A STORY OF KINSHIP

By Bryant Stratton

I am done living in the house of perception.

I have walked through every room in that house, each with its own mirror, its own distortion, its own story about who I must be in order to be loved, trusted, valued, or chosen.

I’ve lived in the rooms where people called me brilliant while never supporting me.
Rooms where I blamed myself for other people’s unmade decisions.
Rooms where projection felt like betrayal, and betrayal felt like proof.
Rooms where I learned to shrink, to carry, to earn, to over-explain, to take responsibility for everyone but myself.

I stepped into relationship after relationship where expectations were unspoken, boundaries unclear, and the cost of care unacknowledged.
Then I blamed myself when they cracked.

But I see it now.

The problem wasn’t that people disappointed me.
The problem was that neither of us knew what the relationship actually required.
We entered without a container, without a contract, without clarity.

And when expectations aren’t defined, disappointment is guaranteed.

So here is the truth I’ve paid dearly to learn:

The only thing that should ever be expected in a relationship is kinship.

Not performance.
Not perfection.
Not the illusion of certainty.
Not the validation of titles.
Not the chase of status.
Not the right words at the right time.

Just kinship.
Honesty.
Care.
Showing up without keeping score.

I’ve lost clients to insecurity, to status-chasing, to the gravitational pull of people who “look” like safe choices. I can’t fault them for that. I wanted those signals too. But I know now they are not required. And when something isn’t required, you stop bending yourself into knots to earn it.

Because here is the deeper truth:

You can’t plan your own surprise.
You can’t engineer spontaneity.
You can’t script awakening.
And you can’t control connection.

Zen teaches that freedom comes when you stop expecting life to match the script you wrote for it.
Kinship works the same way.

You can’t force people to care.
You can’t make someone intuitive enough to help you when you don’t know how to ask.
You can’t make someone stay when absence is easier for them.

And you cannot call someone “your people” if they never choose you back.

So I no longer chase.
I no longer beg.
I no longer explain my value to someone determined not to see it.
I no longer plan the magic I hope to feel.
I no longer stay in rooms that require me to disappear.

I walk with those who walk with me.
I build with those who build with me.
I bless those who bless others.

If you’re reading this, I want one thing from you:

Go bless people.

Bring them into our communities.
Give them the bit of you that changes things.
Offer them a taste of the kinship that becomes possible when no one is keeping score.
Sometimes you’ll be the guy carrying the couch who needs help.
Sometimes you’ll be the one who doesn’t need anything at all.
Both matter.
Both are beautiful.
Both overflow the cup.

This is how we change the world, not through force but through kinship—
the only currency that compounds without extraction.

So step outside the spiral.
Step outside the thousand rooms of perception.
Leave the house entirely.

Stand on neutral ground and say:

“I might be wrong.”
“I might be right.”
“I don’t know.”
“In fact… I don’t know anything.”

And when you finally reach that quiet place—
the place without identity, without armor, without the illusion of control—
you arrive at the truth:

You end with nothing.

And from that nothing, everything new can grow.

This is my manifesto.
This is my life.
This is my invitation.

Walk with me if it resonates.
Bless others if it does.
And if you stay, stay as kin.

Because kinship is all that was ever required.

BEWARE DEEP DIVE INCOMING…

Lets start with the pain and the pattern

What struck me today was seeing someone do something I used to do, which is assume another person isn’t doing their part, then stack that assumption on top of every old wound where you already feel unseen or undervalued. And instead of facing the pain of feeling small or invaluable, you project.

I carried that for years.
I was called genius, gifted, brilliant, yet I didn’t feel supported. I didn’t trust people because life kept proving they couldn’t hold me. And when you live through that lens, you end up choosing relationships that confirm it.

You attract people who haven’t done the inner work, who haven’t built enough confidence to stand in Step One. They can’t receive acknowledgment (Step Two), let alone sustain long-term wisdom (Step Three). So when they don’t get the results they want, they get mad at you, because they don’t know their part in the process.

But here’s the part I didn’t fully own until recently:

It was also on me.
Not because I did something wrong,
but because I didn’t set expectations.
Neither of us knew what was actually needed.

We entered relationships casually, without defining the container.
Without clarifying the cost, the responsibilities, or the shared purpose.
And when expectations aren’t defined, disappointment is guaranteed.

The irony is that after someone pays the cost—the effort, the honesty, the consistency—of being in a relationship with me, they eventually discover that kinship is all that was ever needed.

Not perfection.
Not performance.
Not tactics or output.
Just kinship.
The willingness to walk together honestly, with care.

And here’s the hard-won truth I had to accept:

If someone doesn’t turn around and help you…
if they aren’t intuitive enough to notice when you don’t know how to ask for help…
if they don’t naturally step in the way you step in for others…
they’re not your people.

That used to devastate me.
Now I see it as a blessing.

It revealed who was capable of relationship and who wasn’t.
It taught me the difference between proximity and kinship.
It showed me that loyalty isn’t proven when things are smooth,
but in the moments when you’re silent and someone still chooses to show up.

The people who stay, who pay the cost, who help without needing to be asked—
those are the people who uncover the real treasure.

Because in the end, all I ever needed and all I ever had was kinship.
And that has always been enough.

The Blessing on the Other Side of Expectations

Okay lets elevate this insight and integrate it into our lives.

