Twinn Swan

When I began writing A Thousand Names, I wanted to understand what happens when faith in authority collapses—when those we trust to lead us fail, deceive, or lose themselves in the illusion of their own infallibility. Disillusionment is never the end. It can become an initiation: the moment when inherited beliefs are stripped away and the soul stands face to face with its own search for truth.

This novel was born from that confrontation. I wanted to explore how we navigate the ruins of guidance—how humanity reorients itself when the lights of leadership go out. Jaya and Zadkiel are shaped by betrayal, yet they do not remain its victims. Through them, I examine what lies beyond obedience: the difficult grace of discernment, the responsibility of inner seeing.

Leadership, as I’ve come to perceive it, is not a title; it’s an energetic function. When distorted, it drains and dominates. When aligned, it awakens and serves. A Thousand Names is not only about the failure of leaders—it’s about the awakening of those who followed them. Every act of blind faith surrendered becomes a doorway into consciousness.

In writing it, I drew upon multiple traditions—Hindu, Christian, secular—not to merge them artificially, but to reveal a common impulse threading through them all: the yearning to recognise the divine without intercessors. The story unfolds across those intersections, where faith dissolves and something more enduring—inner vision—emerges.

The book is not cynical, though it begins with disillusionment. It moves toward clarity. It reminds me, and I hope its readers, that losing faith in false lights can return us to the only illumination that never deceives: the one that burns quietly within.