Smoke and Mirrors

The week started like any other Monday. Ordinary. A little too ordinary. I sipped my coffee as I watched the rain run down my windowpane. The coffee had gone cold, and I had the nagging feeling that something was off.

We think we know the way the world works...but maybe we've been played. Maybe we're living someone else's dream. They say the truth is stranger than fiction, but what if the real fiction is the life we think we're living?

Clue #1 – The Case of the Conflicted Scriptures

The first sign came like they always do—quiet. Too quiet. Not a shout in the street, but a whisper from an old book with pages that stuck together like secrets.

I’d been taught the Bible was airtight. God-breathed. Perfect from cover to cover. But then I stumbled on something... off.

Two creation stories.
Not one. Not poetic repetition—two accounts, with different timelines and different orders.
One where male and female are created together.
Another where man is made from dirt, and woman is sculpted from his rib like a subplot added later. (And no, you’re not imagining it—scholars trace that first story back to older, possibly Minoan or Mesopotamian cosmologies.)

It gnawed at me.
I dug deeper.
And like any good detective, the deeper I dug, the darker it got.

Turns out, there’s not just one set of Ten Commandments—there are two.
One scrawled on Sunday School posters everywhere: Thou shalt not kill, etc.
But then there’s Exodus 34—a second, more obscure list that includes divine instructions on holidays, livestock, and yes… that infamous line about not boiling a goat in its mother’s milk.

That’s not just a red flag. That’s a flare.

It was then I realized: this book—this canon—was a collection.
A library.
A patchwork of scrolls, stitched across centuries by people searching for truth and meaning.

And you know what?

That didn’t make it less sacred.
It made it human.
It made it real.

Because maybe faith isn’t about holding to a flawless script.
Maybe it’s about walking into the shadows with your eyes open, your heart cracked just enough to feel.

The mask of certainty slipped.
But the mystery?
The mystery had just begun.

Clue # 2—Trump, Tariffs, Turmoil, and the Political Nomad

The world’s rattling again.
Stocks dive like crooked politicians ducking subpoenas.
Markets convulse. Allies retaliate.
And there he is—Trump, larger than life, looming like a neon sign flickering above a pawn shop at midnight.

The news hawkers are screeching from every screen.
“Global instability!”
“Recession incoming!”
“The end is nigh—again!”

But the Political Nomad?
He doesn’t flinch.
He’s seen this play before.

The Political Nomad doesn’t pledge allegiance to the left or the right.
He’s not seduced by slogans or hypnotized by headlines.
He sips his coffee, nods at the Tao, and keeps walking.

See, in the Taoist way, detachment isn’t apathy—it’s clarity.
The Nomad watches the parade of ideologies pass by, all trumpeting promises like snake-oil salesmen in a dusty town square.

He listens. He weighs.
He dates ideas—but doesn’t rush into commitment.
He wants to see what they’re like in the daylight, without the makeup and the microphone.

And maybe—just maybe—he’s starting to suspect something deeper…
That these two warring sides, these political pantomimes and perpetual crises,
aren’t real at all.

Just cardboard cutouts propped up on the soundstage of power.
A set dressed to look like division—when behind the curtain,
it’s all the same script.

Outrage culture?
He lets it pass like a gust of wind through tall grass.
He knows there’s no power in being constantly provoked. That’s how you get played.

So while the world clutches its pearls and shouts at shadows,
the Nomad moves quietly through the storm.

Rooted.
Flexible.
Unbothered.

A Taoist in a trench coat, walking between the raindrops.

Clue #3 — The Index Card, the Business Plan, and a Simpler Way

Sometimes, the answers aren’t buried in a file cabinet or hidden in a back alley.
Sometimes, they’re right in front of you—on a single index card.

It sounds too simple, doesn’t it?
Like a kid’s trick.
Like the magician asking you to pick a card—any card—and promising it'll change your life.

But that’s exactly what Brian Margolis delivers in his book, The Index Card Business Plan.
No fluff. No MBA jargon.
Just one card. A handful of key actions. And a clear reminder:

See, a lot of us chase our tails. We drown in to-do lists, apps, systems, colour-coded chaos.
We think success lives on the other side of hustle, when really—it’s sitting quietly at our desk, waiting for us to simplify.

I took the plunge.
Grabbed a Sharpie.
Wrote down the handful of things that actually matter in my creative and spiritual work.
Things that move the needle—not just keep me spinning.

