by - 0 comments

My spirit squad endorsement

Which animal would you compare yourself to and why?

If spirit animals were a LinkedIn endorsement, mine would read: “Approved by the Caracal & Honey Badger Fan Club (est. childhood).”Let’s unpack this wild resume. 

My spirit animals: Caracal and Honey badger


The caracal isn’t just a cat with fancy ear tufts (though those are exquisite). It’s the introvert’s spirit animal on a stealth mission. I vibe with its ability to thrive solo—no pack meetings, no group texts, just elegant independence. Think of it as the James Bond of the savannah: precise, efficient, and low-key glamorous. Hunting efficiency? More like adulting efficiency. The caracal doesn’t waste energy chasing mediocrity; it calculates, pounces, and gets the job done. Plus, its love of beauty speaks to me—like that friend who spends 20 minutes arranging a charcuterie board before Instagramming it. The caracal’s message: “Solitude isn’t loneliness; it’s where magic (and successful hunts) happen.”

If the caracal is 007, Bond, the honey badger is Deadpool—snarky, unstoppable, and allergic to giving up. Its rep for “indomitable spirit” is basically code for *“You think *this* will stop me? LOL.”* Need honey? It’ll yeet a beehive, endure stings, and snack triumphantly. Need to dig through literal dirt for survival? The honey badger’s LinkedIn bio would just say: *“Problem solver. Resourceful. Doesn’t take ‘no’ personally.”* I channel its rebellious grit when life serves up obstacles (or bureaucracy). Its life motto: “Rules are suggestions, and honey is worth the drama.”

Both animals are the ultimate soloists. The caracal whispers, “Elegance under pressure,” while the honey badger roars, “Pressure? Crush it with chaotic flair.” Together, they’re my yin-yang of independence: one thrives in quiet mastery, the other in defiant hustle. 

Bonus Life Lessons (With a Side of Humor):
Caracal Tip: Next time someone calls you “aloof,” say you’re “strategically curating your energy.” Then drop a mic (gracefully). 
Honey Badger Hack: Stuck in a problem? Ask: “What would the honey badger do?” Spoiler: It’ll involve creative swearing and relentless action. 
Unifying Truth: Independence isn’t about rejecting others—it’s about knowing when to collaborate (*caracal*) and when to bulldoze (*honey badger*). 

If my spirit animals threw a party, the caracal would bring minimalist décor and curated playlists, while the honey badger would show up late, raid the fridge, and somehow fix the broken aircon. I aspire to be both host and life of the party—just on my own terms.

(P.S. If you need me, I’ll be practicing my “caracal stare” in meetings and my “honey badger negotiation tactics” at the local pawn shop.

© Jurgens Pieterse. All Rights reserved. 2025

by - 1 Comment

A letter to a Centenarian Superstar

Write a letter to your 100-year-old self.

Dear Centenarian Superstar (a.k.a. My Time-Defying Twin),

Holy guacamole, you *actually* hit 100! Did you chug from the Fountain of Youth, replace your morning coffee with nanobot smoothies, OR—wait—did those chaotic “alchemy experiments” in the garage *finally* pay off?! Tell me you found the Philosopher’s Stone wedged between the couch cushions. Did you transmute lead into wine (or at least into decent retirement funds)?! I always knew your obsession with glowing mason jars and cryptic symbols would outshine St. Germain someday. Bet he’s *fuming* in his immortal fancy-pants castle while you’re over here turning dust into diamonds and  still forgetting where you left your keys. Legend. 

Let’s address the elephant in the room: How’d you afford this? Did you perfect that “retired” bank heist and license your alchemy patents? (“Eternal Youth™, now with free Wi-Fi!”) Or did you just challenge Death to a chess match… using pieces made of solid gold you whipped up in the microwave? I’m picturing you now: part mad scientist, part cryptid, dodging expiration dates and historians trying to fact-check your “I knew Shakespeare” stories. 

But surviving a century? Please. You didn’t just survive—you alchemized chaos into charisma. Between reverse-engineering immortality elixirs and teaching parrots to say “Avada Kedavra” as a party trick, you’ve basically turned existence into a DIY craft project. Did you train by arm-wrestling vampires? Or just perfect the art of napping so hard you confused the Grim Reaper with a door-to-door salesman? Either way, you’ve earned your crown in the “Sassy Centenarian Hall of Fame.” 

