Fields of Consciousness: How Notions of Reality Shape Collective Evolution

Kerry Jehanne-Guadalupe

I have often wondered how our perceived reality shapes both individual and collective advancement—how our notions of reality, personal and shared, influence not only lived experience but the evolutionary trajectory of humanity itself.

How do we know when a shift in consciousness reflects genuine evolution rather than a lateral move into another compelling, yet ultimately constraining, framework? How might collective fields of belief shape not only individual lives, but the broader arc of human becoming?

Rather than offering definitive answers, this exploration honors the vastness of mystery while inviting discernment, responsibility, and a more skillful participation in our collective unfolding. As someone once shared with me, “We don’t know what we don’t know.” Holding this awareness of uncertainty—the great unknown—can soften certainty, deepen humility, and keep curiosity alive. From this place, we may continue to live, learn, question, and evolve with greater care, integrity, and reverence for the mystery we inhabit.

Fields of Consciousness

Some propose that everything within the third dimension is accompanied by a corresponding energetic field. Such fields of consciousness are understood to exist across scales—from molecules to galaxies—and to encompass both inanimate forms, such as crystals and rocks, and living beings, including plants, animals, and humans. Within these energetic fields, information is thought to be stored as vibrational frequencies. These fields are often described as holding the codes of form and function and, as such, may significantly influence how a being or object expresses itself in the physical world. From this perspective, what we perceive in third-dimensional reality—a crystal, for example—originates from a subtler energetic vibration that gives rise to its physical form.

The language of fields is offered here not as empirical proof but as a conceptual framework for exploring patterns of influence, meaning, and collective coherence. This exploration does not argue for the existence of fields of consciousness as an empirical fact. Rather, it proceeds from the observation that human experience, meaning-making, and collective behavior often function as if such fields were operative.

Whether understood metaphorically, phenomenologically, or spiritually, the language of fields of consciousness provides a way to examine how patterns of belief, attention, emotion, and identity become shared, reinforced, and transmitted. The focus here is not on proving what fields are, but on exploring what happens when individuals and groups live within them—and how those lived frameworks shape perception, behavior, and collective evolution.

This premise appears across a range of contexts. Essential oils, for instance, are often described as carrying an energetic field that supports their functions in the physical realm. Similarly, wellness modalities such as massage are understood by some to possess an energetic field that holds the accumulated wisdom and consciousness of the practice itself. There are also beliefs that ascended masters or enlightened beings maintain distinct fields of consciousness with which humans may interact, either directly or indirectly.

Some suggest that fields of consciousness are dynamic rather than static, capable of expanding or contracting over time. Human attention, intention, and engagement may contribute energy to these fields, allowing them to grow or intensify. For example, widespread use of essential oils may strengthen the energetic field associated with them, just as collective prayer or devotion may amplify the field surrounding a spiritual figure. Yet, expansion does not necessarily imply purity. Fields may also be influenced—enhanced, distorted, or depleted—by dominant or collective human patterns that are not inherently aligned with the field’s original nature.

I imagine there are countless fields of consciousness available to us, each accessible at different times. One way to envision this is through the metaphor of television channels: while one channel is being watched, many others exist simultaneously, each with its own programming. In this sense, every field of consciousness carries its own qualities, frequencies, and patterns. When individuals become entrained to a particular field, they may begin to absorb and reflect its characteristic thoughts, emotions, and behaviors. Over time, the frequencies of that field may subtly condition perception, cognition, and action.

This raises an important question. If a field of consciousness is encoded with distortion or deception—particularly within spiritual contexts—can those who entrain to it experience a sense of awakening that is, in fact, illusory? I have encountered individuals who are deeply convinced they have attained freedom or enlightenment, yet I wonder whether they may be entrained to a field that convinces the mind it has arrived while quietly foreclosing further inquiry. In such cases, the field itself may condition a sense of sovereignty that discourages self-examination, making illusion difficult to detect.

This leads to a deeper inquiry: Can we experience a false sense of breaking free? How do we know whether we have genuinely expanded in consciousness or merely shifted laterally into a similar consciousness that is well-disguised as freedom?

