CHAPTER 1: IT MUST NOT BE NAMED

No single school of thought still explains why people see entities in every shape and form, for centuries.

The infinite masks of the phenomenon

I was born in Kerala, in a house where the walls seemed to remember things long after we had forgotten. My childhood carried the usual tremors of a nuclear family: divorce, the fractures of relationships, and the subtle sense that some things and some people moved in and out of our lives for reasons I could not grasp. I didn’t notice then, not really. Fear and uncertainty were just textures of existence. I liked the smell of monsoon rain on hot earth. Petrichor.

Years passed. I moved through life efficiently enough, found some fame, but never recklessly (maybe a little). Then March 2025: I lost my job after 15 years in the service. And with it, routine, purpose, the justification for my very presence. I floated, idle and untethered. At first, I tried to anchor myself in the familiar: quick money, new schemes, the compulsive chase for efficiency and gain. Nothing worked. The world offered no shortcuts, only mirrors. The more I sought, the more I was confronted with my own inertia.

In that boredom, obsession began to creep in, not the kind of idle fascination most people entertain, but the slow, compulsive turning of thought around itself. I started noticing patterns in everything: reports, conversations, charts, even street movements. And then, strangely, in myself. My birth chart came to me almost like a key I had misplaced all my life: Saturn predominant, heavy, deliberate, exacting. It explained some of the rhythm of my idleness, the weight of reflection I had carried unknowingly.

And so my inquiry on this started not out of belief, but necessity. I turned to the unseen, the unclassified, the edges of knowledge where human perception frays: entities, macro-level patterns, cosmic structures. I picked out points from centuries of thought. My obsession grew so large I had to trace threads across texts, videos, accounts, noting coincidences, repetitions, and alignments that no single school of thought could fully explain. Even my own fears played its part: fear of darkness, of the unknown, of the possibility that some patterns could not be influenced, only observed.

Not everything is meant to be touched, but everything leaves a trace. I had stepped into this thinking it was a short ride. Now it’s impossible to turn back.