

There comes a point in the seeker’s journey when all mantras collapse into a giggle, and even enlightenment seems a bit... overhyped. Silence is the Final Frequency is not about answers—it’s about what hums beneath them. It’s the last broadcast after all doctrines have burned out, when the signal stops trying and just is. In this space, truth isn’t spoken—it’s radiated. Not from the mouth, but from the marrow of being. This is the frequency that can’t be tuned into—because you are the dial. It’s that serene, psychedelic absurdity where Buddha wears shades, the divine doesn’t take itself too seriously, and mystery doesn’t need resolving. It's sacred and slightly mischievous, like the universe winking at you through a temple veil. You don’t decode this artwork. You sit with it. Let it vibrate your bones. Let it make you laugh softly like you just remembered something ancient and utterly stupidly beautiful. Because in the end? Silence was the punchline all along.