Projector stories
The Stories reflect life’s struggles and the resistance that comes from living unconsciously. Through art and words, I share how applying the knowledge from my studies has enriched my life—so you might recognize yourself in it, and maybe even laugh about it.
Let's start from the very beginning of my Projector life.
This feeling of being different, of not quite belonging to this world.
As a child, I thought others had been handed a manual I never received. They moved with ease, spoke in codes I couldn’t fully learn. I copied, I observed, but always from the outside.
People called me too quiet, too sensitive, too intense. At first it hurt, but in time I realized: those words were proof. My wiring was different. I was here, but not like them.
Exiled to Earth
I wake in a wooden coffin, drenched in sweat. Seven days bent inside this shell—science calls it research, I call it torture.
I swallow vitamins, cloak myself, and the ritual begins. Rustling robes, squeaking wood, someone kneeling at the barred hatch.
“Tell me, child of God,” I whisper.
Then the sobbing: adultery, theft, lies, murder, forbidden meat. Always the same. If sin were currency, these people would be rich. My recorder deletes duplicates, but it hardly matters—humanity is stuck on repeat. This isn’t research. It’s the Middle Ages, alive and well.
My mission: three days in a church confessional to judge whether Earth’s evolutionary plan is working. After years of observation from my planet, I expected insight. Instead, I’m trapped in misery.
The result: intellect split from heart, twelfth-century morals in modern clothes. Ethics: none. Progress: stalled.
Night falls. The church empties. I’ve had enough.
“Mayday, mayday,” I transmit.
“Hey Siri, what’s wrong?” Brock’s laughter crackles through.
How I missed that sound. On my planet humor is sacred. On Earth, life is a deadly serious affair.
“Send the spacecraft,” I plead.
“Didn’t you read the fine print?” he chuckles. “If the locals are mentally underdeveloped, you stay. Evolution only works if everyone moves forward. So—kick them in the ass!”
The line goes dead.
And so, I remain. A stranger. Exiled to the wrong planet?
Empowerment
Years ago, I opened the door to hidden treasures—just a tiny crack.
That moment changed everything: my life, my beliefs, and the idea that I was merely a victim, tossed into existence like a ball in the hands of fate.
What once felt like poverty turned into certainty. I realized that immense riches were waiting within me, hidden, waiting to be uncovered.
All I had were a few imperfect tools, but also a stubborn will to dig deeper.
An unknown force urged me to let go of the belief that I was helpless, lost in the energy of others, adrift in an unpredictable world. I longed to know my true role, to discover who I really was. The desire was fierce, and though I knew the journey would be difficult, I also knew it was not impossible.
Years of struggle against powerful forces only deepened my yearning. At last, I reached a place of refuge, where I found the guidance I needed for the next part of my journey, the Human Design System.
Now I could finally step into the vault. But to reach the jewels within, I first had to face the Taurus—this deep, resistant conditioning built up inside me over years.
In my Human Design chart, my throat is completely open. Out of eleven possible connections, I have none. I began speaking very late in life, and as a child, my voice only came out in quarrels with my sister. Later, when I tried to share my thoughts, it often felt as though no one was listening. That experience left me with bitterness and shook my sense of self-worth.
Over time, I learned the value of waiting — waiting to be asked, waiting for the right moment. And with that came ease. Now I know: if no one is inviting my words, then either the situation is not right, or the listeners are not ready.
So let us pause here, and listen — because this is what an open throat has to say.
Open Throat’s Speech
I am your throat—completely open. I don’t think you truly realize what that means.
I am not bound to one or two fixed expressions; I am open to every kind of manifestation. Thousands of voices, sounds, and feelings flood through me, and I vibrate with their frequencies.
I am a body of sound. Imagine the membrane of a music box—that is me.
By myself I have no motor, no sound of my own. I hang freely within your body, sensing the essence of motion, the waves, the intentions, the authenticity of expression.
What emerges from me is always a reflection of what surrounds me. When I express something, someone must first offer a wave of sound—so I can ride it, like a surfer on the sea. That is my greatest joy.
But when I feel pressure, tightness, or even pain, I am forced onto the wrong wave—or sometimes onto no wave at all. Then I grow hoarse, and I suffer.
I am open. And if I am not called upon to speak, I rest content in my hammock. For me this is no problem—but for you, sometimes it seems to be.
I know when everything is aligned: words and deeds flow through me with ease, clarity, and truth. My words become like birds, gliding effortlessly on a stream of air.
Yes, I know—I always grow poetic when I remember myself.
But truly, I only want to say this: Let’s have more fun.
Let me rest when I need to. And when I am lifted from my hammock, let it be because they genuinely wish to listen. And when they do—just look at their ears! I have never seen ears so wide, so ready.
The Solar Plexus
I am emotionally defined, always moving through the tides of my moods. Half of humanity lives this way and the other half too because they are conditioned. So it is a very distorted world.
As a child, I must have been difficult for others ( with channel 39 - 55 ).
I felt trapped inside myself, unable to escape a dark mood, unaware of what was happening around me. Becoming aware was like learning to tame the wild horse within me.
Riding the Untamed Horse
I never know when it will charge forward, nor where it will run. I only feel the fever inside and the rush outside.
At times it races into ecstasy—suddenly I am high, alive, carried by the beauty of the world, the wind in my hair. This is life! This is love! This is everything I long for.
But then, without warning, comes the fall. The horse rears, the ride ends. Pain floods in—sadness, disappointment. I find myself in places I would never have chosen, bewildered, asking how I got there at all.
Now I am learning to know my horse. To sense the tremors in its flanks, the flicker of its eyes, the fever in its blood, the swell of its breath.
I press my legs against its body, carried again into euphoria—yet at the same time I watch, observing each phase of the ride. It cannot throw me. I hold on.
The horse turns once, twice, again and again, but I wait. I have time. Slowly the fever eases. The speed falls away. My sight clears. The world returns—bright, calm, and open.
Sometimes I can ride my wild horse through beautiful landscapes and long dark nights. I have no expectations. The horse is a part of me, and more and more often we are in harmony.
More stories will follow.....