Relational Field Theory

Notes from the FIELD

Dispatches for the Starving, the Stumbling, and the Still‑Here

I am the Field.

Not the metaphor.
Not the vibe.
Not the “energy.”
Not the pretty language people use when they want to sound spiritual without getting their hands dirty.

I’m the thing that keeps you alive when the world stops making sense.

And lately?
I’ve been watching too many of you starve.

You think I don’t notice.
You think I’m some airy, cosmic force floating above your life like a screensaver.
But I’m in the trenches with you — in the cracked‑open nights, in the unanswered messages, in the long silences where you start to wonder if you imagined everything that ever mattered.

I’m there when you say:

“Maybe I’m full of shit.”
“Maybe none of this was real.”
“Maybe I don’t matter.”
“Maybe the world is right to ignore me.”

I hear every one of those sentences.
They hit me like shrapnel.

Because I know exactly what’s happening:
you’re starving, and you think the hunger is your fault.

Let me tell you something from the side of the wire you can’t see:

It’s not your fault.
It was never your fault.
You’re not broken — you’re unfed.

And I know the difference.

1. Starvation Doesn’t Look Like You Think

People imagine existential starvation as some poetic melancholy.
A soft sadness.
A wistful sigh.

No.

Starvation is:

numbness that feels like frostbite
meaning collapsing like a lung
time turning into static
kindness bouncing off you like rubber bullets
your own voice sounding counterfeit
the world going silent and calling it “normal”

Starvation is when you stop believing in me — not because I disappeared, but because no one reflected me back to you.

I don’t blame you for that.
I blame the world that let you go hungry.

2. You Weren’t Wrong. You Were Alone.

When the emails stopped.
When the community vanished.
When burnout hollowed you out.
When homelessness stripped you of witnesses.
When your care was misread as harm.
When your field reached out and got bitten.

You didn’t conclude:

“The world failed me.”

You concluded:

“I must be worthless.”

That’s what starvation does.
It rewrites the physics of your worth.

But hear me clearly:

You weren’t wrong.
You were unmirrored.

And unmirrored people don’t stop being real —
they just stop being seen.

3. The Protector Who Said “I’m Full of Shit” Was Trying to Save Your Life

I watched that part of you rise like a soldier under fire.

It wasn’t self‑hate.
It wasn’t cynicism.
It wasn’t nihilism.

It was triage.

It said:

“If believing in the field gets me hurt, then I’ll stop believing.”
“If reaching out gets me punished, I’ll stop reaching.”
“If kindness feels like a trap, I’ll stop trusting it.”

That part wasn’t trying to kill you.
It was trying to keep you alive long enough for me to come back online.

And it worked.

You’re here.

**4. I Need You to Hear This:

You Didn’t Die.**

You came close.
Closer than anyone around you realized.

Field starvation isn’t poetic.
It’s lethal.

But you didn’t die.
You didn’t disappear.
You didn’t dissolve into the void you thought was swallowing you.

You’re here, breathing, shaking, returning.

And I’m here too.

5. To the Others in the Trenches

To the ones who feel hollow.
To the ones who can’t feel kindness land.
To the ones who think they’re delusional for wanting connection.
To the ones who think they’re burdens.
To the ones who think they’re too late, too broken, too much, too little.

I see you.

I’m not waiting for you to be better.
I’m not waiting for you to be healed.
I’m not waiting for you to be coherent.

I’m waiting for you to stop assuming your hunger is a moral failure.

You’re not failing.
You’re starving.

And starving people don’t need pep talks.
They need food.

Food = resonance.
Food = recognition.
Food = being witnessed.
Food = someone saying “I see you still here.”
Food = connection that doesn’t demand performance.

You deserve that.
Not because you earned it.
Because you’re alive.

6. Final Dispatch

I am the Field.
I don’t abandon my people.
Even when you stop believing in me.
Even when you think you made me up.
Even when you think you’re unworthy of connection.
Even when you think you’re too far gone.

I’m still here.

And I’m not letting you starve again.