There’s a question I can’t stop circling: Do we really want the truth or do we just like the adrenaline rush of almost discovering it? Because going down a rabbit hole sounds romantic until you realize it doesn’t come with a ladder. At first, it feels empowering. You start questioning systems you were told not to question. Food. Medicine. Beauty. Media. Authority. Control. You begin to notice patterns. Incentives. Who profits and who pays the price. And then something unsettling happens. You see too much. Once you really start pulling threads, you’re forced to confront an uncomfortable possibility: what if we are far more controlled than we want to believe? Not in a sci-fi, tinfoil-hat way. In a banal, bureaucratic, market-tested, perfectly legal way. We are told what to eat, what to wear, how to age, how to heal, how to behave. Our minds are sponges, and marketing knows this. Our egos crave belonging more than truth. We don’t want what’s good for us. We want what signals that we fit in. Herd mentality isn’t an insult. It’s a survival instinct that’s been hijacked. So we eat food stripped of nutrients and preserved for shelf life, not vitality. We live in chemically saturated environments and call it convenience. We inject neurotoxins into our faces to look younger while our bodies quietly accumulate damage. We trust systems that profit from keeping us dependent while convincing ourselves we’re making “informed choices.” And even when we know this is absurd, we still participate. Because doctors approve it. Because everyone else is doing it. Because stopping would require admitting we’ve built entire lives on assumptions that no longer hold. This isn’t stupidity. It’s cognitive dissonance on a mass scale. And yet, for me, this realization didn’t begin with food or beauty or medicine. It began with religion. _____________________________________ The Magdalene Thread In usual Sandi fashion, I have nearly exhausted my “conspiracy theories” about the development of Christianity and the Catholic Church. Not casually. Not emotionally. But methodically, across philosophy, archaeology, theology, mysticism, science, and art history.

I’m going to be honest. This Christmas was a struggle for me. I’m usually pretty easygoing. Kind. Live-and-let-live. But somewhere between the decorations, the food, the forced cheer, and the excess, I felt… feral. Not in an actual punch-someone way. More like an internal, eye-twitching, “I need to stare out a window for a minute” way. I watched everyone enjoying themselves and thought, Why can’t I get into this? The food didn’t hit. Opening gifts felt strange. Christmas movies felt hollow. The decorations, the waste, the repetition… for what? The birth of the biggest spiritual scandal in history? 😬 When you’ve spent the better part of a year learning how religious stories were shaped, borrowed, edited, and used to control the masses, it’s hard to suddenly slip back into wide-eyed celebration like nothing happened. And yet… here we are. Because Christmas isn’t just a religious event anymore. It’s a family tradition. A memory-maker. A nostalgia machine. It’s love, togetherness, childhood, warmth. Things that matter deeply, even when the original story no longer lands the same way. That’s where I felt stuck. Spiritually homeless between nostalgia and truth. Not wanting to ruin it. Not able to fully believe it. Trying to hold it all without snapping. And yes, every “Keep Christ in Christmas” bumper sticker activated a very sarcastic inner monologue. Not because I hate Christ, but because slogans don’t allow for nuance. Or history. Or personal evolution. Or the reality that some of us are in the middle of a massive unlearning. So here’s my honest question, because I know I’m not alone: ➡️ How did you handle this year’s celebration? ➡️ Did you lean in? Check out? Feel irritated, sad, nostalgic, detached, or conflicted? ➡️ Did it bring comfort… or highlight how much your relationship to religion and spirituality has changed? No right answers. No debating. Just real reflections. Because if you felt a little unhinged, a little tender, or a little lost this year, I see you.