The Lie That Taught You to Ignore Your Power
Secret Stories
“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” ― C.G. Jung
Power is rarely stolen through brute force. It is most often stolen through story. Not one story, but a thousand small ones—fed into the mind through sermons, textbooks, diagnoses, silent punishments, and the gentle shaming of polite smiles.
These stories do not declare themselves. They creep in as scripts, teaching the body to contort itself just right for safety. They rewrite the instincts, convincing the nervous system that its rawness, its tremors, and its knowing are liabilities that must be managed, medicated, or forgiven.
The Training of the Animal
The system trains sensitivity into sin, wildness into pathology, anger into threat, softness into weakness, and depth into delusion. It rewrites the human animal from the inside, severing the language of the body from the awareness that once flowed freely through its tissues.
“The dream is overridden. The trauma is suppressed. The knowing is doubted.”
The system implants the belief that what arises from within cannot be trusted unless approved by external authority. This is no accident.
It is a precise and subtle conditioning, designed to fracture the organism from its own knowing. The separation from the Temple of the Self is not experienced as a loss, but as an adaptation—an invisible compromise necessary to fit into the structures of the kingdom that dominates. Adaptation, in this sense, becomes a disassociation—a trained shrinking of the organism to fit the mold of a system that cannot tolerate ungoverned instincts.
The Engine of Disconnection
This disconnection is not random. It is an intentional rewiring of the psycho-emotional system into patterns of apology, contraction, and performative normalcy.
The ancient dreams, those oracles of the belly, are stripped of their authority, reclassified as anxiety or weakness. The wildness becomes shameful, the once primal power now a suspected threat to the fabricated order.
“But this power is not extinguished. It is exiled.”
Trained out, layered under stories, until the fire in the gut feels more like an illness than a gift. This is not a malfunction. It is an initiation misunderstood. The trauma itself is the crack in the false story, the threshold where the controlled narrative collapses and something older stirs in the marrow.
The Current Beneath the Stories
In systems like the Wizzan Temple, pain is not pathologized. It is recognized as a doorway. The wounded spaces are seen not as errors but as messages, sacred signals that something ancient is knocking from within the locked vaults of memory. Healing does not occur by escaping the wound, but by descending into it—by stepping toward the stored tension, breathing through the frozen terror, and listening for the voice beneath the silence.
“Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to an understanding of ourselves.”
― Carl Gustav Jung
This is the realm where the Wizzan Current stirs—a psycho-emotional energy, not an abstract spirit, but a living, serpentine current within the body itself. Goosebumps, inexplicable grief, irrational rage, the lure of synchronicities—these are its language. Not symptoms of a breakdown, but markers of return.
This current never truly leaves the body. It waits in the bones, in the nervous system, in the symbolic intelligence that pulses just beneath the numbing stories.
In some systems it is called kundalini. Others label it spirit. But in the Wizzan Way, it is understood as personal—a biological phenomenon of the psycho-emotional organism, tied to the symbolic and mythical matrix of the bodymind itself.
The Spell of Containment
The spell that split this current from conscious awareness was never shouted. It was whispered, smiled, approved, awarded.
“What you feel isn’t real.”
“What you know isn’t valid unless confirmed externally.”
“God is out there. Authority is out there. Trust the system—not the self.”
The root of the fracture was this: inner power is dangerous unless contained by something outside.
That story, once embedded, breeds a lifetime of shrinking, apologizing, policing instincts, medicating emotions, and repressing visions. The body becomes the enemy. Safety becomes a performance. But the current never consented to this arrangement. It adapted. It buried itself. And it waits.
“Beneath the system’s lies, the organism remembers. The fire remains.”
—Zzenn
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