In Eros, our aim is to flow with life in the most beneficial way. To do this, we throw. We set an intention, potent in its beneficial nature, then relax and let go of control, allowing it to take its own form in the world.
But how we throw matters. The tiniest withholds, the smallest hesitations—they splinter off, forming side currents, alternate realities. These offshoots can’t be ignored, nor left to wander on their own. The invitation in Eros is to pull them into the main stream, to integrate them with our intention.
Our work is to keep the river flowing, to draw in doubts and contrary beliefs without letting them dominate our mind. We don’t engage with them head-on—doing so only traps us in rumination. Instead, we ask: how do I draw these countercurrents back into the flow? How do I turn them into play?
The hardest part is realizing that what we often call “wisdom”—our frustration, our endless strategizing—is actually creating the very realities we’re trying to avoid.
Shame, too, isn’t just an emotion; it’s a creative force, setting its own reality in motion.
Blocking these forces only keeps them alive, allowing them to operate independently. The real work can’t be skipped. We can’t ignore it, deny it, or pretend it’s something else. We have to meet it on its own frequency, draw it in, and turn it into play.
This can be especially challenging for those noble souls who’ve been trained to spot danger, to protect, who’ve built their identities around fixing things. For them, letting go of control and embracing play might feel impossible. But the truth is, looking for danger is the most dangerous thing we can do.
Avoiding it only tightens the knot. Instead, we need to engage with a light touch, a sense of play.
In doing so, we begin to see how easily we mislabel our own energies. That nervous agitation—anxiety, the restless tug between choices—is often mistaken for noble energy. But it’s really a rogue force, quietly shaping the realities we don’t want.
This energy isn’t meant to be fought; it’s asking to be woven into the flow. The more we resist, the more it tightens its grip.
The invitation is to drop our self-consciousness. To stop worrying about how we look, what it all means. Those concerns are only weights holding us back. We need to play, naked, unburdened. We didn’t come here to be good; we came here to complete a mission, and in that, we find goodness.
We can rewrite the story of how we got here—everything that led us to this point was exactly as it needed to be.
Think of those we’ve imputed with so much meaning—not because they inherently had it, but because we’ve poured our energy into them, shaping them into something real. Even in avoiding them, we’ve given them power, made them solid in our minds. It was never truly about them; it was about the energy we gave to them.
Don’t hand chaotic forces more power than they deserve. When we block, we turn them into real opposition; separation breeds conflict. Instead, open yourself to receive them. This kind of openness demands vulnerability, but it’s the only way to break their hold over us.
The only thing that might sting is our sense of self, but if we release that, the energy flows through, and wisdom rises in its place. In that release, we might discover new challenges—ones that are more beautiful, more creative, and far more worthy of our attention than the ones we’ve been caught up in.
This is where true transformation happens, where we stop merely surviving and start living fully, letting the flow of life guide us to deeper, richer experiences.