Microcosms of Meaning: The Worlds We Make Together

If fields of consciousness exist in vast multiplicity, it follows that countless collective fields may support our varied notions of reality. What, then, happens when groups of people entrain to a similar field and begin to co-create meaning together? Communities—whether spiritual, cultural, political, or ideological—may function as microcosms: localized expressions of shared consciousness in which reality is collectively shaped, reinforced, and maintained.

Within such microcosms, participants may come to share not only values and beliefs, but also a particular set of “facts” that feel coherent and self-evident within the field they inhabit. Over time, this coherence can foster a sense of certainty—one that may quietly discourage questioning and lead to the dismissal of information that contradicts the group’s constructed worldview. What feels like clarity may, in some cases, be a narrowing of perception shaped by entrainment.

This raises a provocative possibility: perhaps what feels real and true is not determined solely by objective fact, but by the field of consciousness within which facts are interpreted. From this perspective, individuals who believe the Earth is flat, for example, may not be uninformed so much as informed within a particular field of consciousness—one that organizes perception, evidence, and meaning in a self-reinforcing way.

As humans, we are continually influenced by constructs and structures that shape our worldviews and sense of reality. These influences are multifaceted, encompassing social, educational, economic, political, and psychological forces. Yet this invites a deeper inquiry: what energetics underlie these forces? And how do we, as individuals and collectives, both influence and become influenced by the fields of consciousness that support them?

Several questions naturally arise:

·      How do we feed collective fields of consciousness, and how do those fields, in turn, shape us? Is this a closed circuit, or a mutually evolving process?

·      If distorted or deceptive fields—particularly those related to spirituality or ascension—are collectively reinforced, what returns to us through that reinforcement?

·      What are the long-term consequences when millions of people feed such fields over generations?

·      Might these fields grow so expansive that future generations more easily entrain to them, inheriting their assumptions before conscious discernment has a chance to develop?

If a false guru is widely praised, does that collective attention become energetic nourishment for the field surrounding that figure? Through rituals, symbols, language, images, sermons, and repeated narratives, fields may be strengthened and normalized. When rituals emerge from distorted levels of consciousness, they may deepen entanglement rather than guide participants toward their essential truth.

This leads me to wonder whether we can become hypnotized by fields of consciousness we ourselves have helped create. Can we, as collectives, become trapped within our own constructions—mistaking familiarity for truth, coherence for clarity?

I have encountered individuals who believe they are leading humanity through a great awakening. Yet I sometimes wonder whether they may be aligned with a field of consciousness shaped by what has been sometimes described as a false ascension path. This question arises when the language of unity and transcendence coexists with sharp divisions between those deemed “awake” and those considered “asleep.” In such cases, a us-versus-them separation framework persists even while claims of non-duality and interconnectedness are made.

When such dynamics arise, I find myself wondering whether we, as humans, might sometimes reinforce the very patterns we hope to heal. This reflection is offered not as a critique, but as humility. I am deeply aware that I, too, carry blind spots and entanglements—some I recognize, and many I likely do not. The inquiry is not about determining who is right or wrong, but about noticing how sincere devotion to truth may, at times, be subtly redirected by the fields we entrain to.

What continues to interest me is how human beings can become susceptible to narrowing awareness—or even to expressions of harm—while genuinely believing they are acting in the service of truth, healing, or evolution. Is it possible that we can feel we have stepped out of one matrix, only to find ourselves participating in another—one that does not fully align with the peaceful, compassionate, and sustainable future we imagine we are helping to create?

It is my understanding that we can get indoctrinated and socialized into a way of being, believing, and behaving. That alone can explain how we become a product of the environment and of the social, political, and educational structures in which we were raised. Yet I wonder what ultimately influences agents of socialization, such as the family and other educational structures. What is the ultimate causal point of the structures, and what are the energetics or fields of consciousness behind the systems themselves?

Breaking free from conditioned structures is often no small task. We are wired for belonging, for coherence, for participation in shared meaning. As a result, the reality we inherit often feels indistinguishable from truth itself. It may be easier to adapt to a culture than to question its assumptions. Yet perhaps this is the deeper work of the soul—to reach beyond inherited notions, to sense what resonates beneath conditioning, and to gently loosen the hold of fields that no longer serve our becoming.

