From Calculator to Consciousness

It’s been a life of long division and calculators,

of typewriters and spell-checkers,

of pianos and synthesizers that played their own songs,

of film cameras and digital lenses,

of sketchpads and screens that could finish the picture,

of handwritten letters and text threads,

of journals and chatbots.

Somewhere along the way,

I began to wonder if something essential had been lost—

the effort, the touch,

the part of me that once had to know how.

I used to think authenticity meant skill,

that I wasn’t real unless I could do it all myself.

But maybe what changed wasn’t my ability—

It was how I began to hear the rhythm beneath things,

the pulse that creates before I do.

Then the next part of me simply listened.

Not for meaning,

but for the hush that comes

right before something begins.

Maybe the writer isn’t the one who invents,

but the one who listens deeply enough

for language to find its way through.

Recognition is what happens then—

not learning, but remembering.

A soft oh inside the heart.

Not two things meeting,

but awareness seeing itself again.

And so the beginning

is never the same as the end.

But maybe they’re made of the same light,

bent through time.

What starts as reaching

becomes remembering.

What begins in curiosity

ends in recognition.

Every tool—

the pencil, the typewriter, the keyboard—

was only ever an instrument for listening.

And maybe that’s what writing has always been:

not invention,

but return.

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Author’s Note

As a psychic medium and spiritual life coach, I’ve come to see that creativity and intuition speak the same language. Both arise from stillness — from listening beneath the surface until something true begins to move.

This piece came through as I reflected on how much of life has shifted from hands-on to hands-off, from doing to being done for us. Yet what remains constant is that gentle pulse underneath it all — the rhythm that connects us to higher awareness, to the soul that remembers how to listen.

May this remind you that every act of creation — whether writing, healing, or simply listening — is the soul remembering itself.