What’s interesting now, standing where I stand today, is how many friends I truly have.
Real friends.
People I love deeply.
People who love me back in a way that feels steady, clean, unforced.

The only reason that could happen is because I finally freed myself from the old expectations I used to drag into every relationship. I stopped believing that connection required performance or that love required fulfilling some unspoken contract. Now I can simply be a friend, and they can simply be a friend, without conditions.

It’s one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received—the ability to let relationships be relationships, not evaluations.

And it shows up even in the hard moments.
Like when a client throws me out because they’re chasing validation from people with the right titles, the right status markers, the right “proof” that they’re on the right path.

I can’t fault them for that.
I’ve wanted those same things.
We all want affirmation from those we consider ahead of us.

But here’s the difference now:
I know those things are not required.

And when something isn’t required, you stop contorting yourself to get it.

This is the quiet freedom on the other side of maturity.
You quit asking life to surprise you on your own terms.
You stop trying to plan your own spontaneous moment of discovery, which is as funny and impossible as trying to throw yourself a surprise party you didn’t already know about.

You learn what Zen has been teaching for millennia:
Spontaneity cannot be engineered.
Presence cannot be rehearsed.
Awakening cannot be scheduled.

And the moment you stop trying to orchestrate the magic,
the magic finally has space to show up.

This is why kinship is enough.
Not because it demands nothing,
but because it allows everything to unfold naturally
without control, without contracts masquerading as connection.

It’s the art of living without planning the punchline.
It’s the humility to stop editing your own destiny.
It’s the joy of discovering that the right people,
the ones who stay, the ones who help without being asked,
the ones who show up when you are quiet,
are often the people you never had to earn to begin with.

And that is the blessing I had to grow enough to receive.

The Invitation Beyond the House of Perception

Lets reflect

Get offended if you want—that’s your choice.
Lean in if you want—that’s also your choice.
Either way, I’m here.

And if you’re here with me now, reading this, then I want you to do something simple and important.

Go bless others.

Bless them by bringing them into the communities we’ve built, where they can receive a little bit of each of us. Sometimes the person they meet will be exactly the right one, exactly the right voice, exactly the right kind of help. That’s the kind of mentorship and kinship that actually changes people, because it’s shared.

It’s like two guys carrying a couch down the stairs.
One needs the help,
the other doesn’t,
and neither one is keeping score.

That’s what kinship looks like.
That’s when you can say, “You don’t owe me anything,” and mean it.
But then, in the moments that matter, you show up for each other anyway.
And when that happens, something beautiful emerges.
Something so real it causes your cup to overflow.

So step outside the spiral dynamic.
Step outside the house with a thousand rooms, including the room of perception we’re all born into.

Leave the house entirely.

Look at your life from a neutral lens and say:

“I’m going to assume I’m wrong.”
“I’m going to assume I’m right.”
“I’m going to assume I don’t know anything.”
“In fact, I don’t know anything.”

And when you finally reach that point—
when you’re no longer clinging to certainty
or identity
or the need to be right,
you end with the only thing that’s ever been true.

You end with nothing.

And from that nothing, everything new can grow.

And Here’s How I’m Going to Sustain That

The only way to hold onto this freedom, this clarity, this honest way of relating, is to live in a way that doesn’t violate it.

So here’s how I’m going to sustain it.

1. I will choose kinship first, not performance.
If the relationship doesn’t begin in kinship, it won’t survive maturity.
That means I no longer build relationships on expectations I haven’t spoken.
If someone doesn’t naturally show up, care, or reciprocate, I don’t force it.
I let the truth reveal the relationship.

2. I will stay rooted in who I am, not who others want me to be.
I’ve spent enough years trying to fit into rooms by shrinking myself or trying to earn a seat.
Now I walk in as I am.
If someone can’t receive that, we aren’t meant to walk together.
And that’s not a loss, that’s a filter.

3. I will let go of needing validation from titles, status markers, or the “right” people.
I know what that chase feels like.
It’s exhausting and it leaves you hollow.
The irony is that when you stop needing those signals, the right people show up anyway, and the wrong ones fall away without conflict.

4. I will stop trying to pre-script the magic.
No more planning surprises for myself.
No more trying to control the timing of insight or closeness or breakthrough.
Zen has already taught me enough:
Presence is the only doorway to any of this.
The moment I try to engineer spontaneity, I lose it.

5. I will show up before I ask others to.
Not in sacrifice, but in integrity.
If I want people who help when I don’t know how to ask, then I have to live that model.
Kinship is sustained by living the example, not demanding the result.

6. I will allow the right people to find me.
I don’t chase anymore.
People who resonate with kinship, reciprocity, and maturity naturally come closer.
People who don’t either drift or eject—and both are blessings.
It keeps my circle clean.

7. I will keep telling the truth—even the uncomfortable parts.
Because truth attracts the right people and repels the wrong ones.
It has a sorting effect.
It keeps my relationships aligned with reality instead of fantasy.

8. I will honor the people who choose me back.
Not as a burden, but as the most beautiful responsibility I get to have.
These are the people I build with, grow with, and protect.
These are the relationships that become more real than anything I ever chased.

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This is how I sustain the life I have now.
By not slipping back into the illusions that required me to earn love, predict outcomes, or carry relationships alone.
By living in kinship, reciprocity, presence, and truth.
By letting life surprise me again.