A Return to Being Held: Trusting again Our Place withinin Creation
What if life was about trusting your direct link with Creation—not as a leap of faith, but as something as natural as breathing? Not striving, not controlling—just being in relationship. What if your presence itself was a prayer, a quiet knowing that Creation hears—not because you beg, but because you belong?
A child doesn’t question the sunrise or wonder if the trees will still hold the sky. They wake into a world that holds them. They play, they discover, they reach out their hands, trusting that something will meet them. What if we, too, were meant to be held?
For so long, we have lived in a world that taught us to brace ourselves—to navigate life as if we were alone, as if we had to hold everything together on our own. We have forgotten what it feels like to move with life rather than against it. But there is something deeper within us—something ancient, something whole—waiting to be remembered.
Coherence is not a concept. It is not something to be understood or figured out. It is a feeling. It is the deep sigh of relief when you find yourself in the right place at the right time, as if life itself conspired to meet you. It is the ease of falling into step with someone you love, without needing to think about it. It is the way the ocean moves in rhythm with the pull of the moon, the way birds instinctively turn in flight as one body, the way your heartbeat finds steadiness in the presence of another.
Coherence is the moment when you are no longer separate from life, but part of it again. And the greatest miracle? Science now reveals that the universe itself is relational. That we are not alone, not adrift, not separate—we are woven into something alive. We are fields within fields, held in the very structure of reality, our coherence rippling outward, shaping and being shaped in return.
What if we placed everything in the arms of Creation—not because we give up, but because we trust again? What if, instead of grasping for certainty, we simply let ourselves belong—to the trees, the wind, the sky, each other? What if we didn’t have to fix it all, but instead became part of the great coherence, the hum of something vast and life-giving, the unseen hands that have always been there?
That is not I-centricity; that is field-centricity. That is the original magic of the original design of human beings—not as rulers of Creation, but as informers of the field. Not as isolated fragments, but as the living threads of something luminous, something whole. Not the horror of an aberration, but the return of the world as it was always meant to be.