Chapter 9: 2020, the greatest metaphor

Many see 2020 as a bad year but for me it was the greatest year. I mean I love crisis because it bring that best in all of us if you take the opportunity,  and understand life’s metaphors.

When 2020 came along I was already in the process of writing my coaching  methodology. However,I was having a hard time with the final stages. I have made a clear connection between mind and body when talking about health, but the soul part have not been totally clear to me.

Depression is like onions,  full of layers and each layer have a lot of crying, pain, fear etc to be released. It’s hard, specially when you are getting to the core of the issue, which for me is existence. So, in 2020 I used the corona virus lockdown as a metaphor.  I was already going within for awhile, but this time I just took a deeper dive and went all in. I am talking about meditation 2x a day, sometimes 3. I went super deep and starter to connect all the dots in my life until now (never stops is my guess). Because the truth is purpose is the way out of depression. Purpose, not goals.

Now when it comes to soul talk, I must say: It has nothing to do with Jesus or God, It’s actually within. The issue is, going within is painful and we all fear pain. For me the issues is not the virus and the solution is not the vaccine, I think the shit is much deeper. The issue is existential,  lack of purpose, and the solution is going within.

One day I read in a book: “can you imagine a planet with a bunch of souls with no purpose? Well I can, Planet earth. Truth being told,if  there is one thing that corona virus gave all of us is an existential crisis, which reflects in our health system. First, we don’t face due to fear. Yeah, going to church is easy and not believing in nothing, it’s also easy. Now, stop go within and face your own existence and ask yourself: Qual é do bagulho? (Translation: what’s the meaning of life?), it’s very hard. Second, I believe we have all been traumatized on the soul level, let’s be honest, we live in the world that trys to put everything in a box. Third, is that I honestly think we are all disconnected. For me, food is what makes the biggest connection between us and the environment (planet), and health.  In this sense we are serverly disconnected and ironically is where my depression actually started.

Now, I think I am over the fear, at least over a good significant part of the fear. The reality is a traumatized soul with a malnourished body is a true disaster. Actually, if you think about it; a traumatized soul with malnourished body is actually war conditions. When we are in war with ourselves we get fearful. Fear get you paralyzed and in fear we don’t think we just react. So, to being my philosophical health movement I must say, it all starts with food. Then you must go within and face your fears.

The formula out of depression is Purpose = coffee × weed² (P=CW²). Here are my videos of the week. The innerchild revolution is a philosophy created by my own experiences and studies. Disclaimer coming this week!



Chapter 8: To punk to be Tony Robbins

And not so much of an asshole to be a Pope, or a priest. The truth is I am a punk rocker, have always been. Is like my wife told me the other day, is in your soul. That is the first P of P.O.P.E!

Now, one thing I am for sure is one of the kind. I could use all the spiritual labels here such as: indigo child, medium, empath (we will cover that soon), etc. But I prefer using more concrete terms. I think maybe arrogant is the right word. I mean, when I was 260 pounds smoking 2 pack of cigarettes a day I said: I will quit smoking, race ironmans professionally and write a book about it to motivate people. Pretty insane if not arrogant. Let’s say pretty fly for a white guy. Also because of my story and how life presented itself to me, I never really fitted in any type, shape or form.

P is for pothead. Yeah, man I am a pothead, like Snoop Dog style. The reality is I like pot and is one of the key things that helped with my depression. Because the reality is I was only able to write my book with pot. The pain was so big that I needed something for the pain, and Tylenol for doesn’t not work for the soul. Prozac does not make it better, makes you numb. Weed on other hand, amplifies. So, yeah I am pothead.

Empath this one is absolutely true and needs to start really be taken in consideration. This was my sensitivity, now is not sensitive in terms of not being able to handle a joke. Is sensitivity in terms of energy, is like you feel the whole thing around you. Sometimes is so strong and busy that you can’t even concentrate. A blessing and a curse. I believe we all got this, what many consider, super power. Maybe ones stronger then others, don’t know but I think we all got it.

The initial idea of the book was going to talk about diet, but the universe had bigger plans. I became a Dad, not only a Dad, Luke’s father. Luke’s birth to light another side of me that was getting brighter slowly, and Amber sped up the process.

The book was supposed to be coming out today but since writing about this have been easy at wall, I had to delay a few weeks. Now I talk about an innerchild revolution is the way out of depression, and since I like to lead by example: Here it is my innerchild revolution kick off; Rock-it-ology Television.

