I like to imagine the subconscious as an infinite cloud floating somewhere above us. Not grey and stormy, but pastel pink, soft blue, brushed with new leafy greens, flashes of purple and bright pink, orange glimmers, dusted in gold all drifting across a deep purple infinity that stretches forever. The cloud feels light, ethereal, alive. Like thought itself breathing in color. Stars flickering through it like neurons firing in slow motion. And inside that infinite shimmer, we’re all connected.

It’s somewhere between a nebula and lucid dreaming. Weightless, infinite, but alive. 

Loved ones. Strangers. Ancestors. Everyone who’s ever lived, and everyone who hasn’t yet in linear time. All just vibing in the same frequency field.

Maybe that’s why love feels like the strongest force we know. Because love is the WiFi password. It opens the door. It lifts us to that cloud, where we remember what we had forgotten. 

Maybe that’s how we visit each other in dreams. How the ones who’ve left can still find us. How we meet the pure version of ourselves before the the matrix conditioned us which shaped our egos.

Somewhere in that cloud lives what spiritual folk call our “higher self.” The one untouched by fear. The one who doesn’t flinch, perform, mask, or shrink. The one who remembers who we were before the world told us otherwise.

Every time we quiet the noise: the scroll, the hustle, the “shoulds,” we connect to that cloud, our subconscious. The static clears and the signal strengthens. And we start aligning with who we’ve been all along.

Maybe that’s the real purpose of all this. Not chasing meaning, but remembering it. Not escaping the world, but syncing with the part of us that never left the cloud.

Maybe, just maybe, that’s been the entire point of existence the whole time. Remembrance.