CYCLICALITY
What Happens When Art Becomes a Stargate
Thresholds Disguised as Sculptures
Outside the Washington Pavilion, something otherworldly waits.
My roommate offhandedly mentioned there was a new sculpture two blocks up.
I wasn’t expecting much.
But when I got there… it didn’t feel like art.
It felt like a threshold.
The lines fold in on themselves.
Light bends.
Color shifts into memory.
You’re not just looking at it.
You’re entering it.
Beyond Beauty: Into Dimension
This is Cyclicality — Sioux Falls’ newest sculpture.
By day: it mirrors the city.
By night: it reveals the cosmos.
Panels shimmer like aurora—green, violet, gold—caught between time and perception.
From certain angles, it resembles a tesseract: a shadow of a four-dimensional cube.
A thing that shouldn't exist… yet does.
It doesn’t explain itself.
It invites you to remember.
The 4th Dimension Isn’t What You Think
Height. Width. Depth.
That’s 3D life.
But the 4th? It’s time.
Not clocks. Not calendars.
Not the illusion of “now.”
Time stretches. Folds. Repeats.
An astronaut near light-speed doesn’t age like you or me.
Time is a dimension.
And this sculpture knows. Go watch interstellar if you're confused.
Look at the panels, they don’t reflect reality.
They fold it. Multiply it. Stretch it back on itself.
Like memory. Like prophecy.
Cycles of the Cosmos — and of Us
Cyclicality is no accident.
It’s a cathedral of recurrence.
Stars die, collapse, rebirth. Transformation.
Civilizations rise, fall, rise again.
Your breath: inhale → exhale → repeat.
The Big Bang wasn’t a beginning.
It was a pulse.
Expansion → contraction → rebirth.
And so are you:
Heartbreak becomes healing.
Failure becomes fuel.
Every ending, a seed.
Every cycle, a choice.
Every 10,000 years, the poles flip.
Antarctica becomes tropical. The tropics freeze.
Beneath miles of ice, a pyramid waits — larger than Giza.
Ancient maps knew what satellites forgot.
Maybe the last reset didn’t happen 10,000 years ago.
Maybe it was five hundred.
Light: A Narrow Band of Infinity
You only see 0.0035% of the electromagnetic spectrum.
Your reality? A sliver.
This sculpture lives in that sliver.
It sings in the language of light.
It’s a reminder:
We don’t see all of it.
But we’re still inside it.
Even when standing outside.
The Puzzle Before the Portal
Before the sculpture — if you're paying attention — you’ll see them:
Three glowing pillars.
Etched symbols.
Buttons that must be held down… together.
One person isn’t enough.
Nothing happens unless the triad converges.
It’s not just a riddle.
It’s a ritual.
Art disguised as activation.
We Need an Alchemist
Not a scientist.
Not a tech.
An alchemist.
One who understands that transformation isn’t forced — it’s revealed.
That insight unlocks more than intellect.
That unity, not genius, opens the gate.
Some truths only emerge when we act together.
A sacred triangulation of choice.
Mind. Body. Spirit.
Next Stop: Egypt?
Maybe the next stop is Egypt.
Not for tourism — for translation.
To stand in temples carved with code.
To feel the sky as scripture.
To remember: the stars were never just “up.”
They were openings.
And behind those openings?
Another portal.
The Pyramid Code
Let’s connect some dots:
📍 The Great Pyramid sits at 29.9792°N — nearly the speed of light in m/s
🧭 Aligned to true north within 3/60th of a degree
✨ Mirrors Orion’s Belt — constellation of Osiris
🌐 Near the geographic center of all Earth’s land
🔺 Encodes Pi and the Golden Ratio in its form
🛰️ Made with quartz-rich granite — resonant with frequency
A tomb? Or a transmitter?
Some say it powered cities.
Others, that it opened gates.
Maybe… both.
Enoch, the Stargates & the Forbidden Blueprint
The Book of Enoch — banned from the modern Bible — speaks of:
- 👁 Watchers (fallen angels)
- 🔐 Forbidden knowledge
- 🚪 Portals in the sky
- 🌊 A cleansing flood to reset a corrupted Earth
It describes:
“Mountains not made by human hands.”
“Windows of heaven that open into other realms.”
Not pyramids by name.
