The Corner of 8th & Insanity
Today’s Mantra:
I AM shining my light everywhere I go.
4a - Yin Yoga & Breath work
5a - Weight Room - Chest & Shoulders
Warm Up
3mi Walk @ 3.33%
Push Ups 3x25
Ab Wheel 3x15
Barbell Bench (5x10)
Inc Dumbbell Press (5x6)
Overhead Dumbbell Press (5x8)
Cable Lateral Raise (4x15)
Tricep Pushdown (5x12)
Face Pulls (4x12)
Reverse Grip Cable Fly (3x TF)
Dips TF
730a - 830a Family / Breakfast
830a - 945a - Trade @ Desk
10a -11a - Therapy
1130a - 1230p - Yoga Nidra/ Breath Work & Lunch
1p - 3p Trade, Read & Write
3p - 7p - Family Time & Dinner
7p - 8p Dog Walk
9p - Rest & Recovery
It's not your mind that knows when danger comes, it's your gut tightening, your shoulders rising, your breath catching before your thoughts catch up. The body speaks first, speaks true. Your flesh is not your enemy, not your burden, it's your first teacher, your truest prophet, the only holy book that updates in real time. - Lichthauch
The courage to stand alone is the first condition of a life worth living.
Pisces Full Moon - Lunar Eclipse
The Pisces Full Moon: Warrior’s Initiation for the Divine Masculine
The Corner of 8th & Insanity
There comes a moment when the warrior inside you can no longer be ignored. A moment when the mask cracks, the armor splits, and something real pushes through. It’s not a clean moment. It’s not cinematic. It arrives like a single tear you didn’t plan on shedding, rolling down your cheek like a fracture in time.
That’s when you realize: you’ve been carrying weight that was never yours.
Most men do. We inherit burdens from fathers, mothers, cultures, religions, systems. We kneel at altars we didn’t build, convinced sacrifice will earn us honor. We light candles with pieces of our own worth, convinced patience will eventually be rewarded.
But the altar was false. And the blood was always yours.
The Altar of False Masculinity
Every man knows this arithmetic:
If I just endure more, maybe I’ll finally be seen as strong.
If I forgive more, maybe I’ll finally be loved.
If I keep my mouth shut, maybe I’ll finally be accepted.
If I need less, maybe I’ll finally belong.
This is the lie men swallow. That shrinking is noble. That silence is wisdom. That self-erasure is loyalty. That disappearing will earn us love.
But all it earns is delay. Delay of your true life. Delay of your true voice. Delay of the self you were born to embody.
The veil eventually rips. You see the altar for what it is. You see how your boundaries were mistaken for obstacles. How your needs were painted as burdens. How your kindness was consumed without reciprocity. How you were praised only for your willingness to shrink.
And that’s when something in you hardens and sharpens. You blow out the candle. You leave.
You walk away—not as a coward, but as a warrior reclaiming his sword.
The Wilderness Trial
But don’t mistake the leaving for liberation. Leaving is only the first gate. What follows is the wilderness.
Every warrior passes through fire before he’s crowned. You are no different. When you walk away from false altars, the world looks like ruin. Charred. Dead. Ashes where you thought life should be.
And yet, if you stay, if you don’t run, you begin to see it—the green sprout rising from the blackened ground. Healing doesn’t arrive like a sunrise, all glory and fanfare. Healing comes like smoke after battle. Quiet. Subtle. Easy to miss.
It doesn’t look impressive. But it endures. And that’s the difference.
The Earthquake of Truth
The Pisces full moon is not gentle. It is an earthquake. It tears down the walls you’ve been hiding behind—the pretending, the performing, the armor built of lies.
And when the dust settles, there you stand. Raw. Breathing. Contradictory.
Some days you’re angry. Some days you’re tender. Some days you contradict yourself entirely. That’s not weakness. That’s proof you’re alive.
Only the living contradict themselves. The dead are consistent. The warrior in his sacred ground is messy. Bleeding, shimmering, raging, softening—sometimes all in the same day.
That is the divine masculine. Not static. Not rigid. But wild, alive, enduring.
Death and Rebirth of the Warrior
Here’s the paradox: you are both tombstone and sprout. The grave and the cradle. The place where your old self is buried and the soil where your new self begins to rise.
This is initiation.
It’s not about dominance. It’s not about eternal endurance. It’s not about disappearing into duty. The divine masculine holds death in one hand and life in the other. He knows how to fight, how to bleed, how to grieve, and how to soften.
You are not here to erase yourself. You are here to endure. To rise. To live vividly—even in pain.
This is your afterlife. The one you live before death.
The Call
You need to hear this: this moon is not asking politely. It is not inviting you to meditate in peace. It is roaring. It is tearing down walls. It is shaking the ground beneath you. It is saying: stop kneeling at false altars. Stop bleeding for those who refuse to honor your fullness. Stop starving yourself in the name of selflessness. Stand. Contradict yourself. Rage, then soften. Bleed, then heal. Shatter, then sprout.
This is your warrior’s path. This is the divine masculine reborn.
You’ve survived the fire. That’s your proof.
Now live the afterlife—while you’re still breathing.
LFG!
LIVE FEARLESS, NOT RECKLESS.
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