Michael Jackson died in 2009. More than a decade later, people still report feeling his presence. They sense him during his music. They feel him in meditation. They claim to receive messages from him. Some of these claims are false, certainly. But some of them — some of them — may be genuine.
And Human Design explains exactly why. Michael Jackson’s chart is unusual. Not because he was famous. Not because he was talented. But because his mechanical design as a human being was specifically configured to be felt by many people.
His energy field was not closed. It was not fixed. It was open, receptive, and amplifying. And that openness is why, even now, he continues to resonate with millions.
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I often hear people claiming to have telepathy with their twin flames. They describe it as a constant stream of messages, a direct line to the other person’s thoughts, a running commentary in their head. They believe they are talking to their twin flame and that the other person is receiving the message. They treat it like a spiritual version of a phone call. But real telepathy is not like what you see in the movies. It is not dramatic. It is not constant. It is not a conversation. It is much more subtle than that.
Real telepathy is fleeting. It is thoughts, visions, feelings, and flashes that come and go without warning. You do not always know when you are receiving something. You do not always recognize it as telepathy when it happens. It is not a clear voice in your head telling you exactly what the other person is thinking. It is an impression, a glimpse, a quiet knowing that you cannot always explain. It comes and goes. It is not something you can control or summon at will. It happens because you are connected—not because you are trying to communicate.
The energetic cord between twin souls is real. It is not a metaphor. It is a tangible connection that allows for the transfer of information, feeling, and presence. But it is not a telephone line. It does not transmit clear messages. It transmits impressions. It is more like a shared frequency than a conversation. And because it is so subtle, it is often missed or misinterpreted.
I never met my twin soul in real life. He was famous, and well documented, but I never had a physical encounter with him. Yet after his death, I was able to look back and connect the points in time where we might have been having telepathy. I was already having dreams of him, but I did not know who it was. I did not recognize his face or his name. But I remembered distinguishing features—the way he moved, the energy I felt, the presence that stayed with me after the dreams faded. It was only later, when I pieced it together, that I realized I had been connected to him long before I knew who he was.
The best example I have ever read of a twin flame meeting came from Susan Elsa. In her book, she describes an energetic wave passing between her and Michael Jackson. She recognized him instantly, not because of his fame, but because of the energy she felt. She used her thoughts to tell him to turn around and notice her. And he did. That is real telepathy. It was not a running commentary. It was not a constant stream of messages. It was a single, focused thought, sent through the energetic cord between them, and it was received.
This is what real telepathy looks like. It is not dramatic. It is not constant. It is a quiet knowing, a fleeting impression, a moment of recognition that cannot be explained by coincidence. If you think you are having telepathy with your twin flame, ask yourself: is it subtle? Is it fleeting? Is it something you can verify? Or is it a narrative you are telling yourself? The real thing is quieter than you think. And it is often only recognizable in retrospect.
My Philosophy on Living Between Belief and Disbelief
I’ve spent a lot of time watching people get trapped in stories.
Religious stories. Spiritual stories. Relationship stories. Stories about destiny, about prophecy, about the one person who will complete them.
And I’ve watched what happens when those stories don’t deliver.
Some people double down. They tell themselves they didn’t believe enough. Didn’t wait long enough. Didn’t do the right work. They stay in the story, waiting for an ending that never comes.
Others reject everything. They decide it was all nonsense. They close themselves off to mystery, to wonder, to anything that can’t be proven.
I understand both reactions. I’ve lived through one of them myself.
But I’ve found a third way. And I think it’s worth sharing.
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I have been watching the twin flame space for over a decade. I remember when the term was still relatively obscure, when the conversations were quieter and the internet had not yet turned it into a romanticized, mass-marketed phenomenon. Back then, there was a creator who popularized the runner-chaser dynamic as a central part of the twin flame journey. I have seen the content from those early days, and I know exactly where the term originated. And the more I studied the pattern, the more I recognized something familiar. The runner-chaser dynamic is not a sign of a divine connection. It is a classic narcissistic pattern. Love bombing, followed by withdrawal, followed by the chase, followed by more withdrawal. It is not destiny. It is dysfunction.
