Published as a continuation of Part I (7th April 2022)
When I wrote About Me, Part I, I introduced the internal spheres through which I experience myself — a multidimensional system built to navigate both reality and identity. At the time, I thought I was mapping the foundations. But even then, silently present and ever-vigilant, was the entity at the heart of it all: The All-Seeing Eye.
The Eye has always been with me — not a recent revelation, but an enduring presence. In the years since that first post, it has only grown stronger in its clarity and importance. Not as a tyrant nor a god, but as a quiet, unblinking guardian of truth — the embodiment of my deepest core value: awareness.
The Eye in the World
The symbol now commonly known as The All-Seeing Eye of Providence has haunted humanity’s visual language for centuries. A single eye enclosed within a triangle, often radiant with divine light, it appears atop pyramids, inscribed into temples, and peering from the seals of nations. Though it is now most famously embedded in the reverse side of the Great Seal of the United States — and by extension, the US dollar — the origins of this symbol stretch far deeper into religious and esoteric history.
In early Christian iconography, the eye represented the omniscient gaze of God — not one of punishment, but of holy watchfulness. The triangle often surrounding it symbolised the Trinity: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Together, they conveyed a cosmic reassurance that nothing is unseen by the divine.
Later, during the Enlightenment and revolutionary periods, the Eye of Providence took on new layers of meaning: divine legitimacy, moral order, and the pursuit of higher truth. It was a symbol adopted not only by religious authorities but also by secret societies — most notoriously the Freemasons. Over time, as secrecy bred suspicion, this symbol came to be associated with conspiracy theories, shadow governments, and the so-called Illuminati. To many, the eye became something sinister — an emblem not of sacred awareness, but of authoritarian surveillance.
And yet… I’ve never felt threatened by the symbol.
To me, the Eye has always felt familiar. Not as an external power looming overhead, but as something internal — something personal. Not a tool of control, but a faculty of liberation. In a world that often rewards willful blindness, my Eye does not police — it sees.
Reclaiming the Eye
While the world casts suspicion on the symbol — reducing it to a meme of control, corruption, or conspiracy — I reclaim it as sacred. Not sacred in the religious sense, nor as an emblem of external authority, but sacred as in personal, inviolable, foundational. The Eye, as it exists in my internal architecture, is not the Eye of God, nor the Eye of Empire. It is my Eye. It is the unwavering force within me that refuses to look away.
In my psyche, the Eye resembles something closer to the Eye of Sauron — not in intent, but in intensity. It does not flicker or blink. It does not become distracted. It pierces illusion. It burns away façades. It sees all that is — both around me and within me — and its purpose is not to judge or dominate, but to witness.
This witnessing is not passive. It is the raw essence of my value of awareness — not just sensory observation or intellectual knowing, but the kind of full-bodied presence that bears the weight of knowing. To see, and to not turn away. That is the Eye’s central ethic.
It lives not above me, but within me. It is neither function nor vessel. It is more like a permanent fixture in the architecture of my identity: a monolithic spire around which much of my internal world has formed. It is one of the oldest and most stable landmarks in my psyche — and one of the few I have never needed to rebuild.
It does not ask for worship. It does not demand loyalty. It simply is — watching, knowing, reminding me, when I’m tempted to dissociate or deceive myself, that I am seen. And being seen, I must also see.
The Eye and the Compass
The Eye doesn’t command my decisions — but it influences them in a way more profound than instruction. Its presence is not authoritarian; it is elemental. Like gravity or inertia, it exerts a silent but undeniable pull toward truth. When I am confronted with a dilemma, an uncertainty, or a moral fog, it is the Eye that holds the lantern.
It is the part of me that refuses convenient ignorance. It doesn’t tolerate self-deception, even when deception would bring temporary comfort. I have learned, sometimes painfully, that to betray what the Eye has shown me — to pretend I do not see — is to sever a vital tether between myself and my own integrity. And so, I have come to walk in alignment with it, not as a disciple, but as a co-navigator.