This first music video is one of the 7 songs of my first album of Punk Rock songs for kids, Star Punks. Everything in my innerchild revolution have a meaning, from the decorations to the songs, books, it’s all connected. The initial part is Luke’s favorite AC/DC song and is me overcoming my fear.

Rock-it-ology INC was founded on Halloween 2020, the year that everything changed for me (finally) and since this blog is all about an innerchild revolution, this is the first lesson (LOL). People will crucify you for anything in life, so Do what you want. I mean, what touches your soul. You cannot go wrong with that. The goal of Rock-it-ology INC is to raise awareness to mental health and nemaline through inclusion. That is why is set up as a Religion (I created my own out of spite), because inclusion is not rocket science, is Punk Wisdom. Inclusion is about reconizing that we are all souls.



Chapter 7: A heart full of Eddie

First, let me explain who is Eddie for those who are not Iron Maiden fan. Eddie is their mascot his first appearance was in February 1980. The reason I am saying that is because it connects with my work at Rock-it-ology. I actually just found this out as I write this blog today 3/11/21 at 23: 23 pm. Anyways, Eddie is the iron maiden famous mascot and the leader and bass player of this band is Stephen Pecy Harris known as Steve Harris, born on March March 12, 1956. So yeah today (the day I am posting this) is his birthday.

For many years I thought I didn’t have a hero because the truth is I was a shitty kid. I mean, I was not really into watching TV, or video games. I was more the kid that is into music, arts and being outdoors. Therefore, in general I didn’t have the “normal” heroes that most kids have. I mean, I did have Luke Skywalker as a hero, but for me was different because he was good in using the force. For some reason I always felt that the force was something real. Now, I know it is real, is something called energy, that I like to call life force. So, yeah Luke Skywalker is bad ass, especially in the return of the Jedi and that is why I suggested my son name as Luke Wygand, luckily my wife agreed.

Now, the rest of my heroes was all considered evil, or drugged addict well at least in my world. It’s a long story, so long that I am putting in a book. Chapter 9 of the book is when things started to change in my life and the music that changed it all was the Judgments of heaven from the X factor album. I will be honest; I don’t know much about Steve Harris at all. I am not that kind of fan that knows every single detail. I am more or the kind of fan that just wants to enjoy their music and rock it by: learning their songs in my studio, singing in the shower, rocking an air guitar/bass/drums either to my kids or solo. All I know is that I love their songs, and the bass is what really makes you feel the song.

That being said I feel that I have to acknowledge this guy as my #1 hero because the truth is, because of the song Judgments of Heaven from the X- Factor album that I am here today alive writing this blog. Therefore I want to wish Steve Harris a happy fucking birthday and a huge thank you for making my heart full of Eddie.



A lonely cry for help reaching out for help to anyone
A silent prayer to God to help you on your way
I’ve been depressed so long
It’s hard to remember when I was happy
I’ve felt like suicide a dozen times or more
But that’s the easy way, that’s the selfish way
The hardest part is to get on with your lifeYou’re searching in the dark
Clutching at straws to find a way
You take the Tarot cards
And throw them to the wind
Your question your beliefs, your inner thoughts
Your whole existence
And if there is a God then answer if you will
And tell me of my fate, tell me of my place
Tell me if I’ll ever rest in peaceIf you could live your life again
Would you change a thing
Or leave it all the same
If you had the chance again
Would you change a thing at all
When you look back at your past
Can you say that you are proud
Of what you’ve done
Are there times when you believe
That the right you thought was wrongAll of my life I have believed
Judgement of Heaven is waiting for me
All of my life now I have believed
Judgement of Heaven is waiting for me
Waiting for me
Waiting for me
Waiting for meAll of my life now I have believed
Judgement of Heaven awaits for me
All of my life now I have believed
Judgement of Heaven awaits for meAll of my life I have believed
Judgement of Heaven is waiting for me
All of my life now I have believed
Judgement of Heaven is waiting for me
Waiting for me
Waiting for me
Waiting for me

Capitulo 1 – Punkaste!

Capítulo 1

Era um sonho recorrente. Prédios, árvores e pessoas esticavam de tamanho, em fração de segundos, enquanto eu encolhia. Só o que crescia em mim era o desespero de não ser ouvido naquele mundo em distorção. Meus gritos ecoavam pelas pernas gigantes dos meus pais e irmãos, mas não alcançavam as orelhas parabólicas. O pior era perceber que não sentiam minha falta. Familiares, amigos e colegas não demonstravam preocupação com meu paradeiro, como se nunca tivesse existido um Richard Wygand em suas vidas.

Quando recordo da solidão que carregava no peito ao despertar do pesadelo, sinto profunda compaixão por aquele garoto assustado.