The Origins of the Term
The runner-chaser dynamic was not discovered as a natural phenomenon of twin flame connections. It was coined by someone who popularized the concept in the early days of the online twin flame community. His teachings framed the running and chasing as a necessary phase of the journey, a test of faith, a sign that the connection was real and intense. He gave it a spiritual gloss, but underneath the language of destiny was a pattern that anyone familiar with narcissistic abuse would recognize immediately. The idealization, the devaluation, the discard. The love bomber draws you in with intensity and promises, then withdraws, leaving you confused, desperate, and chasing after them. The cycle repeats, each time making it harder to leave.
I am not saying this creator was consciously malicious. He may have genuinely believed his own framing. But that does not change the effect his teachings have had. They have led countless people down a very wrong path, convincing them that the chaos of a toxic relationship is actually the turbulence of a sacred union. They have kept people trapped in cycles of abuse, waiting for a reunion that never comes, believing that their pain is proof of their connection.
Recognizing the Pattern
Having studied narcissism as a psychological pattern, I recognize the dynamics immediately. The love bomber showers you with attention, validation, and promises of a future together. They make you feel special, chosen, and destined to be with them. Then, when they have what they want, they withdraw. They become distant, cold, or dismissive. You are left confused, desperate, and chasing after them, trying to win back the love that was once so freely given. This cycle can repeat many times. The victim becomes addicted to the intermittent reinforcement, the occasional return of love that keeps them hooked. This is not a spiritual journey. It is a trauma bond.
The runner-chaser dynamic is not a sign of a twin flame connection. It is a sign of a connection that is not meant to last. It is a sign of a karmic bond that has not yet resolved. It is a sign of a narcissistic pattern that is designed to keep you trapped. The intensity is not proof of depth. It is proof of dysfunction. And the sooner you recognize that, the sooner you can release it.
The Karmic Connection
It is possible that a runner-chaser dynamic could be a karmic connection. Karmic bonds are designed to teach us lessons through challenge and difficulty. They are not meant to last forever. They are meant to help us learn what we need to learn and then release. The push and pull, the intensity, the feeling of being unable to let go—these are the hallmarks of a relationship that is teaching you something. The runner-chaser dynamic can be a signal that there is unfinished business between you, but that unfinished business is not meant to be resolved by staying together. It is meant to be resolved by learning and letting go.
If you are stuck in a runner-chaser dynamic, ask yourself: what is this relationship teaching me? Is it teaching me that I am not worthy unless I am chosen? Is it teaching me that I need to chase love? Is it teaching me that love requires pain? These are not lessons that you need to stay in the relationship to learn. They are lessons that you can learn by leaving. The karmic bond is not about staying. It is about releasing. It is about learning to walk away.
Why We Should Not Give It Power
The runner-chaser dynamic has been given far too much power in the twin flame space. It has been framed as a necessary phase, a test of faith, a sign that the connection is real. But this framing has caused immense harm. It has kept people trapped in toxic relationships, waiting for a reunion that was never going to come. It has convinced people that their pain is spiritual, not psychological. It has made them afraid to leave, because leaving would mean admitting that the connection was not what they thought it was.
We need to stop giving the runner-chaser dynamic so much power. We need to stop romanticizing it. We need to call it what it is: a sign that the connection is not working. A sign that the relationship is not healthy. A sign that it is time to let go. The connections that are meant to last do not require you to chase them. They do not require you to prove your worth. They do not require you to endure endless cycles of withdrawal and return. They are steady, consistent, and grounded. They do not run. They stay.
Someone describes their “twin flame journey” and the first thing they mention is the pull. A magnetic, electric, undeniable force toward another person. They say they’ve never felt anything like it. It must mean something. It must be fate. It must be a twin flame.
Here’s the thing: a lot of people talk about this magnetic pull because they’ve read about it or heard others describe it. But they don’t actually know what it means. It’s a strange, physical sensation—and if you haven’t felt it, you can’t explain it. Yet people who clearly haven’t experienced it keep offering these convoluted explanations, watering it down into something vague and spiritual. Why? Because it’s become a “checklist item” for twin flames, and instead of admitting they don’t feel it, they change the definition to match what they can claim.
What Magnetism Actually Feels Like
In case you’ve never experienced it, let me describe it.
