kairomancy

Part V is the last installment of this series.

The series

Introduction
Part I – The Attitude That Precedes You
Part II – The Scientific Frame: Unus Mundus
Part III – We Are Strange Attractors
Part IV – The Dark Side
Part V – Practical Kairomancy: Working with the Yes

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Practical Kairomancy: Working with the Yes

So here we are. You understand the theory. You know that consciousness and matter are woven together, that you’re a magnet in an iron globe, and that the universe says yes to what you carry. You’ve accepted that you have the power, and the responsibility, to choose your attitude.

Now what? How do you actually work with this in the messy reality of a Tuesday afternoon when you’re anxious about money, frustrated with your partner, and facing a deadline you’re not sure you can meet?

This is where kairomancy moves from philosophy to practice. From understanding to application. From “interesting idea” to a “way of life.”

The first principle: You have to be deliberate about what you’re asking for.

And by “asking for,” I don’t mean making vision boards or reciting affirmations (though those can be useful if done right). I mean, what are you actually asking for, underneath your conscious intentions? What is your body asking for? What is your habitual emotional state requesting from the universe?

Because (and this is important) the universe responds to the real ask, not the stated one.

You might say you want a relationship, but if you’re carrying “I’m not enough” or “people always leave” or “I’ll probably get hurt again,” that’s what you’re actually asking for. That’s the field you’re generating. And the universe will say yes to that, the underlying frequency, not the surface wish.

You might say you want success, but if you’re carrying “I don’t deserve this” or “good things don’t happen to people like me” or “I’m a fraud waiting to be exposed,” those are your real requests. And they will be fulfilled with perfect fidelity.

This is why Moss emphasises that we need to check what we’re carrying “in our body and our energy field,” not just in our thoughts. The thoughts are the tip of the iceberg. The body holds the real programme, the actual broadcast.

So the practice starts with ruthless honesty: what am I actually asking for right now? What is my body asking for? What is my energy asking for?

And then, if the answer doesn’t match what you consciously want, you have work to do.

The work is twofold: clearing and claiming.

Clearing means identifying and releasing the patterns, beliefs, and emotional charges that are asking for what you don’t want. This isn’t a one-time thing. It’s archaeological. You dig, you find something, you clear it, you dig deeper, you find more.

Maybe it’s a story you’ve been telling yourself since childhood: “I’m not the kind of person who…” or “Things never work out for me when…” or “I always end up…” These stories are magnetic fields. They have to be seen, questioned, felt fully, and released—not with force, but with awareness. Once they’re conscious, they lose some of their automatic power.

Maybe it’s an emotional charge around a past wound that’s still broadcasting distress. The betrayal you haven’t fully processed. The failure you’re still ashamed of. The loss you haven’t grieved. These unmetabolised experiences sit in your field like static, distorting the signal you’re trying to send. They have to be felt through, integrated, and allowed to complete.

This clearing work is often uncomfortable. It requires you to feel things you’ve been avoiding, admit things about yourself you’d rather not see, and let go of stories that have been organising your reality for years. But it’s necessary. You can’t generate a clear field while you’re still carrying uncleared debris.

And then: claiming.

Claiming means deliberately embodying the state, the attitude, and the frequency of what you actually want to magnetise. Not pretending you already have it. Not faking confidence you don’t feel. But finding the feeling of it in your body and choosing to inhabit that feeling, even before circumstances have changed.

What does it feel like to be capable? Not in your head, but in your body. Where do you feel it? What’s the quality of your breath? Your posture? Your gaze? Can you find that feeling for thirty seconds? A minute? Can you practise moving through your day from that state?

What does it feel like to be abundant? Not “I have a million dollars” (which your nervous system won’t believe), but “I have enough, and more is available to me.” What’s the texture of that? How does an abundant person hold their body? How do they make decisions? How do they respond to small setbacks?

What does it feel like to be loved? Not “someone specific loves me,” but the simple state of being someone who is lovable, who experiences love, who lives in a friendly universe. Can you find that somewhere in your memory, in your body? Can you practise carrying it?

This is not visualisation or imagination, exactly. It’s embodiment. You’re finding the actual felt sense in your nervous system and training yourself to live from it. You’re teaching your body a new baseline, a new normal. And as you do that, your field shifts. The magnetism shifts. What you attract shifts.

There’s a powerful practice here that Moss points to but doesn’t spell out explicitly, so I’ll make it concrete:

The “As If” Experiment

For one day—or even one hour—move through your life as if the thing you want is already organising your reality.

Not as if you already have the specific outcome. But as if you’re already the person who would have that outcome. As if you already carry that frequency.

If you want to be a successful writer, spend an hour moving through your life as if you already are one. How would a successful writer approach their morning coffee? How would they handle an interruption? What would their relationship to the blank page be? You’re not pretending to be published; you’re embodying the state of being a writer who does their work with confidence and consistency.

