaphors scattered across language, number, and form, something ancient is ready to be remembered—not in complexity, but in coherence.

Let us begin not by looking up, but by folding inward—into the now, where all capstones converge.

Chapter 1: The Geometry of Now

If we are each a capstone—a point of convergence atop a structure of time—then the direction of our gaze matters. The capstone does not look forward or back. It rests in stillness, harmonizing all beneath it, unshaken by the linear tug of memory or desire. Its very shape reminds us: the only true direction is inward, into the now.

To live as a capstone is to honor this central axis of presence. The moment we wander from it—into imagined futures or rehearsed pasts—we abandon the coherence that is already within us. We fracture, not because we are broken, but because we are drawn into the ego’s quiet machinery of time. The ego feeds not on the now, but on the illusion of what is not. It spins futures to chase and pasts to regret, creating momentum that masks its fragility.

But the capstone teaches otherwise. It teaches that time is not a river, but a resonance—and that your presence is the frequency through which all meaning flows. This chapter invites us back to the base of that truth: not to escape time, but to re-center in what always is. The eternal now is not a concept. It is the blueprint of your wholeness.

Chapter 2: The Horns of Time

The archetype of the devil—so often depicted with two horns—carries a subtle geometry: two points diverging, pulling consciousness away from its center. In this image lies a deeper metaphor. These horns are not evil; they are echoes of duality, reflections of time split into past and future. And when we chase either, convinced that clarity or salvation lies somewhere other than here, we enter the illusion.

The devil, in this framework, is not a figure to be feared. It is a pattern: a loop of chasing, a fractal of longing. It is the dangling carrot forever just out of reach—not because it cannot be reached, but because it was never meant to be reached. It is strapped to the back of the donkey, symbolizing how our own striving keeps it forever ahead. We think we are progressing, but we are merely circling the maze of our own misperception.

The ego thrives in this split. It tells stories of who we were and who we might become. It holds up mirrors that reflect everything but the present. And so long as we feed it with belief and urgency, we strengthen the illusion that our wholeness lies elsewhere.

But there is no punishment in this. No condemnation. There is only the invitation to return—to forgive the chase, to bless the lesson, and to breathe back into the now. Every moment contains the fullness of what you sought. Every inhale is a doorway home.

This is the quiet undoing of the illusion. Not by banishing the devil, but by ceasing to believe in the carrot.

It is no coincidence that the word devil is lived spelled backwards. The pattern reveals itself: the devil, as a symbol, tricks us into believing that we should have lived differently—that our past choices fractured our access to a better future. It traps us in the regret of what was and the yearning for what might be, pulling us out of the only place we truly live: the now. These mirrored metaphors are not accidents; they are gentle hints woven into language itself, reminding us that this sense of separation is illusion. We are not the energy reflected by the ego’s fragmented mirror. We are the soul—timeless, whole, and already aligned. And when we release the chase, we find the carrot was never ahead of us, but within us all along. In that knowing, the light no longer needs to reflect—it simply shines.

I now invite you to take a brief moment—thirty seconds, a minute, maybe three—and simply turn inward. Not to focus on bodily sensations or the breath, but to gently shift into the vantage of the watcher, as if stepping just outside the orbit of mind and body. With no judgment or resistance, simply observe. Watch how many thoughts emerge with the subtle intention to pull you away from this very moment. Some may be obvious, others nearly invisible in their pull. Let this simple act of noticing become its own kind of revelation. It’s often surprising and humbling to witness just how often the mind seeks to escape the refuge of our capstone, the stillness of this now. Source fails not to encapsulate our being into it’s now, why then, are we so often drawn to try and escape it?

Chapter 3: The Now - The Uncarved Mirror Of Perfection

We often speak of seeking peace, happiness, wholeness—but rarely do we pause to question the seeker itself. The egoic mind, conditioned to reach and reshape, to fix or flee, is always seeking to adjust the now. It whispers that something must be different, somewhere else, sometime later. But what if the very act of seeking is the veil that obscures our joy? What if the now—this exact moment—is already the uncarved mirror of perfection? When we try to judge the now, to alter what is, we are subtly attempting to occupy the seat of Source, a role never meant to be ours. In doing so, we sever the connection to our deepest joy—not because joy has gone anywhere, but because our perception has stepped out of alignment with it. Joy, peace, and enoughness are not rewards for control; they are the harmonics of surrender. Every feeling of lack is tied to a time outside the now. Every pulse of despair arises when we forget that Source fails not to encapsulate our being in this very moment. The escape is not outward. It is inward. And it is already here.

Let us now turn gently to the name Yeshua—a gift encoded not just in sound, but in meaning. It begins, unmistakably, with yes. A sacred affirmation. A surrender. A simple, whole-hearted embrace of what is. This name whispers to us through time: say yes to now, to presence, to the still point within your capstone that rests beside—but not in place of—Source.

To say yes is to stop fractalizing into desires not yet born, or feed regrets no longer living. It is to shed the cloak the ego stitched from timelines never meant to clothe your light. In saying yes, you do not rise above—nor fall below—but merge beside, and within. You remember: the capstone was never lost. You were always part of the larger design.

So if there is a mantra to carry forward from this moment, let it be the simplest and clearest of them all:

SAY YES.

Say yes to what is now.
Say yes to who you are.
Say YES to the peace that was never not with you.

And with love, I invite you to fall—not away, but inward—into our shared now.
Peace be with you - as it always is - and forever will be.