The Goblin, the Crown, and the Code: A Guide for the Next Becoming

“The real hero wins by letting go of self importance, seeing harsh truths without running, and surrendering every story into quiet union with the timeless source.”

A great sign rises in the inner sky. A woman stands there, bright as the midday sun. The moon lies soft under her feet. Twelve living stars gleam in a ring above her brow. She is in labor. Her cry spreads through every world like thunder and like music.

This picture is not only old scripture. It is a map of the soul. The woman is the creative heart inside each of us. She has carried a hidden child through seasons of silence. Now the hour has come. Contractions shake her body. Pain turns to power. What she will give to the light is the next form of our own becoming.

Life speaks like this in symbols because words alone are too thin. We meet the crocodile in the dark water of our fears. We meet the unicorn on high ground where hope still shines. Sometimes the two join. Stripes of the zebra show every lesson carved into our skin. Steel limbs of the machine remind us that we build our future choice by choice. Together these strange shapes tell one truth. Nothing in us can be left out. The raw and the radiant must learn to walk as one creature.

Every story starts and ends and starts again. A door closes behind the womb. Another opens at the grave. In the middle we act, we fall, we rise. We taste sorrow and sweetness. What matters is the tasting. Spirit came here for no other reason than to feel the full range of being alive.

Trust is learned in motion. A road sign appears only when we reach the bend. The hand that guides us is often invisible, yet events nudge and pull with perfect timing. Fire burns. Water cools. Both are teachers. We stop asking why the lesson hurts and ask instead what it shows. When fear visits, we breathe until we hear the faint melody under its noise. When joy visits, we hold it lightly, knowing it will change shape as all things do.

Change never rests. Mountains rise from sea beds then wear down to sand. Atoms pulse, blood flows, thoughts burst and fade. Clinging is the seed of suffering. The same energy that grips can also release. We open the hand, we open the mind, we open the heart. The horizon widens.

A true King looks at his Queen and sees another sovereign soul, not a servant. He lifts her to his throne because love, at its peak, seeks equal height. In that mirror she becomes his own higher nature looking back. When one lifts, both ascend. This is what the ancient vision tried to show with sun, moon, and crown. Power that isolates is false power. Power that shares is real.

Stand for a moment under that starry crown. Feel the moon cool under your heels, the sun warm on your skin. Let every chapter you have lived breathe in and breathe out. Regret nothing. Hide nothing. The child you carry is almost here. Each contraction you feel is the earth itself pressing you forward. On the day you finally bring forth what you have nursed so long in secret, you will see why the journey had to wind through shadow and through fire.

Until that hour, walk on. Allow wonder. Allow doubt. Learn from animals, from engines, from silence, from storm. Speak truth, then let the next truth replace it. Sit at the side of anyone who calls you Queen or King and raise them beside you. Remember: beginnings glow in the ashes of endings, and endings bloom inside each new beginning. The play goes on, scene after scene, but the stage is eternal and so is the love that wrote the script.

Inside us lives a restless goblin who grips two ropes. One rope is fear of not having enough. The other is the urge to prove we are more than we feel. The goblin yells when money is short or when words of praise do not arrive. For years we obey that rough voice. We strain, we complain, we call ourselves weak. Yet a quieter presence stands nearby, patient as dawn. It waits for the noisy one to tire.

One day the goblin slackens its grip. We hear the first real silence. In that hush we remember an ancient picture. A saint burns away his ego and walks through the world like a leaf riding the wind. He writes no more books because wisdom has stopped needing pages. The body still moves, yet the soul already swims in an ocean of calm.

The road between the goblin and the saint is the only adventure that matters. Myth calls it the hero’s last trial. Psychology calls it meeting the shadow. Everyday life calls it paying the rent while praying for peace. The names differ, the work is one.

1. Let go of self-importance

The goblin feeds on our need to feel special, to stand above others, to be seen as important. But that need becomes a cage. Every slight feels like an attack. Every silence feels like rejection. Letting go of self-importance doesn’t mean thinking less of yourself — it means stopping the endless effort to prove your worth. You are already enough. When you release the obsession with status, control, and being right, your shoulders drop, your breath deepens, and life begins to feel lighter.