If you want a healthy relationship, spend a day moving through your life as if you’re already someone who’s in one. How would that person treat themselves? What boundaries would they have? How would they speak to the barista, the stranger on the street, or their own reflection in the mirror? You’re not pretending someone specific loves you; you’re embodying the state of being someone who experiences and generates love.

This practice does something the mind can’t do: it gives your nervous system direct experience of the state you’re trying to magnetise. And the nervous system learns through experience, not through reasoning. Do this enough, and the “as if” starts to become the actual. The field stabilises at the new frequency.

The Timing Question: When to Change Course vs. When to Change Attitude

Here’s where it gets tricky. Because sometimes the right move is to change your external circumstances, not just your attitude about them. Sometimes the job really is wrong for you. Sometimes the relationship really is toxic. Sometimes you’re not attracting difficulty because of your attitude—you’re in an actually difficult situation that requires action, not adjustment.

So how do you know? When do you change the situation, and when do you change your attitude about the situation?

There’s no formula, but here’s a guideline: If you’ve changed your attitude, really changed it, in your body, not just in your thoughts, and the situation still feels wrong, still drains you, still moves you away from your deeper life, it’s probably time to change the situation.

But if you find yourself repeatedly ending up in similar situations with different people or in different places. Same pattern, different setting. That’s a sign that the situation isn’t the problem. Your field is. And no amount of external change will help until you change what you’re carrying.

The person who keeps attracting controlling partners isn’t unlucky in love; they’re broadcasting something that controlling people pick up on. Leaving one controlling partner for another won’t solve it. Changing what makes them attractive to controllers will.

The person who keeps getting passed over for promotion despite being qualified isn’t necessarily in a broken system, they might be carrying “I don’t deserve this” so loudly that decision-makers unconsciously respond to it. Changing companies won’t fix it. Changing the underlying field will.

This is the spiral path Moss talks about: “Each time life loops around to where you think you were before, you’ve risen to a slightly higher level, so you can see things with greater awareness and, hopefully, make better choices.”

You’re not going in circles. You’re spiralling. Each return to a familiar challenge is an opportunity to meet it from a different field, a different frequency. And when you do—when you finally show up to the familiar challenge with a genuinely shifted attitude—the challenge itself transforms. Or you realise it was never really the challenge you thought it was.

The Daily Practice

Kairomancy isn’t something you do occasionally when things go wrong. It’s a constant practice of calibration. Moss suggests what he calls the OATH—being Open, Available, Thankful, and ready to Honour the Kairos moments when they come.

But underneath that is the simpler, more fundamental practice: multiple times a day, check your field.

Before you walk into the meeting, check: what am I carrying?

Before you start your work, check: what frequency am I broadcasting?

When something goes sideways, check: what was I asking for underneath?

When something goes beautifully right, check: What was I carrying that magnetised this?

The practice is observation first, adjustment second. You’re developing sensitivity to your own field the way a musician develops sensitivity to pitch. And once you can hear it clearly, you can tune it.

This is how conscious magnetism becomes a way of life rather than an occasional technique. You’re always working with the yes. Always aware that what you carry is what you’ll receive. Always choosing—as much as humanly possible—to embody what you want to magnetise rather than what you fear.

Not perfectly. The Trickster will have opinions. Life will throw curveballs. You’ll forget, fall back into old patterns, and get hijacked by strong emotions.

But each time you remember, you strengthen the capacity. Each time you choose consciously, you make the next conscious choice a little easier. Each time you shift your field deliberately, you prove to yourself that the field is shiftable.

And slowly, or sometimes suddenly, you notice: your life is rhyming differently. Different people are showing up. Different opportunities are appearing. The “coincidences” that find you match a different frequency than they used to.

The universe is still saying yes.

But you’ve changed what you’re asking for.

The Paradox and the Mystery

Here’s where we have to be careful. Because everything I’ve just described—the magnetism, the field, the conscious choice of attitude—can start to sound like a system. Like a formula. Like if you just get your attitude right and hold the correct frequency, you can control outcomes.

And that’s not quite it.

Because the universe is not a vending machine. You don’t just insert the right attitude and receive the corresponding result. Reality is far stranger, far more playful, and far more alive than that.

This is the paradox at the heart of kairomancy: You have tremendous power to shape your reality through what you carry. And you’re not in control. Both things are true simultaneously, and holding both at once is essential.

Moss quotes Jung’s stone at Bollingen, the inscription about time being a child playing a board game: “Synchronicity is a child at play, moving pieces on a board. On our side of reality, we see the pieces move, but not the hand that moves them.”

There’s an intelligence at work, call it synchronicity, call it the Tao, call it the living universe that’s playing a game we can participate in but not dominate. We can learn the rules, develop skills, and make good moves. But we’re not the only player. And sometimes the game has moves we never anticipated, outcomes we couldn’t have designed, and reversals that seem cruel until we see them from a different angle years later.

