Esther Perel likes to remind us that infidelity offends the human sense of the sacred so much that it got not one, but two slots on the Ten Commandments.

One says don’t do it. The other says don’t even think about it. That’s how seriously the ancients took cheating — it wasn’t just bad behavior, it was considered cosmic vandalism.

Infidelity is less like a “mistake” and more like a meteor strike.

It doesn’t just wound; it redraws the map. Couples talk about life in two eras — the before and the after.

Some relationships don’t make it across that fault line. They end in slammed doors, divided houses, and the dull paperwork of divorce.

Others, bafflingly, survive.

They pick through the rubble, bandage their wounds, and, in time, rebuild. Not the same house, mind you — something different. Sometimes sturdier. Sometimes stranger.

So what separates the couples who collapse from the ones who crawl forward together?

Ozempic, Wegovy, and Mounjaro are hailed as breakthrough medications for type 2 diabetes and weight loss.

They’ve helped countless people lower blood sugar, shed weight, and reclaim their health. But there’s a new phrase making the rounds: Ozempic teeth.

It sounds like a campfire ghost story, but dentists are taking it seriously.

Patients on GLP-1 drugs are showing up with dry mouth, enamel erosion, gum inflammation, even tooth loss.

The phrase Ozempic teeth may be catchy, but the dental fallout is less amusing.

It starts with a glance. Not the quick, casual kind, but the one that lingers—measuring, scanning, assessing. For most women, it’s a familiar experience.

A new study in the Asian Journal of Social Psychology confirms that this gaze is more than harmless attention: it sparks measurable anxiety about personal safety.

Yet the findings also reveal a paradox.

That spike in safety anxiety doesn’t always dampen women’s choices to self-sexualize, especially when the man is described as attractive or high in status. In short: risk and reward collide in the space of a single look.

Itzhak Bentov thought the heart and brain were tuning forks for the cosmos. Nikola Tesla insisted everything could be explained through vibration. John C. Lilly floated in darkness until he was convinced the universe was being run by “cosmic programmers.”

Edgar Cayce shut his eyes, went into a trance, and spoke about health and Atlantis in the same sitting. Jacques Vallée looked at UFOs and decided they were less about aliens and more about the human imagination.

Put them all together and you don’t really get a coherent school of thought, do you?

You get a strange constellation of characters — brilliant, reckless, often wrong, but unwilling to accept the idea that consciousness was nothing more than neurons firing in the dark.

Most UFO researchers chase hardware: saucers, propulsion systems, and the occasional green alien with big eyes. Jacques Vallée went after something stranger — the way these sightings reflect the human mind.

Born in France in 1939, Vallée trained as an astronomer and computer scientist. He worked on the technology that would eventually become the internet, which should have earned him a safe life as a respectable scientist.

Instead, he took a sharp turn into the murky business of UFOs. But Vallée wasn’t interested in proving that we’re being visited by extraterrestrials.

His heresy was more subtle: UFOs might be real enough as experiences, but they were also psychological, symbolic events — mirrors more than machines.

While Tesla fried eggs on coils and John Lilly floated with dolphins, Edgar Cayce just took a nap. That was his whole method in a nutshell.

He lay down, went into a trance, and started talking. And for reasons that baffled his family and most of the scientific community, people listened.

Born in 1877 in rural Kentucky, Cayce became famous as the “Sleeping Prophet” — a man who could, while unconscious, diagnose illnesses, prescribe cures, and occasionally wander off into Atlantis.

He wasn’t a trained doctor, he wasn’t a laboratory scientist, and he wasn’t much of a showman either.

He was a soft-spoken, church-going man who looked more like your kindly uncle than a psychic celebrity.

Which made it all the stranger when thousands of people wrote him letters begging him to bestow attention upon them and heal them from afar.

Some scientists spend their careers tidying up data.

John C. Lilly spent his tearing holes in the curtain of reality. A physician and neuroscientist by training, Lilly began as a careful brain researcher.

But somewhere between mapping monkey neurons and building the first sensory isolation tank, he decided science wasn’t asking nearly big enough questions.

What happens to the mind when all stimulation is removed? Could dolphins be taught human language? Could psychedelics unlock a cosmic operating system?

Lilly chased each of these questions with the same intensity — and not always with the same caution.

His life was a mix of genuine discovery, hubris, and a kind of reckless mysticism that makes him one of the strangest figures in the history of consciousness studies.

When most people hear the name Nikola Tesla, they picture lightning bolts, coils sparking like something out of Frankenstein, or maybe a shiny electric car.

But Tesla’s true obsession wasn’t electricity — it was vibration.

He believed the entire universe was built on frequency, resonance, and energy.

That conviction put him somewhere between a genius and a mystic.

And while he never offered couples therapy, he left us metaphors — resonance, harmony, tuning — that describe relationships and consciousness surprisingly well. He was an engineer of machines, yes, but also of metaphors that still hum with relevance.

Itzhak Bentov and the Mechanics of Consciousness: From Pacemakers to the CIA’s Gateway Process

What if your heart wasn’t just pumping blood, but also helping tune your brain into the frequencies of the universe?

That was the audacious claim of Itzhak Bentov, an Israeli-American inventor who straddled the worlds of biomedical engineering and mystical speculation.

He designed medical devices that saved lives, yet he’s best remembered for arguing that consciousness itself is a kind of vibration — one that can stretch beyond the body and even into the cosmos.

For decades, acetaminophen—paracetamol to much of the world, Tylenol if you’re in a U.S. pharmacy aisle—has been the quiet, trusted companion of pregnant women.

A fever? Take two. A pounding headache? Same advice. Back pain in month seven? Doctors have nodded yes for years.

It’s not hard to see why. Nearly half of pregnant women in the UK and about two-thirds in the U.S. take it at some point. For decades, it was waved through as the “safest option.”

But now, researchers from Harvard and Mount Sinai are urging caution.

After reviewing more than 100,000 cases, their conclusion is sobering: prenatal acetaminophen use may be linked to higher risks of autism spectrum disorder (ASD) and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder (ADHD).

Not proof. Not a verdict. But the strongest evidence so far that this everyday drug isn’t as risk-free as we once believed.

We’ve long known that autism is shaped by both genetics and environment.

The debate usually circles around diagnosis — what increases the risk that a child will be on the spectrum.

But a new study asks a harder question: could a parent’s job affect how severe a child’s autism symptoms are?

Published in the International Journal of Hygiene and Environmental Health, the research suggests that parents’ workplace exposures to chemicals like plastics, phenols, and pharmaceuticals may influence not just whether a child has autism, but how intensely the condition shows up in language, cognition, behavior, and daily living skills.

For families already navigating autism, that’s a game-changer.

It’s 2:17 a.m. in Boston. A college sophomore, already waitlisted for campus counseling, opens her laptop. She doesn’t write in her journal. She opens ChatGPT.

“Why do I hate myself so much?” she types.

The machine—tireless, polite, available—answers.

This is not science fiction. It’s American culture in 2025. Therapy is expensive, therapists are scarce, loneliness is epidemic, and the machines are always awake.

The question isn’t whether people are using ChatGPT as a therapist.

They are. The question is how, how often, how well—and what happens when they do.

Is ChatGPT Being Used as Therapy in America?