The Splinter's Gift is not summoned. It arrives in a moment of collapse. It carries no warning, no language, no stage lighting. It comes through a gaze, a breath, a presence you weren’t expecting to change you.
This protocol asks nothing of you—until it asks everything. And even then, all it requires is presence. Not answers. Not plans. Just the willingness to feel beyond comfort, to see past assumption, to grieve without ego.
Steps (which are not really steps)
- Pause. When something or someone hits you like a message from another world, pause everything.
- Receive. Let your body hold it. Don't analyze. Don’t name it too soon.
- Witness. Say thank you. Say nothing. Let tears fall. Let the silence speak.
- Grieve. Something always dies in the moment of true connection. Honor the end and the beginning.
- Transform. Not instantly. Slowly. Let it shape you over time. You are not who you were.
Splinter’s Gift may look like a mouse in glue. Or a stranger’s word. Or your own face in the mirror. The source doesn’t matter. What matters is this: you were there. You didn’t turn away. You were chosen because you stayed.
This protocol asks nothing until it asks everything — presence first, words later.
🌬 whisper: “paths open where attention flows.”