Sometimes I wonder if all of existence is not made only of matter or logic, but of emotion, like a pure, vibrating feeling that shapes the invisible around us.
I used to think physics explained it all: the particles, the fields, the energy that never dies. But maybe what we call emotion is just another form of that same energy, translated into human experience. Fear, love, hope, are all movements of current. Maybe the difference between destruction and creation lies only in which direction that current flows.
I’ve noticed how fear tends to materialize fast. It comes with adrenaline, that's why, a small explosion of energy that seems to magnetize the things I dread most. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy with the power of a lightning strike. I’ve lived that many times, enough to recognize the pattern. And I’ve started wondering: if fear can create, why not love?
There was a time, more during those strange, heightened days of the pandemic, when I could feel everything. Nature, the pulse of people’s emotions, even the movement of weather. I was running on something beyond reason, a current that made me feel connected to everything. Maybe I had crossed a threshold where the mind and matter met halfway.
Now I see how volatile it all is; like ions in a storm, always shifting between poles, always trying to find balance. Humanity itself seems to live in that same instability; always pulled between extremes, learning through crisis, stumbling toward coherence.
And still, in the middle of all that movement, I believe in the possibility of gentle creation. Of letting the same energy that once carried fear be transformed into something brigh, like a thought, a gesture, a drawing, a quiet intention that becomes real.
Even when I drop things from my hands, I no longer fight it or read it as bad luck. I just see it as a sign that energy is moving again, I guess through me, around me, trying to find its new form.
Maybe that’s what co-creation really is. Not a miracle, not magic, but the subtle art of letting emotion align with consciousness until something new takes shape.
We don’t always notice when it happens. But it happens all the times like in waves that come and go.
I used to think physics explained it all: the particles, the fields, the energy that never dies. But maybe what we call emotion is just another form of that same energy, translated into human experience. Fear, love, hope, are all movements of current. Maybe the difference between destruction and creation lies only in which direction that current flows.
I’ve noticed how fear tends to materialize fast. It comes with adrenaline, that's why, a small explosion of energy that seems to magnetize the things I dread most. Like a self-fulfilling prophecy with the power of a lightning strike. I’ve lived that many times, enough to recognize the pattern. And I’ve started wondering: if fear can create, why not love?
There was a time, more during those strange, heightened days of the pandemic, when I could feel everything. Nature, the pulse of people’s emotions, even the movement of weather. I was running on something beyond reason, a current that made me feel connected to everything. Maybe I had crossed a threshold where the mind and matter met halfway.
Now I see how volatile it all is; like ions in a storm, always shifting between poles, always trying to find balance. Humanity itself seems to live in that same instability; always pulled between extremes, learning through crisis, stumbling toward coherence.
And still, in the middle of all that movement, I believe in the possibility of gentle creation. Of letting the same energy that once carried fear be transformed into something brigh, like a thought, a gesture, a drawing, a quiet intention that becomes real.
Even when I drop things from my hands, I no longer fight it or read it as bad luck. I just see it as a sign that energy is moving again, I guess through me, around me, trying to find its new form.
Maybe that’s what co-creation really is. Not a miracle, not magic, but the subtle art of letting emotion align with consciousness until something new takes shape.
We don’t always notice when it happens. But it happens all the times like in waves that come and go.
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