This is why Moss insists, “We are less interested in how and why these things work than that they do work and offer a rich harvest if we work—or rather, play—with them.”

Play. Not control. Not manipulation. Play.

The child playing the board game isn’t following a rigid formula. The child is creative, spontaneous, and responsive to the moment. Sometimes the child changes the rules mid-game. Sometimes the child tips the board over and starts something completely different. The child is serious about the play but not attached to any particular outcome. The play itself is the point.

This is the consciousness we need to bring to kairomancy. Yes, be deliberate about your attitude. Yes, work consciously with your field. Yes, recognise that you’re magnetising reality with what you carry. And stay loose. Stay curious. Stay open to the game going in directions you didn’t plan.

Because here’s what happens when you try to control it too tightly: you get brittle. You become so attached to specific outcomes that you miss the actual gifts being offered. You hold your “positive attitude” so rigidly that it becomes a new form of defensiveness. You’re no longer playing—you’re gripping.

And the universe responds to gripping the same way it responds to everything else: Yes. More of that. Tighter constraints. More evidence that you need to control things. Situations that activate your control patterns.

The kairomancer’s art is finding the balance: strong intention and light touch. Clear direction and willingness to be redirected. Conscious magnetism and surrender to mystery.

This is why Moss emphasises that we’re walking in many worlds simultaneously, that the secret logic of our lives involves “the crisscrossing of event tracks from parallel worlds.” Reality is not simple, not linear, and not reducible to cause and effect. There are multiple influences, multiple levels, and multiple players in this game.

You set an intention. You embody the frequency. You do the work. And then… something unexpected happens. Not what you planned, but somehow better. Or not better—different. Strange. Sideways. Exactly what you needed but not what you thought you wanted.

Or: You do everything right, hold the perfect attitude, generate a clear field, and nothing happens. Or the wrong thing happens. Or disaster strikes.

What then?

This is where the mystery lives. And this is where dogmatic “law of attraction” thinking becomes not just wrong but dangerous, because it has no room for the mystery. It demands that everything be explainable, that every outcome be traceable to attitude and vibration. And when it doesn’t work—when the cancer comes despite the positive thinking, when the business fails despite the abundance consciousness, when the relationship ends despite the loving energy—there’s only blame. You didn’t believe hard enough. Your vibration wasn’t pure enough. You had hidden blocks.

But Moss is wiser than that. He knows about the Trickster. He knows about the spiral path where you come back to familiar challenges but at a higher level. He knows about the principle “by what you fall, you may rise”—that sometimes the breakdown is necessary for the breakthrough, that sometimes the gift comes disguised as loss.

He knows, in other words, that we don’t know. We can’t know. The game is more complex than our understanding of it.

This is actually liberating. It means you’re not responsible for everything that happens. You’re not a god who controls all outcomes through the purity of your consciousness. You’re a participant in a larger intelligence, a player in a game that includes you but is not about you.

Your job is not to control every outcome. Your job is to bring the best consciousness you can to each moment, to carry what you want to carry, to generate the field you want to generate, and then to pay attention to what actually happens, including and especially when it’s not what you expected.

Because sometimes—often, even—the universe says yes to something you didn’t know you were asking for. Something deeper than your conscious intention. Something your soul was requesting even while your ego was planning something else.

You think you’re asking for a specific job, but what you’re really asking for is a life that challenges you to grow in unexpected directions. The job falls through. You’re devastated. And then something else opens that takes you down a path you never imagined but that, five years later, you recognise as exactly right.

You think you’re asking for a relationship to last, but what you’re really asking for is to learn how to love yourself. The relationship ends. You’re shattered. And in the shattering, something reorganises. You discover capacities you didn’t know you had. You become someone you couldn’t have become if the relationship had continued.

This doesn’t mean the loss wasn’t real or the pain wasn’t valid. It doesn’t mean everything happens for a sanitised, greeting-card reason. It means the game is deep, and the moves aren’t always readable in the moment.

Jung and Pauli talked about this when they explored synchronicity. They weren’t claiming that consciousness creates reality in a simple, mechanical way. They were pointing to something more subtle: an acausal connecting principle, a meaningful patterning that links inner and outer events without one causing the other in any linear sense.

Synchronicity isn’t you manifesting what you want through the power of your thoughts. It’s the universe organising itself into meaningful patterns that your consciousness participates in but doesn’t originate. You’re in the pattern, influencing it, shaped by it, co-creating it. But you’re not the author of it.

This is the humility that has to accompany the power. Yes, your attitude matters. Yes, your field is creative. Yes, you’re magnetising reality. And there are forces at work larger than your personal will, intelligences playing through you that have perspectives you can’t see, and plot lines unfolding that will only make sense in retrospect.

The kairomancer holds both: radical responsibility and radical trust. Conscious participation and surrender to the larger game.

