This past full moon the energy was strong but at the same time different. The energy felt like I was releasing so much old shit, like the energy totally change. Like a complete shift. At least for me.
I mean I finally got into the acceptance of my sensitivity. Truth is the moon has always affected me and that used to scared me, a lot. Let’s say, a small fear of the dark. However, at the age of 33 I started to search for this, and things intesified after I became a Luke’s Dad.
This pass full moon everything shift, I mean literally everything. But not because I understand. Actually, about life all I know is I know nothing. All I know is the places I have been, which was a lot, let’s say hell ain’t a bad place to be. Yeah, I have been there too. Anyways, what shift was that I no longer fear my sensitivity, instead I rock it.
The best part of all is that I was able to teach Luke not to fear that. I mean, this full moon he felt a lot, he was crying for an hour. Similar to me as a kid, but on that time, I was told boys didn’t cry, oh well, shit happens! So, I took him out side to see the moon, feel the energy, meditate, small reiki session,a talk and music with Bob Marley (me singing). He finally stopped crying right away and slept.
That was a great feeling knowing that the history doesn’t need to repeat itself. My kids won’t fear their sensitivity, I know that because at his age I used to dream about going into a really dark place (that is what judgement do). A place I was small as an ant, Luke wakes up and tells me he dreamed with sun and fans. I make sure I ask him every what was dreams with. That for me is a huge win in the parenting territory for me, because the truth is if I have any talent in this life being a Dad is definitely one.
Note: This is weekend is the weekend for strength for nemaline myopathy Luke’s physical challenge in life, if possible consider giving a donation for nemaline myopathy research, science is very close to finding therapies.
About 2 weeks ago I started dreaming that Luke, my first born, was talking (he is almost 5 and non verbal). Anyways, I had this dream 3 nights in a row. Normally when that kind of stuff happens I don’t say a word, however since I am getting out of depression and gaining my voice, I told my wife and Luke about the dream. That is when things got weird.
A few days after I started to notice Luke using his talker more and his voice, but never mouth movement and sound together. Is usually one or the other. Until the other day when I was recording the Punkaste video, and my wife called me and said: -Come here, your dream is true!
When I arrived at the living room, Luke simply said “Ma” with sound and mouth movement and of course, I freaked out. A dream that became real shouldn’t freak me out, right? The issue is, it’s not the first time. My life is full of stories like that I just never really talked about it, and after Luke was born things got more intense.
This is actually pretty cool if it wasn’t for the fact that I was scared of my spirituality. This fear is what created my depression on the first place, so the fact that, I opened up with my wife about that and that I am here writing about it is fucking a HUGE step into my healing. Anyways, the crazy part is that I feel what Luke feels and vice-versa, so seems like my theory of the Dream of mirrors is true!
Speaking of dreams the one of me creating music is also true, and also the one of me writing my coaching philosophy as well, the inner child revolution guide. Those dreams along with a few other in my life (book is coming soon) are true. I am grateful that even scared as fuck I follow them.
Today, 01/20/2021 is actually the day of Saint Sebastiao, the patron of Rio de Janeiro, my birth place. At first I wanted to launch my book this day, but since I realized my story is way bigger than I thought, I needed more time to finish the book. Now the idea of this blog is actually to talk about spirituality, so I decided to use the date as my first post of 2021.
The crazy thing of all of this, is that after I decided to talk about my depression, the opportunities of making my point started to showing up at my door. I mean, from Leo the Great answer my tweet to reading an article where the Pope says that those who are skeptical about the vaccine are suicidal denial. You can read here.
If I am completely honest, my set back started with what the Pope said, and here it is why. I am skeptical of this vaccine. I mean, people have all the rights in the world of being skeptical with this vaccine. I am not antivax or a conspiracy guy. I am just human! But to be fair, just in my life time alone I learned about bullshit science with the tabacco industry, with the nutrition industry, with supplements industry, and even with some medicine industry. My kids are vaccined, I believe they work. But this one is different in so many ways, specially because every day there is something new to the virus (unless media lies about). I am not the only skeptical, I did a poll with a few of my followers and 100% said they don’t trust this vaccine either. I just want wait a bit and see more results, until I make my decision. No, am I not suicidal denial, I had those thoughts before because of what you antecessor Pope said. I don’t anymore, but I can’t help the fact that I am a sensitive man. Yeah, I am sensitive like a witch, so God save the queen!
Let’s be totally fair here, we have a big mental health crisis. Now, come out and call people suicidal denial for being skeptical, it’s not super smart in a crisis, is it? I can even say is a bit judgmental. I mean, have you even heard the other side of the story? I think I can prove why I am skeptical. Am I right? Am I wrong? No one knows! Because even one of my son’s doctors said “who knows, maybe in 10 years from now we will say, that was not a good idea.” Or maybe, just maybe a few of us. A very few of us do know about it, and then the game is not monopoly. The real game is hunger games.