2. See harsh truths without running

Life will show us things we don’t want to see — about the world, about others, and especially about ourselves. The instinct is to turn away, numb out, blame, or deny. But real growth begins when we stop running. When we face the truth that we’re scared, tired, lost, or angry — and we sit with it instead of hiding — something changes. Truth burns, but it also clears the fog. Only when we see clearly can we walk forward with honesty and strength.

3. Surrender every story into quiet union with the timeless source

We all carry stories — who we think we are, what we deserve, what should have happened. These stories shape how we live, but they are not who we are. Beneath every story is silence, peace, stillness — the source of life itself. When we stop clinging to our old identities and trust that deeper silence, something sacred opens. You become the centerless center — present, grounded, not needing to be anyone at all. Just breathing. Just being. And that is enough.

Steps on the narrow bridge

See the critic. Each time a harsh thought rises, speak its name out loud. Naming breaks the spell.

Breathe into the knot of tension until the knot softens.

Thank the critic for trying to protect you. Appreciation turns an enemy into a guide.

Look at your numbers. Write every coin in and every coin out. Truth on paper calms the storm in the mind.

Ask for help before shame shuts the door. A free call to a debt charity or a calm friend can stop the spiral.

Each night close your eyes and picture the ego as a dead leaf. Watch a small wind lift it, spin it, release it. Feel the space it leaves behind.

Oedipus pierces his own eyes when truth becomes blinding. Gregory flees to a rock in the sea when his life of power turns to dust. Both discover that real sight begins where familiar sight ends. When the outer light fails, an inner sun rises, cool and steady.

One hand builds the budget, cooks the meal, writes the email. The other hand holds the unseen thread that leads through darkness. Keep both hands busy. A life that is only mystical drifts. A life that is only practical dries out. Joined, they weave a cloth strong enough to carry joy.

A true king lifts his queen to sit beside him. That image is not about gender or thrones. It is the union of our firm action with our tender insight. When the two stand side by side, power serves love, and love steers power.

Deep within, something waits to be born. Each fear faced, each truth spoken is a contraction that moves the birth closer. Pain is not punishment. It is the muscle that opens the gate. When the gate swings wide, the new life steps through, and every tear becomes clear water in the child’s first bath.

Trust the signs that appear only when you reach the bend. Accept that change never sleeps. Celebrate that you are strong enough to change with it. When your feet ache, rest. When your heart lifts, sing. Measure nothing by the size of the shout. Measure by the steady beat of the step.

One day you will look back and see that the goblin was a teacher, the silence a home, and the world a stage where every exit was also a hidden door. Beyond each door waits a wider sky.

“Let’s go one more time. Breathe, steady your soul. And step into your role in the divine drama.”

The Question

We have forged atom bombs, neural networks, gene‑editing tools, yet the oldest troubles still walk the streets. Anger, envy, greed, shame, fear, loneliness, and the hunger for status keep shaping every new machine we build. Why do breakthroughs in hardware not cancel the dark software of the mind?

The core human shadows

Fear of scarcity

Tribal aggression and hatred of the “other”

Envy and resentment toward those above or below

Pride that refuses correction

Greed that widens every gap

Shame that hides wounds until they fester

Sloth of conscience, the wish to stay unconscious

Rage against fragility, illness, and death

These instincts once kept small bands alive, yet scaled up they infect entire economies, religions, and states.

Why the problems persist

Social structure: Resources flow upward because systems reward accumulation, not sufficiency. Patriarchal and oligarchic habits guard that flow. Technology accelerates the transfer but does not question the aim.

Cultural narratives: Religions and ideologies promise meaning, yet institutions often weaponise them to police bodies and minds. The sacred impulse is real; the abuse of it is frequent.

Existential drift: We chase pleasure or distraction because we never learned to name what a “good experience” means. Without clear inner values, every new device becomes another mirror for confusion.