In practical terms, this means: Do your work. Choose your attitude. Generate your field. Take your actions. And then let go of the outcome. Not with detachment or indifference, but with trust that what comes, even if it’s not what you planned, is workable. Is data. Is the next move in a game you’re learning to play but will never completely master.

Moss says it plainly: “The way will show the way.” You don’t need to see the whole path before you start walking. You just need to take the next step from the best consciousness you can bring, and trust that the path will reveal itself as you move.

This is the Spanish saying he quotes: “Wayfarer, there is no way, you make the way by walking it.”

Not “you control the way.” Not “you determine every aspect of the way.” You make the way by walking it. The way emerges in response to your walking. But it’s not predetermined. It’s co-created, moment by moment, between your choices and the field’s response, between your intention and the universe’s play.

And sometimes—often—the universe plays Trickster. Things fall apart at the threshold. The GPS sends you down the wrong road that turns out to be exactly right. You lose what you were clutching and discover what you actually needed. The disappointment becomes the doorway. The failure becomes the teaching.

Moss reminds us: “If nothing goes wrong, you do not have much of a story.” The Trickster isn’t the enemy of kairomancy, he’s an essential part of it. He keeps it alive, unpredictable, and real. He makes sure you don’t get too comfortable with your formulas, too convinced of your control, or too rigid in your certainty.

He’s the reminder that this is play, not engineering. Mystery, not mechanism.

So you practise. You check your field. You choose your attitude. You work with the magnetism consciously. You get better at it. You see results. Doors open. Synchronicities multiply. Your life starts to rhyme in beautiful ways.

And then something doesn’t work. Something breaks. Something comes from left field that scrambles all your careful frequency tuning.

And you remember: ‘Oh, right.’ Child at play. Pieces moving on a board. Hands I cannot see.

And you adjust. You work with what came instead of what you expected. You look for the gift in the disruption, the teaching in the breakdown, and the hidden rightness in what seemed wrong.

Not because everything is perfect or meant to be. But because this is how you stay in the game. This is how you keep playing.

With power and humility. With intention and surrender. With consciousness and mystery.

Both.

Always both.

Conclusion: The Daily Practice of Conscious Magnetism

Let’s return to where we started. You’re standing outside that door, about to walk into the meeting.

But now you know something you didn’t know before. You know that whatever you’re carrying—the knot in your stomach, the rehearsed defences, the braced-for-impact tension—is already in that room. It got there before you did. It’s shaping the field you’re about to enter, magnetising certain responses, repelling others, and setting up the encounter before a single word is spoken.

You pause. You check.

What am I carrying right now?

Not as a judgement. Just as data. What’s the actual texture of your presence in this moment? Fear? Defence? Resentment? Or maybe—if you’ve been doing the work—curiosity? Open alertness? A kind of grounded readiness that doesn’t need to know how things will go?

You feel it in your body. Your shoulders. Your jaw. Your breath. The quality of your attention.

And then, and this is the practice, you choose. Not perfectly. Not with complete control over your nervous system. But you choose what you want to feed, what you want to strengthen, and what field you want to generate from here.

Maybe you take three deep breaths and feel your feet on the ground. Maybe you remember a time you handled something difficult well. Maybe you simply acknowledge the fear instead of pretending it’s not there, and in the acknowledging, it softens from panic into alert readiness.

The field shifts. Just a little. But a little is enough.

Because here’s what you’ve learned: the universe says yes to what you are, not what you’re pretending to be. And you’ve just shifted, even slightly, what you are in this moment.

You open the door.

And the meeting… might go exactly as you feared. Or it might surprise you. Or it might be neither good nor bad but simply what happens, and what you do with it will matter more than how it unfolds.

But whatever happens, you’re not walking in blind anymore. You’re not at the complete mercy of unconscious patterns, broadcasting distress and wondering why everything’s difficult. You’re participating consciously. You’re in the game.

This is what it means to live as a kairomancer, to practise conscious magnetism as a way of life: you recognise that you’re always broadcasting. Always generating a field. Always magnetising something.

The only question is whether you’re doing it consciously or unconsciously. Whether you’re choosing what you carry or being chosen by it. Whether you’re playing or being played.

And consciousness, it turns out, makes all the difference.

Not because it gives you control over every outcome—we’ve established that it doesn’t, that the game is larger than your understanding, and that mystery and Trickster are built into the fabric of things.

But because it gives you agency. Power. Partnership with the creative forces that shape reality. You’re no longer a passive recipient of whatever circumstances arrive. You’re a co-creator, working with the magnetism that was always there but that you’re now wielding deliberately.

The practice is simple. Deceptively simple. But simple is not the same as easy.

Multiple times a day—before meetings, before starting work, before difficult conversations, when things go wrong, when things go unexpectedly right—pause and check:

What am I carrying right now?
What am I broadcasting?
Is this what I want to be magnetic for?

