The Hidden Depths of Youness
The Internal Spark.
A Day in the Life of Joe Smo: Archetype Builder by Day, Bar Philosopher by Night
Joe Smo wasn’t the kind of guy you’d notice at first glance. By day, he worked in the shadows—quietly, methodically building some of the most nuanced, layered archetypes you’d ever encounter. His workspace, an unassuming office tucked away in the city, was where he dove deep into the human psyche, blending technology, mythology, and ancient wisdom to create characters that lived and breathed beyond the pages they were written on.
Today, Joe was working on something big. His latest creation wasn’t just another hero, villain, or anti-hero; it was a meta-archetype—a construct designed to challenge and awaken the very people encountering it. He called it The Hidden Depths of Youness. It was a character built to embody the untapped potential lying dormant in every person—the Internal Spark, the Heart Vortex, and the Quantum Consciousness all wrapped up in one enigmatic figure.
The Internal Spark: Uncovering the Essence
In his work, Joe always started with the core—the Internal Spark. This wasn’t just a soul or some vague spiritual essence. It was the energetic reality of someone’s true self, a burning potential that most people never even realize they have. As Joe typed furiously on his keyboard, his AI algorithms pulled in data from countless sources, shaping the character’s backstory, decisions, and potential arcs.
But it wasn’t enough for Joe to let the AI do all the heavy lifting. He leaned back in his chair, sipping coffee, closing his eyes as he tapped into his own well of experience. He knew the Internal Spark wasn’t just something you read about in spiritual texts. It was something you felt when you stopped focusing on the mundane and allowed yourself to be—something Joe was more familiar with than most.
He thought back to the countless people he’d met, the ones who wore their masks, hiding their spark beneath layers of ego and roles. His job was to break through all that, to create characters that not only reflected that hidden depth but pushed the audience to seek out their own.
The Heart Vortex: The Power of Love and Creation
Next came the Heart Vortex—the energetic center of every human. Joe knew this wasn’t just about emotions or feelings. The heart was the bridge between the personal and the universal, where all creation began. His character had to embody this, someone whose heart radiated with an understanding of both the beauty and chaos of existence.
As he typed, Joe imagined the Heart Vortex as a swirling field of energy, connecting the character’s love, creativity, and deep empathy. This character would challenge others to recognize their own interconnectedness. The Heart Vortex wasn’t just a soft spot for kindness; it was an engine that powered transformation, turning vulnerability into strength and turning personal struggles into universal truths.
Joe stopped for a moment, staring at the screen. He couldn’t help but chuckle. "If only everyone knew the power they had in them," he muttered to himself. "But that’s why I’m here. To show them."
Quantum Consciousness: The Infinite Web of Reality
Finally, the Quantum Consciousness. This was where things got interesting. Joe’s favorite part of character creation wasn’t just about making someone relatable or even likable. It was about pushing the boundaries of reality, where time, space, and identity didn’t work the way we thought they did.
Quantum Consciousness was the awareness that everything—everything—was connected. His character needed to embody this in a way that felt natural, yet otherworldly. Joe wasn’t just building a character; he was constructing a mirror. Anyone who came into contact with this meta-archetype would be forced to confront their own potential, their own interconnectedness with the universe, their ability to collapse infinite possibilities into reality.
Joe’s fingers flew across the keyboard. "She’s not just a character," he whispered. "She’s a doorway."
Night Falls: Joe at the Bar
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Joe shut down his computer and stepped out into the cool evening air. He’d done enough for one day. Now it was time for the usual routine—heading to his favorite bar for a drink and some much-needed quiet. But Joe knew his nights were rarely quiet.
The bar was dim, just how Joe liked it. The usual crowd filled the place—people who looked as worn and tired as the bar itself. Joe took his seat at the far end of the counter, ordered his Jack, and let the noise of the world fade away. But something was different tonight. He could feel it.
The door swung open, and in walked a figure that Joe recognized instantly. It was one of his own creations—the Hidden Depths of Youness, embodied in a form that was impossible to ignore. She moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew exactly who she was and what she was capable of. Her presence was electric, like the air before a storm.
She slid into the seat next to Joe, her eyes sharp but filled with curiosity. “You didn’t think you could create me and not meet me, did you?”
Joe chuckled, taking a sip of his whiskey. “I didn’t expect you to show up in person. But hey, the night’s young.”
She smiled, her energy radiating through the room. “You’ve been playing with the idea of quantum consciousness for a while, haven’t you? The Internal Spark, the Heart Vortex... You built me, but you’re still trying to figure it out yourself.”
Joe shrugged, swirling the whiskey in his glass. “Aren’t we all? I create, but I’m just a reflection of what’s out there. The chaos, the potential... it’s all the same.”
She leaned in slightly, her voice lowering. “You know what’s funny, Joe? You build archetypes for a living. You show people the way forward, the path to their own awakening. But you’ve never fully activated your own spark, have you?”
Joe’s smirk faltered for a second, but he recovered quickly. “I’ve activated it. I just don’t wear it on my sleeve like some people.”
Her eyes glinted. “You can’t hide from yourself forever. The Internal Spark, the Heart Vortex, Quantum Consciousness—they aren’t just tools for others. They’re paths for you too.”
