A reflection by Roshan Jayasinghe
The universe has never felt distant.
It isn’t above or below, but around and within, an endless field without edges. Astrology became, for me, a way of listening to that field, of sensing how movement holds meaning. The planets, the earth, our own choices, they all flow inside the same current.
When I began to look back through my life, I started noticing that this current had always been shaping my direction. I was born in March 1964, with Gemini rising and the Sun and Mars in Pisces.
Air and water, movement and depth, curiosity and care. These elements became the rhythm of my living. My chart never told me who I was; it simply reflected the pattern of how I moved through the world.
As a child, I felt energy before I understood words. I sensed when a room was calm or heavy, when someone’s silence spoke louder than speech. That sensitivity never felt mystical, it was ordinary, like breathing. Thought and feeling danced together, sometimes balanced, sometimes colliding, always teaching.
Adulthood carried its own tides.
Work, purpose, responsibility, all the things that form the visible part of a life. I gave myself fully to them, believing movement itself was progress. Later I learned that motion without stillness only repeats itself. Action needs awareness to become creation.
The same dual energies kept returning to guide me. What we call right and wrong, gain and loss, success and failure, they aren’t opposites. They are parts of one motion that shapes growth. Each experience refines the next, like waves shaping stone.
During the bright, fiery years, my voice became stronger. I spoke, built, led. Recognition came and went, but quiet work stayed. Then the slower years began, the pruning years. What no longer belonged began to fall away. It wasn’t loss; it was clearing. The current that once pushed began to carry.
Life revealed itself as a field, not a ladder. We move within it together, family, children, friends, strangers, each leaving gentle ripples in one another’s flow. Every meeting and parting is part of the same design, written not in the sky but in energy itself.
Now, at sixty-one, I live closer to that rhythm. I care for the body that has carried me, for the people who share this field, for the small rituals that keep me rooted. I no longer look upward for direction; I feel surrounded by it. The same force that turns the galaxies keeps my breath steady.
The seasons ahead feel like continuation, not conclusion. I want less noise, more truth. To live as the earth does, anchored, open, alive to change. Everything belongs; nothing stands alone.
When my final season arrives, I hope to meet it as the wind meets the trees, without resistance, without separation.
Life doesn’t rise or fall.
It unfolds. The roots and the branches, the seen and unseen, belong to the same living field.
My body moves within time; my soul rests in presence. Between them, energy keeps flowing, silent, familiar, whole.
“What once felt above or beyond now feels everywhere, within and without.”
Living is how energy becomes understanding. And the learning continues, not through searching, but through being awake to what is.
Author’s Note
This reflection came through living, not study. It carries the sense that we don’t live beneath the universe but inside it, that its motion and our motion are one. Writing these words was a way of seeing that connection clearly and letting it speak in its own rhythm.
Editor’s Note
In this essay, Roshan Jayasinghe reflects on life as movement within a greater field of energy, the living universe itself. He writes with gentle precision about astrology, duality, and human connection, showing how awareness grows when we recognise that everything, from planets to people, moves within the same breath of existence.
About the Author
Roshan Jayasinghe writes as a way of noticing. His reflections are drawn from everyday life and the unseen movements that shape it.
Each piece is a quiet conversation between being and awareness, an attempt to stay conscious within the living field we call existence.