And if the answer is no, you have the power to shift. Not always dramatically. Not always completely. But a shift is possible. It’s always possible. This is the one freedom that can never be taken from you: the power to choose your attitude, to adjust your field, to work with the magnetism consciously.

The specific practices we’ve explored:

Develop your personal science of shivers—learn to trust your body’s knowing before your mind’s explanation.

Do regular attitude checks, asking not just what you’re thinking but what you’re carrying in your body and energy field.

Practise the “as if” experiment—move through your life as if you already embody the state you want to magnetise.

Clear the old patterns and charges that are asking for what you don’t want.

Claim the frequencies you do want by finding them as felt senses in your body and training yourself to inhabit them.

Stay loose. Play. Remember, you’re participating in a mystery larger than your understanding.

The larger implications:

If this is even partially true—if consciousness and matter are woven together, if you’re a magnet in an iron globe, if the universe says yes to what you carry—then the most powerful thing you can do is become conscious of what you’re broadcasting.

Not to control everything. Not to bend reality to your will. But to take responsibility for your participation in reality’s unfolding. To recognise that you’re not separate from what happens—you’re woven into it, influencing it, co-creating it through the field you generate moment by moment.

This changes how you move through your day. You can’t be casual about your inner weather anymore; you can’t afford to marinate in resentment or carry around chronic anxiety without recognising you’re sending those out as requests, as magnetic forces that will draw corresponding circumstances back to you.

You become careful—not paranoid, but careful—about what you feed, what you rehearse, and what you allow to become your baseline frequency. Because you know now that the baseline isn’t neutral. It’s creative.

And you become grateful. Because once you see how responsive reality is, how much the world shifts in response to your shifts, how often synchronicity appears when you’re in the right state—you realise you’re not alone in a dead universe, struggling against indifferent matter.

You’re in a living conversation. The world is speaking to you. You’re speaking back through what you carry. It’s responsive. It’s alive. It says yes.

To all of it. To what serves you and what doesn’t. To your highest possibilities and your lowest patterns. To your consciousness and your unconsciousness with perfect equality.

Which means the game—and it is a game, remember, a child at play—is always available. You’re always, in every moment, choosing what to magnetise. And the universe is always, in every moment, responding.

Not mechanically. Not predictably. Not the way you might want or expect. But responding. Saying yes. Arranging itself into patterns that rhyme with your inner state in ways that are sometimes obvious, sometimes subtle, and sometimes only visible years later.

The invitation, then, is this:

Start treating your attitude like the creative force it is. Not as optional or decorative or merely reactive, but as the primary lever you have for shaping your experience of reality.

Start small if you need to. Pick one situation today—one meeting, one conversation, one moment when you’d normally go unconscious—and bring awareness to what you’re carrying. Check the field. Choose deliberately, even if the choice is just to breathe differently or stand differently or remember something true.

Notice what happens. Not in a desperate, “Did it work?” way, but with curiosity. With scientific interest in your own experiment. The universe said yes to something—what was it? What did you broadcast, consciously or unconsciously, that got reflected back?

And then do it again tomorrow. And the next day. Not perfectly. You’ll forget. You’ll fall back into old patterns. You’ll catch yourself broadcasting the exact frequency you don’t want to be magnetic for.

That’s fine. That’s part of it. The practice isn’t perfection. The practice is waking up, over and over, to what you’re doing. Catching yourself one moment sooner than you did yesterday. Choosing consciously one more time today than you did last week.

Because here’s what happens with practice: the gap between stimulus and response widens. The time between unconscious broadcast and conscious awareness shrinks. You get faster at catching yourself, more skilled at shifting, and more fluent in the language of your own field.

And your life starts to rhyme differently. Subtly at first, then more obviously. Different people show up. Different opportunities appear. The same challenges come around, but you meet them from different ground, and they transform in response.

You start to notice: Oh. The universe is saying yes. It always was. I just didn’t realise I was the one doing the asking.

And once you realise that—really realise it, not as a concept but as a lived experience—everything changes.

Not because your circumstances magically become perfect. But because you’re no longer helpless in the face of them. You have power. Real power. Not over every outcome, but over the one thing that actually matters: what you carry, what you broadcast, and what you magnetise.

You’re conscious now. Awake to the game. Participating deliberately rather than stumbling through blind.

You’re a magnet in an iron globe, and you know it.

And knowing it, you can play.

With intention and surrender. With power and humility. With consciousness and trust in the mystery that holds consciousness.

The universe is still saying yes.

But you—you’ve changed what you’re asking for.

And that, finally, is the magic you’ve been doing all along.

You just didn’t know it.

Now you do.

So: What are you going to carry into your next moment?

Choose carefully. Choose consciously. Choose in your body, not just your mind.

