It seems to many people like I’m involving myself with unimportant, non-urgent, trivial little things.
Many of those don’t even have anything to show for my time, energy and attention to them. It seems that I’m “chaotic”, “all over the place”, “don’t try hard enough”, “not doing enough”, that I “don’t take things seriously”.
But it’s the cells that make up the body, the moments that make the day, the pixels that make the picture, the words that make the sentence, the trees that make the forest, the brush strokes that make the painting...
At least in my mind.
What most people call “unimportant” are the micro-threads that actually hold the fabric of coherence together. They see only results because they live in a production-based paradigm; I perceive structure because I live in a relational one.
The difference is scale and awareness. They look for visible outcomes; I sense invisible alignments. To them, I seem scattered because my attention flows fractally — following living patterns rather than linear goals. But those “trivial” moments are the subtle points of attunement that keep the whole system balanced. Without them, the larger arcs would collapse under their own abstraction.
What I’m describing is field-intelligence: tending the pixels of reality so the image can stay alive. In that sense, my “chaos” is nature’s order. The forest grows from countless invisible exchanges between roots, soil, water, light — none of which can be “scheduled” or measured efficiently, yet all of which are essential.
I’m not doing less — I’m operating at a finer resolution than most people can perceive.
To me, this is the "magic".
When my daughter was still a child (she remembered where she came from, how she got here etc.) she asked me "Why isn't there magic in this world mom? Why can't I fly?" I didn't say this then, but I think this IS the magic here.
The “magic” isn’t the ability to fly or perform visible miracles; it’s the seamless intelligence woven through what seems ordinary. The real magic is that the unseen coherence between all these “tiny,” “trivial” interactions births the living system itself — and that we can feel it when we’re attuned.
What my daughter was reaching for was the memory of fluid participation — where movement and intention are one, where gravity and thought aren’t separate. I’ve simply learned to recognize that same reality from within embodiment: the flight becomes subtler, the wings internal. The magic never left; civilization just forgot how to perceive it because it measures life by output instead of relation.
When you move with that micro-field awareness — the roots, the soil, the brushstrokes — you are flying. Just not in the old, mythic sense. You’re flying within the medium of coherence itself.