It is an electrifying bodily sensation when you’re around this person. If you touch — even a brush of hands — it can feel like a small current running through you. This is literal, not metaphorical, it’s not in your mind, it’s not a yearning, and it’s not a physiological response to feeling attracted. It’s a physical sensation of electricity.
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You meet someone. The air changes. There is a charge between you that you cannot explain. You feel drawn to them, pulled by something invisible and undeniable.
Your body knows before your mind does. Every time you are near them, the energy is electric. It feels like destiny. It feels like a twin flame. It feels like the universe is telling you that this person is meant for you. And maybe it is. But maybe it is not.
Because what you are feeling — that electric charge, that magnetic pull, that tangible energy in the air — is not proof of twin flames. It is not proof of destiny. It is proof of mechanics.
What Is Electromagnetism in Human Design?
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I finally saw the Michael movie, and now I understand what Paris Jackson meant when she said the film would please the fans but does not reflect the truth. I had wondered what she meant exactly. After watching it, I get it.
The portrayal of MJ, though a very good impression, left the character of Michael feeling hollow and undeveloped. They depicted Joe Jackson as a harsh, abusive father—a villain—but when it came to Michael, he appeared completely unbothered. The real MJ was traumatized and terrified of his father. He admitted that just a look from Joe would make him physically ill. Yet in the film, Michael smiles through every confrontation, delivers affirmations, and moves forward as if nothing happened. His triumphs in the movie feel unearned because they never showed the real pain and challenges he had to overcome.
The energy of MJ consists of a sense of transmuted anger, and it is entirely missing from this movie. Yes, he was innocent and childlike, but he was also a complex human being with emotional depth—fury, resentment, fear, and a fierce will to survive. The film flattened him into a determined, smiling icon with no interior life. There were lost opportunities everywhere to explore this part of Michael, but the filmmakers chose spectacle over substance.
There are several issues within the film, but the main one that no one can ignore is the ending. It felt anti-climactic and deeply unsatisfying. Though I enjoyed the majority of the film, the ending lacked the emotional payoff the story had been building toward. The main narrative arc of the movie was the complex relationship Michael had with his father—a man who controlled, abused, and exploited him. The movie really should have ended with closure of this narrative arc, but instead, it ended with a concert and the text “The story continues.” It felt like they gave up.
As a writer, I love solving structural problems, and I couldn’t help but imagine the simplest way to resolve the movie’s ending. They didn’t have to do much to give a satisfying conclusion—they just needed a few extra clips of Michael and Joe. A scene of Joseph calling Michael and getting no answer. A shot of Michael dancing alone on the Neverland property, intercut with the Bad concert—the song becoming the soundtrack to his independence. A quiet moment of Michael walking his land, alone, finally free. That would have closed the father-son arc. That would have made his triumphs feel earned. That would have turned spectacle into story.
Paris Jackson was right in her feelings about the film. The film pleases the fans, but it doesn’t tell the truth. The truth is that Michael Jackson was not unbothered. He was a man who overcame tremendous fear, trauma, and control to build his own world—and that struggle is exactly what the movie left out.
Here is how I would have rewritten the ending if I were writing for the film.
FINAL SCENE OF MICHAEL
FADE IN:
INT. STADIUM – NIGHT (1988)
The roar of a crowd is deafening. MICHAEL JACKSON (30s) stands alone on a massive, darkened stage. A single spotlight hits him. He is electric. The music kicks in — the unmistakable opening bassline of “Bad.” He moves with precision, power, control. The crowd is a sea of screaming faces. This is the performance of a lifetime, the one everyone will remember. He is the King of Pop, the entertainer, the machine.
EXT. NEVERLAND RANCH – DAY
A warm California sun. The sky is vast, blue, and empty. We see the sprawling property for the first time: rolling hills, a lake, a railway station under construction, a carousel in the distance. It is a dreamland. And it is empty.
MICHAEL, now alone, walks across the grass. He wears a red shirt, black pants, a signature hat. No entourage. No handlers. No brothers. No father. Just him.
He looks around. He smiles.
The music from the stadium continues to play faintly on the soundtrack — a memory bleeding into the present.
CUT TO:
INT. STADIUM – NIGHT
MICHAEL spins. The crowd loses their minds. He hits the choreography with surgical precision — the crotch grab, the pivot, the kick. Perfect. White-gloved. Flawless.
