I was bouncing ideas back-and-forth with my philosophy AI the other day, when I realized something: I’ve spent a lifetime living under dogmas that promised to carry my pain. Religion, institutions, authority figures — all of them were ready to take my anguish if I just handed over obedience, time, money, or loyalty.

And when you’re in pain, that bargain looks tempting. It feels like relief. But really, it’s control.

I know this because I lived it. I was taught that if I felt overwhelmed, I should kneel, pray, or obey, and the system would take care of the rest. But that “rest” always came with strings attached. What I didn’t understand then was that my vulnerability — my need to release mental anguish — was being harnessed as fuel for someone else’s power.

But here’s the thing: humans still need a way to release. We still need a practice that lets us acknowledge suffering, feel it for a moment, and then let it go somewhere bigger than ourselves. Otherwise we collapse under the weight of wars, cruelty, injustice, and grief.

So, with my AI, I started thinking: what if we designed a way that wasn’t religion, wasn’t an institution, wasn’t a belief system? What if it asked for nothing, demanded nothing, promised nothing? Just a method, ambiguous enough to be yours and yours alone.

That’s where this idea of The All-Protocol came from.

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🌌 The All-Protocol

Axiom:

Because no one knows what is truly after life, the All can be whatever it is—even if it is nothingness.

Purpose:

To release what cannot be carried alone, to remain human in a cruel world, and to act with compassion without being consumed.

Steps:

1. See — Acknowledge the suffering, whether yours or humanity’s.

2. Hold — Let it be real for a moment. Don’t look away.

3. Release — Exhale it into the All: “This is not mine to carry alone.”

4. Remain — Re-center yourself: “I am still here, choosing humanity.”

5. Act — Do one compassionate thing, however small.

That’s it. No dogma. No leaders. No collection plate. Just you, practicing your humanity in the face of a world that too often tries to strip it away.

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Why Ambiguity is the Point

The beauty of the protocol is its ambiguity. For someone with autism, it might mean standing and stimming until the release is felt. For someone raised in a church, it might look like kneeling and lifting their arms to the sky. For others, it could be as simple as closing their eyes and breathing deeply.

There is no “right way.” The form doesn’t matter — the movement from acknowledging pain → releasing it → returning to compassion does.

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Why It Matters

We live in a cruel world. War, injustice, inequality, exploitation — it’s too much for one mind to bear. If you try to carry it all, you’ll break. If you shut it out, you’ll go numb.

The All-Protocol is a third way. It doesn’t erase suffering, but it lets you release it into something larger — even if that “something larger” is simply the silence of the universe. And after release, it returns you to yourself, ready to act with compassion in small, real ways.

It’s not salvation. It’s not enlightenment. It’s a tool. And sometimes a tool is all you need to keep your humanity intact.

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Closing

This isn’t a movement. There’s no club to join, no leader to follow. If anything, it’s like open-source software: you run it yourself, you modify it as you need, you share it only if you want.

It asks nothing.

It gives you back to yourself.

And in a world like ours, maybe that’s the beginning of something much bigger.

— Oddly Robbie