Frequency

The idea that all men are created equal is a necessary fiction, a polite lie told to maintain order. In truth, humanity hums along at different frequencies, some so low they drag the rest into the static, others sharp enough to cut through the noise. You have felt it—the way certain people seem to drain the air from a room, while others pull you forward without speaking a word. This is not mysticism. It is observable fact.

At the bottom are the ones who feed on attention because they have nothing else to digest. The stalkers, the trolls, the petty tyrants of the comment sections—they are not rebels, not even true cynics, just hollow things rattling with the echo of other people’s voices.

They do not create; they distort. They do not argue; they infest. Their frequency is the hum of a broken machine, the kind that repeats the same malfunction forever because it knows no other mode of operation. They mistake their own noise for power.

Then there are the sleepers, the vast and docile middle. They move through life in a pleasant enough haze, absorbing whatever signals are strongest at the moment—today’s outrage, tomorrow’s forgettable trend. They are not malicious, only passive, which in the long run may be just as dangerous. They do not question the frequency they’ve been given; they adjust to it, like plants bending towards whatever light is available, even if it’s artificial.

And then there are the ones who transmit clearly. Not saints, not visionaries by default, but those who refuse to let the noise drown out their own signal. You know them when you meet them—not because they announce themselves, but because the air around them is different.

They are the ones who build instead of tearing down, who listen instead of waiting to speak, who fight like avatars, who understand that the highest frequency is not about volume but precision. They are not immune to the chaos, but they do not amplify it.

The world is a battleground of vibrations, though no one calls it that, except perhaps Tesla. Every interaction is a push and pull, a silent war between those who would lower you to their wavelength and those who pull you towards something sharper. The choice is not between good and evil, but between clarity and distortion. Between adding to the noise or transmitting something worth hearing.

The question is not whether you are broadcasting, but what.