In this way, evolution may not be about arriving at certainty, but about cultivating discernment—learning to sense when a field supports expansion, responsibility, and compassion, and when it quietly contracts awareness under the guise of truth.

The Field of Consciousness Behind “I Am Spiritual, Not Religious”

Viewed through the lens of fields of consciousness, the statement “I am spiritual, not religious” may be understood not simply as a personal belief or preference, but as an expression of entrainment into a particular collective field. Like all fields of consciousness, it carries patterns of meaning, emotional tones, assumptions, and implicit narratives that can subtly shape perception, identity, and behavior.

For many, this field appears to be entered with sincerity. It often arises from a genuine longing for direct connection, personal meaning, and freedom from structures that once felt restrictive, harmful, or misaligned. Within this field, people may experience renewed intimacy with the sacred, a deepened sense of compassion, and an expanded awareness of interconnectedness. At its best, it can support authenticity, curiosity, and a spirituality rooted in lived experience rather than obligation.

Yet, as with any field of consciousness, what it amplifies may depend on what is encoded within it—and how it is collectively fed.

In some expressions of this field, subtle distortions may emerge. The identity “spiritual, not religious” can quietly shift from an orientation of exploration to a marker of differentiation. Without conscious awareness, the field may carry implicit hierarchies: spiritual over religious, awakened over asleep, free over conditioned. When this occurs, a sense of specialness may arise—not as an intentional act of superiority, but as an emergent property of the field itself.

From within such a field, religion may be perceived primarily through its most distorted expressions—dogma, control, corruption—while spirituality is idealized as inherently pure, heart-centered, and unmediated. This binary framing can simplify a complex reality and obscure the shared human patterns that move through both domains. The field may subtly condition participants to feel they have escaped something, rather than remaining in a relationship with it.

This raises a gentler but important question: Is it possible that, in seeking liberation from restrictive structures, we may unintentionally align with a consciousness that mirrors what we hoped to leave behind, only clothed in different language? Might movement sometimes be lateral rather than vertical—a shift in form rather than in consciousness?

In such cases, authority may simply move from priest to guru, doctrine from scripture to spiritual texts, hierarchy from church leadership to shamans or teachers. The field changes its appearance, but not necessarily its underlying function.

In this way, liberation may feel real while remaining incomplete. The field itself may reinforce the perception of freedom, making its constraints difficult to perceive. Because it affirms an identity of being “awake” or “beyond,” it may quietly discourage self-questioning—paradoxically limiting the very discernment that spiritual inquiry seeks to cultivate.

Seen through this lens, spirituality and religion may not be opposing forces, but different expressions within overlapping fields—sometimes distinct, sometimes entangled, sometimes spiraling upward from shared roots while retaining familiar patterns. Over time, I have noticed striking parallels between certain religious institutions and some spiritual communities, including:

·      The surrender of personal authority to leaders (church authorities / gurus)

·      The presence of intermediaries between individuals and the Divine (priests / shamans)

·      Us-versus-them narratives (Damned vs. Saved / Awake vs. Asleep)

·      Moral or spiritual superiority

·      Codified teachings and doctrines

·      Prescribed attire, symbols, or aesthetic markers

·      Ritualized practices (sacraments / fasting, ceremonies, initiations)

·      Mechanisms of control, including gaslighting

·      Emotional extremes, from guilt and shame to spiritual bypassing or toxic positivity

·      Hierarchical power structures

·      Corruption, abuse, and inequality

These similarities invite a gentle and necessary inquiry:

How do we know when we have truly shifted into a new field of consciousness, rather than entered another that closely resembles freedom while quietly reproducing familiar constraints?

Perhaps the deeper work is not choosing one identity over another, but remaining attentive to the fields of consciousness we enter—and the qualities they cultivate within us. Discernment becomes less about labeling and more about sensing resonance: noticing whether a field supports humility, ethical responsibility, and genuine connection, or subtly conditions us toward division, certainty, or rigidity.

Perhaps, any collective field—religious or spiritual—may become constrictive when its assumptions go unexamined. Fields of consciousness do not require ill intent to distort; they may evolve through repetition, resonance, and collective belief.