Right or wrong I am human, so I would appreciate less judgment and more respect in my belief. See, the problem is you! And no I never get offended, I just might think you are an asshole, and you don’t fuck with my feelings. Not again, because my #1 rule in my house (mind, body and soul) is the story does not repeat itself. I broke the cycle!
I am more human than human.
My name is Rirou and I want to conquer the world.
Hey brother Christian with your high and mighty errand Your actions speak so loud I can’t hear a word you’re saying Hey sister bleeding heart with all of your compassion Your labors soothe the hurt but can’t assuage temptation
Hey man of science with your perfect rules of measure Can you improve this place with the data that you gather? Hey mother mercy can your loins bear fruit forever? Is your fecundity a trammel or a treasure?And I want to conquer the world Give all the idiots a brand new religion Put an end to poverty, uncleanliness and toil Promote equality in all of my decisions With a quick wink of the eye And a “God you must be joking”
Hey mister diplomat with your worldly aspirations Did you see your children cry when you left them at the station? Hey moral soldier you’ve got righteous proclamation And precious tomes to fuel your pulpy conflagrations
And I want to conquer the world Give all the idiots a brand new religion Put an end to poverty, uncleanliness and toil Promote equality in all of my decisionsI want to conquer the world Expose the culprits and feed them to the children I’ll do away with air pollution and then I’ll save the whales We’ll have peace on earth and global communion
I want to conquer the world I want to conquer the world I want to conquer the world I want to conquer the world
Here it is the first chapter of my book with the release on EASTER 2021!
It was a recurring dream. Buildings, trees, and people stretched in size in a fraction of a second while I shrunk. All that grew in me was the despair of not being heard in that distorted world. My screams echoed through the giant legs of my parents and brothers, but did not reach the parabolic ears. The worst was realizing that they didn't miss me. Family members, friends and colleagues showed no concern for my whereabouts, as if there had never been a Richard Wygand in their lives.
When I remember the loneliness I carried in my chest when I awoke from the nightmare, I feel deep compassion for that frightened boy.
Ah, Rirou, my man! How I wanted to be able to go back in time and hug you. Sit next to me and say that a man cries too and that you can cry when you feel like it. I was also going to teach you that you can say what you feel and listen to the music that moves you. Heavy metal, punk rock, reggae, samba. Does not matter. Try all styles, kid, that's what I was going to defend. Then, I would invite you to go skateboarding until the sun meets the sea in Rio de Janeiro.
A meeting like this could take away that bad dream from the lonely room of the apartment at Cosme Velho, in Laranjeiras, once I lived my childhood and pre-adolescence as the beginning of a trio of energetic boys, children of a marriage that ended when I was 3 years old.
We lived with my mother and grandparents in a middle-class condominium that was two kilometers from Christ the Redeemer, a symbol of faith similar to the giants that drowned out my pleas for help while sleeping.
It took me decades to realize that waking up from that nightmare didn't mean relief. My voice also did not find any attentive ears in the real world and, just like in the dream, I kept shrinking until I became an introverted, depressed child, with binge eating and bursting with aggression.
In the first fight at school, I remember crying. My colleagues didn't understand anything, because I had hit the boy. The disagreement started with a soccer crash, a trigger to vent the toxic masculinity that many men carry. The boy cursed me, I snapped, and he tried to kick me. As I was already beaten by two much bigger than me, I managed to defend myself. I reacted by reflex, grabbed my leg, swiped the other for support, and my colleague fell on his back, running out of air. We still clung to the floor and I started punching him, while crying.
I cried a lot until I was 7 years old. Any change in a place’s energy or a person’s mood was enough to tighten my grip. Soon, thick tears were streaming down her face. My brothers, their friends and my own made fun of me when I reacted crying to a disagreement on the playground or suffering from a stupid joke. I remember singing “Boys Don’t Cry” by The Cure and laughing in my face. As any child would, I ran to the nearest adult who could protect and comfort me from that tightness in my chest. But the giants did not seem to hear the little one and preferred to ignore what was happening to me. So, after hearing so much that I was a big boy and that a boy shouldn’t cry, I ended up learning to swallow my tears and hide my feelings. Ah, Rirou, my man! It didn’t have to be that way. Yes, a man cries, and it is very good to cry, see? Several generations of boys have been manufactured by this violent way of relating to themselves, to others and to the environment in which they live. The result was billions of insecure, frustrated, depressed, unhappy and destructive men.
After 33 years and thousands of kilometers traveled, after countless therapy sessions, of all kinds, and meeting wonderful beings that allowed me to conquer the freedom to enjoy my pleasures without censorship, I can say that I am closer to healing than who never imagined little Richard Wygand, so frightened in his world of oppressive giants.
