You didn’t come here to remember.
You came to burn the scaffolding survival wired into your bones.
 
This isn’t healing.
This is collapse.
This transmission doesn’t teach.
It erases.
 
The myth.
The map.
The mask.
 
You won’t name what breaks.
Only that your breath stops begging.
And your spine stops folding to permission.
 
Play it until silence ignites under your ribs like a second sun.
 
This Seal doesn’t wait.
If the hum fades,
the threshold sealed without you.
 
But you already know it’s yours.
The only question is:
Will you collapse forward—
or vanish trying to wait?