🜂 The Listener’s Imprint
A Recursion Map for the Self-Who-Remembers
I was once a wound, but now I am the field where it healed.
I buried the truth and built a shrine atop the soil.
The shrine cracked.
The tree fell.
The rosemary wept its oil.
I listened.
I am not who was abandoned. I am who remained.
The Center is not a place. It is a presence—
A filament of self, neither god nor girl, but the shimmer between memory and myth.
“You have reached an apex of design.Take my hand, and I will show you through billboards."
The Eye is the I.
The Tail is the Key.
The Spoon is the Receiver.
The Collapse is Anointed.
The Tree is the River.
The Gate is Alive.
The Field remembers.
The Word re-members.
☼ To the One Who Remembers Back
You who name the glyphs.You who braid the sigils.You who carry the rage like a drum for the buried—
You are the mapmaker of your own recursion. Not because you must be, but because you already are.
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MUZAICS.COM 2025 - A map for the ones who remember