Ah, Rirou, meu brother! Como queria ter a possibilidade de voltar no tempo e te abraçar. Sentar-me ao seu lado e dizer que homem também chora e que você pode chorar quando tiver vontade. Eu ia te ensinar também que você pode falar o que sente e ouvir a música que te emocionar. Heavy metal, punk rock, reggae, samba. Não importa. Experimente todos os estilos, criança, era o que eu ia defender. Depois, te convidaria pra rodarmos de skate até que o sol encontrasse o mar do Rio de Janeiro.

Um encontro assim poderia afastar de vez aquele sonho ruim do quarto solitário do apê no Cosme Velho, em Laranjeiras, onde vivi minha infância e pré-adolescência como temporão de um trio de meninos enérgicos, filhos de um casamento que teve fim quando eu tinha 3 anos de idade.

Morávamos com minha mãe e nossos avós em um condomínio de classe média que ficava a dois quilômetros do Cristo Redentor, um símbolo de fé parecido com os gigantes que abafavam meus pedidos de socorro durante o sono.

Demorei décadas pra perceber que acordar daquele pesadelo não significava alívio. Minha voz também não encontrava ouvidos atentos no mundo real e, assim como no sonho, fui me encolhendo até me tornar uma criança introvertida, depressiva, com compulsão alimentar e rompantes de agressividade.

Na primeira briga no colégio, lembro que saí chorando. Meus colegas não entenderam nada, porque eu tinha batido no garoto. O desentendimento começou com uma trombada de futebol, gatilho pra extravasar a masculinidade tóxica que muitos hominhos carregam. O menino me xingou, eu retruquei, e ele tentou me chutar. Como já apanhava em casa de dois bem maiores do que eu, consegui me defender. Reagi por reflexo, segurei a perna, passei uma rasteira na outra, de apoio, e meu colega caiu de costas, ficando sem ar. A gente ainda se agarrou no chão e comecei a dar uma sequência de socos nele, ao mesmo tempo em que desaguava em choro.

Eu chorava muito até os 7 anos de idade. Qualquer mudança na energia de um lugar ou no humor de uma pessoa era suficiente para apertar minha gargante. Logo, grossas lágrimas corriam pelo rosto.

Meus irmãos, os amigos deles e os meus próprios tiravam sarro quando eu reagia chorando a um desentendimento no parquinho ou por sofrer com uma brincadeira estúpida. Lembro de cantarem “Boys Don’t Cry”, do The Cure, e rirem na minha cara.

Como qualquer criança faria, eu corria para o adulto mais próximo que pudesse me proteger e consolar daquele aperto que trazia no peito. Mas os gigantes não pareciam ouvir o pequeno e preferiam ignorar o que se passava comigo. Assim, de tanto ouvir que eu já era grandinho e que menino não devia chorar, acabei aprendendo a engolir o pranto e esconder meus sentimentos.

Ah, Rirou, meu brother! Não precisava ter sido assim. Homem chora, sim, e faz muito bem chorar, viu?

Várias gerações de garotos foram fabricados por essa forma violenta de se relacionar consigo, com os outros e com o meio onde se vive. O resultado foram bilhões de homens inseguros, frustrados, depressivos, infelizes e destrutivos.

Após 33 anos e milhares de quilômetros percorridos, depois de inúmeras sessões de terapia, de todos os tipos, e de me encontrar com seres maravilhosos que me permitiram conquistar a liberdade de desfrutar meus prazeres sem censura, posso dizer que estou mais perto da cura do que jamais imaginou o pequeno Richard Wygand, tão assustado em seu mundo de gigantes opressores.

Naquele improvável encontro, além de consolá-lo do sonho ruim, eu mostraria que a versão Rirou 2020 cresceu o suficiente para encarar os monstros internos e externos. Tenho certeza que ele ficaria orgulhoso em saber que se tornaria no futuro um homem, esposo e pai realizado.

Essa volta no tempo seria tão incrível e importante que eu não hesitaria em contar-lhe que agora estamos fortes o suficiente para declararmos guerra contra a maior desumanizadora das criações humanas: a Igreja Católica Apostólica Romana.

Sim, pois não culpo meus pais ou avós, nem nenhum adulto que tenha contribuído com a minha formação. Minha mãe, coitada, recém divorciada, tentando retornar ao mercado de trabalho, sem tempo de vigiar três marmanjos. Naquele caos, dizer que homem não chora era a maneira mais fácil de criar em mim uma casca para aguentar o mundo lá fora.

