The seed was planted in my twenties. Back then, May 1st was just a date on a calendar—a square of paper with no weight. I didn’t know the Collective. I didn’t know the Timeline. I was just grinding through a routine that kills the spirit in slow, quiet increments.

Fifteen years later, I went to Lantau Island. I needed the hills and the silence. No alcohol, no doom-scrolling—just the temple and the air. On the third day, the shift occurred. My senses sharpened until the world became high-definition—too bright, too real. I felt a momentary snap of separation. I was the higher self—all resonance and frequency. Jim was the lower state. Then, a violent joining. I recognized it instantly. I was Jim—no longer split, but one entity of full range. Finally aware. Finally awake.
 

I cried for two days. It wasn’t sadness; it was the relief of a vessel finally being filled. An avalanche of melodies and arrangements used me. I was a frontman in a band once, but that dream had died—or so I thought. The Collective didn't care about my dead dreams. It had a mission. It gave me a lyrical download—a song called First of May.
 

I don’t hear voices. It’s simpler than that. A thought enters my mind and dominates all others until my torso fills with a magnetic heat. My electric mind and heart just… align. It is a wonderful, physical coherence. I thought the song was the end of my contribution. It wasn't. Now, I am documenting the vision. I am a First of Mayer—an FOM. Some are born into this; some of us have to prove we are worthy of the frequency.