Anarchistbanjo's World

If you don’t grasp the present moment you have already lost. Look around you and take advantage of what you see. Don’t wait until tomorrow. . .

The Spiritual Journey begins at the Neophyte grade. It is unique for each of us, but there are recognizable stages of development that have been known and recognized by the mystery schools of all ages.

A narrow path leads the crew to stagnant water and a fallen branch – mirrors of hesitation, reflections of dams long held. What begins as observation becomes action: a skipped stone, vines exploring, golden sparks overflowing. No words of instruction, only some small, wordless gifts. One feels the shift, trusts it, and steps off the old way. The others follow – not because they were told, but because they saw. The water clears, the path opens, and the grove ahead hums with quiet approval. In the now, we teach each other not by speaking, but by daring to move first.

After escaping the storm’s grip, Mira learns that flight is no longer a solitary act. As golden resonance deepens into living green, the reborn grove answers her journey – not with victory, but with companionship.
Rowan, an ancient spirit rooted in memory, steps aboard the vessel, and the ship itself shifts to make space for something older than machines and stronger than grief.
What begins as a passage through chaos becomes the quiet assembling of a crew – human, intelligence, and root – traveling together toward a horizon that feels less like escape and more like awakening.

After the storm crossing, Kael returns to a settlement already beginning to change. Quiet choices replace fear, old patterns loosen, and the blue stone’s presence spreads like an unseen tide.
When a small group steps forward to follow him into the desert, the journey widens beyond survival toward something greater.
Guided only by a compass and the faint pulse of distant groves, Kael takes the helm of a living skiff and flies into a storm that does not resist him – a storm that opens.
On the far side, a new horizon waits, not an ending, but the first glimpse of a world beginning to wake.

When the old world can no longer hold her, Elara is guided into hidden depths. There, within fire and shadow, a living wisdom waits – not to command, but to transform. Fear is not destroyed. It is dissolved, recombined, and returned as strength.

In a sun drenched sea of grass and flowers, the crew steps beyond the Grove’s quiet shelter into open possibility. What begins as a simple walk becomes a dance – twirls, laughter, a sudden storm, and rain that turns everything slippery and alive. No plans, no cages, just the raw, childlike thrill of being here, fully, together. The present moment doesn’t whisper; it roars with infinite paths, inviting them (and us) to play without apology.

Amid laughter at school, familiar paths through pasture and woods, and the small protected worlds of childhood, a deeper awareness begins to stir. A quiet ache grows into difficult choices, leading a young boy to confront himself in silence. Through ordinary moments that carry unexpected weight, he discovers an inner line he cannot ignore – and kneels at the edge of mystery, making a vow that will shape the path ahead.

Mira stands at the open hatch of the flux skiff, one foot across the line. The hallway behind her is familiar rust and code. Ahead the storm rages through a dissolved wall. Magical light guides her forward, sleepwalking at first, then fully awake. The amulet pulses on her back. She pauses = hands near her face, eyes wide. The threshold holds her. No words. Only the choice to step through.