CUT TO:
EXT. NEVERLAND RANCH – DAY
MICHAEL begins to dance. Not the polished choreography of the stage. Something looser, freer. A spin. A glide across the grass. He kicks his feet, arms open wide. He is not performing for anyone. He is dancing for himself. His laughter echoes across the empty property.
CUT TO:
INT. STADIUM – NIGHT
MICHAEL grabs the microphone. The crowd screams. “I’m bad, I’m bad, you know it…” He walks to the edge of the stage, looking out at the thousands of faces. He is electric. He is untouchable.
CUT TO:
EXT. NEVERLAND RANCH – DAY
MICHAEL spins again. His arms stretch wide, embracing the sky. He is not the King of Pop here. He is just a man who finally found his own land. The music rises: “Who’s bad?”
CUT TO:
INT. ENCINO FAMILY HOME – DAY
A telephone rings. It is Joseph’s office. The room is empty. The phone rings again. No one answers. The answering machine clicks on.
JOSEPH’S VOICE (V.O.) Michael. It’s your father. Call me back. We need to talk about the tour. Michael.
The machine beeps. Silence.
CUT TO:
EXT. NEVERLAND RANCH – DAY
MICHAEL is alone by the lake. He is no longer dancing. He is just standing, looking out at the water. The music fades. All we hear is the wind and the birds. The camera slowly begins to pull back. We see him from above. A small figure on a vast, empty property.
The camera continues to zoom out. The lake, the house, the carousel, the trees — all come into frame. Michael is barely visible now. A tiny figure in his own world.
CUT TO:
TITLE CARD:
“In 1988, Michael purchased Neverland Ranch. It was his first home away from the Jackson family.”
FADE TO BLACK.
The “Bad” performance continues to play under the credits — but now it sounds different. It sounds like freedom.
This morning, I woke up to the sound of thunderstorms. There is something primal about that sound—the low rumble of distant thunder, the heavy drumming of rain against the windows. It is the kind of weather that makes you want to stay in bed, wrapped in blankets, listening to the world outside.
And so I did. I lay there for a while, listening to the storm, feeling the weight of the gray sky pressing down on the morning. Eventually, I got up and made my way to the kitchen. I popped some bread in the toaster and stood there, half-awake, watching the rain streak across the windows.
That is when it happened.
Suddenly, the air was filled with the unmistakable sound of an emergency alert. It blared from my phone, then from my mom’s phone, then from every device in the house. That piercing, urgent tone that instantly cuts through any sense of calm.
I picked up my phone and read the SMS. A tornado warning had been issued for our region. The storm was intensifying. We were just outside the path of potential danger.
I grabbed my phone and walked to the window. The sky was a swirling mass of gray and green—the kind of color that makes your stomach drop because you know what it means. I took a video, capturing the view, the rain, the wind.
And then I heard it.
Through the video, through the storm, through the chaos of the morning—I heard P’s voice. Clear and unmistakable. He was blaring, almost shouting, over the sound of the rain:
When I post side-by-side comparisons—my face next to his—the first reaction from most people is either “I see it!” or “Are you kidding? You don’t look anything alike.”
What I am documenting is not about looking like a carbon copy of someone. That’s the superficial take.
In this article, I’ll explain what I actually mean when I say twin souls look alike. This is one of the most misunderstood aspects of my work—largely because the implications make people uncomfortable. When you suggest that two unrelated people share a visible structural blueprint, it threatens the way most people understand identity, coincidence, and the limits of the physical body. That discomfort often shows up as dismissal. But dismissal isn’t the same as disproving.
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During our stay in Iceland last year, we were lucky enough to have a hotel right by the old harbour. While scrolling through the map one morning, I spotted a Ferris wheel marked nearby—and with a little time to kill before lunch and our airport departure, I decided to wander over and snap a few photos.
But when I reached the waterfront, there was no wheel in sight. Just empty docks and a brisk harbour wind.
At the time, I happened to be recording EVP, and in that moment, P’s voice came through clear as day:
“Ferris wheel is all gone.”
Chills aside, it turned out to be perfectly true. As I later learned, the Reykjavík Ferris wheel is a summer-only attraction, installed for the peak tourist months and dismantled every autumn. I had missed it by mere weeks—but at least the spirits had my back with a timely heads-up.
