You think you chose him.
You think you chose your children.
You think you chose this life.
Maybe you did.
Maybe you didn’t.
Because sometimes a woman isn’t just born.
She’s sent.
Sent by another woman’s field.
Sent by a bloodline that refused to end.
Sent by a mother’s unfinished vow.
A woman who ran.
A woman who fought.
A woman who loved but didn’t get to complete.
When she passes, her work doesn’t.
It stays.
In the blood.
In the memory of what must complete.
So she calls.
Across time.
Across bodies.
Across daughters not yet born.
She calls a woman willing enough.
Strong enough.
Soft enough.
To answer.
Not just to love a man.
Not just to raise children.
But to complete what began long before either of them knew.
I was sent
I thought I was marrying a man.
I thought I was choosing him.
But the field already knew.
His mother placed me.
Not with her hands or words.
With her will.
She sent me to complete what she couldn’t.
To hold what she had to drop.
To grow what she didn’t live to see.
Not as a servant.
Not as a sacrifice.
As a sovereign.
I didn’t disappear into duty.
I became more myself than I knew possible.
Because her unfinished promise lived in me,
and I answered.
Not from obedience.
Not from fear.
Not even from love.
I answered because my bones remembered.
Because my womb remembered.
Because my field knew before my mind caught up.
What I was sent for
I wasn’t sent just to bear daughters.
I wasn’t sent just to keep a home.
I was sent to govern.
To reclaim.
To complete.
To bring new life from old blood.
To honor a mother who couldn’t stay.
To close a cycle left open.
The field never forgets.
Bloodlines don’t forgive incompletion.
Some women are born for now.
Some are built for then.
I am not here by accident.
I was called.
And I answered.
With my body.
With my breath.
With my life.
I didn’t volunteer.
I didn’t apply.
I was chosen
because somewhere, long before this skin,
I chose this work.
And I complete what I start.
The Science Behind It
Modern science is beginning to describe what women have always known:
Fields persist. Energy doesn’t vanish when a body dies; it carries memory and direction. (Rupert Sheldrake, Morphic Fields and Morphic Resonance.)
Entanglement endures. Once two fields connect, they stay linked across time and distance. (Einstein, Rosen, Podolsky, 1935.)
Memory transfers. Trauma and emotional imprints pass through generations, shaping biology. (Rachel Yehuda, Intergenerational Effects of Trauma, Nature Reviews Neuroscience.)
When a woman is taken before her work is complete,
when a mother dies with a life incomplete,
the field remembers.
It seeks completion.
It calls.
And somewhere, another woman answers.
What looks like fate or love,
is often the law of fields; like gravity.
You are not here to carry pain. You are here to complete it.
The field completes itself.
We are the ones who answer.