It was like switching off the static.
Suddenly, I wasn’t just reacting—I was building.
Focusing on the things that aligned with my deeper purpose, not just my calendar.

And that’s what I liked most about Margolis’s message: clarity breeds confidence.

You stop second-guessing yourself when the mission is staring you in the face every morning—inked in black and white on a little card taped to your wall.

So whether you're building a business, writing a novel, or just trying to get your life out of neutral, this book’s worth a look. It’s not flashy. It’s not long. But it works—if you do.

Simple, steady, sustainable.

Just like the Tao.

Clue #4 — Back at the Typewriter: Writing and WIP Update

The keys are sticking again.
Might be the humidity. Might be the guilt of another missed deadline.

I told myself Pure Evil, the second Nick Grayson novel, would hit the streets by late fall. That was the plan. But like most plans, it’s been roughed up in a back alley and left bleeding somewhere around the 60,000-word mark. And the crazy part? I’m only halfway through.

There’s hope, though. A few chapters I might cut—dead weight that slows the chase. Trim the fat, sharpen the punch. I still might hit that deadline… if the muses don’t pull a disappearing act.

But let me tell you, this book? It's got teeth.
The case started as fraud, took a hard left into murder, and now Nick’s knee-deep in bodies and bourbon. Fistfights. Blackouts. And someone slipped him a mickey just when he had the scent—classic move. Now he's waking up with more questions than answers.

And Father Rousseau? He’s wrestling shadows in the Church—tyrants in collars, demons in cassocks. The deeper he digs, the more he wonders if any of it’s real… or if the whole thing’s been smoke and mirrors from the start.

Then there’s Malik—caught between the spirits of his past and the vows of his present. His subplot’s dark. Haunting. Voodoo ceremonies, ancestral warnings, and a choice that might cost him everything.

Illusions. Secrets. Ghosts that won’t stay buried.
This book’s got ‘em all.

I’m splitting my time these days—half at the typewriter, half on the street corners of social media, drumming up interest and planting seeds. It’s all part of the long game: build a following, turn it into income, and buy back my time to do what I was born to do.

However long it takes, I’m not stopping.
I’ve got too many stories still hiding in the shadows.

And if you haven’t picked up Nick Grayson: The Truth in the Lies yet… what are you waiting for? The first case is already on the shelves—full of corruption, betrayal, and the kind of truths that don’t come easy. You can grab your copy here

Step into the dark. Nick’s already there, waiting.

Case Closed – The Illusion Was the Point

They say if you stare long enough into the abyss, you’ll see the truth.
But sometimes, you just see more abyss.

All week, we’ve followed the threads. The political circus, the old beliefs, the business blueprints, the fists and phantoms of a detective’s world. And when you line them up—like suspects in a smoky back room—one thing starts to stand out.

None of it’s real.

That’s right. The great twist in this caper? We’ve been chasing ghosts. The world as we know it, the systems, the dogmas, the left-versus-right puppet show, even the blueprint for success—it’s all Maya.

An illusion. A beautiful, persistent lie.

In Eastern traditions, Maya is the veil that hangs over reality, convincing us the dream is the truth. It makes the mirage feel like an oasis. It sells us on the shadows and tells us the light is just a rumor.

And the kicker? Most people never wake up.

But not you.
Not me.
Not this time.

See, the Tao has something to say about all this. It doesn’t fight the illusion head-on. It doesn’t scream at the chaos or claw at the veil. It just steps back. Observes. Laughs, sometimes. And slips through the cracks.

The Taoist way is the way of the watcher. The dreamer who knows they’re dreaming—and begins to shape the dream. Not by force, not by fury, but by alignment. Quiet power. Effortless flow.

And once you start to wake up, you realize:
You don’t have to live by someone else’s script.
You don’t have to join the next outrage parade.
You don’t have to carry the weight of a thousand inherited “truths.”

You get to choose.
You get to dream consciously.
You get to see through the smoke, and maybe even help others do the same.

So what now, fellow seeker?
We've cracked the case.

The world’s still turning, the rain’s still falling, and the café down the street still serves a bitter cup of coffee—but now, you see it for what it is. A set. A stage. A dreamscape.

And you?
You’re awake.
Or at least, waking.

That’s a hell of a start.

Peace. And keep asking the big questions,

The Sage Wanderer