I’m sipping my cup of cacao this morning, letting today’s Oracle casting sink in—63, After Completion, and 3, Difficulty at the Beginning. The words feel like they’re peeling back layers of my own story: small successes, perseverance through early struggles, and a heads-up about disorder at the end. If you’re curious to dive deeper, you can check the full reading or cast your own here: https://oracle.truesight.me/?reading=7-8-9-8-7-8. It’s got me reflecting on the walls I’ve built, the subtle signals I’m just starting to hear, and a recent encounter in the desert that shook me awake.
I’ve always tried to weave into communities with a kind of inherited logic—rules and heuristics passed down through family, polished over generations. They seemed solid, like a reliable map. But some folks—often the neurodivergent ones, who seem to notice what others miss—pointed out how I’m a bit awkward around the edges. I didn’t see it then, but I’m getting it now. I’ve been letting my head run the show, overthinking every step, while something quieter in me has been waiting to speak up.
Lately, I’ve noticed a new signal—a faint somatic hum around where my vagal nerves cluster, near the gut and chest. It’s subtle, easily drowned out by my brain’s chatter, but it feels like a more honest way to connect, especially as I think about weaving into new communities for my cacao distribution network. Leaning too hard on the cognitive side—overanalyzing every move—might just tangle the weave more than it helps. It could mess with those initial connections, the top-of-funnel conversion rates, before folks even get to taste the cacao. Once they do, I’m out of the equation; it’s just them and the drink. But getting there? I’m starting to trust this vagal nudge over my noisy mind.
Scaling Up, Tuning In
Here’s the wild plan I’m chewing on: growing from 25 venues to onboarding 7,500 metaphysical and apothecary stores across the USA for cacao distribution. Physically showing up at each one. It sounds nuts, I know, but I’m seeing it as a kind of exposure therapy—7,500 chances to listen to my body’s signals instead of overthinking. The big vision is restoring the Amazon rainforest through cacao, but there’s an alchemical twist I can’t shake. Is the real reward a nervous system recalibrated to handle complex coordination with less stress, less energy burned on worry?
Key observation: I’ve built a cage around myself in this nomadic life. I’m constantly moving—high speed, vast distances, living out of a car—burning more fuel, both literal and emotional, than most nomads would put up with. It’s a setup that guarantees I’m never anywhere long enough to build real bonds. My tiny rig has no room for anyone else, unlike the nomadic couples I see in bigger vans. I’ve structured connection right out of existence. And I’m starting to see why.
The Cage’s Origin
I think this cage started taking shape in 2020, at the height of the pandemic, when the mother of my daughter left with her. That grief got buried deep, and I crafted this intricate, self-imposed exile without even noticing. Living off food banks, wearing patched-up clothes like some austere monk, I told myself it was about focus, the mission. But friends saw it clear as day. They couldn’t tear down the walls for me, just offered care when I reached out, waiting patiently on the sidelines.
I can still hear their voices. My ex-boss Ambarish, during a walk in Palo Alto, was straight-up: “How long are you going to live like this, Gary? And stay single?” I sidestepped it. Fatima asked when I’d make space for someone to step in. Shena, out by Mead Lake, mentioned how even those who flee to the desert for solitude eventually get pulled back by something—or someone.
Desert Shifts and Synced Moments
Recently, the cage’s foundations have started to wobble. Practicing metta over prajna, daily cacao, and heavier doses of magic mushrooms during the past four equinoxes and solstices—they’ve helped loosen things up. Then came a brief, powerful encounter with a fellow nomad in the Arizona desert. Our paths first crossed at Skooliepalooza when she stopped by my morning cacao space. We chatted, but it didn’t stick—until later, at an evening drum circle. I was dancing, lost in the beat, when someone hugged me from behind. It didn’t fully register then—just another embrace in the crowd—but the next day, replaying it, I felt the difference. It wasn’t just a hug; it was tenderness. I didn’t see her face, but my body remembered.
The next time, she came by my car, called out, and hugged me again. The feeling deepened—especially when she showed me a ring around the sun through her shades, her presence lingering close. When we parted, she said she felt so safe she could fall asleep in my hugs, her body sinking into mine with total trust. My nervous system felt it too—a rare safety that let me drop my guard. It’s hard to describe, but it was like our mirror neurons synced, stopping time for a moment.
Then, before I rolled out of the desert for spring, we shared a private cacao tasting. She’d mentioned eye-gazing during one of our Skooliepalooza walks, and it happened organically that morning. Eyes locked, the walls crumbled. I cried hard, all the grief from 2020 spilling out. She asked if I hurt a lot; I nodded through tears. I thought I was offering the cacao for her, but it was for me. She held space as I unpacked what I’d buried. I hadn’t felt that raw depth since a workshop in Singapore in 2010, or with the mother of my daughter in 2017. Rolling out of the desert now, it feels like closure for this season—a chapter closing as spring begins.
Reflections for the Journey
Tying this back to the Oracle—After Completion warns of disorder at the end, while Difficulty at the Beginning calls for perseverance and helpers. I’m seeing small wins in listening to my body, in letting grief surface. The disorder might be the chaos of tearing down this cage. And the tough start? It’s real, but maybe I don’t have to do it alone. Maybe it’s time to let helpers in, to weave not just for cacao, but for real connection.
I’m left wondering: is the true work building a distribution network, or rebuilding my capacity for closeness? What about you—have you built cages without realizing it? What’s it going to take to let those walls fall?
- Personal Growth
- Community
- Cacao Distribution