Now, the big question: What’s next? 200? Why not! You’ve already beaten St. Germain at his own game (take that, 18th-century drama llama). Next stop: selling “How to Out-Alchemy Your Enemies” masterclasses on Skillshare. Or maybe just trolling future historians by leaving fake ancient artifacts in your backyard. Remember, aging is mandatory, but maturity is optional—keep hiding whoopie cushions in nursing homes and explaining TikTok to confused robots. 

You’re proof that life’s a wild ride, and the seatbelt’s just a suggestion. Keep raging against the dying of the light… or at least keep the light on past 8 p.m. You’ve got this, you magnificent, slightly-radioactive legend. 

Now go update your bucket list with a “beyond 100 List.”

—Your Zestier, Less-Wrinkled Former Self



P.S. If you did rob a bank, teleport me a clue back in time. I’ve got student loans. 
P.P.S.St. Germain’s ghost just slid into my DMs. He wants a rematch. I told him you’re busy inventing time travel and/or perfecting margarita recipes. Priorities. 
P.P.P.S. Aim for 200. I’ll meet you there. (As a cyborg. Or a sentient cloud of your finest alchemy fumes. Let’s stay *weird*.)


© Jurgens Pieterse. All Rights reserved. 2025

by - 0 comments

My Name is a Biblical Circus and I’m the Clown with a Halo (Askew)

What is your middle name? Does it carry any special meaning/significance?

Let’s dive into this holy hot mess. My parents, armed with the audacity of a televangelist selling miracle water, baptized me with a name so sanctified it could guilt-trip a gargoyle. First name: George (patron saint of “I’ll slay dragons after my nap”). Middle name: Johannes (props to John the Baptist, the OG influencer of locust snacks and river baptisms). Surname: Peter (the apostle who ghosted Jesus harder than a Tinder date). Combine them, and you’ve got *St. George St. John St. Peter*—a trifecta of piety so potent, I’m basically the Bible’s answer to a group chat gone wrong. 

The expectations? Biblical. I’m supposed to part seas, but I can’t even part with my Amazon cart. My ancestors? A parade of George-Johannes-Peters who treated “sainthood” like a Yelp review they forgot to leave. Great-Grandpa George III once “exorcised” a whiskey bottle by draining it. Grandpa Johannes II rode through a rebellion war on horseback, though rumor says his horse had better survival instincts than he did. And Dad? His garage sermons featured more F-bombs than a Tarantino script, usually directed at a carburetor that “had a demonic possession.” 

But hey, tradition is tradition! So I yeeted this sacred hot potato to my son. Plot twist!  The kid’s gay, which means: 
1. Heaven’s got a *fabulous* new interior designer. 
2. He took one look at our family’s “legacy” and declared, “Honey, I’ve Van Gogh’d this name masterpiece. Let’s not add a fifth George—this canvas is done.”

Fair. The kid radiates more divinity eating avocado toast than we’ve collectively mustered since the Middle Ages. 

So here I am, sipping a sacramental energy drink, whispering Hail Marys over my lost genealogical burden. St. John, if you’re eavesdropping: I’ll honor you by not eating bugs. Probably.

Amen.



**#SaintedNotSaintly #GodsFavoriteTrainwreck #DontBlameMeBlameGenealogy**

© Jurgens Pieterse. All Rights reserved. 2025

by - 0 comments

Light Just Got Even Weirder: Scientists Create a Supersolid Form of Light

What is the last thing you learned?

What did I learn last? That light has been transformed into a supersolid for the first time. That’s right—scientists have managed to make light behave like both a solid and a superfluid at the same time. If that sounds like something straight out of science fiction, I had the same reaction.

Physicists achieved this by trapping light inside an ultra-cold quantum gas of rubidium atoms, creating what’s known as a Bose-Einstein Condensate (BEC).

This is a state of matter where particles behave as a single quantum entity. By carefully engineering interactions between the photons and the atoms, they got light to form a supersolid—something that maintains a rigid structure like a solid but can also flow without resistance, like a superfluid. Imagine honey that holds its shape like a crystal but still moves effortlessly. That’s essentially what’s happening here.

