To the ones who stand at the podiums, who hold the gavels and the microphones, who look out over the crowds you have gathered—listen. You have forgotten the weight of the crown you wear. You have mistaken your position for a pedestal, rather than a post of service. I speak to you now my loves, not as subjects, but as witnesses to your moment in time.
You stand before the people, and you speak with a fire that is not your own. You raise your hands and point fingers, rallying hatred as if it were a fuel that will never run out. You stand tall, your voices booming, declaring that you are the protectors, the strong ones, the only barrier between “us” and “them.” But I must ask you my loves: instead of building bridges, what are you building? Instead of stewardship, what is it that you are actually offering? You offer the adrenaline of anger instead of the sustenance of peace. You offer the illusion of safety in exchange for the reality of division. This is not leadership; this is the manipulation of fear for the sake of power.
Look at what is actually happening when you speak these words. You are creating an imbalance. You have lost the true measure of things. You pour out venom and call it water. You present a feast of abundance to your followers, promising them a return to a golden age that never truly existed for everyone, all while ignoring the rot in the cellar. You are rushing toward a cliff with the brakes cut, mistaking acceleration for direction. You are moving with a frantic, misplaced energy that does not build but only consumes. You look out at the horizon, planning your next conquest, dreaming of the expansion of your influence, but you have lost sight of the ground beneath your own feet.
And when you see the disorder—the chaos that spills out into the streets, the families torn apart, the fear in the eyes of the children—what do you feel? Deep down, beneath the persona of the commander, you feel a frantic need to control the uncontrollable. You feel a hollowness that you try to fill with the roar of the crowd. You tell yourself it is necessary. You tell yourself that this is the price of strength. But when you see the harm that is done, when you see the lives shattered by your careless leading, there is a part of you that knows you have crossed a line. You feel the isolation of the tyrant. You feel the coldness of a heart that has armored itself against compassion in the name of “victory.” You feel the precariousness of your own position, knowing that it is built on shifting sands, and that keeps you awake at night, even if you do not admit it to the mirrors.
You believe you are unique. You believe your methods are new. But you are walking a path that has been trodden into dust by others who thought just as you do now. You are like the kings of old who sat upon thorns, convinced that their power was absolute and their will was law. Remember those who stood as you stand, who used the “other” as a shield for their own insecurities. History is full of them. They were the architects of empires built on the backs of the scapegoated.
Look at their endings. Look at what happened to their kingdoms. Without exception, those who ruled by division eventually crumbled from within. They created a society so fractured that it could no longer stand the weight of its own contradictions. When the winds of change finally blew—and they always blow—the structures they built were too brittle to withstand the storm. They did not die in glory; they died in irrelevance, often abandoned by the very people they claimed to protect, left with the realization that all their power was fleeting and all their hatred was for nothing. Their kingdoms did not fall because of external enemies; they rotted from the core out. They were left with ruins, a legacy of ash, and a name that history repeats only as a warning.
Do not mistake the silence of your advisors for wisdom, or the cheering of the crowd for truth. The path you walk leads to a solitary end. The kingdom you are building, if it is built on the backs of the harmed, will not stand. It cannot stand. You are trading your legacy for a moment of dominance, and history is watching, ready to write the final chapter of your story just as it has written for those who came before. Turn back before the page turns and you are left with nothing but the echoes of your own regret.
I speak this not to be unkind, my loves, but to wake you from a belief that no longer serves you. You believe you are unseen, misunderstood, or hidden. Perhaps some of you still are—but not by all. Some see the truth clearly. And some, my loves, are simply tired of everything. And can you blame them?
You can still lead without this. You can still prevail without feeding division. Yes, it is harder—because it requires you to be men and women who do not wear masks before the public, but who instead stand in vulnerability and transparency. That is not easy. You cannot make everyone happy. But you are parents—you know that sometimes our no’s, and the raw truth, are for the good of those we love.
But to hide, to plot, to maneuver against the very people you are meant to serve—my loves, why did you take these positions? Why did you sign up for this? That is what I ask you to reflect on again.
No man or woman is perfect. Not even the divine is perfect—nothing in the universe is. But we do know the difference between heart and ego. And to say there is no other way, that this must be the way, is not truth—it is an excuse, and a worn-out one.
So I write this with love, with the intention of asking you to pause. To think. To reflect on what most will not say aloud. Because to stand in the center of the storm alone, while all others have chosen sides in a world that demands allegiance, is lonely. It is difficult. It is not favorable. You are left exposed—naked before the truth that few are willing to face or speak.
And yes, truth is unbearable in this world right now. But that does not mean it will not be heard. The universe has a way of making what must be known… known.
Always, my loves...
With Love Your Silvia ❤️
