Frequencies of the Infinite

Music is a transmission, a pulse carried on the hidden frequencies of the cosmos. It travels not through air but through dimensions—straight to the seat of creation, where the unseen forces weigh and measure your signal. It doesn’t care for the surface details. Your chords, your rhythms, your silences—they’re more than sounds. They are maps, diagrams of your essence broadcast into the infinite.

Play a clean note, and the universe sees your clarity. Strike dissonance, and it feels your chaos. Hold a silence too long, and the void peers back, asking, What have you to hide? Every vibration is a fingerprint on the glass of eternity, leaving a trace even when the sound fades.

This is not music for the ears. The monitors—call them gods, aliens, or just the invisible auditors of being—don’t hear it as we do. They read the intent behind the vibration, the energy embedded in each pulse. A melody can lie; a tone cannot. You don’t just play music—you are music, resonating on a frequency you barely comprehend.

The throne is not a throne. It’s a vast receiver, humming with a frequency older than stars, tuned to every sound you make. It translates your vibrations into what you are, what you’ve been, what you might become. You don’t approach it—you are already there, every time you pluck a string or strike a key.

You can’t fake the transmission. Play without conviction, and the signal collapses into noise, nothing but static lost in the void. But play with intent, even through wrong notes and broken rhythms, and your message cuts through like a comet ripping the sky. The throne doesn’t need perfection; it craves truth.

And then, when your frequency is strong enough, something shifts. The transmission reverses. The universe begins to play you. You become the instrument, the antenna vibrating with cosmic intent. Your fingers move, but they’re not yours. Your sound changes, bending and stretching, a signal now shaped by forces you’ll never understand.

To play is to expose yourself. To vibrate is to be seen. But to resonate—to let the universe play you—is to transcend. In that moment, you’re no longer a musician. You’re a transmitter, a node in the great circuit of creation, sending and receiving in a loop that never ends.

The monitors are always listening, decoding, recalibrating. You may not know what they hear, but every broadcast matters. Every pulse shifts the signal, leaving a mark on the vast circuit of existence. Somewhere, in the infinite hum of creation, your signal will find its place, resonating forever.