And then watch—with curiosity, with playfulness, with scientific interest in the miracle you’re participating in—as the world says yes.

It always does.

It always has.

The only question is: Yes to what?

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The series

Introduction
Part I – The Attitude That Precedes You
Part II – The Scientific Frame: Unus Mundus
Part III – We Are Strange Attractors
Part IV – The Dark Side
Part V – Practical Kairomancy: Working with the Yes

The series

Introduction
Part I – The Attitude That Precedes You
Part II – The Scientific Frame: Unus Mundus
Part III – We Are Strange Attractors
Part IV – The Dark Side
Part V – Practical Kairomancy: Working with the Yes

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We Are Strange Attractors

Ralph Waldo Emerson, writing in 1876, didn’t have quantum mechanics or Jung’s psychology to reference. But he had something else: he paid attention. And what he observed was this: “We are magnets in an iron globe.”¹

It’s one of those sentences that lodges in your mind like a splinter. Magnets in an iron globe. Each of us exerts a field, pulling and pushing, attracting and repelling according to our polarity. The whole world is iron. It’s responsive, susceptible, and waiting to be arranged by the forces we emit.

Emerson continues: “We have keys to all doors. We are all inventors, each sailing out on a voyage of discovery, guided by a private chart, of which there is no duplicate. The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck.”

This is the optimistic side of the equation. When we’re aligned, energised, and clear in our intention—when we’re “upbeat and positive,” as Emerson puts it—we become powerful attractors. The world opens. People appear with exactly what we need. Resources materialise. Obstacles dissolve or reveal themselves as disguised opportunities. It’s not that someone’s out there arranging things in our favour. It’s that our magnetic field has shifted, and the iron filings of reality reorganise themselves accordingly.

But Emerson doesn’t shy away from the shadow side: “A low, hopeless spirit puts out the eyes; scepticism is slow suicide. A philosophy which sees only the worst…dispirits us; the sky shuts down before us.”

Slow suicide. That’s not metaphor—that’s mechanism. The negative attitude doesn’t just make us feel bad. It actively closes possibilities, repels opportunities, and attracts circumstances that confirm the hopelessness. The sky doesn’t shut down because we’re seeing it wrong. The sky shuts down because our magnetic field is generating closure, pushing away the very things that might help us.

This is what Moss means by energetic magnetism. “Through energetic magnetism, we attract or repel people, events, and even physical circumstances according to the attitudes we embody.”

Notice: embody. Not “think” or “believe.” The magnetism operates at the level of what we’re carrying in our bodies, in our energy fields, and in the texture of our presence. You can have all the positive thoughts you want, but if your body is clenched with anxiety, if your energy is broadcasting fear, that’s what the world responds to. The universe says yes to what you are, not what you claim to be.

The Irish poet and mystic George Russell—known as AE—spent years observing this principle in action. He called it “the law of spiritual gravitation” and summarised it in five words: Your own will come to you.²

In his book The Candle of Vision, he describes how it worked in his own life: “I found that every intense imagination, every new adventure of the intellect [is] endowed with magnetic power to attract to it its own kin. Will and desire were as the enchanter’s wand of fable, and they drew to themselves their own affinities.”

He wasn’t trying to make this happen. He just noticed it happening. When he became intensely interested in mythology, people with knowledge of mythology appeared in his life. When he explored mysticism, he encountered other mystics. When he painted, he met painters. Not because he went looking for them—they came. As if his intense focus on a subject sent out a signal, and those attuned to that signal picked it up and followed it to its source.

“One person after another emerged out of the mass,” he writes, “betraying their close affinity to my moods as they were engendered.”

This is stranger than simple networking or confirmation bias. AE is describing something more like resonance. A tuning fork begins to vibrate, and across the room, another tuning fork pitched to the same frequency starts vibrating in response. You become intensely interested in something—really interested, not casually curious—and people, books, and opportunities related to that thing start appearing. Your own comes to you.

But here’s the part that matters for our purposes: it’s not selective. The magnetism doesn’t only attract what you want. It attracts what you are.

If you’re carrying resentment, you attract situations that give you more to resent. If you’re broadcasting victimhood, you attract people and circumstances that victimise you. If you’re emanating scarcity consciousness, the belief that there’s not enough, that you have to hoard and protect, you create conditions of scarcity around you.

This isn’t punishment. It’s not the universe being mean. It’s just how the iron filings arrange themselves around your particular magnetic field.

AE understood this. He wrote: “I feel I belong to a spiritual clan whose members are scattered all over the world and these are my kinsmen.” He was choosing his clan by choosing what he gave his energy to, what he let himself become magnetised by. And in doing so, he was also choosing what would be drawn to him.

Moss extends this into an even more provocative territory: “What we feed our minds and our bodies attracts or repels different parts of ourselves as well as different people and different classes of spirits.”