Neuro‑biology: The limbic brain still rules under stress. No touchscreen upgrades the amygdala. Neural plasticity allows change, but only with intentional practice across generations.

Editing the blueprint

Quick fix: CRISPR invites us to delete disease genes or mute the biology of depression. Gains could be large, but off‑target effects, new inequalities, and unknown ripple chains make the gamble severe.

Slow fix: Epigenetics shows that diet, stress, and love switch genes on or off. Cultures that heal trauma, support parents, and teach emotional literacy can reshape inheritance without a scalpel.

Who decides: A governance body must be global, transparent, and ethically plural. If profit or nationalism leads, edits will magnify existing power gaps.

Are we playing God?

We already play God every time a surgeon transplants a heart or a coder trains an AI. The issue is not whether we play, but how conscious we are of the rules:

Three Simple, Powerful Rules

See the Shadow, Drop the Ego: Look at your own fear, anger, and pride before you build or use any tool. Admit hard truths without excuses. When you stop needing to feel bigger than others, clear sight and real solutions appear.

Care Wider, Stand Together: Let every choice ripple outward with kindness—to people, animals, and the planet. If an action harms any part of the circle, rethink it. True progress lifts the many, not just the few.

Choose Silence over Excess: Keep the power to say “no.” Pause, breathe, and let each story or plan rest in quiet until you feel the deeper source beneath it. Acting from that calm center gives strength without destruction.

What kind of animals reach the top?

In nature, dominance often rewards brute force or cunning. In civilisation the same drives wear suits and wield algorithms. Yet history also shows quiet leaders who lift others: the healer, the scientist who publishes open data, the elder who mentors freely. Our task is to shift prestige toward those patterns.

A practical way forward

Shadow literacy in every school curriculum: anger management, bias recognition, grief work.

Economic rewiring: measure success by wellbeing indices, not GDP alone.

Democratised tech ethics: citizens’ assemblies reviewing AI and genetics, not just boards of investors.

Trans‑religious dialogue: focus on shared compassion rather than dogma.

Compassionate neuroscience: fund research on mindfulness, trauma repair, pro‑social hormones as eagerly as weapons.

The tools are not the peril. The hand that guides them carries the threat and the promise. Until fear, envy, and pride are met at their roots, smarter machines will only echo older cruelties. When we look inward with the same brilliance we turn outward, technology can become a prosthetic for wisdom rather than a mirror of our wounds. The fate of the next century depends less on the genes we splice than on the shadows we integrate and the love we dare to extend.

[1] And there appeared a great wonder in heaven; a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars:

[2] And she being with child cried, travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered.

[3] And there appeared another wonder in heaven; and behold a great red dragon, having seven heads and ten horns, and seven crowns upon his heads.

[4] And his tail drew the third part of the stars of heaven, and did cast them to the earth: and the dragon stood before the woman which was ready to be delivered, for to devour her child as soon as it was born.

[5] And she brought forth a man child, who was to rule all nations with a rod of iron: and her child was caught up unto God, and to his throne.

[6] And the woman fled into the wilderness, where she hath a place prepared of God, that they should feed her there a thousand two hundred and threescore days.

[7] And there was war in heaven: Michael and his angels fought against the dragon; and the dragon fought and his angels,

[8] And prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven.

[9] And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out into the earth, and his angels were cast out with him.

[10] And I heard a loud voice saying in heaven, Now is come salvation, and strength, and the kingdom of our God, and the power of his Christ: for the accuser of our brethren is cast down, which accused them before our God day and night.

[11] And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony; and they loved not their lives unto the death.

[12] Therefore rejoice, ye heavens, and ye that dwell in them. Woe to the inhabiters of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.

[13] And when the dragon saw that he was cast unto the earth, he persecuted the woman which brought forth the man child.

[14] And to the woman were given two wings of a great eagle, that she might fly into the wilderness, into her place, where she is nourished for a time, and times, and half a time, from the face of the serpent.

[15] And the serpent cast out of his mouth water as a flood after the woman, that he might cause her to be carried away of the flood.