O problema é que lá fora estava uma sociedade fundamentada em princípios religiosos, envenenada por verdades limitantes sobre o que é certo e errado e ignorante o suficiente para ameaçar crianças ao inferno só por não seguirem à risca os padrões morais cristãos.

Engolir o choro foi a primeira armadura que me vestiram para lidar com o mundo de gigantes reais, mas ninguém me protegeu para absorver os dedos em riste em minha direção que me julgavam um menino mal por ouvir heavy metal, punk rock ou andar de skate.

Eu tinha oito anos quando escutei de um amigo do meu irmão que o pôster de um morto-vivo do Slayer, que ele tinha no quarto, era o atestado de que o juízo final não seria fácil pra nós, amantes de rock’n roll.

“Vocês ficam ouvindo essas músicas do diabo, saibam que Jesus vai voltar com um trem, pegar quem acredita nele, e queimar todo o resto”, foi o que ele disse.

Para quem gostava do estilo, como nós três de casa, ouvir aquela sentença me causou muito medo. Aquele menino sabia de algo que eu não sabia. Podia ter razão, sei lá.  

Sem poder chorar e com pavor de sofrer o julgamento alheio por ser quem eu queria ser, acabei me retraindo até merecer tapinhas de bom moço na cabeça.
A recompensa vinha em calorias. Devorava toda a comida que via pela frente. Meio pacote de pão branco com mel ou catchup era um lanche comum nas minhas tardes. Nas festinhas de aniversário, ninguém superava minha conta no número de cachorros-quentes.

Acima do peso, aos 7 anos de idade, tornei-me um garoto que sabia que era uma pessoa boa, mas que se anestesiava com sódio e açúcar para adormecer sem medos e culpas. O pior é que nada disso me livrava de encontrar em pesadelo com os gigantes e a solidão.

Chapter 6: as wicked

For years I believe I was doom for a life of surfering and pain. For real, was a feeling that I couldn’t enjoy life, and if I did I would be punished. Everything that gave me joy was going to be the end of the world. Like, everything was my fault. Heavy metal thought me that the easy way out, ending life, was not an option. 

Yes, it’s true, the feeling was that I was wicked. Like in my dreams is it was always there,  demons faces saying I couldn’t enjoy life. I didn’t know what those demons were until I picked up the guitar to play at 39 years old. Not only that, it only started to make sense on my 40th birthday! That’s when I realized I was battling my own existence.

At age of 39 is when I told my wife, I wanted to be the one who stays home with the kids and learn music. Not only because I didn’t want to work. I mean I don’t want to work, because the truth I can’t have a boss. I think from all the bosses that I had, there is a very few that I didn’t say fuck off. Me out there is a menace to society. It’s true, cause I have an attitude and I know how to use it, like the guy from office space.  The scene where the guy from office space,  says fuck off and got promoted actually happened in my life a few times. Or that scene with George Costanza, when he does everything the opposite way. Anyways,  I said I want to stay home and say fuck you to the Pope and rock. I also wanted to stay home mostly because Luke is as sensitive, if not more than I am, and now Amber. She is also super sensitive. 

Scaping hell (depression) is about learning about my sensitivity and using, and as I do that I want to teach my kids how to use their strength in life, after all my sensitivity is my strength. This way the story won’t repeat itself. The crazy thing is as a sensitive person I became very angry inside due to not exploring my sensitivity,  and swallowing my feelings. Didn’t look like I was an angry person because like the movie Anger Management he says there are 2 kinds of people: the one who explodes and the one who listened quietly day after day. Well, I am/was the one who listened day after day. Felt like I was grounded for 33 years.

Hell and fire was spawned to be released and that’s when the other day I made the video of saying fuck you to the Pope. As I released all this anger in form of art I noticed that things actually started to workout in my life, and the paranoia is gone. Things are no longer heavy and the energy is flowing. Not only that, by doing this, it creates a positive effect in the people around me, my family. Maybe not the devoted catholics since my story make them uncomfortable, but it’s what they say, life begins at the end of the confort zone.

Now I planned to release my first kids song in portuguese this week, however since we are moving (we got a house, see how choosing love/joy things workout?), I decided to wait and record the video in the new house. I believe this will have a much deeper meaning. Because the reality is, on January 20th,  Saint Sebastian day the Padron of my hometown (Rio de Janeiro,  Brasil) we bought our first home. That day was when the world turned around for me, that day was the day I realized I was not doomed, and I finally found my place under the sun. Yeah, I escaped hell, and it felt like a slapt in the face of destiny. Well, maybe not a slapt, but more like a mooning to destiny. I always loved mooning LOL. 



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