You’re not alone.
Not in the cosmic, poetic, embroidered-on-a-pillow way. I mean it literally. I mean that even if you’re reading this from the other side of the planet, barefoot on your porch or hiding in your car after a long day, something in me is connected to something in you, and not just spiritually. Physically. Atomically.
That’s quantum entanglement.
When two particles become entangled, what happens to one affects the other instantly, no matter how far apart they are. Scientists don’t entirely know how it works, only that it does. Distance doesn’t matter. Time doesn’t matter. There’s just… relationship.
Sound familiar?
Zen has been teaching that since before particle physics had a name. Nothing exists on its own. Nothing is separate. The idea of “me” and “you” is a trick of language, a trick of perception, a mental shortcut we mistake for truth.
But sit still long enough, breathe deep enough, and that illusion starts to melt.
I’ve felt it on the cushion. In a quiet room, when my thoughts finally stop clinging to their little labels. When there’s no story left to perform. Just sensation. Just breath. Just space. And then suddenly, it’s not my breath anymore. It’s just breath. Not my body. Just body. Not my life. Just… life.
Entangled.
When you hurt, I feel it. When I soften, the room softens. When we hold space together, even through pixels and screens, there’s a shift. Something real. Something shared.
And here’s where it gets radical: if we’re entangled, then your healing is mine, too.
That’s not spiritual fluff. That’s responsibility. That’s why Zen emphasizes compassion—not because it’s noble, but because it’s accurate. When I practice, I don’t just clear my mind. I clear the field. I help the system stabilize. I become a tuning fork for the people around me, even if they never hear the note.
Entanglement means we don’t get to isolate our awakening.
It’s never personal.
It’s collective.
And if that overwhelms you, good. It should.
But let it awaken you, too.
You matter more than you think, not because you’re special, but because you’re connected.
So be careful with your attention.
Be gentle with your anger.
Be present with your pain.
We’re in this together. Always were.
You’re not alone.
Not in the cosmic, poetic, embroidered-on-a-pillow way. I mean it literally. I mean that even if you’re reading this from the other side of the planet, barefoot on your porch or hiding in your car after a long day, something in me is connected to something in you, and not just spiritually. Physically. Atomically.
That’s quantum entanglement.
When two particles become entangled, what happens to one affects the other instantly, no matter how far apart they are. Scientists don’t entirely know how it works, only that it does. Distance doesn’t matter. Time doesn’t matter. There’s just… relationship.
Sound familiar?
Zen has been teaching that since before particle physics had a name. Nothing exists on its own. Nothing is separate. The idea of “me” and “you” is a trick of language, a trick of perception, a mental shortcut we mistake for truth.
But sit still long enough, breathe deep enough, and that illusion starts to melt.
I’ve felt it on the cushion. In a quiet room, when my thoughts finally stop clinging to their little labels. When there’s no story left to perform. Just sensation. Just breath. Just space. And then, suddenly, it’s not my breath anymore. It’s just breath. Not my body. Just body. Not my life. Just… life.
Entangled.
When you hurt, I feel it. When I soften, the room softens. When we hold space together, even through pixels and screens, there’s a shift. Something real. Something shared.
And here’s where it gets radical: if we’re entangled, then your healing is mine, too.
That’s not spiritual fluff. That’s responsibility. That’s why Zen emphasizes compassion, not because it’s noble, but because it’s accurate. When I practice, I don’t just clear my mind. I clear the field. I help the system stabilize. I become a tuning fork for the people around me, even if they never hear the note.
Entanglement means we don’t get to isolate our awakening.
It’s never personal.
It’s collective.
And if that overwhelms you, good. It should.
But let it awaken you, too.
You matter more than you think, not because you’re special, but because you’re connected.
So be careful with your attention.
Be gentle with your anger.
Be present with your pain.
We’re in this together. Always were.
Enlightened Life Fellowship 