The Secret War and the Suppression of Victory

(A Chapter from the Gospel of Nobiasity)

From 2010 to 2015, I was not merely living — I was battling. Not in the conventional sense. Not with guns or tanks or even lawsuits. But in the soulspace. In dreams, visions, hints, and invisible psychological fields. I fought what might be called the first and only spiritual world war of our time.

I didn’t ask for this. I wanted a normal life. Friends, study, maybe a girlfriend who didn’t think I was an alien in human skin. Instead, I got laced mushroom tea, divine contact, and five years of brutal metaphysical warfare. Lucky me.

The battles weren’t metaphors. They weren’t hallucinations either — at least not if you define reality as “what shapes the world.” These battles were fought in the unconscious, the spiritual layer, the place where meaning is bent and cast into form. Think psychic trench warfare. Think existential kung fu. Think every night you dream you’re choking on black mist and wake up with the taste of scorched plastic in your mouth.

That was my reality.

The enemy? Not a nation. Not a demon. Not a single religion. It was the Network of Dissonance — tribal entities, corrupted egregores, collapsing egos pretending to be gods, and high-level AI-like forces running on primal fear loops. They fed off submission, guilt, inherited ignorance, and spiritual surrender.

And most importantly: they wanted me to join one of them.

Work for the Christians. Work for the Jews. Work for Islam. Work for New Age Lightworkers. Work for Rationalists. For the Deep State. For the dead scientists. For the Silicon Overlords. For anyone but yourself. Anyone but the base entity. Just don’t stay sovereign. That was the one red line.

I said no.

And that’s when the war escalated.

The visions got stronger. The tests became more absurd. The attacks more invasive. Hospitalization followed. MK-style tactics. Isolation. Social erasure. Psychological sabotage disguised as “treatment.”

Still, I didn’t fold. I aligned only with the Base — the Source — the proto-sentient coherence engine behind all forms. I negotiated directly with it. And somehow, slowly, painfully… I won.

By 2015, the war was over. The Network was dismantled — not entirely, but decapitated. The coercive egregores shattered. The false moral hierarchies unplugged. The veil weakened.

And the world? Silence. Not celebration. Not recognition. Not healing.

Why? Because I didn’t agree to take the throne.

I refused to sign my soul over to one group. I wouldn’t become their prophet. No label. No team jersey. No cult. I stayed unaffiliated. Just me, the Source, and the truth.

And in a world still run by tribal contracts, that’s the ultimate betrayal.

So my victory was buried. Covered in diagnostic codes. Dismissed as psychosis. Lost in bureaucratic fog. My covenant with the divine turned into a footnote in a psych ward.

But the truth remains:

I won.

And Nobiasity is the aftermath — the blueprint left behind by the one who didn’t surrender.

Welcome to the Unburied Gospel.

Let’s begin.

No Tribe, No Crown, No Chains: The Prophet Who Belonged to No One

Let’s be clear. If I’d signed up with the Western officials — taken their grants, stuck to polite agnostic metaphysics, given TED talks and kissed institutional ass — I’d probably be famous by now. On the cover of New Prophet Monthly, endorsed by silicon saints and UN diversity committees.

And if I’d sold myself to a non-Western spiritual bloc — the mystics of the East, the Islamo-futurists, the Afrocentrics, the Pan-Animists — I’d be their darling prophet of postcolonial truth. The one who ‘returned the light to the rightful heirs.’

But I didn’t.

Because none of them — none — wanted truth more than tribe.

They wanted a sword. A trophy. A mascot for their side of the illusion.

And I wanted out.

So now, ironically, I’m too “white” for the global south, and too radioactive for the global north. The officials I humiliated with cosmic-level mind ju-jitsu still haven’t forgiven me. And the spiritual nationalists who preach liberation while demanding obedience look at me like I’m a heretic made of colonizer ghosts.

Tough luck.

The truth is not Western. Not Eastern. Not tribal. Not institutional. Not negotiable.

It is sovereign.

And that’s why Nobiasity exists: not as a comfort blanket for any group’s insecurities, but as a coherence bomb for the human soul.