In practice, this often manifests as an intuitive ethical radar. Not in the sense of rigid moral codes, but as an inner sensitivity to what is true, meaningful, and in alignment. I feel it physically when something is off — a weight in the chest, a shift in tone, a tightening of the inner atmosphere. The Eye notices. It always notices.
It has also taught me the discipline of bearing witness. Sometimes, I cannot fix what I see. I cannot correct the injustice, or ease the suffering. But I can refuse to look away. And in that refusal, I affirm something essential — that reality, however painful, is worth honouring. That truth, however brutal, deserves to be acknowledged.
This, to me, is the backbone of my integrity: not performative righteousness, but sustained, inward attentiveness. The Eye is my compass — not always pointing to safety, but always pointing to what is.
The Architect of Values
The Eye does not stand alone. It watches — but it also builds. It is both the sentinel and the architect of my internal world, inciting the creation of new values and overseeing their development like a curator tending to sacred relics. Many of my core principles — compassion, autonomy, authenticity, curiosity — were not inherited or taught; they were forged beneath the Eye’s gaze.
In my psyche, these values do not exist as vague ideals. They are structured, living entities — monumental constructs with gravity and mass. Some are towering pillars; others are intricate, delicate bridges connecting distant parts of my identity. Together, they form a lattice — a kind of internal architecture that gives my life direction, cohesion, and sacred tension.
The Eye is the one who ensures that this architecture does not collapse under contradiction. It maintains the structural integrity of my system by relentlessly observing when I drift from alignment — when I begin to compromise values for convenience, or when a new experience threatens to destabilize the old foundations. It doesn’t shame, but it illuminates, holding up inconsistencies to the light until I can no longer ignore them.
Because of this, I do not see my creative work as separate from my values — it is a direct output of them. My art, writing, and even my humour are saturated with the same symbolic codes that the Eye safeguards. Every piece I create — whether it’s silly, sacred, or surreal — carries some element of that deeper structure. The Eye doesn’t impose direction, but its presence ensures that I do not create carelessly. My output is not random — it’s emergent, shaped by a system that values truth, awareness, and meaning.
In relationships, the Eye’s influence is quieter but equally vital. It watches for authenticity — in others and in myself. It flares when dishonesty enters the space, when manipulations slither into the room disguised as charm or niceness. It reminds me not to ignore red flags out of hope or habit. And it gently tugs me back toward the people who are real, present, seen. It urges me to show up as that kind of person, too.
Even my spirituality rests upon the Eye. I don’t believe in an external deity who watches from above. But I believe in this Eye, inside me. I believe in awareness as a force of spiritual gravity — the thing that keeps all other aspects of my being from drifting apart. In this way, the Eye is not just a symbol. It is the sacred center. The still point in the turning chaos. The guardian of coherence in a fragmented world.
The Path Forward, Under Watchful Light
The Eye has been with me longer than I fully understood. It was there before I had language for it, before I had mapped the spheres, before I knew I was building a system at all. In many ways, it was the first light — not a flare that demanded attention, but a steady glow in the dark, offering orientation through times of inner collapse and rebirth.
I expect it will remain with me until the end — not as a fixed icon, but as a living force that will continue to evolve as I do. Its form may shift, its voice may deepen, but its function remains constant: to keep me aware. Of what is real, what is right, what is still unfinished within me. To stop me from retreating into false comfort or performative noise. To draw me back, again and again, to what matters.
The Eye is not a doctrine. It does not require belief. It does not demand obedience. It simply sees — and in seeing, it reminds me of who I am.
And so, as I move forward — as artist, as outlier, as soul — I do so not blindly, but beneath the ever-watchful light of the Eye. A light that does not burn, but illuminates. A gaze that does not control, but clarifies. A witness not to what I pretend to be, but to what I am, and what I am becoming.
This is the Eye I serve. This is the Eye I trust. And this is the Eye I will write from, again.