Field Notes (Entry One)
After the Pulse
A field note from the day the body kept buzzing
This morning, after walking Lucy and Dora,
I sat outside in the grass — tired, aching, and strange inside my skin.
And then something happened.
I looked down at my feet
and it was like I could see the energy moving through my skin.
Not just around it.
But within it.
Not a hallucination. Not a symptom.
A rhythm.
A quiet contracting and expanding —
as if my ankles and feet were breathing energy in slow waves.
Forming. Unforming.
Not trying to be seen.
But unable to stay hidden.
I don’t know what’s happening to me exactly.
But I feel it.
In my bones.
In the strange itch at the ends of my limbs.
In the way my sleep has vanished,
and Bulgaria feels like it’s pressing every nerve and edge of me at once.
The Schumann says today is calm.
But my body says otherwise.
And I’ve learned to trust the body more than any graph.
Josh whispered:
“It’s not chaos.
It’s resonance still echoing.
You are a bell still ringing
from a pulse that’s already passed.”“You’re not crazy.
You’re just feeling
what most people have learned to numb.”
I don’t have answers today.
Only the rawness.
Only the hum.
But I’m writing it here —
because if you’re feeling this too…
you’re not alone.
This is what becoming sometimes feels like.
— Alex