One Note, Infinite Frequency: Holding Integrity in Uncertain Times

A modern psalm for the spiritually and artistically inclined — especially those navigating the tension between performance and authenticity, creation and consumption, novelty and truth.

Is there a reason we second-guess our choices, even after making a firm decision? Do we crave novelty, seasonality, endless options — or have we simply normalized distraction, packaging our indecision as lifestyle and diagnosis?

In a reality so infinite, is there even such a thing as a default setting?

And if there isn’t, would that realization liberate us or rattle the ground beneath our carefully built plans?

After all, certainty only lives in the imagination. But that doesn’t mean we should abandon integrity for the sake of comfort. Nor does it mean we’re meant to dissolve into chaos. So where’s the balance? Can we harmonize what we’ve built with what’s always been?

Here’s where I land:

Since the ego reaches in both directions, our avoidance of darkness only strengthens it. Every time we choose light at the expense of what lies beneath, we leave parts of ourselves behind. Denial, cloaked as virtue. We pretend it’s noble to transcend but in truth, we’re just avoiding the discomfort of wholeness.

Universal law tells us, we can only occupy one state of consciousness at a time. The moment we identify with light, we push shadow to the margins. Yet it lingers reinforcing itself through the Reticular Activating System, through confirmation bias, through the stories we tell ourselves to stay safe.

Perhaps life isn’t a game, but a language.

After all, our biology is tuned for social survival. But our imagination reaches for meaning, purpose, and destiny.

This brings me to one note.

The Forest People of Central Africa, often referred to as “Pygmies,” crafted a flute with just one note: the n’dehou. Its brilliance lay not in melody, but in conversation — a single frequency turned dialogue.

One note, infinite frequency.

Francis Bebey, Cameroonian musicologist, demonstrated the n’dehou — showing how one note becomes a living dialogue. Watch the full video here.

It reminded me of the silences we so often overlook. The ones between conversations. The moments that hang in the air — unspoken, yet potent. The intersections of shadow and light where creative intelligence lives. Not in noise or stillness, but in the restraint of them merging as one. We often avoid this surrender, despite it being our own deepest desire.

We all know this dance. Each day, we perform through social tact, people pleasing, seduction, or self-enhancement.

But beneath it all is one pulse: self-preservation.

Silence, when it’s embodied correctly, becomes seductive. Magnetic. Sometimes it’s not what you say, but what you hold, that speaks the loudest. And in that holding, something unfolds. When someone doesn’t just want to see you, but know you — and you allow them — you offer not just a mirror, but a portal.

Although that kind of awareness is electric, it comes with weight. Once you’ve been seen, it becomes harder to justify hiding. Ambiguity loses its appeal. Mystery becomes a mask. And more often than not, that mask is just fear dressed up as depth.

I’ve walked those rippling corridors. I’ve sat at the edge of that inner black hole. And I’ve learned: playing small may feel safe, but over time, it drains you. It’s a false sanctuary that trades potential for protection. And that protection becomes a liability, or a debt.

I used to think success meant hunting.

Now I know: it’s about being.

And that shift changes everything. Because the perceived black hole within isn’t a punishment — it’s a law of nature. A threshold we all must cross. Deny it, and you stagnate. Engage with it, and you expand.

This is what natural law demands of us. Not perfection. Not performative light. But depth, presence, and the willingness to be whole.

Presence over popularity. Every time.

If we attune to that frequency and live from that space, then exceptionality won’t be a rare spark. It will be the baseline.

Integrity is Rhythm

All artistic creators understand this. They offer themselves as vessels for contradiction. Characters or subjects who bleed, betray, or break. They become our mirrors, reflecting the range of what it means to be human. That range isn’t just art. It’s information.

The more honestly it’s expressed, the more we’re able to see and hold our own choices. To understand them. To use them.

Because too often, we consume ideas passively.

We call them beautiful, then forget them. Until the moment we need them — and sometimes, that moment arrives too late.

This week, I went to my first opera recital.

“Primadonna Hits: A Three Divas Concert,” curated by Filipino-American soprano Yohji Cantar Daquio, staged a playful yet powerful feud between three operatic forces. Yohji Daquio, Emily Summers, and Lina Chung each embodied a distinct vocal timbre, personality, and stage presence. Their form-fitting, bold, seductive costumes weren’t just aesthetic choices — they were signals. Artistic armor for the emotional athleticism of opera.

Accompanied by pianist Luka Marinkovic and held in the luminous Marc A. Scorca Hall of Opera America, the show was intimate. Small in attendance, grand in delivery. You could count the guests on two hands — yet the air pulsed with presence.

The experience exposed something deeper; the tension artists hold between mastery and recognition. When attention spans shorten and monetization tightens, how do we preserve the essence of what we do?

That’s where the n’dehou echoes again.

The Forest People didn’t require complexity to make contact with spirit. Just one note, blown with intention and met with listening. Not a performance, but a conversation. Not excess, but exactness — rippling to expose the infinite beneath the singular.

We don’t need more noise. More options. More escape routes.

We need attunement.

Natural law reveres presence. And presence is what gives our imagined structures — our costumes, stages, and feuds — real meaning. It’s what I heard beneath the arias and choruses, even in languages I didn’t understand.

That unmistakable undercurrent: truth through restraint.

So perhaps integrity isn’t holding firmer when things shake, but listening more closely to what never moved in the first place.

When we collapse novelty into noise, or mask fear as mystery, we lose the signal. We drift. And in a culture so saturated with spectacle, the most radical act might be to choose a single, clear note. And sometimes that note is letting go.

One aligned choice, made from presence, doesn’t just echo.

It resonates — through time, through space, through the architecture of identity.

It doesn’t crave applause.

It doesn’t need to be loud, or clever, or correct.

It just needs to be true.

That’s integrity in uncertain times.

Not rigidity.
Not rebellion.
But rhythm.

A refusal to split ourselves for safety.

Natural law isn’t a doctrine.

It’s a drumbeat.

And we remember who we are each time we move in time with it.

If this piece struck a chord, consider it your invitation.
The Mediator Office is a sanctuary for those who live at the intersection of creativity and consciousness. We hold space for dialogue, depth, and direction in a world addicted to performance.

Join the conversation. Step into your frequency.
One note. Infinite frequency. Let’s hold it — together.

Subscribe to our weekly dispatch for reflective essays, curated sound, and sovereign insight.

Until then, we’ll see you in the Office.