Part 12 || When Voltage Regulators Go Haywire

Breakdowns As Forced Redirections

Mar 26, 2025

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The real cosmic universe is an interior one. Every man should, therefore, accept the idea that he is also a temple. He must enter the labyrinth to find the central place and throne. It is necessary to go underground to discover the secret world and find the keys to this hidden continent. This is the only way to revive the ancient energy of the previous race of god-men.

~~~~El/Ella Book of Magical Love, 1972 Miguel Serrano

On the evening of July 14th, Snuffy sent me a photo of the truck baby with the hood up. He texted that he had broken down at a Wawa. He was supposed to come by, or so I thought.

It was a great image—almost staged. I was talking to my girlfriend about Snuffy when I showed her the picture he sent me. Without my input, she told me it looked fake. This triggered my insecurities and my core wound of being unwanted, betrayed, and misled. I felt anxious. Plus, I couldn’t believe this new car was already breaking down.

Looking back, this was the first time I projected my doubts and the deception of appearances theme reared its ugly head.

I sent him three texts in a row, wondering what was wrong. Looking back, my texts were like slingshots, not aimed at him but at the situation:

If this is too stressful, we can say it's a lemon. We can get another car. If this alternator is already broken, do you agree? Can I finesse the owner? Or can we see if the warranty covers it?

Maybe you can trick me out. I'll make Daddy some $$.

Can you tow it to the used car lot? And trust we'll figure it out?

Was he lying to get out of seeing me? And anyway, how and why was such an expensive truck breaking down in less than two months of buying it?

“Maryam, I'm balls deep in my engine so I can get the fuck out of here because I have no other options. I can't be on my phone texting nonstop when I'm trying to fucking work inside the engine.”

“I'm sorry. I thought you were 17 minutes away; I asked you to come over.”

“You're reading way too much into what you think I might be doing. I'm not making this up, and I'm not avoiding coming to your house. If I didn't want to, I would tell you I didn't want to. The picture is not fake, and I'm not sorry for having an iPhone with a great camera and knowledge of photography.”

I loved his direct response. I felt foolish.

“Ok. I am sorry. I have trust issues.”

“However, I'm not a person with a fast mind who can multitask 10 topics at once, especially when I already have a solution. I'm very objective if I have a task in front of me. Although I'm not a multitasker, I am an efficient executioner,” he texted back.

“As I said, I thought you were 17 minutes away. I'm sorry for my "thinking." I trust you are an “efficient executioner.” My brain works fast, and I'm a master multitasker. By the way, I'm not saying I'm better; I think it's complementary. Okay, you are self-sufficient and know what you need. I got it. Thank you for communicating with me. I hope you can accept my apology. I like that you speak to me directly,” I wrote back.

Wait? How did he know I was a master multitasker, a professional juggler? Did he also know that he had spurred a burnout-slash-reboot?

He said he was “slow/fast.” I told him I was “fast/slow.”

Despite doubts about his feelings for me, I knew that if the car had broken down, Snuffy could diagnose the issue. He was an electrician, plumber, builder, musician, tech-savvy wizard, and mechanic.

An hour later, he texted that it was the alternator.

“When I diagnosed the problem, I knew I had only two options in the immediate timeline to avoid being stuck in a non-running truck,” he texted. “So, I proceeded to remove, disassemble, repair, if possible, reassemble, and reinstall the alternator, which I failed to complete successfully. Either way, there's nothing that I can do until tomorrow.”

Interestingly, he used the word “timeline.”

He added that he didn't need all these other options, which would cost more.

“The only solution is to buy an alternator. I can't do anything about that at 2 a.m. Even if I had the money in my pocket right now, I wouldn't need a tow truck, James, or someone to loan me the money to get an alternator, which is not your responsibility.”

He then left me a voice clip reminding me the car was used and that this wasn’t a lemon. He also outlined the fact that he was triggered and that my onslaught of texts “overwhelmed him,” but that, “of course,” he accepted my apology and that it just triggered his shit.

Same.

The voice clip he left was saved as “Federal,” indicating his geolocation. Still, that meaning would only come to light eight months later—the number associated with infinity, the waggle dance of the bees, and twin flames.

On July 7th, I reposted the above image on a now-banned TikTok handle, and he reposted it. He knew …

Part 12 || When Voltage Regulators Go Haywire

Breakdowns As Forced Redirections

Energy Flow And Balance

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