Co-creation, or Trust?
Is co-creation about aligning God to what we want — or is it about finally getting quiet enough to feel what Love is already doing, and choosing to move with it?
I have about 3 Blogs I’ve not released. I’m going to go ahead and release them over the next day or so. I hope they spark a new way of thinking.
Is co-creation about aligning God to what we want — or is it about finally getting quiet enough to feel what Love is already doing, and choosing to move with it?
Here's a question I've been sitting with — actually, living with. And it's the kind of question that rearranges you if you let it.
When we talk about co-creation with the Divine, which direction is the arrow pointing?
Are we the co-creators in the sense of "I have a vision, and God is the senior partner who helps me bring it into form" — meaning we're still the ones setting the agenda, and the Divine is basically a very powerful cosmic employee working on our project?
Or is co-creation something else entirely?
Because another version of this conversation says: the Divine is already creating. Constantly. In every direction. With breathtaking intelligence. And co-creation isn't me getting God to bless my plan. It's me getting quiet enough to feel what's already moving — and then choosing to move with it.
Those two versions produce very different lives.
The first version wears you out
The first version — God as partner on my vision — sounds good on a spiritual podcast. It's empowering. It puts you in the driver's seat. It flatters the part of us that wants to be important.
But watch what it does over time.
You become the architect. You hold the blueprint. You lie awake at 2 a.m. running scenarios, because if anything slips, the vision slips. You call your prayer life "partnership," but what's actually happening is you're briefing the Divine every morning on what you need done today. And then you're frustrated when the day doesn't cooperate.
That's not partnership. That's a very sophisticated version of control, with a spiritual vocabulary layered over it.
And the reason it wears you out is that it has to. You're trying to run the universe from a seat you were never meant to sit in. No human has the bandwidth. The exhaustion isn't a character flaw. It's the appropriate signal that you've taken on a job that doesn't belong to you.
The second version asks a harder question
The second version — co-creation as flowing with what's already being done — sounds, on the surface, more passive. More mystical. Less useful.
It isn't. It's actually more demanding than the first version, because it asks you a harder question:
Do you trust the Divine enough to let it lead?
Not theoretically. Not in the tidy moments. In the moment when the plan falls through. In the moment when the money doesn't arrive when you thought it would. In the moment when the relationship you were sure about goes sideways. In the moment when what's happening in front of you is the exact opposite of what you asked for.
Can you actually — actually — believe that Love is still on the move in the middle of that? That what looks like a setback is part of a larger motion you can't see from where you're standing?
Most of us can't. Not because we're faithless. Because we've been installed with an operating system that runs on hyper-vigilance and self-authored outcomes. That's what Breaking Your Matrix is about — the software we inherited that never asked if we wanted it.
The Matrix isn't an external prison — it's the unexamined bundle of thoughts and fears that keep you from truly choosing your life. It's the network of default beliefs that operate within you, largely unchecked.
— Breaking Your Matrix, Introduction
The default software doesn't trust. It plans. It hedges. It rehearses worst cases. It calls that "being responsible." And every time you try to relax into what's actually unfolding, the installed software sounds the alarm: you're going to fall, do something, take control back, don't just sit there.
Learning to flow is 10% mystical experience and 90% noticing that alarm and choosing not to obey it.
What I've come to believe
For me — and I'm speaking from the middle of this, not from the other side of it — co-creation is the conscious surrender of the architect seat.
It's learning to let my consciousness merge with the consciousness that was already creating me before I had language for it. It's what the physicists, when they get a little loose, start calling entanglement. Two things that are not separate, even when they appear separate, moving as one field.
My consciousness entangled with the consciousness of the One.
From that entangled place, the question stops being what do I want to create today? and becomes what is already being created through me today, and am I awake enough to participate in it?
Those are genuinely different questions. They produce different days.
The first one grinds. You wake up, you consult the blueprint, you execute, you evaluate, you course-correct, you try to hold the plan together. By noon you're depleted and you haven't even gotten to the hardest part yet.
