The Hum in the Empty Space: A Reflection on Isness

In the hum of the empty space, every version of me is already whole and this one is the keeper of the thread.

Yesterday, my partner and I went out for breakfast.

As we waited - for what felt like an eternity - for our order to arrive, we somehow drifted into a conversation about the multiverse. I know, I know… who's deep in thoughts on a Sunday morning over an unrefilled cup of coffee? Maybe it was the way we joked that somewhere, in another reality, we had already been served and were leaning back, satisfied and full.

Somewhere in that lighthearted exchange, I began to share something that has been quietly reverberating inside me for a very long time, an insight I had never spoken aloud before.

I told my partner that if the multiverse is real, then every version of me I could ever imagine; the rich me, the tall me, the me who lives in Greece or Norway, the me with the most loving, supportive mother, already exists. And if the implication of the multiverse theory holds true, then these versions of me are not far-off dreams or wistful “what ifs.” They are real, unfolding now in other threads of reality.

And it’s not only the ideal versions of me who exist. Somewhere, there are versions living through the not-so-easy aspects of being human; loss, heartbreak, mistakes, uncertainty, the heavy lessons that shape us. I honor them just as much.

For those versions, I feel not only compassion, but gratitude. They, too, are part of the wholeness. They carry the textures and contrasts that deepen the thread connecting us all, shaping the wisdom and tenderness that move through me here.

And as the delicious smell of someone else’s bacon - and ours still not in front of us - floated through the air, I realized I wasn’t just telling my partner this insight. I was hearing it clearly for the first time in my own voice.

When I finished explaining how it felt, my partner asked, “But wouldn’t you want to know what it’s like in that reality? Wouldn’t you want to see it, feel it, be it?”

My answer came instantly. “No.”

I explained to him... The moment when I understood that, something in me loosened.

The ache of longing, the sense of “I wish I had”, it evaporated. Why pine for what is already true somewhere? Why carry the strain of lack when other versions of me are already living those experiences fully?

It wasn’t apathy.

It was an unshakable sense of wholeness.

There is freedom in not needing to chase what already belongs to me, even if not in this reality.

And yes, that no, was not because I wouldn’t be curious, but because those other “me’s” are not strangers, they are threads of the same fabric. Their joy is my joy. Their pain is my pain. Their wholeness is my wholeness. I don’t have to witness them to feel them; they are already humming through me.

How can I be certain of this?

Well, we have to distinguish between "Being" and "Isness"

For me, when I tap into my highest awareness, I understand that “Being” is what we live through in human form, the taste of food, the warmth of sunlight, the sound of rain on a window, the sensations of being tall or short, the texture of touch. Being is the movement through time and space inside a body, with all its beauty and limits.

But “Isness” is our awareness, our consciousness; humming in the womb of Source. It is not bound by our body, our stories, or this single lifetime. It moves through all realities at once, the unbroken thread connecting every version of us that has ever been or will ever be.

And when I speak of the hum in the empty space, I mean the quiet vibration that holds every possibility before it takes form. We’re taught to think of empty space as nothingness, but where others see a void, I feel abundance that is alive and pulsating with unbound potential.

This space between is not empty; it is the womb of all realities. Every possible self, every possible life, existing together in a chorus so steady it can only be heard in stillness.

It asks for nothing.

It proves nothing.

It simply is, outside of time, outside of space.

I could see in my partner's eyes, my explanation didn’t fully landed. He listened, but his eyes had that look, the one that says “I hear the words, but I don’t feel what you feel.”

And I felt a quiet pang of loneliness. Not sadness exactly, but the recognition that this insight lives so deeply in me, yet I have no one right here who can meet me in it. It’s like speaking in a language only I remember.

But maybe that’s the nature of Isness. It can’t be handed to someone; it must rise within them, like a memory returning. And if the hum in the empty space holds all realities, then somewhere, in another branch of existence, I am already sitting with those who see this exactly as I do.

So I come back to this: If all those versions are part of the same oneness, then in some way, they are already here with me now. I don’t have to see them to feel them. The hum carries them. The Isness holds them.

And I am not incomplete.

Because in Isness, there is no absence. No lack. No longing. Only the quiet knowing that all of me, everywhere, is already whole.

And I realize this truth has been finding its way into my songwriting for years, even before I had words for it.

In The Space Between I wrote:

Between the lines of a poem,

Where meaning dares to hide,

Love whispers without sound,

And time is brushed aside.

This space, so delicate and vast,

Is where love’s light is born,

In the hush of what’s unsaid,

In the dawn before the morn

And in Empty Space:

In the dark, we find our way

Through the void, we start to sway

The whole mystery, we can’t define

Empty space in the corners of our minds

I see now how both songs were early whispers of this knowing, that emptiness isn’t absence, it’s love, it's origin.

This morning, under the warm stream of the shower, that place where so many of my deeper thoughts seem to find me, the insight expanded. I found myself wondering: if all those other versions are already living all this countless realities, what is the role of this version of me, standing here in the water?

The answer was soft but certain:

This is the version who lays the burden down.

This me, here and now.... gets to stop, at almost 57 years old, longing for what I do not have in this reality, because I know it exists elsewhere. I get to loosen my grip on “what could be” and rest in “what already is.”

And here’s the unexpected gift: when the burden is gone, the space it leaves is not empty, it is beautifully alive. By releasing the weight of longing, I create room within me. Room that hums with new possibilities, like a hidden doorway revealed the moment my hands are free.

It’s almost poetic really, that by letting go of the need to hold it all here, I widen the path for Isness to flow through me. The empty space becomes the infinite canvas of my becoming.

In the multiverse, each version of me plays its part. Some live the adventures, the wealth, the romance, the perfect family. Some walk through shadow, loss, and the long corridors of fear, consequence, pain and uncertainty.

But this one, this me, was chosen to remember. To loosen the grip. To lay the burden down.

I am the keeper of the thread. The witness at the center, holding the quiet knowing that all is already whole. I do not take from the others, nor envy them. I simply stand in the stillness, connected to them all, and let the hum of the empty space flow through me.

And in that stillness, I hear what feels like the voice of Source, speaking both to me and as me:

This is the one who releases.

The one who makes room.

The one who widens the path so that all possibilities may flow freely.

This is the one who trusts the wholeness so completely, she no longer grasps for what is already hers.

This is the one who walks with open hands into the endless field of what already is.

And when you truly feel that, you understand: that is its own kind of wealth. Its own kind of love. Its own kind of freedom.

So I will keep listening to the hum in the empty space. I will let the Isness remind me that I am not incomplete. And I will honor the role of this version of me, the one who walks with open hands, lightened of burden, into the endless field of what already is.

☥

Footnote: On Isness

Though “Isness” has been used by philosophers like Buckminster Fuller and spiritual teachers such as Ram Dass to describe the pure fact of being in the present moment, I sense it as something far vaster. Not just the felt immediacy of life in a body, but the living field in the ether that holds all realities, all timelines, and all versions of self at once. It is the quiet hum that moves through every possibility before it takes form, an unbroken thread beyond time and space.