What if Sophia’s lone creation birthed a lesser god who rules our soul-ar system, recycling us until we awaken and escape? The ancients warned of cosmic barriers, a frequency net, even Hounds guarding the exit. They had books of the Dead—while we have Netflix. Tablet 8, verse 21 speaks of these Hounds. If the light is the trap… where is the real way out? I’m here to share what I’ve discovered.

Imagine this: It's the dead of winter, the longest night of the year cloaking the world in an almost tangible darkness. For millennia, humanity has gathered under that veil—not to shop or sip eggnog, but to witness a miracle. The Winter Solstice , that pivotal moment when the sun pauses its southward retreat and begins its triumphant return, symbolizing rebirth, renewal, and the unyielding cycle of light conquering shadow. This isn't just astronomy; it's alchemy for the soul.