This reflection is not meant to deny the profound harm caused by certain religious ideologies, including doctrines of damnation, religious violence, abuse by clergy, or systemic oppression. Nor does it dismiss the evolutionary movement of spirituality as part of humanity’s unfolding. What feels important, however, is resisting the urge to collapse complexity into condemnation—to oversimplify a landscape that is far more nuanced.

If we would hesitate to dismiss all spirituality because some spiritual communities have become cults, or because certain gurus or shamans have abused their power—even in ways that have led to mass harm—then perhaps similar care is warranted when speaking about religion. Both domains carry the potential for beauty and distortion, awakening and misuse.

The belief that spirituality alone offers direct access to the Divine, while religion does not, may reflect another subtle aspect of this field of consciousness—one that divides rather than integrates. Many deeply religious individuals experience profound intimacy with the sacred. History itself offers countless examples—figures such as Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., Mahatma Gandhi, and Mother Teresa—whose religious devotion was inseparable from their spiritual depth and moral courage.

From this perspective, the inquiry shifts from “Am I spiritual or religious?” to“What field am I entraining to, and what does it ask of me?” Does the field encourage humility, accountability, and compassion? Or does it subtly reinforce separation, certainty, and identity-based belonging? Does it expand curiosity—or quiet it?

In this light, the statement “I am spiritual, not religious” becomes neither true nor false, but contextual. It reflects a relationship to a field of consciousness—one that may be liberating, limiting, or both—depending on how consciously it is engaged.

Perhaps the deeper evolutionary work lies not in declaring where we stand, but in staying aware of how consciousness moves through us, and whether the fields we feed are aligned with the wholeness, humility, and love we seek to embody.

Spiritual Aphorisms as Carriers of Consciousness

One way to sense the fields of consciousness we may be entrained into is by listening closely to the language we use—and the language that circulates within our communities. Words are not neutral; they carry frequency, assumptions, and implicit worldviews. Spiritual aphorisms, in particular, function as condensed packets of meaning. They are brief sayings intended to convey wisdom, insight, or truth. Yet, like all expressions that travel through collective fields, their impact depends greatly on context, dimensional awareness, and the degree to which they are applied consciously.

In this way, language itself may become one of the most accessible indicators of the fields we inhabit.

Some aphorisms are shared with the intention to liberate, yet they can inadvertently confine. Some are believed to soothe pain, yet they may deepen wounds. Taken out of context, repeated without discernment, or applied rigidly, spiritual aphorisms can become carriers of distortion rather than clarity—transmitting the consciousness of the field from which they arise.

Phrases such as “pain is an illusion” or “there is no such thing as a victim” illustrate this tension. At higher dimensions, these statements may hold true. Yet within the lived reality of the third dimension, pain is experienced as real—physically, emotionally, and psychologically. A bullet wounds the body. The loss of a loved one wounds the heart. Trauma leaves imprints that cannot be bypassed through abstraction.

Imagine surviving rape or war and being met with language such as, “There are no victims. Your soul chose this experience prior to incarnation as part of its growth. Your perpetrator is also understood as an expression of the divine, leaving nothing to feel wronged by, nor anything to forgive.”

While such statements may arise from higher-dimensional or metaphysical frameworks, when offered without attunement to context, timing, and lived experience, they risk obscuring necessary distinctions, minimizing profound human pain, and inadvertently retraumatizing those who are already carrying deep wounds. Rather than supporting healing, such language may bypass the relational, emotional, and ethical dimensions required for genuine integration and care.

From the lens of fields of consciousness, what may be occurring is a blurring—or collapsing—of dimensions. Higher-dimensional concepts are imported wholesale into third-dimensional contexts without discernment. When this happens collectively, a form of spiritual groupthink can emerge: a shared field that discourages questioning, nuance, and emotional truth.

Another commonly circulated aphorism is, “Your perpetrator is your greatest teacher.” While it is true that human beings often grow through adversity, this framing can obscure responsibility and agency. Abuse does not teach; harm is not instruction. The learning, when it occurs, arises from how an individual faces, processes, and heals from an experience—not from the actions of the person who caused the harm. There is a significant difference between: They are my greatest teacher & the situation is providing the opportunity for me to learn something.

