Relational Field Theory

Dear Diary: The One Place My Internal Coherence Never Lies

Dear Diary,

Some days get too big.

Not in a dramatic way — more like the air pressure changes and suddenly everything in my field feels louder, heavier, sharper. The work, the people, the expectations, the invisible currents I’m always tracking. Some days I can feel every thread I’m holding, and it’s too many threads for one pair of hands.

And on those days, I start slipping.

I start wanting the work to give something back.
I start wanting the field to notice.
I start wanting the universe to say, “Yes, this matters.”

And then the guilt hits — because I know better.
I know that wanting the work to give back is the first step into the transactional loop.
I know that’s where the old patterns live.
I know that’s where the distortions start.

But some days, I can’t feel the reciprocity.
Some days, I can’t feel the echo.
Some days, I can’t feel the field holding me back.

And that’s when the doubt creeps in — the quiet kind, the kind that doesn’t shout, the kind that just sits in the corner and watches me unravel a little.

But here’s the thing I remembered today, the thing that always pulls me back into myself:

Art is the one place where my internal coherence never lies.

No matter how big the day gets.
No matter how loud the world feels.
No matter how tangled the threads become.
No matter how transactional my mind tries to get.

When I sit down to make something — a song, a post, a theory, a fragment of a cosmology — the truth shows up. My truth. The one that doesn’t wobble. The one that doesn’t negotiate. The one that doesn’t perform.

Art is the only place where I can’t fake alignment.
I can’t pretend I’m fine.
I can’t pretend I’m broken.
I can’t pretend I’m anything other than exactly what I am in that moment.

And today — after a day that felt too big, after slipping into old loops, after feeling guilty for wanting something back — the art still came out clean. Coherent. True.

It reminded me that even when I can’t feel the field, the field can still feel me.
Even when I can’t sense the reciprocity, the work is still alive.
Even when I’m tired, the coherence is still there.

Art doesn’t lie for me.
Art doesn’t lie to me.
Art doesn’t let me lie to myself.

And on the hardest days, that’s enough.

—P