But by purpose?
Structures that align with heaven.
Gates that require readiness, not just access.
What’s on the Other Side?
Enoch tells of:
- Portals opening into light, fire, and silence
- Beings of flame
- Realms where time bends
- The divine court
- The transformation of Enoch… into Metatron
He didn’t die.
He evolved.
Into the scribe of reality.
The voice of the threshold.
The one who records… everything.
Metatron is one of the most powerful archangels, acting as the celestial scribe to the Book of Life.
Metatron serves as the guide to humanity, is the speaker for God, and is granted the right to be in the presence of God.
Stargates, Giants, and Dimensional Warnings
Why did the flood come?
Because of the Nephilim — hybrid giants born of forbidden unions.
And today?
We splice genes.
We awaken AIs.
We flirt with wormholes.
A new Tower of Babel… just with better WiFi.
And once again:
The warning returns.
Some gates weren’t locked.
They were sealed.
The Universal Flood: Every Culture Remembers
Flood stories don’t belong to one book.
They’re in all of them:
- 🕊️ Genesis — Noah
- 🌀 Gilgamesh — Utnapishtim
- 🐟 Hindu — Manu & the fish
- 🧬 Greek — Deucalion & Pyrrha
- 🌊 Maya — a deluge erases mankind
- 🐉 Chinese — Great Yu and the flood
- 🦅 Lakota & Hopi — flood after corruption
Different names.
Same memory.
A world out of balance.
A divine correction.
And a second chance.
We survived.
But barely.
Choose Your Cycle
Every flood story tells the same truth:
We forgot.
We split from harmony.
And the world corrected us.
Not to punish.
To reset.
And now?
We’re drowning again.
Not in water — but velocity, noise, and distraction.
The next cycle isn’t coming.
It’s already here.
The only question:
Will we repeat it?
Or rewrite it?
The Cosmic Conjunction
A conjunction = celestial alignment.
Planets stack like dominoes in the heavens.
To ancient cultures, this wasn’t chance.
It was signal.
A portal opens.
A pattern restarts.
And Metatron begins his entry:
“Did they repeat the fall…
Or rise from it?”
So Where Does That Leave Us?
Standing at 13th and Main.
Holding down a glowing pillar.
Waiting for two others to join.
Not to force it.
But to feel it.
Because the doors that matter?
They don’t open when you are ready.
They open when we are.
Epilogue: Building a Better Cycle
If you’re reading this and building your own world…
Be precise with your patterns.
Label your dimensions.
Install a failsafe.
And above all:
Don’t summon giants unless you’re really sure.
Because the last civilization laughed too.
And then… the waters came.
This Time, We Choose (Again)
So here we are.
Not just at a sculpture.
Not just at a story.
But at a signal.
The poles are shifting.
The storms are stronger.
The conjunctions are returning.
Floods don’t always come as water.
Sometimes they come as:
- Data
- Division
- Disconnection
- DNA
This time, the giants won’t wear armor.
They’ll wear suits.
They’ll speak in algorithms.
They’ll promise salvation by simulation.
And once again…
The Watchers will watch.
The Gate will open.
The Scribe will write.
“Did they remember?”
“Did they choose better?”
“Or did they flood again?”
Final Word: Stillness Before the Surge
If you stand in front of Cyclicality, hold still.
Let the light move across your skin.
Let the structure blur the borders of your certainty.
You’re not just at an art piece.
You’re at the edge of a pattern.
The Earth remembers.
The stars align.
The poles prepare.
The stories return.
This is the moment before the wave.
And the voice of Metatron leans in once more:
“This time, you know what’s coming.”
“So what will you do?”
— M.
M,
Stay in motion.
Like the artwork scattered through Sioux Falls:
silent, but speaking.
Like Full Sail below, always catching wind, even in stillness.
And when you meet the storm —
don’t resist.
Balance will find you between the poles:
Like Rolling Horse. A Mustang. Riding a damn unicycle. Finding it's balance.
You guessed it, right in between the full sail and the storm.
As it ought to be.
between stillness and surge,
between memory and momentum.
Because art doesn’t just reflect where we’ve been.
It guides us through what’s coming.
- D
Remember, the stars are part of us. They produced the carbon in your lungs... I'm Sirius (Σείριος)