Hello everyone, I’m Adrian, a Munich native who grew up among the clinking of gears and the gentle chimes of crystals. My father’s workbench always carried the scent of machine oil. He taught me how to wind copper wire into little coils that sparked and crackled, saying, “Electricity is just light taking a different path.” My mother would tend to her amethysts in the morning light, her fingers gliding across the crystals as she whispered, “Listen, that’s sunlight humming.” I’d lie on the floor, watching the green line dance on the oscilloscope like a flowing stream, and suddenly I understood — everything is telling its story through vibration, including our bodies.

For over twenty years, I’ve immersed myself in Georges Lakhovsky’s universe of “cellular frequencies.” He believed the human body is like a collection of tiny radios — when they’re off-frequency, all you get is static. My work has been to build bridges based on his ideas: climbing the Alps with homemade metal devices, watching a climber’s icy hands warm as they gripped a cold antenna, or seeing tense shoulders melt like butter. In an old Berlin studio, I’d set up a wooden desk to help lifelong insomniacs tune into a frequency that makes the nerves sway gently — and hear them say just before sleep, “It felt like a feather landed on my temple.”

People often point at the gear-shaped cufflinks on my sleeve and ask, “Isn’t this just a magic trick?” I let them hold a smoothly polished metal rod, feeling the subtle vibrations in their palms — a tickle like butterfly wings folding, or a creeping warmth spreading from within. “See,” I say, pointing at the dancing waves on the oscilloscope, “the body is more honest than the mind — it already knows which frequency feels right.”

I don’t speak vaguely about “cosmic energy.” What captivates me are the concrete, touchable moments: the way your feet and the ground sync during a morning run — does that rhythm match your heartbeat? Or how raindrops tapping on the window can slow your breath. Even the friction between your palms and dough while kneading — all of it is a quiet conversation of energy.

If you’re curious, we can begin with the simplest things: rub your hands together until they’re warm, cover your eyes, and listen for the faint “hmm” in the darkness. Or stare into a cup of warm water and imagine it reflecting the tiny universe inside your body.

Here I am—the oddball who draws mandalas on mechanical blueprints and measures crystal frequencies with an oscilloscope. I believe that when we learn to “tune in” through our fingertips, our breath, and our very presence in each moment, the self-healing abilities lodged deep in our cells flow as naturally as spring snow melting. After all, the body that carries us through this life has always known the way home—I’m just the one holding up a lantern to light the path.