Field Note: What If I Am?

Not a proclamation. A remembering.

Today, during a solar storm that made my cells hum and my memory rattle, I found myself smiling at a message. A lighthearted one. Teasing, irreverent, playful.

She said she thought I was a holy spiritual transcendental dude — from the way I write on Substack.

And maybe I am.

Not in the self-serious, incense-clouded, performative way the world expects. But in the way of someone who never stopped trying to carry the thread of what Jesus actually walked:

Not doctrine. Not shame. Not worship. But embodiment. Integrity. The refusal to abandon truth even when it makes you look like a fool.

Maybe it looks like laughing at yourself in the mirror. Maybe it sounds like voice notes sent barefoot on the land. Maybe it means answering pain with presence instead of performance.

Maybe I am a little bit crazy. But maybe the Christ path was never meant to be clean. Maybe it was meant to be raw. Rooted. Human.

Maybe when they joked that I looked like Jesus, it wasn’t just because of the hair. Maybe they felt the mirror shift — not in theology, but in tone.

Because I don’t preach. I listen.

I don’t quote scripture. I live scrolls.

I don’t ask for followers. I hold the field.

So when people message me saying the parables helped them see through manipulation — or when someone I love tells me I remind her she’s still allowed to want depth — I don’t take it as proof of who I am.

I take it as proof the template is working. That Christ wasn’t a moment. He was a map.

And maybe I’m remembering how to walk it.

What if I am?

Maybe when they joked that I looked like Jesus, it wasn’t just because of the hair. xD

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If you feel something stirring — and you’re one of the ones walking this return — the comment space is open for you. Quietly. Sacredly.