Let's search together

A few days ago, during a conversation, someone told me several times:

"Yes, that's true. You're right."

And I heard myself reply:

No. Don't tell me I'm right. I have no idea. I'm searching with you.

After our conversation, that sentence stayed with me.

I am searching with you.

For some time now, I have been writing a lot on this blog.

About control and emergence. About what we inherit without having chosen it. About money and value. About our systems. About health. About the environment we live in. About what happens below the waterline.

Seen from the outside, all of this may seem a little scattered.

Yet an increasingly clear thread connects these explorations.

I am interested in what acts without being immediately visible.

In what we sometimes reproduce without knowing why.

In situations where we feel we are going in circles.

In those moments when we know very well what we no longer want, yet something keeps producing the same result anyway.

I have called part of this the Invisible Pact.

I could try to turn it into a method.

That doesn't interest me.

I don't have a better vision, I have another one

When someone tells me about a situation that worries them, I can sometimes see something they don't see.

But the reverse is just as true.

That person looks at the situation from a place I have no access to. They have their history, their experience, their sensations, their intuitions. Their blind spots too.

So do I.

And that is precisely where it becomes interesting.

When two different perspectives can meet without one trying to take power over the other, the field widens. Something can appear between the two. A possibility no one had seen. A different question. An unexpected connection. An obviousness that suddenly stops being one.

I think too much.

I see problems everywhere.

I want two things that seem incompatible to me.

I know what I want and yet I keep choosing something else.

I take very good care of other people's projects, but mine remain on hold.

I am exhausted despite all my efforts.

We could immediately look for solutions. Or look for what is wrong with the person.

I prefer to start elsewhere.

Perhaps there is nothing to fix.

Perhaps there is something we had not yet seen.

Opening a door

Someone recently told me they hoped to "open new doors" for someone close to them.

I love that expression.

Opening a door does not mean pushing someone through it. It doesn't even mean knowing what lies behind it.

It means opening a possibility we had not imagined until then. Widening the field. Giving a little more space, breath, amplitude to what may have seemed blocked.

It can be explored. Or not.

A seed will have been planted.

And perhaps that is how I understand today what I am trying to do with these texts.

Not to provide answers. Not to explain to others how they should live. Even less to offer them a better version of themselves.

But to open a few doors. To sometimes connect things that seemed to have nothing to do with each other. To go beneath the surface of a problem that seemed obvious. To bring together perspectives that do not tell exactly the same story.

And to watch what appears.

For I believe less and less that we need to know in advance what should emerge.

We can, however, transform the conditions from which something new can emerge.

And perhaps one of these conditions is extremely simple:

Accepting that none of us sees everything.

So let's search together.