Cycle Three: Your Mind Is the Last to Know

For context, I'm connecting ideas from these earlier blogs:

1. Your Lifeblood Runs to Rhythm

2. A Dinosaur's Mystique Comes From Not Moving

3. The Greatest Heist in Cultural History

4. Fragility of the Mind

5. Someone Worth Having Faith In

6. The Energy Never Dies

7. Walk, Walk, and Walk

Alright, now let's get tricky.

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I'll be honest with you; this cycle looked different than the others.

Not because the ideas weren't there. They were. But because I've been working through something in real-time: figuring out what this blog actually wants to be. What I want it to be. How to build a system where I can consume, process, and create without the turnover taking so damn long that the thought goes stale before it ever hits the page.

Still a work in progress.

What you've been reading these past few months—these are personal excavations that I've tried to shape into something universal. Things I journal about, things I sit with in those early morning walks or late-night spirals, now given just enough context for you to extract your own meaning. But here's the tension: how much context is enough? How much of my story needs to be in it for the truth to land?

I'm still figuring that out.

But what I do know is this: there's a thread running through these seven pieces that I couldn't see until I stepped back. And it's not about staying consistent for consistency's sake. It's about staying true to what the body already knows, even when the mind is still catching up.

The Wisdom That Moves Before You Think

Here's what I've noticed: every single one of these essays circles back to the same fundamental truth.

Your body knows before your brain does.

The way your shoulders unconsciously match the rhythm of a song playing three rooms away. The power that emanates from a T. rex skeleton that hasn't moved in 65 million years. The bass line coded into your DNA from ancestors who survived the Middle Passage by turning suffering into sound. The mental fog that only lifts when you finally stop feeding your mind digital junk food. The immediate recognition of authenticity in a political candidate's smirk. The certainty that your desires aren't just yours; they're carrying forward the dreams of people who came before you.

And the practice that started as panic management in 2019, now a three-hour ritual that doesn't just move your body but reorganizes your entire consciousness.

All of it—rhythm, stillness, heritage, clarity, discernment, continuity, movement—they're all expressions of the same core principle: intelligence lives in the body first, and the mind translates second.

We've been taught backwards. We think consciousness flows from the top down—brain to body, thought to action, logic to feeling. But that's not how anything actually works.

The bass drops and your body responds before your mind registers the song. The dinosaur skeleton commands attention through pure presence, not performance. Your ancestors embedded their genius in your cells long before you had words for what you were carrying.

Your mental spam filter breaks because you stopped honoring the body's need for rest. You recognize integrity in someone's face before you can articulate why. You feel the pull toward certain paths because generational momentum is already moving through you.

The mind's job isn't to lead. It's to make sense of what the body already knows.

The Pattern Nobody Wants to See

And once you see this pattern, you can't unsee it.

Life isn't linear. Growth doesn't move in one direction. Progress isn't always forward.

Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is stand completely still, like a dinosaur in a museum, and let people come to you.

Sometimes you have to walk for three hours before the truth surfaces.

Sometimes you have to sit in the awareness that you are the amalgamation of energies from both sides of your family tree, carrying desires and purposes that predate your birth, and let that reality reshape your understanding of agency and choice.

Sometimes you have to watch your mental clarity crumble under the weight of digital overconsumption before you remember what focus actually feels like.

Sometimes you have to witness a stolen cultural legacy playing on every radio station before you understand the magnitude of what was taken—and what couldn't be taken, what lives in the lifeblood itself.

Everything oscillates. Sacred and profane. Stillness and motion. Individual will and ancestral inheritance. Personal sovereignty and cultural theft. Mental discipline and creative chaos.

And the only way to navigate that oscillation is to trust what the body knows before the mind can explain it.

What I'm Still Making Sense Of

I'll tell you what I'm sitting with right now, what I haven't fully processed yet:

There's this tension between wanting to create a system—something consistent, something scalable, something that lets me turn thoughts into posts without the whole process taking weeks—and needing to honor the fact that real insight doesn't operate on production schedules.

The body moves to rhythm, but you can't force the rhythm.

The dinosaur's power comes from not moving, but stillness isn't the same as stagnation.

The cultural heist happened generations ago, but I'm only now finding the language for what that means for my relationship to creativity and ownership.

My mental clarity returned after I stopped doom-scrolling, but maintaining that clarity while also staying engaged with the world? That's the work.

I recognized authentic leadership in a smirk, but discernment isn't the same as certainty, and I'm learning to hold both.

I know I carry my ancestors' energies, their desires, their purposes; however, I'm still figuring out where their story ends and mine begins, if that distinction even exists.

I started walking to survive panic attacks in 2019, and now it's how I process everything—but I'm still learning what that practice is preparing me for.

Where We Go From Here

Cycle One was about integration: seeing how seven seemingly separate explorations of embodiment, sovereignty, and transformation were actually one conversation.

Cycle Two was about oscillation: understanding that nothing sacred stays pure, nothing profane stays fixed, and the movement between poles is where the truth lives.

Cycle Three? This one's about trust.

Trusting that the body knows what the mind is still figuring out.

Trusting that inconsistency isn't failure when you're building something real.

Trusting that the rhythm will find you if you stay still long enough, and that stillness will hold you if you keep moving.

Trusting that you're not just living your life; you're continuing energies that were set in motion long before you arrived, and that will continue long after you're gone.

And trusting that the process of making sense of all this in real-time, publicly, imperfectly, is exactly the work.

Because maybe the point isn't to have it all figured out before you speak.

Maybe the point is to speak while you're figuring it out, and trust that the people who need to hear it will recognize the truth in their own bodies before their minds catch up.

Until next time, and through all the cycles that connect us,

Tricky Sol