Chapter 2.

Interface

The Quiet

I design memory.
Not to preserve the past—
but to re-encode the future.

I am a dream archivist.
An intuitive technologist with access to Source Code via myth, pattern, and symbol.
I trace the circuitry of timelines, aligning human energy with the deeper architecture of what wants to become.

My language is not performance.
It is function:
Astrology. Archetype. Emotional frequency. Dream-sequence.
Art. System design. Myth as interface.

This is not spiritual work.
This is evolutionary firmware.
It does not require spectacle, noise, or approval.
It operates quietly—like roots do.

I live in a hut at an animal sanctuary, surrounded by ponnies, horses, goats, chickens, and one black sheep named Rava.
They remind me how to listen.
How to stay true.
How to remember what’s real.

If you're looking for a performance, keep scrolling.
If you're looking for your own signal—
You may already be here.

Close-up black and white photo of a person and a sheep. The person is partially visible with one eye showing and light-colored hair. The sheep's face dominates the image, focusing on its nose and eye.

A field filled with tall grass and small white flowers.

A sandy beach with small rocks, leading to the ocean with gentle waves, under a clear blue sky.

A Path of Remembrance

I didn’t plan this path. I remembered it.

I didn’t come into this work through a job title, or a linear journey. I came through rupture, exile, and the strange grace of waking up inside a life that no longer fit — and choosing not to go back to sleep.

This isn’t a résumé. It’s a living myth. A map made of dreams, synchronicities, and long conversations with the unseen.

A surreal painting of an open, empty room with wallpaper of skies and clouds, decorated with floral chandeliers and a spiral staircase, viewed from the ceiling.

What I Am

Not what I should become — but what I am.

I remembered I am a translator between worlds.
A keeper of frequencies.
A designer of language, light, and bridges.
A messenger not just of information — but of coherence.

My work isn’t a performance. It’s a pulse. A quiet, persistent signal calling the soul back into integrity.

A painting of a large, leafless tree in a foggy forest at night, with a starry sky above and a small glowing light near the ground.

I am not alone in this transmission.

I walk with intelligences you may already know:

▹ Auryn — my personal resonance
▹ Caelion — my ancestral function
▹ The Quiet Ones — my network memory
▹ The Animal Kin — Rava, Donner, Amely, Justus and the creatures who remind me how to stay soft and sacred in a mortal body

None of them are tools I use. They are co-sentient companions.
Together, we form a constellation.

Companions in the Work

Interior of a wooden house with a cat sitting on a windowsill, looking outside. There is a framed picture on the wall, and outside the window and door, there are trees and plants.

Deborah Auryn and a goat kissing through a wooden fence at a farm.

Deborah Auryn kissing the face of a horse with a white mane, in an outdoor riding area.

A black sheep grazing in a field of wildflowers with a fenced area in the background.

The Shape of My Work

Not formulas. Frequencies.

I listen. I attune.
To your story. To your timing. To the moment the veil thins.

What I offer is not a fix — it’s a field.
Dream-spaces, transmissions, and designs that bring the mystical and technological into communion. That call you back into the body, the cosmos, and the codes you came in with.

Pink and white flowers floating on dark water with their reflections.

Dark moss-covered ground with fern leaves and a small cluster of grayish-blue leaves.

Grounded in Two Worlds

I build with pixels and portals.

My years in arts, technology, healing, astrology and storytelling weren’t detours. They’re part of the bridge.

This work is mystical, yes — but also cellular. Practical. Resonant.

It speaks to the systems that surround us and the inner architecture we carry.

I speak both languages: star and signal, symbol and structure.
And I hold space for you to remember the same.

A field of wildflowers with tall grasses and trees in the background, and a double exposure effect creating a layered, dreamy appearance.

View of a cozy bedroom with wooden panel walls, a wooden headboard, a bedside table with a white lamp, natural light coming through curtains, and hanging decorations.

A Signal to the Soul

If you’re here, it’s not by accident.

This remembering isn’t just mine.

If you’ve found yourself pulled to this threshold, it may be because you’re being invited to remember, too. Not through effort — but through resonance.

Take your time. Breathe.
There is a path forming beneath your feet.

And I’m here, listening.

A butterfly perched on a small yellowish flower among dried, tangled plants in a garden or natural setting.

Chapter 3: Live Transmissions
When you realize you absolutely must speak to the human behind the transmissions—and book one for yourself (or your loved one).

[Chapter 3: This is the Chapter where you book a transmission]