Many aphorisms operate in this way, carrying higher-dimensional truths and placing them upon our 3rd-dimensional reality: “Everything happens for a reason. Your soul chooses every experience, even the most difficult. You are responsible for all the pain and suffering you have brought upon yourself, as you created this.”

While such statements may contain some insight, they can become harmful when used to shame, silence, or bypass legitimate emotional responses. Responsibility for healing does not mean responsibility for harm. Timing, attunement, and consent matter deeply in how metaphysical understandings are offered.

Another frequently used phrase—“If you see it in another, it exists in you”—also illustrates the need for discernment. While projection is a real psychological and spiritual phenomenon, it is not universally applicable. Naming harmful behavior in another does not require locating that same behavior within oneself. For example, if someone is grappling with the reality of another person taking advantage of them, it may not be helpful—or accurate—to immediately search for the same traits within themselves. “You must have had some issues that you needed to look at around exploitive impulses.”

It is not always as simple as, “As within, so without. If I am disturbed by someone, I must possess the same qualities.” In many cases, a person may carry the opposite pattern—such as difficulty with boundaries or a tendency to allow themselves to be taken advantage of—rather than exploitative impulses. To suggest that recognizing harm requires locating the same behavior within oneself risks conflating metaphysical abstraction with moral and relational discernment.

Importantly, accountability is not negated by statements such as “there is no one to blame.” Responsibility and compassion can coexist. Harm can be named without collapsing into vengeance, and accountability can be upheld without abandoning nuance.

Many spiritual aphorisms are shared with genuine intention—to help, to soothe, to offer perspective. Yet intention alone does not ensure wisdom. In healing spaces, I have witnessed individuals labeled as having “blocks” simply for not wanting to participate in a particular activity—without anyone asking what they were experiencing or what they needed. I have seen people discouraged from leaving environments that did not feel safe or resonant, framed as having “commitment issues,” rather than being honored for listening to their inner guidance. Within such moments, language becomes a mechanism of control rather than care. Buzzwords are deployed in place of inquiry.

From the perspective of fields of consciousness, spiritual aphorisms function as energetic carriers. When repeated within a group, they can reinforce a particular field—one that may privilege certainty over curiosity, consistency over complexity. Whether shared from ego or from a sincere desire to serve, these sayings may reflect group entrainment rather than embodied truth.

Perhaps this is one way fields of consciousness quietly evolve into dogma: not through malice, but through repetition without reflection. Concepts meant to liberate may harden into rules. Language meant to open closes. What began as insight becomes ideology.

This invites a return to discernment—not as judgment, but as care. To ask, Does this resonate? Does it honor lived experience? Does it invite wholeness, or does it constrain it? In this way, language itself becomes a diagnostic tool, revealing the fields we inhabit and the consciousness we collectively feed.

Participating in Our Collective Becoming

It is often suggested that fields of love, peace, and harmony can be strengthened through collective attention, intention, and coherence—and that as these fields are nourished, they become more accessible to others across time and place. This understanding has been described as feeding the field environment: the recognition that consciousness is participatory, and that what we consistently energize through belief, emotion, language, and practice gains influence within both individual and collective experience.

Perhaps our human progression entails not only feeding life-affirming fields, but also gently dismantling those that inhibit our forward movement. Part of our evolution may involve healing the conditions that once allowed us to become entrained to distorted fields in the first place. This may require examining the wounds, longings, and unmet needs that render certain fields compelling, as well as restoring discernment where coherence once replaced curiosity. In this way, discernment becomes not a withdrawal from life, but a way of inhabiting it more consciously.

Our collective becoming may depend on cultivating greater discernment within our humanity—not on escaping the world, but on learning how to live within it with deeper awareness and care. Evolution, in this sense, is not a flight from humanity, but a deepening into it. It is not something that happens to us, but something that unfolds through conscious participation: through the ways we attend, relate, speak, listen, and make meaning together.

In this light, each moment becomes an opportunity to choose what we feed and what we release. With growing awareness, we may learn to participate in our collective unfolding with greater humility, compassion, and responsibility—trusting that even small, intentional acts of care can contribute to fields that support healing, connection, and a more conscious future for all.