This is a huge deal for a few reasons. First, it confirms that light can exist in a completely new state of matter, something never seen before. Second, it challenges our understanding of quantum physics—light has always been tricky to classify, flipping between acting like a wave and a particle, but now it’s breaking the rules in an entirely new way. And third, it could have incredible real-world applications. While we don’t yet know exactly where this discovery will lead, breakthroughs like this tend to pave the way for future technologies. Quantum computing, precision measurement, and next-generation optical devices could all be influenced by what scientists have just uncovered.

For now, it’s a fascinating glimpse into the strange and wonderful world of quantum mechanics. Every time I read about discoveries like this, I’m reminded of how much mystery still exists in the universe—and how exciting it is to keep learning.

by - 0 comments

A Reflection on Identity, Karma, and Humanity

Are you patriotic? What does being patriotic mean to you?


Patriotism, at its core, is the expression of devotion and vigorous support for one’s country. It’s a sentiment that arises when we attach our identity and ego to a geographical or cultural group. This attachment can foster a powerful sense of belonging and unity, strengthening the collective spirit of a nation. Yet, as with any form of group identity, patriotism carries a caveat: it can sometimes blind us to our shared humanity and the moral compass that guides us as individuals.


When patriotism becomes exclusionary, it risks alienating those who are perceived as different or foreign. It can create an “us versus them” mentality, where the “other” is targeted or marginalized. This is where the concept of patriotism must be carefully examined. True patriotism should never overshadow our responsibility to uphold the rights of the individual, nor should it compromise our inner sense of what is right.

To explore this further, I find it helpful to draw on Rudolf Steiner’s ideas about the individual, group identity, and karma. Steiner, a philosopher and spiritual thinker, believed that each individual has a unique karmic responsibility to evolve and grow. This evolution isn’t just a personal journey; it’s deeply intertwined with the groups we identify with—whether that’s a nation, a language, or a cultural community. By associating with a group, we become co-responsible for its actions and its collective karma.

But what does this mean in practical terms? Let’s break it down.

Karma, in simple terms, is the idea that our actions have consequences—not just for ourselves, but for the world around us. When we identify with a group, we inherit a share of its collective karma. This means that the actions of the group, both positive and negative, become part of our own karmic journey. For example, if we identify with a nation that commits acts of injustice, we share in the responsibility to address those wrongs. Conversely, if we contribute to the betterment of that group, we help to uplift its collective karma.

This idea of collective karma challenges us to think beyond blind patriotism. It asks us to consider how our individual actions can influence the groups we belong to. Are we contributing to the group’s growth and evolution, or are we perpetuating its flaws? As Steiner suggests, our responsibility isn’t just to ourselves—it’s to the collective humanity we are part of.

This brings me to the heart of the matter: patriotism, while meaningful, can never take precedence over my inner moral compass. My devotion to my country must always be tempered by my commitment to what is right and just. If patriotism becomes a shield for injustice or exclusion, it loses its value. Instead, patriotism should inspire us to work toward the betterment of our nation and, by extension, humanity as a whole.

Steiner’s concept of karma also reminds us that we are not bound by the groups we are born into. While we may inherit certain identities—such as nationality or language—we have the freedom to choose how we engage with them. We can decide whether to identify with a group, and how to influence its collective karma. But there’s one identity we cannot escape: our humanity. We are all part of the human family, and the collective karma of humanity is something we all share.

In this light, patriotism becomes a tool for collective evolution. It’s not about blind loyalty or exclusion; it’s about using our individual actions to positively impact the groups we identify with. By doing so, we address not only our personal karma but also the collective karma of our nation and, ultimately, humanity.

So, do I see myself as patriotic? Yes, but with a caveat. My patriotism is rooted in a deep sense of responsibility—to my country, to the individuals within it, and to humanity as a whole. It’s a patriotism that seeks to uplift, to heal, and to evolve. It’s a patriotism that recognizes the interconnectedness of all people and the shared karma we carry.

In the end, patriotism is just one layer of a much larger picture. It’s through our individual actions and our group identities that we evolve as a species. And it’s by honoring our common humanity that we can truly create a world worth being patriotic for.