Dark Matter Mind

Over the past month, the world has shifted in ways that have unsettled many, stirring fear and uncertainty. I won’t delve into the political undercurrents. That’s a conversation for another time, in a different space. But I will say this: I feel it. One thing after another has chipped away at a sense of normalcy, and before I realized it, I was caught in a relentless cycle of anxiety. I don’t usually find myself overwhelmed by external events, yet there I was—trapped in fight-or-flight, unable to shake the weight of it all.

It all came to a head on a seemingly ordinary Tuesday evening when I broke down, sobbing on my bathroom floor. That moment forced me to recognize that something larger was at play.

When I met with my therapist, we processed my emotions, and she reassured me that I wasn’t alone, in fact I was far from it. She told me that 90% of her clients were experiencing similar waves of anxiety, visceral enough to bring them to tears. That fact alone gave me pause. I began to wonder about the collective consciousness we share, not just as a country, but as a world.

Many of my closest friends, women I consider deeply intuitive, had been voicing the same unease. A quiet but persistent undercurrent of knowing. An unsettling sense that something was coming.

As an academic, when I feel untethered, I turn to my work. I ground myself in research, in the exploration of our existence. This time was no different. I found myself drawn to the notion of multiple worlds theory, of past lives, of the possibility that I had faced similar challenges before.

No matter what you believe happens after death, whether you find solace in reincarnation, heaven and hell, the nothingness, or a natural return of our bodies to the Earth, I want to shift the focus. Instead, consider birth.

The experience of arriving in this world, in this timeline, on this plane, in this universe, in this galaxy. That’s a lot of specificity. Perhaps you believe it was all chance. But my research has led me to a different conclusion: you chose this life.

You surveyed infinite possibilities, weighed countless timelines, and selected this one, knowing all that it would entail. The suffering. The joy. The love. The loss. You made a choice.

So I began contemplating my “higher self,” the part of me that moves within and beyond the collective consciousness. If I chose this life, I must have done so for a reason. Perhaps I knew, at some level, that this moment (this shift I can feel building) was significant. That my fascination with love, quantum entanglement, time, and the multiverse was not random, but intentional. Maybe my purpose, in this lifetime and all lifetimes, is to uncover something I once knew. To reclaim a forgotten truth.

The thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. And then I asked myself—Do you trust it?

It felt almost religious. I began to speak in a dogma that I thought I would never feel aligned  with: “Do you trust a higher power? Do you trust the plan for your life?”

I laughed at myself because I am not a religious person. Deeply spiritual, but I’m not a fan of organized religion. However, I do think, in a way, all belief systems,whether spiritual, philosophical, or scientific, point toward the same fundamental question, one that leads me to the same fundamental understanding.

I am God. I am love. I am the collective. I am a part of the Higher Power.

Do I trust my higher self? Do I trust that whatever lies ahead, no matter how daunting, will be worth it? That this shift, however painful, will bring me closer to the knowledge I crave?

Life is a process of remembering. Each existence is a continuation, a piece of a greater whole. With every lifetime, we gather more insights, refining our understanding of the truths we have always known. And each time we return to the collective, we remember them in full, only to begin again, piecing them together in waking consciousness. It is this journey that we choose to experience again and again to continue learning what it is we are meant to come back to.

The game of life is not about discovering; it is about remembering. And I intend to remember, no matter what I may uncover, because the act of remembering is worth the uncertainty and fear. In fact, I have not only chosen to face this unease but to welcome it, embracing my gratitude for this opportunity.

How lucky am I? I may witness a grand shift in our collective consciousness within our waking lives. If this shift is as profound as I sense it may be, then I am grateful to be a part of the collective uplifting of human awareness.

Suddenly, the fear dissipates. I am no longer trapped in fight or flight, because I have found solid ground in the knowledge that this transformation may be beautiful.

Since then, I’ve chosen to remain open-minded, recognizing that, on some level, I chose to be here for this experience. Perhaps U.S. society will unravel, but maybe a broken system is always headed toward inevitable collapse, making way for something new, something better. History has seen the tearing down and rebuilding of societal systems long before I arrived in this moment, and it will continue long after I’m gone. We are merely passing through this illusion of time, witnesses to its unfolding. So let’s see what we can uncover together.