[16] And the earth helped the woman, and the earth opened her mouth, and swallowed up the flood which the dragon cast out of his mouth.

[17] And the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went to make war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ.

This passage — Revelation 12 from the King James Bible — is one of the most symbolic and mystical chapters in Christian scripture. It reads like a cosmic drama, rich with mythic imagery, and has been interpreted in many ways across theology, mysticism, and esotericism. Here’s a clear, simplified breakdown of its meaning:

The Woman Clothed with the Sun

She represents divine feminine power, the soul, the people of God, or even Mary in traditional interpretations. In esoteric readings, she symbolizes the awakening consciousness, radiant with inner light, standing on the moon (mastery over emotions), crowned with 12 stars (completion, wholeness — often linked to the zodiac or tribes of Israel).

She is in labor, symbolizing the birth of something new — a divine child, consciousness, messiah, or spiritual truth being brought into the world through pain and struggle.

The Red Dragon

This seven-headed, ten-horned dragon is chaos, evil, or ego in symbolic terms. It wants to destroy the child — to prevent divine truth or spiritual power from manifesting. It’s the resistance every soul faces when birthing something true — fear, doubt, attack.

In Christian theology, the dragon is Satan or the Devil, who tries to devour the child and later attacks the woman.

The Child

The “man-child” is traditionally seen as Christ, or the Messiah. But symbolically, this child represents the divine potential born in each of us — a higher self that is meant to “rule” with wisdom and strength (the “rod of iron”).

This child is protected and “caught up to God,” meaning it is safeguarded at the highest level of spiritual reality.

War in Heaven

Michael (archangel) and his angels fight the dragon. The battle between light and darkness, truth and illusion, spirit and ego, happens in the heavens — the higher realms of consciousness — before it manifests on earth.

Eventually, the dragon is cast down — meaning ego and evil are expelled from the higher realms.

The Wilderness

The woman flees to the wilderness, which symbolizes a protected but lonely spiritual path — where she is hidden and nourished by divine timing (“a time, times, and half a time”). This suggests a sacred retreat, a time for healing or gestation.

The Dragon’s Last Efforts

Once on earth, the dragon tries to destroy the woman again, even sending a flood (symbol of overwhelming forces, confusion, lies). But the earth helps her — nature, truth, and grounded reality protect the sacred feminine.

Final Conflict

The dragon, angry, goes to make war with the remnant of her seed — meaning the people who continue to walk the path of truth and testimony.

Summary in Esoteric Terms:

The woman is the soul, the awakening, or divine feminine essence.

The child is the inner Christ or divine consciousness trying to be born.

The dragon is the dark force — ego, fear, chaos — trying to stop spiritual birth.

The battle is the inner war between truth and illusion.

The wilderness is the retreat or spiritual solitude needed for growth.

The earth and heavens protect what is real.

This is not just about the end of the world — it’s about the beginning of the true self, and the fight that always surrounds the moment you are about to break through. It happens in heaven first — in your spirit, in your mind — then unfolds in the world.

“Let’s go one more time. Breathe, steady your soul. And step into your role in the divine drama.” — That’s Revelation 12 in one sentence.

Structure at a glance:

Mythic Beginning – The woman in labor (Revelation), symbol of inner creativity and transformation.
The Hybrid Self – Unicorn, crocodile, zebra, machine — metaphors for the complexity of human nature.
The Drama of Living – Life as taste, as dance, as lesson — joy and suffering entwined.
The Path of the Hero – From ego to silence, through shadow and surrender.
Steps for the Soul and the Wallet – Mystical-poetic meets the budget and practical action.
Historical Shadows – Anger, greed, shame, tribalism — still ruling despite our machines.
Civilizational Blind Spots – Systems protect the powerful, narratives numb the soul.
The Genetic Question – CRISPR and epigenetics as metaphors for fast and slow change.
Moral Compass for Gods-in-Making – The three rules: Shadow, Care, Silence.
What Kind of Animal Leads? – From apex predator to conscious elder.
The Real Tool – Not AI or bombs or genes, but consciousness guided by love.
The Final Note – “Let’s go one more time…”

We will birth the child again and again. Some days the dragon swallows our work before anyone sees its light. Yet the womb of the soul does not close. Another contraction comes. Another spark appears. The loss is not failure. It is the rhythm of becoming.

