There are people who believe creativity is a constant flow. As if the current never runs dry, as if there were no obstacles. But everyone who walks the path eventually encounters blocks.
They are not random. They are guardians.
And they ask you: “Do you mean it? Are you ready to keep going?”
Childhood in East Germany – Ordinary and Yet Different
I grew up in a time and place where nobody knew the term “ADHD.” In East Germany, the term did not exist. People simply said: “The child is lively, alert.”
But even back then, a different rhythm was already raging inside me. My thoughts jumped. I could not limit myself to one thing because my mind was already seeing ten other paths. I felt things more intensely, moved faster, and spoke more than others could tolerate.
But because there was no name for it, I was simply myself. No diagnosis, no label. Just a boy who was “normal” – and yet always different.
Language – My First Home
Despite the jumps, despite the inner fire, I had a realm that carried me: language.
I loved words. I loved spelling. To me, letters were like stones with which temples could be built. I saw order, clarity, precision.
Language was my anchor. It was the framework I could align myself with when everything inside me was swirling in chaos.
The Break – When Letters Dance
But as my path changed, as I began to go deeper, to feel frequencies, to use both hemispheres of my brain, to grasp the invisible – something else began to change as well.
Suddenly, language was no longer as reliable as it once had been.
I wrote – and only realized later that words were missing, even though I had spoken them aloud.
Letters switched places, slipped, blurred.
Often I noticed it only after the video was finished – and it hit me like a blow to the face.
For someone who had loved spelling, it was painful. It felt as though my first home had been taken away from me.
Not a Deficit – a Shift
In the past, people might have said: “Dyslexia.” But that was not it. I had never had dyslexia. Language was in my blood.
What happened was something else: my system changed modes.
I no longer read letter by letter. I no longer wrote word by word.
I began to read frequencies.
I would look at a page – and know what it was about without following the lines. I only needed fragments, brief impressions. The information seemed to jump into my mind on its own. Not through my eyes, but directly through resonance.
My mind was faster than my hand.
My field was faster than the letters.
And so I began to grasp content while losing letters at the same time.
It was not a deficit. It was a shift. A price – and a gift.
Self-Doubt – The Voice in the Shadows
Of course, doubt came.
“How can you write a book if you make mistakes?”
“Who will take you seriously if the letters dance?”
Those voices were loud, sometimes louder than everything else. There were days when I wanted to throw everything away. Because when your foundation shakes – your beloved realm of language – who are you then?
But doubt is a shadow. And shadows test you.
They did not ask: “Can you write?”
They asked: “Are you ready to write anyway?”
Perfectionism – the Golden Trap
I used to want everything to be flawless. Every sentence smooth, every word perfect.
But perfection is a golden cage. You work, polish, improve – and in the end, you remain standing still.
Only when I allowed mistakes to appear, when I allowed words to stumble, could I create freely again.
I understood: the frequency behind the words is stronger than their form.
And when the energy is right, the text carries itself – even when the letters sometimes dance.
Fear – the Invisible Cage
But the greatest block was fear.
Not fear of criticism – I knew that. But fear of being seen. Fear that people would see that I made “mistakes.”
This fear wanted to keep me small. It whispered: “Stay invisible. Don't write. Don't show yourself.”
But fear does not dissolve while waiting. Fear dissolves through movement.
So I moved forward. I wrote anyway. I made videos anyway. I spoke anyway. And with every step, fear lost some of its power.
Stagnation – the Emptiness
Sometimes stagnation came too. Days when no sentence came, no idea, only emptiness.
In the past, I would have said: “I'm broken.”
But I learned: emptiness is not an ending. Emptiness is preparation.
The ground must lie fallow before the seed can grow.
And it was precisely from the darkest, emptiest moments that the strongest texts, the clearest ideas, and the brightest flames later emerged.
My Tools
Blocks cannot simply be prayed away. You have to walk through them.
I found my tools:
Breath – when doubt came, breath brought me back into my body.
Mantras – when perfectionism paralyzed me, words redirected the energy.
Black Flow Movement – when fear seized me, movement loosened the chains.
Frequency Reading – when stagnation came, I stopped reading letters and began reading resonance.
Hands as Portals – I formed light between my palms and allowed darkness to disappear there.
None of these tools was theory. They were survival.
Conclusion – Blocks as a Trial by Fire
Today I know: blocks are not walls. They are portals.
They test you. They ask questions. And when you move forward, they open.
Childhood, storm, language, rupture, doubt, fear, mistakes, emptiness – all of it could have stopped me.
Yet every time there was a portal behind the shadow. And behind every portal waited more strength.
So I say: Do not fear the blocks.
They are part of the path.
They are the trial by fire.
And whoever walks through them discovers what they truly are:
Not a victim of circumstances.
Not a prisoner of doubt.
But a creator.