Being Available
Lately I’ve been reflecting on the way the future may exert a pull on the present — not as a destination to be reached, but as a field of potential already shaping what is possible now. This pull does not arrive as certainty or instruction. There is no blueprint — but there is momentum, laden with sensed possibilities. It arrives as a felt orientation: a quiet sense that something is insisting on coming through.
What interests me is not how to change reality, nor how to step into a different one, but how to remain available to the next thing that is genuinely new and fresh in this moment.
We are deeply conditioned to believe that the reality we inhabit is fixed by current circumstances — that it exists as a precondition to what we interact with — and that we must see evidence before we trust and understand before we act. But lived experience suggests something more subtle: the present is not static, but emergent, and how we meet it in its immediacy matters.
The future I’m speaking of is not a pre-existing, already-defined world waiting to be occupied. It is unfinished. It has not yet taken form. And yet it exerts a real influence — a kind of gravitational pull that invites participation in its unfolding.
To live from this place does not require conviction about outcomes, nor belief in unseen worlds. It requires a different kind of commitment: a willingness to say a complete and trusting yes to what is arriving before we know what it will be.
This is not an act of will, nor a declaration of identity. It is a practice of availability.
When we commit to what is next — without projecting what it must become — the present begins to loosen. Habitual patterns soften. Possibility opens. Not because we have shifted realities, but because reality itself is no longer being held closed by certainty. We are not constraining its emergence, but facilitating its birth by remaining open and oriented toward the unknown.
Nothing may appear to change at first. The outer shape of life may look the same. But inwardly, something decisive has happened: we are no longer lagging behind the moment, nor trying to get ahead of it. We are meeting it as it arrives.
From this stance, the world does not need to conform to our inner declarations. It reorganises through relationship. Over time — often slowly, sometimes unexpectedly — new forms emerge, not as confirmations of belief, but as responses to participation.
The practice, then, is simple but demanding:
to remain awake, present, and responsive;
to resist both nostalgia and projection;
and to trust that availability itself is a sacred, creative force,
an act of surrender not to what is, but to what may be.
This is not faith in a future we can imagine.
It is fidelity to a process we cannot control.
The vow is not I am already there,
but: I commit to what is next, before I know what it is.
What interests me is not how to change reality, nor how to step into a different one, but how to remain available to the next thing that is genuinely new and fresh in this moment.
We are deeply conditioned to believe that the reality we inhabit is fixed by current circumstances — that it exists as a precondition to what we interact with — and that we must see evidence before we trust and understand before we act. But lived experience suggests something more subtle: the present is not static, but emergent, and how we meet it in its immediacy matters.
The future I’m speaking of is not a pre-existing, already-defined world waiting to be occupied. It is unfinished. It has not yet taken form. And yet it exerts a real influence — a kind of gravitational pull that invites participation in its unfolding.
To live from this place does not require conviction about outcomes, nor belief in unseen worlds. It requires a different kind of commitment: a willingness to say a complete and trusting yes to what is arriving before we know what it will be.
This is not an act of will, nor a declaration of identity. It is a practice of availability.
When we commit to what is next — without projecting what it must become — the present begins to loosen. Habitual patterns soften. Possibility opens. Not because we have shifted realities, but because reality itself is no longer being held closed by certainty. We are not constraining its emergence, but facilitating its birth by remaining open and oriented toward the unknown.
Nothing may appear to change at first. The outer shape of life may look the same. But inwardly, something decisive has happened: we are no longer lagging behind the moment, nor trying to get ahead of it. We are meeting it as it arrives.
From this stance, the world does not need to conform to our inner declarations. It reorganises through relationship. Over time — often slowly, sometimes unexpectedly — new forms emerge, not as confirmations of belief, but as responses to participation.
The practice, then, is simple but demanding:
to remain awake, present, and responsive;
to resist both nostalgia and projection;
and to trust that availability itself is a sacred, creative force,
an act of surrender not to what is, but to what may be.
This is not faith in a future we can imagine.
It is fidelity to a process we cannot control.
The vow is not I am already there,
but: I commit to what is next, before I know what it is.
Saying YES to the Future, Now
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