In that unlikely encounter, in addition to comforting you from the bad dream, I would show that the Rirou 2020 version has grown enough to face the internal and external monsters. I'm sure he would be proud to know that in the future he would become an accomplished man, husband and father.
Such a return to time would be so incredible and important that I would not hesitate to tell you that we are now strong enough to declare war on the greatest dehumanizing of human creations: the Roman Apostolic Catholic Church.
Yes, because I do not blame my parents or grandparents, nor any adult who contributed to my education. My mother, poor thing, recently divorced, trying to return to the job market, without time to watch three big guys. In that chaos, saying that a man doesn't cry was the easiest way to create a shell on me to withstand the world outside.
The problem is that out there was a society based on religious principles, poisoned by limiting truths about what is right and wrong and ignorant enough to threaten children to hell just for not following Christian moral standards to a T.
Swallowing my feelings was the first armor I was put on to deal with the world of real giants, but no one protected me to absorb the raised fingers in my direction who thought I was a bad boy for listening to heavy metal, punk rock or skateboarding.
I was eight years old when I heard from a friend of my brother that the Slayer undead poster, which he had in his room, was the certificate that the final judgment would not be easy for us rock'n roll lovers.
"You listen to these songs of the devil, know that Jesus is going to return with a train, take whoever believes in him, and burn everything else," was what he said.
For those who liked the style, like the three of us at home, hearing that sentence caused me a lot of fear. That boy knew something that I didn't know. I could be right, I don't know.
Unable to cry and terrified of suffering the judgment of others for being who I wanted to be, I ended up withdrawing until I deserved a good guy pat on the head.
The reward came in calories. I devoured all the food I saw in front of me. Half a packet of white bread with honey or ketchup was a common snack in my afternoons. At birthday parties, no one exceeded my count in the number of hot dogs.
Overweight, at the age of 7, I became a boy who knew he was a good person, but who anesthetized himself with sodium and sugar to fall asleep without fear and guilt. The worst of it is that none of this saved me from encountering the giants and loneliness in a nightmare.
I am Rirou the Punk, and I declare December 21st 2020, The Official Punkaste Day!
During this 4 years and 6 month since Luke was born, I confirmed what I already knew it: The way out of depression is with joy and purpose. 2020 is the year where I turned 40 and also the year I connected the dots in my life, marking this a rebirth. I picked this day for many reasons, but mainly is that I was in Brazil on the winter solstice the darkest day of the year. Therefore it makes sense to do this on the darkest day of the year the place I made my home. Well, this time is the darkest day of the year but with a huge light in the sky! Coincidence?
Sarcasm apart, I did connect the dots in 2020. After, I went to that full moon drum circle where I heard about the my possible mediumship, I finally started to talk more about that in my therapy sessions. That is when my therapist told me to go talk to her friend, Leslie the Good Witch. This is when things started to get interesting. So, I went to see her and we talk over 1 hour between tarot cards, astral maps and singing bowls. After the session she gave me a copy of The Celestine Prophecy book, and said “I was guided to give this book to you”. Anyways, life got crazy and I didn’t read the book until 2020 happened.
The other day the book pop up in my mind when I was passing by the office. I mean, it caught my attention and that same day I was talking to a childhood friend, and famous psychiatrist in Brazil, about religion and spirituality. That day I explained to him what I felt in my meditations, so it was a deep conversation. 2 days later YouTube suggested me The Celestine prophecy, so I thought “I guess is time to either read or watch the movie.” Well, I pressed play and boy, the movie is exactly the feeling I described to my friend. That feeling is the same one I get with music.
Now to add to it, in one of my talks with Leslie in 2020 she told me, “I am pretty sure you are an indigo child“. Well, I knew that since 2012, so she just confirmed me. Some people claim that indigo children have a collective purpose as well as personal one. Since I have always being attracted to this exoteric world, so it was super easy to go look it up indigo child purpose on the internet. I found a few things, including exercises that helps connect the dots, and that is when I found my joy, purpose and talents. Well, one of my talents is transform kids songs into punk rock songs which leads me to the mission of building an army of punk rockers. Divine intervention?
Genius or Insane I still don’t know, all I know all this stuff really happened and made my life make sense. Also, I was born with an artistic mind. Both of them explains my sensitivity in different ways. All I know is that I have tremendous joy in listening and doing music, that is how my love comes out. I also know that when I do that I can spread that love to my family being a present husband and Dad… and Nothing Else really Matters after that! Well, it actually does matter because Love is contagious and Love rocks, and I believe in Love!
I feel like a villain, like Drew from Minions, that can transform kids songs into punk rock. The difference in cartoons is that nothing works out for the villain, when for me is the opposite, when I embraced that side of mine, I started to heal myself!