Different classes of spirits. He’s not being coy or metaphorical. He means actual intelligences, entities, powers, whatever you want to call them. The things you give your attention to, the emotions you cultivate, the thoughts you rehearse, all of this feeds something. And what you feed grows stronger and draws closer.

Feed anxiety, and you attract anxious thoughts, anxious people, and anxiety-producing situations. Feed curiosity, and you attract mystery, discovery, and fellow seekers. Feed gratitude, and you start noticing—or generating—more things to be grateful for. Feed cynicism, and watch how the world becomes cynical around you, confirming your suspicion that everything’s corrupt, nothing matters, and hope is for suckers.

You become a strange attractor in the mathematical sense, a pattern that draws certain elements into its orbit while repelling others. The shape of your attractor field determines what kind of reality coalesces around you.

This is why Moss insists that kairomancers must “take care of their poetic health.” You have to be conscious about what you’re feeding, what you’re becoming magnetised by, what frequency you’re vibrating at. Because you’re not just observing the world from a neutral vantage point. You’re constantly broadcasting, and the broadcast has effects.

The good news: this means you have tremendous power. If you can shift your magnetic field—change what you’re carrying, adjust your polarity—you change what comes to you.

The bad news: this means you have tremendous responsibility. You can’t blame circumstances anymore. Or rather, you can, but you’re lying. Because the circumstances are, at least in part, a function of what you’ve been attracting.

Emerson again: “We have keys to all doors…The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck.”

But first you have to check: What kind of magnet are you right now? What are you pulling toward you? What are you pushing away?

And the only way to know is to pay attention to what keeps showing up.

Your own is coming to you. The question is: what have you claimed as your own?

The Body Knows First

Here’s where the whole thing gets practical and more difficult.

Because you can understand the theory—unus mundus, energetic magnetism, strange attractors—and still be completely unconscious about what you’re actually broadcasting moment to moment. The gap between intellectual understanding and embodied awareness is vast. Most of us live in that gap.

You think you’re feeling confident, but your shoulders are up around your ears. You think you’re open to possibilities, but your jaw is clenched and your breath is shallow. You think you’re calm, but there’s a low-grade buzz of anxiety running through your nervous system like electrical interference. And it’s that—the thing your body is doing, not the thing your mind is thinking—that’s out there ahead of you, arranging reality.

Moss is blunt about this: “It is not sufficient to do this on a head level. We want to check what we are carrying in our body and our energy field.”

This is why affirmations often don’t work. You can stand in front of a mirror saying “I am confident and successful” while your body is screaming “I’m terrified and about to fail.” The universe doesn’t hear your words. It responds to the electromagnetic signature of what you’re actually carrying. And your body doesn’t lie.

Athletes know this. Method actors know this. Anyone who works with presence knows this. Your cognitive layer is the thinnest, least reliable part of you. Underneath it are older, wiser systems—the gut, the nervous system, the cellular memory, and the part of you that knows before you know you know.

This is what Moss means by developing “your personal science of shivers.” You need to learn to read your own body the way a sailor reads weather, to trust the data coming through your skin, your gut, your inexplicable hunches and free-floating impressions. These aren’t less reliable than thought—they’re often more reliable, because they’re registering things your conscious mind hasn’t caught up to yet.

Pay attention to what happens in your body when you think about a decision you need to make. Not what you think about it, but how it feels. Does your chest open or contract? Does your breathing get easier or more restricted? Do you feel energised or depleted? Your body is telling you something about the energetic field around that choice, and that field is already shaping what will happen if you move in that direction.

The kairomancer’s practice begins with a simple question: What am I carrying right now?

Not “what am I thinking about” or “what’s my opinion on this situation.” What am I carrying? What’s the actual texture of my presence in this moment? If someone walked into the room right now, what would they feel coming off me?

And the deeper question: What am I projecting?

Because whatever you’re carrying is already out there, preceding you, creating the field you’re about to walk into. This is Moss’s radical claim: “Before you walk into a room or turn a corner, your attitude is there already. It is engaged in creating the situation you are about to encounter.”

Your attitude isn’t just your private internal weather. It’s a broadcast. A signal. A force that’s already at work in the space before your body arrives.

This is why preparation isn’t just mental. The actor doesn’t just memorise lines; they do physical warm-ups, breathing exercises, and rituals that bring them into the right state. The athlete doesn’t just review strategy, they have routines that calibrate their nervous system and get their body into the zone. The shaman doesn’t just decide to journey, they drum, they dance, they fast, and they do whatever it takes to shift their energetic state because they know the state determines what they can access.

You can’t think your way into a different magnetic field. You have to shift the field itself, and the field is embodied.

This is what the alchemists understood with all their elaborate preparations. The bath in spring water, the clean linen, the fasting—these weren’t superstitions. They were technologies for shifting state. The ritual wasn’t ornamental. It was essential, because you can’t do the Great Work from the wrong energetic frequency. The lead won’t transmute if the alchemist is carrying lead consciousness.

