The Open Chronicle of “Mentorship”

This is a living, breathing rant. New entries will appear whenever the grand theatre of modern “Mentorship – Awake Enlightened Souls” offers fresh absurdities. Sit tight—the saga writes itself.

Welcome to the golden age of “mentorship,” where anyone armed with Wi-Fi, a semi-functional webcam, and the confidence of a Victorian hypnotist can proclaim themselves a spiritual guru. A “higher being.” A self-declared enlightened soul who claims expertise on absolutely everything: life, death, the universe, your chakras, and naturally, your finances. 😏

And what a spectacle it is. By the third interminable monologue—good heavens, the droning!—you don’t just feel “spiritually awakened,” you begin to suspect that without their guidance, your very ability to breathe is compromised.

Picture wisdom compressed into the mental equivalent of a granola bar: quick, digestible, vaguely nutritious. Sprinkle over your existential crisis and voilà—instant enlightenment, conveniently packaged.

Picture this: a video appears online. Its subject? Perhaps a compost toilet. Perhaps a tap-dancing ficus. Perhaps a sock folded with geometric precision. The details are irrelevant—passion is passion. Seconds tick by. And then it happens: a heart appears beneath the video.

Not from a fan. Not from a friend. Not even from a polite stranger. No, from… the video itself. Or, more precisely, from the idea of the video recognising its own brilliance. Narcissism distilled into a tiny, glowing icon: the ultimate applause for one’s own ideas.

It is an elegant loophole of the digital age: celebrating oneself without technically celebrating oneself. Genius. Audacity. Performance art. All compressed into a single, innocuous symbol that somehow manages to blink at the viewer with equal measures of pride and irony. Somewhere, somehow, an idea is quietly hearting itself. 🥹