The Watcher at the Gate
I was born among the flock,
but I was not like them.
I ate when they ate.
I slept where they slept.
I followed the Shepherd as they did.
But I was given teeth—and taught when not to use them.
The sheep thought this strange.
Some pitied me.
Some trusted me only because the Shepherd did.
I did not blame them.
They listened for a voice.
I listened for patterns.
--
At first, the wolves were easy to spot.
They circled at a distance.
Their hunger announced itself.
When they came too close, I stood, and they moved on.
The sheep were grateful then.
They pressed closer to the Shepherd.
Peace returned.
But peace never lasts long.
--
One season, a new voice entered the field.
It sounded like ours.
It spoke gently.
It quoted the Shepherd’s words—but not in his order.
The sheep leaned in.
I watched.
The voice spoke often of freedom
but avoided obedience.
It praised compassion
but mocked vigilance.
I growled—not loudly, only enough for the Shepherd to hear.
Some sheep noticed.
They stepped back.
Others did not.
--
Then the goats arrived.
They had always been there, really—
wandering the edges, feeding where it was easiest.
They disliked fences.
They tolerated the Shepherd.
They resented watchfulness.
When I moved closer to the new voice, the goats bristled.
“Why so tense?” they asked.
“Why all the suspicion?”
“Surely the Shepherd wouldn’t allow danger here.”
I did not answer.
I kept my eyes on the fruit.
--
When the Shepherd called, the sheep turned—slowly, uncertainly—but they turned.
The goats did not.
They asked questions instead.
“When did he say that?”
“Are you sure that’s what he meant?”
“Why does it always come back to authority?”
The new voice smiled at them.
--
The wolf never attacked the sheep first.
He attacked me.
Not with teeth—but with words.
He called me violent.
Unloving.
Unnecessary.
The goats echoed him.
Some sheep wavered.
I stood my ground anyway.
I had learned something the flock had not:
A true shepherd does not need to defend himself from the truth.
A true sheep does not bargain with his call.
--
When the wolf finally struck, it was quick.
One sheep fell.
Another scattered.
Only then did the disguise tear.
The Shepherd came—not late, but precise.
The wolf was driven out.
The sheep were gathered.
The goats stood apart.
--
Later, as the flock rested, a lamb approached me.
“Why didn’t you warn us louder?” she asked.
I lowered my head.
“I did,” I said.
“But not all warnings sound like comfort.”
She thought for a long moment.
Then she went to lie near the Shepherd.
--
The goats left the field before winter.
No one drove them out.
They simply went where no voice called them back.
--
I still walk the perimeter.
I still listen.
I still submit.
Because I have learned this:
The sheep know the Shepherd’s voice.
The goats know their own.
The wolves know neither.
And the sheepdog must be willing to be hated by all three
if he is to remain faithful to the one. 
Will that be before or after the boating accident?
To exit the journey is to miss out on the stories for future generations.
GM 🌞 
Inevitable. Bitcoin is destined to become the Proof of Everything.
Bitcoin and the Path to Santosha ⚡
not just money.
a mirror.
shows your greed.
tests your patience.
reveals your peace.
stack → wait → breathe.
self-custody
becomes self-mastery.
volatility trains virtue.
Santosha —
contentment. gratitude. wholeness.
Bitcoin leads you there.
not to wealth,
but to enough.
⚡ freedom begins within
GM 🌞 
Need to remind myself of this when the volume is up 
Daily meditation: Beware the Yeast 
Gm ☀️ Hope today hits different in all the right ways. 
Because just like governments they survive by taxing their citizens.
Bitcoin is the fuel necessary to fight any future war--an abundant supply required to win. #softwar
GM
With great Faith comes great responsibility. 
Store up bitcoin. 