Reflections on the Block Universe:
A Contemplative Rebuttal
Today, while seeking inspiration, I came across the Block Universe Theory. It was illustrated as a cube containing the concepts of time—past, present, and future—all held simultaneously within its frame. It struck me as a convenient box, and I found myself wanting to peer inside. So, I began to investigate - through research and through Contemplative Writing, to understand how it relates to my personal Theory of Everything.
Understanding the Block Universe Theory
The Block Universe Theory (also called Eternalism) suggests that time is like a dimension in space—all moments (past, present, and future) exist simultaneously. Rather than flowing or unfolding, time is “blocked out,” and our perception of change or movement is a kind of illusion. In this view, everything—every event, thought, or action—is already fixed within the spacetime continuum. We are, in essence, walking through a static four-dimensional structure where free will, change, and agency are illusory constructs.
******
How uninspiring—how inert—is the idea that everything has been predetermined! Life, by its very design, is experimental. This is the foundational assertion of my practice of Contemplative Writing: that if you’re to access personal wisdom, you must engage with life as an experiment, not a script. You aren’t compelled to follow a director who has “blocked out” your scenes.
This is when the Contrarian in me arises with fierceness and passion…Who is this “director” who dares to set my course for me?
This “director” exists in contradiction to the idea of free will. Free will requires an open mind, not a mind content to follow someone else’s content or their dictates. I contend that this “director” is fictitious, a product of controlling minds bent on dictating the scenes that play out in front of you.
Would you agree to this “direction” if you knew you had a choice?
We exist in relationship with nature—our own nature, human nature, and the natural world.
Our agency is not an illusion; it is central to our reality. Built into the design of existence is our power to act, choose, and change. We are creators, not co-creators in a religious sense. Not recipients of divine permission.
We are creators, by birthright. We are worthy of this wonder simply by being born.
That this truth has been systemically stripped from us—replaced by doctrines that reserve creativity for deities—is perhaps the most damaging illusion ever accepted. In its place, humans were taught to fear their power, begging to be “delivered” from their attempts to live freely, to create.
Creation is breath. Like air, it is not optional.
The Dynamic Past Theory (DPT) emerges as a reclamation. It asserts that time is malleable, shaped in the context of the present moment—the event horizon of creation. “Now” is not fleeting; it is the muster point from which all things arise. Reality is not made of boxes and edges—it is spherical, fluid, dynamic, and influenced by the conscious observer.
From their still point at the center of the sphere, the individual impacts what they perceive as their timeline in all directions. The individual’s still point, our perspective, complete in our Theory of Everything…moves within this sphere.
Would you agree that we function in life from our highest form of right? And that our “right” may be different from another’s “right?”
In this living model, all possibilities coexist, but only those that match the frequency of the observer’s thoughts become real. If you want a box, you get a box. If you seek fluidity, a sphere arises. The observer is the creator.
We are not what we observe—we are the originators of observation itself. A paradox, yes, in theory. It must be lived to be known. Life, by its very design, is experiential.
This theory resonates with the philosophies of Deleuze, De Beauvoir, Faggin, Wheeler, and Bohm—all of whom pointed toward flux, responsibility, interconnectedness, and the participatory nature of reality.
I am not trying to be radical. I simply refuse to surrender my power to an external “creator.” I have concluded that I created me—and I continue to do so.
Contemplative Writing is how I test and live these truths. It is the union of the theoretical and the practical - how you apply philosophy.
I collapse the wave to define the wave. It’s not preplanned or preconceived unless I do the planning and conceiving.
The Creative Trifecta
By nature, a responsive universe must respond to my intention to collapse the wave. And in that sea of potential, everything is drawn forth by awareness, focus, and intention—the creative trifecta.
Existence is the act of conscious engagement. Nothing exists unless it is lived, thought, written, or spoken.
If we cannot live, think, write, or speak something, it does not exist in your reality. It remains unrealized potential. It may be realized by another, through their conceptive lens, but not by you.
Conception and experience are what make the possible real. The field doesn’t select what we believe—it is always prepared to respond. It is neutral, infinite in potential, waiting for the signal of our focus.
This is not co-creation with a deity. This is the thing that “creationists” despise, the resurrection of personal power, the recollection of the self. The Dynamic Past Theory requires radical self-creation in a field of pure possibility. The idea of separation—of “me” versus “it”—is a construct, a way the mind copes with the infinite.
But we are causal. We are the consciousness of the field, expressed. In every act of choosing, we draw ourselves into being.
Human beings are hardwired for transcendence. We thrive through triumph and victory. And within the parameters of our existence, we expand as we breach the threshold of the present moment, being delivered into the next in a steady stream of now. We redefine what is possible—not because we must, but because that’s what we do.
To conceive of a separate self and live out the consequences of that illusion is the reason we came to life.
The separate self is a necessary illusion—not to be escaped, but to be explored. It creates the conditions under which the conscious creator can choose, transform, and recompose reality through experience. To live out this illusion is not an error.
The grand experiment that is life is the point. And our point of power is the pen where it connects to the paper.
Contemplative Writing: The Practice That Reunifies
If, as the Dynamic Past Theory asserts, we come to life to experience the illusion of a separate self—and if that illusion creates both the suffering and the structure of our lived reality—then there must also be tools for navigating this paradox with awareness. This is where Contemplative Writing enters, not as a hobby or self-help ritual, but as a primary navigational tool of consciousness.
The moment of perceived separation—from source, from the field, from each other—is where fear first emerges. It is the original, existential wound. The loss of innocence, of coherence. The fracture from what is. And yet, it is precisely through the lens of separation that we come to know the power of agency. The paradox, then, must be held: we are both of the field and distinct from it, depending on how we focus our awareness.
Contemplative Writing creates the space to observe this illusion without collapsing into it. On the page, we become both the observer and the observed. We return to the event horizon of now, where the field is most malleable, and we explore our thoughts not as fixed truths but as mutable waveforms—energetic frequencies awaiting conscious engagement.
A practice of Slow Living…
CW allows us to slow time to the speed of writing, to reframe past patterns through the exploration of alternatives, and to meet the separate self with compassion and curiosity instead of judgment or denial. You do this through the wisdom of your Constant Traveler, the most honorable, compassionate self you can imagine. It unwinds the tension at the point of fracture and gently restores coherence by inviting the writer to witness themselves as both architect and artifact.
When I label me, I create me…
To write contemplatively is to enter the paradox willingly. To think through the pen is to reclaim authorship of the self. Each word becomes a thread reweaving our connection to the field. What once felt like isolation becomes a creative edge. What once seemed fractured becomes fertile.
In this way, Contemplative Writing is not just a practice. It is a return to coherence through conscious self-composition.
In a world built on the illusion of separation, Contemplative Writing offers a path not back to the source—but forward, through the self, toward integration.
It is the art of remembering, not what we were told, but what we’ve always known:
You are not separate from creation. You are its continuity.