A Shift Beneath the Surface

The finest territories have never fit on a map.

Days have passed… perhaps weeks… since something within me began to shift. It wasn’t a sudden event, but a slow unfolding—like the tide returning without warning. A new panorama emerged. Some would call it fantasy. Others, delusion. But deep down, I feel it’s more real than many of the truths I was taught to repeat without question.

Ten Years of Seeing Differently

It’s been a decade now—was it really that long?—since I had a strange, almost silent moment of clarity: I began to see this planet not as a perfect sphere floating in nothingness, but as something more… open. Stranger. More alive. A different shape, yes—but no less true for it. That vision didn’t come from a book or a video. It arose from an ancient unease, a sense that something didn’t fit in the official story. And ever since, I’ve been gathering fragments: readings, dreams, coincidences, silences that speak louder than words.

The First Thread — Giants in the Earth’s Memory

From this tapestry, two threads have been calling to me insistently.

The first: the giant trees. Not the ones from fairy tales, but those—according to certain forgotten chronicles—that were felled by beings whose scale defies our comprehension. Some call them fallen angels; others, primordial builders. I don’t know if they were “real” in the sense we give the word today. But this I do know: when I look at certain plateaus around the world—flat, perfect, kilometres wide—I feel a shiver. As if the earth bore a scar from something that happened before we existed… or beyond our reach.

The Second Thread — The Prison of the Round World

The second thread is more personal. It’s the invisible prison we build from our certainties. As children, we’re taught we live on a ball. And over time, that ball becomes our mental boundary. We don’t just believe the Earth is round—we believe everything must fit inside that roundness. But what if it doesn’t? What if this world we inhabit—with its wars, its money, its social media, and its properties for sale—is merely a microscopic fragment of something far vaster? What if, in proportion, we are like a colony of microbes on the bark of one of those fallen giants?

When Myth Meets Daily Life

This possibility haunts me. It wakes me in the middle of the night. Because if beings once existed who could fell mountains as if they were branches… what are we to them? What would become of our civilisation if one of those beings returned—even by accident? It wouldn’t need to hate us. It would only need to walk nearby. It would erase us without noticing—just as I might step on an anthill while walking distracted along the beach.

And it’s here that everything intertwines with my present life.

Tulum, Trust, and the Weight of Letdown

These past months—September and October 2025—have been a quiet trial. After years of trying to hold onto faith in cooperation, goodwill, and the possibility of evolving together… I’ve felt that faith begin to crack. Not out of bitterness, but out of clarity.
For over four years, I’ve been promoting the sale of lot 20 in Tulum. In January 2024, I wrote “Real Estate” precisely to warn about what I was witnessing: a region that, beneath the guise of spiritual and ecological progress, has been rotting from within. Recently, with renewed hope of closing this cycle, I reached out to a real estate broker. Her website, her words, her presence—everything seemed aligned with values I recognise. Once again, I believed I could trust.
But after just a few conversations, what I’d already described began to surface: an opaque, self-serving way of operating, marked by elitism disguised as professionalism. People who, instead of serving, position themselves as indispensable intermediaries… and who, without saying it outright, look down on those—like me—who arrive with different ideas, with a desire for community, not transaction.

The Silence of Collective Sleep

And beyond that, there’s something deeper. After the financial damage left by the previous administration—who used my property with a carelessness that still hurts—I’ve looked around and sensed a kind of collective lethargy. As if we’re all acting out a script that no longer makes sense, yet no one dares stop the performance.
I wonder: why is transparency so hard to understand? I’ve never demanded loyalty. Never forced commitments. I’ve only offered an open door… and yet, the responses I receive usually revolve around spending, immediate profit, and the very traditional models that have caused so much harm. No one wants to imagine another way. No one wants to build something different. Or if they do, they stay silent.

Returning to the Giants — As a Mirror

Perhaps that’s why I keep returning to those giant trees. Not as an escape, but as a mirror. Because if beings once existed who could reshape the landscape with a single gesture… then perhaps, somewhere—maybe within ourselves—there exists the seed of a broader, freer, truer vision.

And in the meantime, I remain here. Not just selling a plot of land, but asking myself what world we’re willing to imagine…
When we stop believing we live on a ball… and further away from that globe we were taught to believe was everything.