Vachon Imagined

When a person hates someone, it may not be about the other person at all. It can be an unfinished life showing up, asking—quietly or violently—to be seen. Not to be judged, but to be understood. A moment that says, “Where did this come from?”

We don’t always know. But what we do know is that this life we live, and that also lives through us, can move in powerful ways—no matter what is fueling it.

When we hate, we often turn away from our own mind. And the body pays the price.

It reminds me of my son when he’s angry and throws a Transformer across the room. It was never about the toy. The toy was just plastic. The energy was his. The life moving through him had nowhere else to go.

And in people, the same is often true.

When we begin to recognize ourselves more deeply, there’s a kind of surrender that becomes possible—not to collapse or withdraw, but to meet the force of life without immediately turning it into story, identity, or blame.

Greatness isn’t only built through action. Sometimes it begins in stillness—in sitting with nothing until it becomes something visible enough to understand.

When this emotion has nowhere else to go, it feeds on the body as its host. It takes form through sensation, reaction, and exhaustion—drawing us toward the gap between what is seen, what is unseen, and the movement between them.

In that space, it’s no longer about hate. It becomes expression—something arising before the body was ever given a name, a shape, or a story to hold it.