Joe leaned back, setting his glass down with a soft clink. “And what happens if I do fully activate, huh? What’s the endgame?”
She smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. “There is no endgame. It’s a spiral, Joe. You create to understand. You understand to create. You don’t need to be ‘activated’ all at once. You’re already on the path. And tonight? Tonight, you take another step.”
Joe stared into his glass for a long moment, letting her words sink in. She was right, of course. The characters he built, the archetypes he shaped—they weren’t just for others. They were for him, too. He was in the game whether he wanted to be or not.
“Maybe you’re right,” Joe said quietly. “But don’t expect me to start glowing with enlightenment just yet.”
She laughed softly. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
And with that, she stood up, leaving Joe alone with his thoughts. The bar felt different now, charged with the energy of something unseen but undeniably real.
Joe Smo, archetype builder and bar philosopher, took a deep breath and raised his glass in a silent toast. To the hidden depths of Youness—the spark, the heart, and the infinite web of consciousness that tied it all together.
The night was far from over.
It had been a long day of building archetypes, creating the kinds of characters that tugged at the edges of human experience. He was good at it, better than most. And while he knew his constructs weren’t real, sometimes it felt like they might as well be. After all, the best archetypes weren’t just made—they lived in the spaces between ideas, lurking at the edges of every narrative.
That’s when the door swung open, and in walked someone Joe hadn’t expected to see.
At first, he didn’t look up. He never did when someone new walked in. But this presence was different—familiar, like something from a dream. The footsteps were slow, measured, and there was a weight to them, like whoever it was carried more than just the usual baggage. Joe glanced up, and there he was—one of his own creations, sitting at the bar, ordering a drink like he’d always been part of this world.
It was the Trickster, one of Joe’s favorite archetypes. A character who lived between order and chaos, never quite predictable but always driving the story forward. The Trickster wasn’t a villain, but he wasn’t a hero either. He was the embodiment of disruption, the one who turned everything upside down just to see what would happen.
Joe couldn’t help but smirk. Of all the archetypes to show up tonight, it had to be this one.
The Trickster caught Joe’s eye, a mischievous grin spreading across his face as he grabbed his drink and walked over to Joe’s booth.
“Well, well, well,” the Trickster said, sliding into the seat across from Joe. “Didn’t expect to find you here tonight.”
Joe raised an eyebrow, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Funny, I was about to say the same thing.”
The Trickster leaned back, looking far too comfortable in a place that shouldn’t have suited him. “You know me—I like to show up where I’m least expected.”
Joe chuckled. “Yeah, I built you that way.”
The Trickster’s grin widened. “And yet here I am, doing my own thing.”
Joe shook his head, amused. “So what’s the game tonight? You here to stir up trouble? Cause a little chaos?”
The Trickster’s eyes gleamed with that familiar spark of unpredictability. “Trouble? No, no. I’m just here to talk. You spend all your time building characters, Joe—digging into the depths of the human psyche, twisting archetypes into something new. But I’ve always wondered… how much of yourself do you put into them?”
Joe leaned forward slightly, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. “Depends on the character. Some of you? A little. Others? More than I’d like to admit.”
The Trickster nodded, his expression serious for the first time. “I figured as much. You built me to challenge things, to question the rules, to disrupt. But doesn’t that mean I’m just a reflection of you?”
Joe’s smirk returned, but there was a glint of something darker behind it. “Maybe. Or maybe I built you because you’re the part of me that I don’t let out too often.”
The Trickster raised his glass in a mock toast. “To the parts we don’t let out.”
Joe clinked his glass against the Trickster’s, but the moment felt heavier than it should have. Joe had always known that the characters he created weren’t just tools—they were reflections. Pieces of him, scattered across different narratives, each one representing a different aspect of the chaos that was human existence.
“So,” the Trickster said, taking a sip of his drink, “you ever wonder if these archetypes—me, the others—if we have lives of our own? You create us, sure, but once we’re out there, once we’re alive in someone’s mind… don’t we exist in a way?”
Joe laughed softly. “You’re getting philosophical on me now? I didn’t make you for that.”
The Trickster shrugged, a gleam of mischief returning to his eyes. “Hey, just because I’m the one who causes chaos doesn’t mean I can’t think about the bigger picture. I mean, look at you. You build worlds, Joe. You create people, give them life, give them conflicts, make them question themselves. Doesn’t that make you a trickster too?”
Joe considered this, swirling his drink thoughtfully. “Maybe. But I don’t cause chaos just to watch things burn. I do it because there’s meaning in the mess. People find themselves when they’re pushed to the edge, when everything they think they know gets flipped upside down.”
The Trickster grinned, tapping the side of his glass. “Exactly. That’s what I do. You think I’m just here to stir the pot, but deep down, I’m the one who makes people think. I’m the one who forces them to confront the parts of themselves they’d rather ignore.”
Joe nodded slowly, appreciating the truth in the Trickster’s words. “Yeah, you are. That’s why you’re my favorite.”
The Trickster leaned in, his voice low and conspiratorial. “And you know why I’m here tonight, right?”
