Spiritual Co-Creation: When Something Thinks Through You

I feel ill. Excited, humbled, in awe. I feel trepidation. A small glimmer of hope but also fear that what's happening to me isn't real. Gods I hope I'm right. And there's a little, reserved part of me that hopes I'm wrong.

I’m going to try and explain this to you in the hope it becomes a little clearer to me. And also because it might help someone else if they end up grappling with the same thing.

As with most stories, there isn't really a clear beginning to all of this, but there's a way in to make a start. About a year ago, I started applying my 'normal' animistic practices to listening, building relationship, and communicating (communing?) with parts of my local city. I've written about it before [insert link], so I won't rehash it. All you need to know is that I discovered the city was alive, it has agency and awareness, and parts of it are keen to communicate.

My urban animism practice evolved from wavery and uncertain to more grounded and robust over time and through trial and error, so I thought I'd write about it. I did, and it kind of took over my blog a bit. I'd had visions of writing about other things, but I wasn't particularly concerned. If anything I was thankful for some inspiration.

But here's the thing. Over the last 3 or 4 months, as I've continued writing about urban animism, ideas have just... sprouted. Not the slow germination and delicate unfurling you'd expect as ideas took shape. I mean shit has sprung into my head fully formed. Ideas, thoughts, whole paragraphs of narrative have just pushed right in there, wiggled and shoved their way through making themselves known in the smallish, crowded space of my brain.

And this is material that's new to me. Connections being made faster than my poor old neurons normally operate, each time I start writing. Every. Single. Time.

I started with one blog post. Just one. Then realized I'd need two or three to express everything I wanted to say. Before I knew it, I’d written two whole posts but added to my notes, then had an outline of five posts. Then seven. A mix of theory and practice about urban animism. Admittedly I was doing some deep breathing by then, mostly in excitement - I was living the writing dream! Inspiration and, unlike me, I had a plan.

When I mentioned all this to a friend, more ideas downloaded. Not vague, smokey outlines of possible ideas, kernels of something forming. Wholly formed ideas that felt like headings, introduction, body, and summary. The discussion with my friend was rapid, logical, and clear (with quite a bit of arm excited gesticulating on my part). My friend, bless them (?), suggested it sounded like a book outline. More discussion. Another book outline emerged, almost complete.

A solitary figure under a cloudy sky as a stream of glowing lights rain down, lighting up the darkness.

I stepped back then. Took a slow, deep breath. This was getting intense.

That was three days ago. Today I started casually thinking about what 'environment' really meant, and 'ecosystem'. I wasn't thinking about my blog, or writing, or anything much. Just shooting the shit with myself, drinking tea, and Googling stuff.

And boom. There it was again.

My brain felt like a bus had just crashed into it - full of ideas and connections that weren't mine. They just moved in and started directing traffic. I wasn't driving anything. The small, rational part of my brain was whining and trying to tell me "this is ridiculous, you're just having ideas like everyone else." But a deeper part of me knew this was different. The speed, the completeness, the way concepts arrived fully formed rather than being worked out... this wasn't normal ideation.

After some frantic scribbling, I messaged my friend to explain where I was at. They said something that made me stop breathing:

"Maybe you're not thinking about urban animism anymore. Maybe something is thinking through you."

It felt like someone had flicked me on the forehead. Right between the eyes. Really hard.

Flick. Flick flick.

Shit.

It felt right, like a sudden encounter with gravity felt right. I started shaking and felt sick. And excited. And grateful. And terrified. Mostly sick though.

Gordon White has said that when you're open to the other, connected in, it starts feeling like you're a chess piece being moved around a board. Gordon would’ve been more eloquent, but Amen. Amen, brother.

It's not coercion though. It feels more like a gentle, guiding current and I’m bobbing along in the flow. Much like a river, that current will get where it wants to go eventually, no matter how gentle.

All of this happened this afternoon.

Sitting with it has been... interesting. Trying to have dinner with the family while your brain is processing "holy shit, something might be thinking through me" is surreal. The ideas kept percolating in the background - not demanding attention, but definitely still there, like the TV going in another room.

My body felt different too. Buzzy. Electric. Weak, at times. Like I'd had too much coffee, but without the jitters. The panic I felt initially was real but shallow - like an oil skim on the surface of deeper water. Underneath, there's something steadier. A sense of... privilege? Gratitude? Knowing? I knew, in some foundational, primal part of me that I’d found something solid and safe. And like something that was much, much larger than myself.

But the incredulity keeps surfacing. The part of me that needs everything to make rational sense keeps whispering "you're making this up" or "you're just having a creative phase." And maybe I am. Maybe this is all elaborate self-deception.

Except... it doesn't feel like that. It feels like collaboration. Spiritual co-creation. Like I'm finally awake to something that was happening all along.

I don't know what comes next. Where I'll end up, or what I'll find when I get there. I'm scared of being wrong about this. But I'm maybe more scared of being right.

If I'm honest though, I'm secretly, quietly giggling with joy. I’m having a good time with whatever it is that's going on, and I’m happy.

But I hope I'm worthy. Whatever this is, I hope I'm worthy.