So: how do you shift it?

First, you notice it. You develop sensitivity to your own field. This takes practice. Most of us are so identified with our thoughts that we can’t feel the substrate they’re arising from. But if you pause, really pause, several times a day, and check in with your body, you start to develop literacy. You start to recognise the difference between authentic confidence and fake-it-til-you-make-it bravado. Between genuine curiosity and anxious control disguised as interest. Between openness and collapse, between strength and rigidity.

Then, once you notice, you have a choice. Not an easy choice, but a real one.

You can work with the attitude directly. If you notice you’re carrying dread about a meeting, you can ask: What would I need to feel or remember or release to shift this? Sometimes it’s as simple as breathing differently—deeper, slower, into your belly instead of your chest. Sometimes it’s moving your body, shaking out the tension, going for a walk, or changing your physical state. Sometimes it’s calling a friend who reminds you of your capability, or remembering a time you handled something difficult well, or simply acknowledging the fear instead of pretending it’s not there.

The acknowledgement itself sometimes shifts it. Fear that’s denied goes underground and broadcasts from there, distorting everything. Fear that’s seen clearly often transforms—not into false confidence, but into alert readiness, which is something entirely different and far more useful.

Moss emphasises this: “High emotions, high passions generate results. When raw energy is loose, it has effects in the world.”

This cuts both ways. Intense fear has effects. Intense anger has effects. But if you can feel the energy underneath the emotion—the sheer aliveness of it—and consciously direct it, you can work wonders. The same force that, unconscious, generates chaos can, when harnessed, generate breakthroughs.

This is practical magic, but it’s not easy magic. It requires you to become exquisitely sensitive to your own states and brutally honest about what you’re actually carrying versus what you wish you were carrying. It requires you to do the unsexy work of checking in, noticing, adjusting, and checking in again.

The payoff is this: you stop being at the mercy of unconscious patterns. You stop walking into situations blind, broadcasting distress signals and then wondering why everything goes sideways. You start to become conscious of the magnet you are, and conscious magnets can choose their polarity.

Not all the time. Not perfectly. The Trickster will always have something to say about your best-laid plans, and sometimes life will knock you sideways no matter what attitude you’re carrying.

But more often than you’d think, more often than chance would allow, you’ll notice: when you shift what you’re carrying, the situation shifts. When you change your field, reality rearranges itself around the new field.

The universe says yes to what you are, not what you’re pretending to be.

So the practice is simple, even if it’s not easy: Become what you want the universe to say yes to.

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The series

Introduction
Part I – The Attitude That Precedes You
Part II – The Scientific Frame: Unus Mundus
Part III – We Are Strange Attractors
Part IV – The Dark Side
Part V – Practical Kairomancy: Working with the Yes

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1. “We are magnets in an iron globe” — This line comes from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay “Resources” (1876), part of his later work exploring human potential and spiritual power. Emerson was writing about the law of attraction decades before it became a New Age concept, but his version was earthier and more dynamic than modern interpretations. The full passage reads: “We are magnets in an iron globe. We have keys to all doors. We are all inventors, each sailing out on a voyage of discovery, guided each by a private chart, of which there is no duplicate. The world is all gates, all opportunities, strings of tension waiting to be struck.” For Emerson, a Transcendentalist who believed in the fundamental unity of spirit and nature, this wasn’t metaphor—it was observable fact about how consciousness interacts with the material world. The image is precise: we’re not magnets in empty space (where we’d attract nothing), but magnets in an iron globe—a responsive medium that reorganizes itself around our magnetic fields. He also warned of the inverse: “A low, hopeless spirit puts out the eyes; skepticism is slow suicide. A philosophy which sees only the worst…dispirits us; the sky shuts down before us.” The magnetism works both ways—toward possibility or toward closure. ↩︎
2. “Your own will come to you” — This phrase and “the law of spiritual gravitation” come from George Russell (1867-1935), known by his pen name AE, an Irish writer, poet, painter, and mystic who was a central figure in the Irish Literary Revival alongside W.B. Yeats. Russell described this principle in his book The Candle of Vision (1918), where he wrote: “I found that every intense imagination, every new adventure of the intellect [is] endowed with magnetic power to attract to it its own kin. Will and desire were as the enchanter’s wand of fable, and they drew to themselves their own affinities….One person after another emerged out of the mass, betraying their close affinity to my moods as they were engendered.” Russell wasn’t theorizing—he was reporting direct observation from his own life. When he became intensely interested in mythology, people with knowledge of mythology appeared. When he explored mysticism, he encountered mystics. He experienced this as a law as reliable as physical gravitation: what you give sustained, passionate attention to will draw its corresponding elements toward you. He concluded: “I feel I belong to a spiritual clan whose members are scattered all over the world and these are my kinsmen.” ↩︎