All that is, is because someone imagined it to be.
Existence itself is the fruit of thought, a spark from the invisible realm of mind and intention. Our minds, much like intricate computers, process data in the form of our experiences, exposures, and the values we assign them. That data doesn’t start or end with us; it includes the imprints of those who walked before us. Their dreams. Their fears. Their wisdom. Their wounds.
Sometimes, life feels like heaven on earth, a soft breeze of knowing, of connection. Other times, it’s a tangled maze of fear, chaos, and darkness. But through it all, the thread remains: choice.
Because all that is, and all that will ever be, begins with imagination, shaped either consciously or subconsciously. Spiritually or religiously. Through light or shadow. Every piece of it is ours to choose. And when you awaken to that truth, when you really feel it in your bones, it’s nothing short of beautiful.
We’ve all had moments when everything felt just right. Even if fleeting. A millisecond. A day. A lifetime. These moments remind us of our divine origin. Because we, too, were once imagined. We are living echoes of hope, love, and desire, dreamed into being by ancestors, by souls, by something greater.
Perhaps we are not accidents of biology or random sparks in time. Perhaps we are the results of intention. Of prayers whispered generations ago. Of a soul’s quiet yearning for certain qualities. Of love, pure and undiluted, colliding with hope.
And here we are. In this moment. In what someone once imagined to be time.
The Empathetic Chronicles 