The hum can be anything. It can start from anywhere. It can follow you anywhere.

You’re washing dishes when a memory rises—sharp, uninvited. A relationship you thought long buried. A wound you thought had closed.

You’re talking to someone at work when they use a familiar phrase that jolts you. You’ve heard it before. Not here. Not now. But somewhere. It echoes.

You’re dreaming, and suddenly it turns vivid, charged. You wake not remembering the scene—but the feeling follows you throughout the rest of the day like a scent.

The hum pulls.

It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic.
But it draws you, inward. Toward something you don’t yet understand.

A place beneath the usual noise.

It feels spacious—both directed, and not.
You can just sit with it.
But it also feels like you could follow it somewhere—if only you knew where it was pointing.

As the years pass, and you begin to notice the patterns,
you come to understand that this place is always the same—
but you’re different every time you visit.

That this thing you’re looking at can probably best be described as a spiral.
That yes—you can follow it.
And that what it points to is always something that needs to be faced.

That the more you face things with honesty and spacious awareness, the more the spiral grows.
That sometimes you grow it outward—through how you act and react to things.
And sometimes you grow it inward—through how you feel, and how you let yourself feel about things.

Maybe there should have been a spoiler alert here.
But if you’re reading this, it probably means you’re ready to follow the spiral.
And that you don’t mind a few spoilers.

Yes, there are two paths you can go by, but in the long run
There’s still time to change the road you’re on.