Western civilization is dying, and few seem to grasp the reason. Its roots lie exposed, severed from the soil that once nourished it. The fruits of justice, equality, and human dignity—once abundant—now rot in plain sight, while the cultural gardeners in their ivory institutions scratch their heads wondering what went wrong and pointing fingers. They propose band-aid solutions: new ideologies, shifting paradigms, or louder slogans, oblivious to the simple and painful truth: the fruit is dying because we abandoned the tree.

Humanity has always grappled with the burden of existence—an endless cycle of striving, suffering, and searching for meaning. Philosophers call it absurdism, Buddhists call it Samsara, and existentialists frame it as a confrontation with the void. Each offers a diagnosis of the human condition, but only one path provides the cure: Christ.

Modern society has perfected idolatry. We’ve traded golden calves for glowing screens, temples for shopping malls, and prophets for influencers. The religion of today isn’t hidden—it’s marketed. It’s sold in hashtags, celebrated in stadiums, and worshipped in algorithms. Yet, most fail to see it for what it is: a hollow cycle of devotion to the transient and trivial.

A fool and his money are soon parted. But the greatest fools are not those who lose their possessions—they are those who trade their integrity for material gains. Pride, exploitation, and deceit may shine brightly for a season, but they are the seeds of self-destruction. For every lofty tower built on lies, there comes a reckoning, and woe to those who believe they are untouchable.

The human condition is a constant dance between emotion and reason. Nowhere is this more evident than in our response to the suffering of others. We are torn between two poles: the cold detachment of pure rationality and the overwhelming immersion of unchecked empathy. But neither extreme is effective—both fail to engage with the complexity of human misery. Instead, sympathy emerges as the rational midpoint, offering a balanced and constructive path forward.

By some measures, I might be considered a failure in Vipassanā circles. I’ve found myself drawn to a narrative framework that diverges from the profound emptiness Vipassanā reveals—or perhaps my interpretation is incomplete. Regardless, my experience with Vipassanā meditation—guided by the teachings of S.N. Goenka—remains one of the most transformative practices I’ve encountered.

Throughout history and scripture, the archetype of the witch has served as a potent symbol of rebellion against order. Once feared as the ultimate outsider, she has risen to cultural dominance, a reflection of humanity’s fascination with power unbound by humility. But the arc of the witch is no longer one of defiance against unjust oppression; it is now a cautionary tale of how power corrupts, how hubris blinds, and how rebellion against the divine leads inevitably to ruin.

We live in an age where excess masquerades as excellence. Where the grotesque is celebrated as greatness. Where destruction is paraded as discipline. But beneath the glittering veneer lies a foundation of insecurity, ignorance, and misplaced admiration.

I’ll be honest: my writing can be scathing. It’s sharp, direct, and often unflinching in its criticism of society, trends, and human behavior. I pull no punches because I believe the truth is too important to soften. But if my words have ever felt like judgment, let me make one thing clear: I do not write to condemn. My intent—always—is to awaken.

There’s something deeply disquieting about walking into a gym—a space ostensibly devoted to health and self-improvement—only to see it transformed into a stage for hypersexuality. This isn’t hyperbole. I once witnessed someone twerking between sets on a cable machine, and while the absurdity of the scene might provoke a laugh, it’s emblematic of something darker, something systemic: the trivialization of sexuality and the wounds that fuel it.