Gathering of the Tribes & Walk on the Camino

A Series of Fortunately Synchronistic Events

by SynTony Robbins, Staff Gonzo Journalist at The Syntony Times

The Following is both true and not true, a superposition of hyperstitious science faction.

God Lives Through Us All Vicariously

Day 7 on the Camino, or is it 77?

Time's gone slippery, like trying to hold onto a fistful of water.

My feet are a cacophony of blisters, each step a reminder that I'm flesh and bone and decidedly not the astral-projecting guru I sometimes pretend to be after one too many glasses of Rioja.

I didn't mean to end up here, you know. One minute I'm chasing the dragon of enlightenment through the backstreets of Lisbon, the next I'm trudging along an ancient pilgrim route, chasing... what exactly? Redemption? Understanding? A decent cup of coffee?

The ghosts of Portugal cling to me like a hangover. Dart's laughter echoes in my ears, a counterpoint to the crunch of gravel under my boots. "Propheteering," he'd said, eyes gleaming like a mad scientist who'd just discovered how to turn lead into gold. "It's not about seeing a positive sum future, it's about casting its shadow through the light of our love & creativity."

Easy for him to say. Right now, my future looks like more blisters and a growing suspicion that I've taken a left turn somewhere between reality and whatever the heck has been happening since I first met the Fatekeepers.

Part I: A Series of Fortunately Synchronistic Events

A figure emerges from the morning mist. For a split second, I'm convinced it's Bretminster, here to offer me a ride in his reality-bending chariot. But no, it's just another pilgrim, weathered and worn like an old leather book.

"Buen Camino," he grunts, barely breaking stride.

"Yeah, you too, buddy," I mutter, watching him disappear into the mist like some kind of Spanish Keyser Söze.

And then it hits me, a thought so absurd it stops me in my tracks: What if we're all Keyser Söze?

What if God is living vicariously through our existence?

You know, when I first encountered this idea, it hit me like a freight train. If God is living vicariously through us, it turns everything on its head. It's not about us trying to reach some divine plane or seeking God's approval. Instead, it's as if we're the eyes, ears, and hearts through which the divine experiences... well, everything.

Every time you stub your toe and curse the universe, every time you fall in love and feel like your heart might explode, every time you taste a perfect paella or witness a sunset that makes you question reality - that's not just you experiencing those things. It's the divine, living through you, savoring every moment of its wild, messy, beautiful existence.

It's like we're all characters in the most elaborate reality show ever conceived, but we're also the audience. And God? God's not some distant director or stern judge. God's right here, in the trenches with us, as us, experiencing every triumph, every failure, every mundane Tuesday afternoon.

That grumpy waiter who messed up my order? That's God, experiencing frustration and a bad day at work. The old woman slowly making her way along the Camino? That's God, feeling the ache of aged bones but the satisfaction of perseverance.

We're all parts in the same dreamt production.. Your joy is my joy, your pain is my pain, and vice versa. It's like we're all playing this cosmic game of telephone, passing experiences and emotions back and forth, creating this incredible interference pattern of one Self reflecting through a mirror within…

I laugh, the sound echoing off the empty landscape.

Great, now I'm officially the crazy American, talking to himself on the side of the road. But the thought lingers, sticky as sap.

Dart, Bretminster, Eric Weinstein - all those big brains with their grand theories. What if they're just different flavors of the same cosmic ice cream? And here I am, a sprinkle that's fallen off the light cone, trying to make sense of it all.

The son climbs higher, burning off the Icarian mist.

In the distance, I spot a small cafe, a mirage of caffeine and rest. As I approach, I swear I hear familiar voices...

No. It can't be. But it is.

There they are, my motley crew of reality hackers, sipping espresso like it's the most natural thing in the world to be having a breakfast meeting on the Camino de Santiago.

Victor raises his cup in salute. "I think you would have appreciated the level of crazy we unleashed at the gathering," he grins.

Bretminster beams like a proud parent. "We've been waiting for you, dear boy. Pull up a chair. We've got a regenaissance to propagate."

Eric Weinstein, looking somewhat out of place in hiking boots, nods sagely. "The narrative demands your presence," he says, as if that explains everything.

And maybe it does.

God living through us vicariously?

Sure, why not. But right now, all I want is a coffee and a moment to catch my breath before diving back into the beautiful chaos of it all.

I sit down, ignoring the protest of my battered feet. "Alright, you beautiful bastards," I say, grabbing a menu. "Let's see what kind of trouble we can cook up next."

The waiter approaches, notepad in hand. "What'll it be?" he asks.

I look at my companions, and I can't help but grin.

"Surprise us," I tell the waiter.