Honestly, it makes a weird kind of sense. I train people for a living here in Asheville. I watch muscles adapt, nervous systems recalibrate, but the “feeling” of effort, the inner voice pushing through a burnout set—that’s not explainable by lactic acid alone. If we’re gonna keep chasing the hard problem of consciousness, maybe the answer isn’t in the wiring, but in the substrate itself. But there’s a real cost to buying into this. It flips the materialist script upside down. Suddenly you’re dealing with micro-experiences, combination problems, and the uncomfortable truth that a pebble might have a flicker of subjective state. That’s where my Carl Jung studies kick in. He always warned that when we collapse the boundary between self and world, we risk losing the psychological tension that keeps us grounded. Accepting panpsychism means carrying the weight of a universe that’s literally watching itself. It’s heavy.

Tarot’s been funny about this for centuries, though. The Wheel of Fortune doesn’t just spin for humans; it turns for ecosystems, for seasons, for the silent pull of gravity. When I pull it during a reading, I’m reminded that awareness isn’t a VIP lounge for primates. It’s the ground we walk on. I’m not saying I’ve got all the answers. The empirical evidence is still thin—we’re looking at theoretical frameworks, not hard data. But if consciousness is woven into the fabric of reality, then every breath I take in these Blue Ridge mountains is part of a much larger conversation. I guess I’m just asking: if the rocks are listening, what are we saying?