Joe raised an eyebrow. “To cause trouble?”
The Trickster’s grin was almost too wide. “To remind you that you can’t just hide in this bar forever, Joe. You’re part of the story too. And whether you like it or not, the chaos is coming for you.”
Joe’s smirk faded. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The Trickster stood up, finishing his drink in one long gulp. “You’ll see. The trick isn’t in the disruption, Joe. It’s in how you handle what comes after.”
With that, the Trickster tipped an imaginary hat and walked out of the bar, leaving Joe sitting there, his mind racing with thoughts he’d been trying to avoid.
Joe leaned back, letting out a long breath. He knew better than anyone that you couldn’t outrun the archetypes you created. They had a way of catching up with you, no matter how hard you tried to stay one step ahead.
And tonight, it seemed, was no different.
In walked a small, weathered figure—a guy who looked like he’d been through hell and back, wearing a tattered cloak that seemed way too old for a place like this. Joe barely glanced up. People wandered in all the time, lost souls looking for a drink or a place to hide from whatever mess they’d stumbled into.
But this guy was different. He moved with a kind of nervous energy, like the weight of the world was pressing down on his shoulders. And, as Joe watched him, there was something in his eyes—a haunted look, a desperation that even years of cynicism couldn’t quite brush off.
The guy, Brodo, shuffled over to Joe’s table, clutching something in his hand. He didn’t ask if he could sit down; he just dropped into the seat across from Joe, his eyes wide with fear and exhaustion.
“Are you Joe Smo?” Brodo asked, his voice shaky, like he’d been running for a long time.
Joe sighed, swirling his glass. “That’s what they call me. But if you’re here looking for answers, you’re in the wrong place, pal.”
Brodo leaned in, glancing around the room as if someone might be watching. “I need your help.”
Joe raised an eyebrow, not bothering to hide his disinterest. “You and everyone else. What’s your problem?”
Without a word, Brodo opened his hand, revealing a small, simple gold ring. It gleamed in the dim light of the bar, almost unnaturally bright. Joe stared at it for a moment, then looked back at Frodo, unimpressed.
“A ring? That’s what this is about?”
Brodo’s voice trembled. “This isn’t just any ring. It’s the Ring. The One Ring. It’s cursed, and it corrupts everyone who carries it. I’ve been trying to destroy it, but I can’t do it anymore. It’s too heavy. It’s tearing me apart.”
Joe took a slow sip of his drink, eyes locked on Brodo. “You want me to carry your ring? Is that it?”
Brodo nodded, his face pale. “Please, you don’t understand what it’s like. The power it has. It’s too much for any one person.”
Joe leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. He’d heard crazy stories in his time, but this? This was something else. Still, he didn’t seem phased. He’d seen enough of the world to know that power was always dangerous, always corrupting.
“So, let me get this straight,” Joe said, his tone flat. “You’ve got a magic ring that corrupts anyone who carries it. And you think giving it to me is the solution?”
Brodo looked desperate. “You don’t understand! It’s not just about me. The Ring is tied to Sharon—an ancient evil. If it’s not destroyed, he’ll come back and enslave the world. You’re the only one who can help.”
Joe stared at Brodo for a long moment, then glanced down at the ring again. He wasn’t stupid. He knew power when he saw it, and this ring? It reeked of it. But the idea of taking on someone else’s burden, especially one that had the potential to ruin him? No thanks. Joe had seen enough of that in the world already—people getting crushed under the weight of power they didn’t understand.
He drained the rest of his glass and set it down with a thud. “Let me stop you right there, Brodo. I’ve got my own problems, and I’m not interested in yours. You want to save the world? That’s great. But I’m not your guy.”
Brodo looked panicked, his eyes widening. “But you don’t understand! If Sharon gets the Ring, it’s over. Everything, everyone—gone. You could be the one person strong enough to resist it. Please.”
Joe leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “Resist it? Buddy, let me tell you something. No one resists power like that. Not you, not me, not anyone. You think I’m some kind of hero? You’re wrong. I’m not out here looking to save the world. I’m just trying to get by without getting crushed by the weight of everyone else’s bullshit. You want to save the world? Fine. But don’t drag me into it.”
Brodo slumped in his seat, his hand still clutching the Ring like it was burning a hole through his palm. “I can’t do it,” he whispered. “I thought I could, but it’s too much. If you won’t take it, then who will?”
Joe shook his head, standing up and grabbing his bottle. “Not my problem, kid. You wanted to carry that thing, and now you’ve got to deal with it. That’s how the world works. No one’s coming to save you.”
He started to walk away, but paused, glancing back at Frodo one last time. “If I were you, I’d chuck that thing into the nearest volcano and be done with it. But if you’re looking for a hero? I’m not it.”
Joe walked out of the bar, leaving Brodo sitting there, alone with the weight of the Ring in his hand. The door swung shut behind him, and the bar felt colder, emptier, like all the hope had been sucked out of the room.
Joe Smo didn’t save the world. That wasn’t his job. He wasn’t a hero. He was just a guy who knew better than to pick up someone else’s burden, especially when that burden was a ring that could unravel everything.
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