Notoriously spiteful surf journalist sees light, repents of life spent injuring, heckling: “I was rude and took pleasure in being so but this will change the world and make you rich while so doing!”

Cakes to the moon.

Two nights ago, I left my home by the sea and traveled east then north into the Big Bear. Here I enjoyed my spirit, the crunch of melted-then-refrozen-to-sheet-ice snow, those twinkling stars above, that Eagle-Eye Cherry soundtrack below. I slid down and rode up and slid down and rode up and passed many other sliders wearing Los Angeles Lakers jerseys and Los Angeles Rams jerseys.

On one ride up, the chair upon which I sat, did not stop but continued past the man raking sheet ice snow, past his small chalet, past a large map and into the woods. There was no light, no moon, and the darkness surrounded me and my darkest demons emerged from the trees to engage in combat. I fought them and they slapped at my neck and I tried to dance them into submission, but they continued to come, spitting fire water and blowing smoke.

We danced a menacing dance for hours, endless hours, the only light coming from the terrifying yellow glow emanating from their hideously misshapen heads.

After an eternity my legs became exhausted, hands weary, and I feared I could dance no more so stopped my legs, let my hands fall, accepted my demise and as quickly as I had accepted it my darkest demons vanished.

I sat alone, breathing smoke heavily, until realizing I was not alone but sat next to a man also breathing heavily except without smoke, also glowing yellow but his yellow was not terrifying and his breath was pure.

Yellow, illuminating.

I was drawn to it, drawn into it, and realized the glow emanated from fire attached to wax stick attached to tier then a larger tier then a larger tier still.

A cake.

And the man glowing yellow, without word, nodded at me and I realized without a word that he expected more from me and expected me to do more. I realized, without word, that I had once baked cakes out of spite. Out of a low and mean spirit that sought to bring shame and embarrassment on others.

I realized, without word, that I wanted to bake cakes out of love instead.

“This is only the beginning of many great things…” reverberated through the air, trees, into me in great waves. Waiting to reverberate from me.

Abundance not lack.

I nodded, subtly, and come to you, now, filled with understanding. Imbued with enlightenment, or enlightenment-adjacent.

Cakes.

The man glowing handed me cakes and disappeared into the trees still without word.

The cakes a gift, always a gift announcing celebration, and I bring cakes to you, one yellow, one blue but you must have faith in them and trust in them and trust in me for now my eyes are pure and around my mouth hides no disgust.

Cakes that bring abundance.

Derek Rielly, in his recent piece about NFTs, profoundly misunderstood because he is too beautiful and therefore too blind. Trapped in the physical realm.

You can purchase a cake, own the cake and the specific gift it holds, sell the cake for a profit and pass that gift along. The more time the cake is bought and sold, the more gift it brings to you and others until, eventually, it becomes so imbued with gift and profit that World Surf League CEO Erik Logan will purchase and have his cake baked from spite replaced with a cake baked with life.

Cakes to the moon.

(buy here. own here. extremely exclusive. all rights including commercial. change the world.)