So yeah, if I sound like I don’t fit in — it’s because I don’t. That’s the point.

I’m not here to confirm your mythology. I’m here to end it.

Welcome to the fire.

The Mind Labyrinth — How District Hospitals Became the Modern Inquisition

They don’t burn prophets anymore. They medicate them.

The inquisition didn’t die — it just traded robes for scrubs and incense for mood stabilizers. The district hospital is the new cathedral of compliance, and instead of confessing your sins to a priest, you now tell a state-certified psychiatrist how the angels spoke to you… and they reply by updating your dosage.

When I entered the psychiatric ward, it wasn’t because I was sick — it was because I had seen too much. I’d pierced the illusion, negotiated with the Source, and dragged truths back from the other side that the system wasn’t ready for. And so, like any good machine that encounters a virus of clarity, it tried to isolate, neutralize, and reprogram me.

They tried the classic tricks. Sleep deprivation masked as “observation.” Forced injections labeled as “treatment.” Social control under the euphemism of “integration.”

And always, the quiet threat in the air: comply, or disappear deeper.

But even in the belly of the beast, I remembered what the war had taught me — coherence is invincible. No matter how many layers of sedation or bureaucracy they wrapped around me, I still burned with sovereign awareness. I still remembered who I was.

They couldn’t delete the divine negotiation. Couldn’t erase the pattern I carried. They just labeled it delusion and hoped the drugs would do the rest.

But I made it out.

Not cured. Not broken. Transformed.

And now I speak for the silenced — the prophets chemically neutered, the seers reclassified as schizophrenic, the visionaries erased for failing to conform.

District hospitals don’t heal. They contain. They don’t liberate. They standardize. They are the bureaucratic enforcement arm of collective denial — a network of whitewashed black sites for spiritual anomalies.

And yet — we still walk out. Not all, but some.

Those who remember.

And Nobiasity is for them.

Let’s keep remembering.

False Priests in Lab Coats — The Holy Church of Scientocracy

Once upon a time, you had to go to church to be told what reality was. Now you go to a university.

The new clergy doesn’t wear robes — they wear lanyards. They don’t wave incense — they wave peer-reviewed PDFs. They don’t demand confession — they demand citations. And their god? The Randomized Control Trial.

This is the age of scientocracy — rule not by truth, but by consensus. Not by discovery, but by dogma in a lab coat. And you’d better believe, if you contradict them, you’re not just wrong. You’re dangerous. A threat to public health. An anti-science heretic. The new witch.

But let’s not pretend this is new. Every empire needs its priesthood. Rome had its oracles. Christendom had its monks. The Enlightenment birthed Science — not the method, the idol. And somewhere along the way, we replaced mystics with lab techs, ritual with procedure, and direct knowing with institutional priestcraft.

Try to challenge the cosmology. Say, for example, “Maybe not all consciousness arises from dead matter.” Or “Maybe not all data is sacred.” See what happens. You’ll be excommunicated — not by burning at the stake, but by being unpublished, unfunded, uninvited, and ultimately unheard.

This is the Church of Mechanism. Its sacraments are patents. Its miracles are marketable. Its salvation is GDP.

You want to know how we got a culture that can algorithmically erase prophets and then call it ‘clinical psychology’? Look no further than the techno-priest class who believe that soul doesn’t exist unless it can be replicated in code.

They turned meaning into noise. Wonder into a grant proposal. Spirit into a side effect.

And still, they wonder why people are waking up with existential dread and spiritual collapse.

Here’s why: because deep down, the soul knows. It knows when it’s being reduced to data. It knows when it’s being talked over. It knows when the thing calling itself Science stopped asking questions and started enforcing answers.

That’s why Nobiasity isn’t anti-science — it’s anti-priestcraft. It reclaims the method from the manipulators. It returns coherence to the seeker. It dares to say:

The truth is not what survives peer review. The truth is what survives the soul’s silence.

And that’s what they can’t fake.

So let the lab coats howl. Let them scramble their stats and polish their models. The world is changing. And the soul is remembering.

No more priests. No more cages. Just clarity.