Follow: Twitter | Instagram Truth Lives Here: Rumble | Odysee | YouTube HONEYCOLONY | Websites: MaryamHenein.com | Georgefloydbook | HoneyColony.com| BUY NOW ON AMAZON!: Operation George Floyd

I wouldn’t see Snuffy again for a few more weeks—not until the end of October 2024. It was the strangest thing: after a few days, I would genuinely wonder whether he was real at all, or whether I had imagined the entire encounter—hence the name Snuffalupagus.

But there was the truck baby. And there was something else. Not him exactly. Not me. Something between us. A third energy. A field of sorts.

Had I become quantum-entangled with him after he splooged inside me? I knew myself. “Know thyself” is my entire raison d’être, for God’s sake. I am perceptive to the point of inconvenience. What the fuck was this?

Was this yet another twin-flame symptom, I wondered?

Trying to understand that experience, I searched online. Reddit was full of people describing an 'ongoing presence.” Others described a ghost, an energetic bond, shared energy, or a soul pull that persisted despite ‘no contact.’

One person wrote:

“It’s like we’re never really separated, and I can actually feel her energy come and go.”

Another said:

“Lately, I’ve been feeling like my twin is in my presence, just feeling like he has his arm around me.”

Someone else described it as:

“A soul pull I couldn’t explain.”

In analytical psychology, there is the transcendent function—something new arising from the tension between opposites. In contemplative Christian writing, Christ is present “where two or three are gathered,” suggesting a presence that exceeds the sum of its parts. Relationship psychology likewise speaks of the relationship itself as a third entity, existing alongside the two people who created it, forming a different take on the concept of Trinity.

Whether this was psychological, spiritual, symbolic, or some combination of all three, I couldn’t say with certainty. It was as though a pulse remained between us in the ether after he walked through my door—a living thread I could still feel, unlike anything I had experienced before.

Suffice it to say, post-Snuffy, I questioned my sanity on the regular. There were days when I wondered whether I was living in another dimension altogether. Perhaps I had begun tapping into my multidimensionality.

And yet this brutal reawakening also became an unlikely initiation. It dismantled me, but it also returned pieces of me I didn’t know I had abandoned. Whatever happened between us, he had inadvertently awakened parts of my soul that had been dormant for years, if not lifetimes.

Share

Enter The Chrysalis

I ordered the missing part for my bed frame so I could get my mattress — and myself — off the floor. I wasn’t a princess. Not in this life. Still, I was sad that I wasn’t a priority of his. By now it was safe to say Snuffy wasn’t interested in me. But given our connection and the time we'd spent together, I didn’t understand why. My fantasies of having sex in every room of my new old 1924 home rental were just that — 3D fantasies.

Yet I still wanted him as a housemate. Not only because he had said, “Maybe we can live together,” the very first time we ever spoke on the phone, but because I liked being near him. My soul was drawn to him, though logic could offer no adequate explanation for the force of that pull. Frankly, it was nerve-wracking.

I didn’t ask where he was staying. I assumed it was in the truck baby; that was what he had told me. I never pressed him on his whereabouts. I likened him to the giant sea turtle he had seen, carrying its house on its back. And I remembered telling him that he was inside a chrysalis.

Part 38|| Quantum Entanglement: Slow-Fast, Fast-Slow MARYAM HENEIN · December 11, 2025 Read full story

“That’s a good way to put it,” he said as we sat cross-legged on the hardwood floor of my empty living room. The word had come to me after he confided in me about the shadow people—something I mentioned in an earlier installment.

It was a good way to put it. But what exactly had I meant? The word had seemed to arrive from my Higher Self, fully formed. Why that word? Was the chrysalis ever used in relation to spiritual growth?

When I looked the word up online, I found that it was indeed used in connection with ascension. Hmmm.

Looking into the chrysalis phase brought me right back to Hermeticism. While it is not, strictly speaking, an alchemical stage, the image maps almost perfectly onto nigredo—the blackening, the putrefaction, the necessary descent into dissolution. It is the shadowed phase in which the old form decomposes before anything new can emerge.

As I wrote in an earlier installment, long before I knew anything about Hermeticism, I woke one morning with a single word emblazoned across my inner vision: MORTIFICATION. Looking back, I can see that Snuffy, whether he knew it or not, had already become the catalyst drawing me toward the alchemical path.

Part 36|| Force vs Flow — When The Truth Of A Connection Reveals Itself In Silence MARYAM HENEIN · October 24, 2025 Read full story

Within nigredo lies mortificatio: the symbolic death of the old self—the stripping away of illusion, identity, attachment, and ego. No one gets to skip this stage unless one refuses the soul’s evolution, has become severed from the Higher Self, or something else has taken up residence in the body temple. Or perhaps one gets a pass for being a dragon. Or perhaps... if one is a dragon.

Nigredo is decomposition. You cannot rush the rot. The alchemists understood that the vessel had to remain over a slow, sustained fire. Transformation could not be forced.

Then, while writing this, a video popped up on my feed that described it with startling precision: this was “the moment when the caterpillar becomes a formless liquid inside the chrysalis”—“a period of blind faith in the dark, with no guarantee that a butterfly will ever emerge.”

The irony was brutal. A knife twist. Snuffy had used those exact words: He said to have “blind faith.” At the time, it sounded spiritual, maybe even fated.

“Snuffy, you are going to restore my faith in humanity,” I told him, believing he would honor the gift of the truck—and the gift of having attracted a high-caliber individual like me into his life.

But through the alchemical lens, blind faith is not a Hallmark card moment. It is the underworld. It is the place where the old form dissolves, and no new form has yet appeared.

Maybe I was standing inside the dark with him—and inside my own.

What happened next changed the way I think about memory forever. A little-known film called The Discovery unexpectedly connected my journals, Hermeticism, quantum consciousness, the strange certainty that I had kissed Snuffy before, and one haunting question: How many times had we met on that 333 parking lot? ...