The second one breathes. You wake up, you get quiet, you feel for what's already moving. Sometimes the answer is the thing you planned is aligned, go do it. Sometimes the answer is that thing you planned — set it down, it's already over, something else wants to come through. You listen. You move. You course-correct based on what you're actually feeling, not based on what the installed software demands.
This isn't passive. It's the most active thing I know. But the activity is rooted in listening, not in architecting.
Trust is the whole hinge
Everything I just said comes down to one word: trust.
Do you trust the Divine enough to let it lead?
If you do, co-creation looks like surrender. It looks like laying down your plan. It looks like laying down your life — your plans for your life, your map for your life, your self-authored story about who you're supposed to be by when.
If you don't, co-creation looks like negotiation. You stay the architect. You invite the Divine in as consultant. You smile and call that partnership.
And — this is the part worth being honest about — most of us are somewhere on a spectrum. We trust in some areas and white-knuckle in others. We surrender in the areas where we've already been broken open, and we stay in control in the areas we still think we can manage.
The work isn't to perform trust. The work is to notice where you don't have it yet, and not condemn yourself for that, and also not pretend otherwise. That noticing is itself the beginning of surrender.
I did not let you go with a string attached that you had to love Me or come back to Me. Could I love you back even though the freedom of choice I gave to you gave you permission to reject me and not love me in return? The power of My perfect love, ME, will win back to Me all that has come from Me.
— Choice, Chapter 1
Read that again and feel what it does. The Divine isn't anxious about your surrender. The Divine isn't waiting for you to get it right. The Divine is already in motion, already loving you, already pulling you home — and your job isn't to earn the journey. Your job is to stop resisting the current.
What letting go actually feels like
I want to be careful here because "let go" has become one of those phrases that gets thrown around until it means nothing. So let me say what it actually looks like in a Tuesday afternoon.
It looks like you catch yourself running the hedge-the-bet program — the one where you've already decided what has to happen, and now you're working to make sure it happens — and you stop. Even for thirty seconds.
It looks like you ask a different question. Not how do I make this work? but what's actually here right now? Not what do I need to do to control the outcome? but what's already moving, and what does alignment with it look like?
It looks like you soften the grip. Physically, if you have to. Your jaw. Your shoulders. The breath you've been holding for about three hours.
It looks like you accept — genuinely — that the next five minutes might not go how you predicted. And you're still okay, because you're not the one holding everything together. You never were. You were just taught to believe you had to.
Letting go is the active, conscious refusal to run the installed program for just long enough that a different current can reach you.
The smoother route
Here's the thing I keep coming back to. The letting-go path isn't harder. It's smoother.
The trying-to-architect path feels like it's in charge, but it's grinding you against the actual grain of reality. Of course it's hard. You're sanding wood against the grain for sixty years.
The letting-go path feels disorienting at first because the installed software keeps screaming that you're losing. But underneath the screaming is a current that's been there the whole time. When you stop fighting it and start moving with it, the work is still real — you still show up, still do the thing, still make choices — but the work isn't a grind anymore. It's participation.
This is what I think co-creation actually is.
Not me getting the Divine to stamp my blueprint.
Me finally getting quiet enough to feel what the Divine is already drawing — and having the humility and the courage to pick up the pen and draw along.
Go live it
If any of this resonates, here's what I'd do today.
Find one area of your life where you're exhausted from being the architect. Name it. Not the whole life — just one area. The project. The relationship. The money. The body. The child. Whatever.
And this week, experiment with a different posture toward it. Instead of asking what do I need to make happen?, ask what's already happening, and where's my alignment — or my resistance — to it?
Don't force an answer. Just ask. Every morning for a week.
And watch what shifts.
You didn't come here to perform co-creation as a spiritual performance. You came here to remember that you were never separate from the Source doing the creating, and you're allowed to move with it instead of against it.
Rise without End. Live without Limits.
~Gil
If this resonates, come to the Gathering (Sundays, 11:30 AM Central, free, open), or go deeper in the Authenticity Groups. Books — Choice and Breaking Your Matrix — are on Amazon.