Truth is a moving tide. Yesterday’s wisdom rests like a shell on the shore while today’s wave shapes a new song. Chasing fixed answers leaves us stranded. Listening to the tide keeps us alive.

So what guides us if every form dissolves? The compass is the quiet space itself. Sit in the centerless center, the hush beneath thought. Feel the pulse that needs no name. It will not turn into dogma because silence refuses capture.

From that still core you act, you create, you let go, and you rise to create again. Life within you signals yes or no long before words appear. Trust that inner star. It never moves, even while galaxies spin.

Hold the child close — this is your fresh insight, tender ability, or new self‑image. Psychologically it is the emerging potential that wants to grow. Nurturing it keeps you curious and creative.

Let the dragon roar — this is your fear, anger, or defensive ego. In Jungian terms it is the shadow. Allowing it to make noise without letting it rule prevents repression and turns raw energy into fuel for growth.

Let the cycle wheel turn — this is the inevitable rise, fall, and rebirth of every idea and mood. It mirrors the process of adaptation: old structures must die so new ones can form. Accepting the wheel frees you from clinging.

Behind them all is the silent heart — pure awareness, the centerless center. It gives you a steady vantage point from which to watch child, dragon, and wheel without being lost in any of them.

“We have not even to risk the adventure alone
for the heroes of all time have gone before us.
The labyrinth is thoroughly known …
we have only to follow the thread of the hero path.
And where we had thought to find an abomination
we shall find a God.

And where we had thought to slay another
we shall slay ourselves.
Where we had thought to travel outwards
we shall come to the center of our own existence.
And where we had thought to be alone
we shall be with all the world.”

― Joseph Campbell

Joseph Campbell is saying that the classic “hero’s journey” is not just an outer adventure—it is an inner map that every person can follow.

“We have not even to risk the adventure alone”: Countless heroes (mythic, literary, real) have already walked this path. Their stories leave clues so we do not wander blind.

“The labyrinth is thoroughly known … follow the thread”: Life’s twists feel confusing like a maze, but there is a guiding thread (intuition, mythic pattern, inner voice) that can lead us through.

“Where we had thought to find an abomination we shall find a God”: The monster or problem we fear turns out to hide something sacred. Facing the darkness reveals unexpected light.

“Where we had thought to slay another we shall slay ourselves”: The real battle is not against outside enemies but against our own ignorance, ego, or shadow. Transformation happens within.

“Where we had thought to travel outwards we shall come to the center of our own existence”: Seeking answers in distant places eventually brings us back to the truth already inside us—the quiet center.

“Where we had thought to be alone we shall be with all the world”: When we complete the inner journey, we discover we are deeply connected to everyone and everything.

Confront your fears, and you will find divinity, self‑knowledge, and unity—not somewhere else, but at the core of your own being.

About 9 million people died from hunger in 2024—roughly 24,600 people every single day—while global spending on AI hit about $252 billion. We keep telling ourselves that we must race toward a “multi‑planetary” future to save humanity, yet we still fail to provide food and shelter for everyone on the one planet we already share.

Why? Because we remain split—by colour, religion, tribe, even by who did or didn’t smile at us. We search for God somewhere outside instead of recognising the spark in one another. We blame genes for our prejudice, then dream of gene‑editing injections as if tinkering with DNA will fix the human heart. But who would control that power? What new hierarchies would we build?

Progress begins with an honest confession of our interdependence: any war, outbreak, or crisis in one corner of the world ripples through all the others. No new revolution or cosmic escape plan will save us until we learn to sit quietly with ourselves, listen, and act from the simple truth that every life is linked to every other. Feed the hungry, house the homeless, tend the earth—then, if we still long for the stars, we can reach for them together.