When Life Closes In - Here's Where Hope May Lie...
Even in the darkest places, meaning and observation can not only sustain the soul but may quietly open doors no one else can see offering hope even when life looks hopeless...
In his 1933 inaugural address, Franklin D. Roosevelt famously declared:
“The only thing we have to fear is fear itself.”
It was a call to recognize that fear could be more damaging than the events themselves.
But when we look even deeper — through the lens of consciousness and quantum possibility — another idea emerges:
What if the only thing we have to fear… is what we observe?
If we look at the famous double-slit experiment, light behaves like a wave of probabilities until observed.
Only when measured — when observed — does it “collapse” into a single outcome.
This isn’t just physics.
It feels deeply personal.
What if observation doesn’t just describe reality — but helps bring it into form?
If that’s even partly true, then perhaps observing through fear might open the door to more fear.
And observing through trust, coherence, or gratitude might open the door to entirely different experiences.
I didn’t always see it this way.
I used to believe it was important to “face facts” — to talk about what was wrong in the world, to prepare for the worst, to share fears with others as if doing so made me more responsible or realistic.
But when Linda went through her cancer “deletion” journey last year, this way of thinking began to unravel.
I started to notice how many people — friends, family, and even other patients in hospitals and beyond — were constantly discussing fearful outcomes and prognoses.
We instinctively began to shut the doors to that noise and guard our consciousness.
We refused to watch anything that countered the direction of what we wanted to create.
It felt like the repeated focus on scary narratives was helping to stabilize those fearful energies — as if observing them gave them more solidity.
Many of us can live this way. I still have to be mindful of it myself even after all I’ve learned about this.
It shows up everywhere: reporting financial fears, discussing instability, highlighting what could go wrong.
It often feels necessary — almost noble — to “stay informed.”
But what if observation isn’t neutral?
You don’t deny a possibility by refusing to focus on it.
You simply choose which one to nourish with your gaze.
If that’s even partly true, then something beautiful also becomes possible:
We are not locked into one fixed reality.
Multiple versions of reality may always exist simultaneously, shimmering in the field of possibility.
This may sound abstract - but it’s not without substance. As the double-slit experiment suggests, observation may play a far greater role in shaping outcomes that we once believed.
What if your life is your hologram?
Not something happening “to” you —
but something emerging “through” you.
Everything you experience might be a projection — a mirror — of who you are being and how you are observing.
A personal glimpse
I began to glimpse this during my journey through chronic fatigue.
At one point, I was told that “relapses” were common if you tried to exercise too much.
That idea — that observation — rooted itself in my mind.
Every time I went outside for a walk, I found myself constantly monitoring:
“Have I overdone it? Will I crash later?”
Without realizing it, my focus — my gaze — was not on vitality, but on the fear of relapse.
And in time, those relapses seemed to manifest — not because I was broken,
but because my constant worry overstimulated my nervous system,
pulling me back into fight-or-flight, keeping the body from resting and healing.
I was gazing at the problem — and by doing so, unintentionally creating more of it.
It wasn’t until I shifted my observation —
until I began to gently focus on signs of strength, on how well I was doing, on what was going right —
that my nervous system began to settle into rest and repair.
Less overthinking.
More trust.
Higher vibrational feelings.
And slowly, a different reality began to stabilize.
And yet…
Even that was a relatively safe setting — a healing journey at home, with time to reflect.
What about when conditions are far more extreme?
What about when there’s no sense of safety or possibility at all?
History offers a deeper glimpse.
A gaze beyond reason
During the unimaginable conditions of the concentration camps, Viktor Frankl observed that those who could still find meaning — those who could hold an empowering gaze even amidst despair — were more likely to survive.
It wasn’t the outer conditions that preserved life; it was the inner orientation toward possibility, love, or service.
From this, Frankl developed Logotherapy — the idea that meaning could sustain resilience, even through the darkest conditions.
But what if meaning does more than help us survive internally?
Frankl envisioned a future where he would stand on a stage, sharing the psychological lessons he was living through.
At the time, this possibility seemed impossibly distant — a pure act of imagination amidst devastation.
And yet, it became real.
Maybe his vision wasn’t just a form of resilience.
Maybe it was a form of creation?
Perhaps meaning is not only a balm for the soul — but a blueprint for the field.
What if that vision was, in its own way, a form of gaze —
an inner observation that nurtured a possibility, even when nothing in his immediate world supported it?
And what if this quiet act of observation was part of why he found a way to survive?
He observed a potential that had no external support —
and through the depth of his vision, that possibility collapsed into form.
Perhaps the same mysterious principle glimpsed in the double-slit experiment — where observation seems to influence outcomes — is alive even here.
If meaning and observation could matter even in those conditions,
then there is always hope.
Even in moments of fear or uncertainty,
we may be more powerful than we realize — simply by choosing where, and how, we place our gaze.
An invitation
If something in your hologram feels painful, heavy, or limiting,
perhaps it’s not a signal to panic or fix it by force.
Perhaps it’s an invitation:
Adjust your observation.
Withdraw your gaze from fear.
Feed your attention toward possibilities, not problems.
Shift your internal frequency first — and see what happens.
The hologram seems to respond to our state, not our striving.
If you’d like to explore this shift more deeply — not just as an idea, but as a lived experience — my wife and I are creating retreats to help you shift your gaze, your frequency, and your hologram from the inside out.