We’re looking forward to introducing you to Javier Rhoden. Check out our conversation below.
Hi Javier , thank you for taking the time to reflect back on your journey with us. I think our readers are in for a real treat. There is so much we can all learn from each other and so thank you again for opening up with us. Let’s get into it: What are you chasing, and what would happen if you stopped?
Most people are chasing proof — proof that they matter, that they’re loved, that their purpose is real, that their effort will lead somewhere. But when you stop chasing, you don’t lose the dream — you meet it where it’s always been waiting: inside you.
If you stopped chasing, what would happen isn’t failure. It’s truth. The noise would settle, and what’s truly yours would remain. You’d realize that what you thought you had to run toward has been orbiting you the entire time, waiting for you to be still enough to receive it.
So, what you’re chasing might not be something ahead of you — it might be something trying to return through you.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
Hello! I’m Javier Rhoden, a writer, poet, and creator deeply rooted in exploring truth, self-realization, and the unseen currents of life. Through my work, I blend poetry, prose, and music to craft experiences that resonate on a soul level—inviting readers to awaken, reflect, and connect with what’s often overlooked in everyday life.
What makes my work unique is its authenticity and layered depth: every piece is a reflection of lived experience, spiritual insight, and emotional resonance, without leaning on trends or surface-level inspiration. I aim to create work that lingers in the mind and heart, challenging conventional thought while offering a quiet, transformative presence.
Currently, I’m focused on expanding my literary and musical legacy, crafting immersive albums, poetry collections, and writings that bridge the personal and the universal. My mission is to leave a lasting imprint through work that is felt as much as it is read, experienced as much as it is heard.
Great, so let’s dive into your journey a bit more. Who were you before the world told you who you had to be?
Before the world told me who I had to be,
I was rhythm and silence at once —
a current of wonder that didn’t need a name.
I moved by instinct, not expectation.
I spoke in color, not in words.
I trusted the unseen and believed in the invisible threads
that wove meaning through everything.
I was unafraid to just be.
Not performing, not explaining — only existing
as the pulse of something ancient and free.
Before the noise of “should” and “must,”
I was wholeness wearing human skin.
And maybe, the journey isn’t about becoming anything new.
Maybe it’s about remembering that original frequency —
the one before the world whispered,
“This is who you need to be to be loved.”
Because I already was.
When did you stop hiding your pain and start using it as power?
When silence stopped protecting me.
For a long time, I thought hiding my pain kept me strong — that if no one saw the cracks, I’d stay whole. But eventually, the pain grew louder than my pretending. It started speaking through my art, through my words, through the spaces I tried to keep clean and untouched.
I didn’t make a single choice one day and say, “Now I’ll use this as power.” It happened slowly — in the moments I stopped apologizing for feeling deeply, when I let my wounds become language instead of secrets.
I realized pain isn’t the opposite of power. It is power — once it’s given form. Once you stop running from it and let it teach you what it came to show.
That’s when I stopped hiding.
That’s when every scar started speaking truth louder than any mask ever could.
Next, maybe we can discuss some of your foundational philosophies and views? What would your closest friends say really matters to you?
They’d probably say what matters most to me isn’t fame or success — it’s truth.
They’d tell you I care about depth over noise, meaning over image. That I’d rather have one real conversation than a hundred empty ones. They’d say I live for honesty, creation, and connection — the kind that leaves something behind when the moment passes.
They’d mention how much I value purpose, how I can’t pretend to care about anything that doesn’t feed the soul. They’d say I’m loyal, intense, maybe a little mysterious — but always real.
And they’d know, above all, that what matters to me is awakening — in myself, in others, in the world — that quiet spark of remembrance that says, “This is who we were before we forgot.”
Okay, so before we go, let’s tackle one more area. What do you think people will most misunderstand about your legacy?
They’ll think it was about recognition — that I wanted to be seen, remembered, or celebrated.
But it was never about that.
My legacy isn’t in the spotlight; it’s in the frequency. In the quiet way a line of mine might echo inside someone years later. In how my work slips between the cracks of time and awakens something nameless in those who find it.
People might misunderstand the stillness — they’ll see the solitude, the obscurity, and call it failure.
But I’ve always known that real impact rarely announces itself. It hums beneath history, altering what can’t be measured.
So when they look back, they might miss the miracle. They might see just a writer. Just a name.
What they won’t see is how much light I poured into words,
how many nights I turned pain into language,
how many unseen hearts were shifted by something they couldn’t explain.
That’s what they’ll misunderstand —
that my legacy was never built to be understood.
It was built to be felt.
