I spent 7½ years in the Army as a computer specialist. That was a long time ago, but what I learned back then still echoes today—especially now that everything’s in the cloud.
I know firsthand how storage issues can slow things down, disorganize systems, and create a never-ending need for more space. And the more I look at how we’re hoarding data, images, accounts, and half-finished projects online, the more I see the deeper pattern:
We’re not just storing files—we’re carrying unprocessed energy.
We talk a lot about minimalism, mindfulness, and decluttering our homes. But what about our digital spaces? The endless stream of AI images, social media posts, forgotten accounts, and files we’ll never open again? There’s a new kind of clutter building up—one that lives in the cloud, but weighs heavy on the soul.
Digital Clutter Is Real Clutter
Even though it’s invisible, digital hoarding is still hoarding. Those thousands of AI-generated images you’ll never use? That Facebook account you opened in 2012 to save a game? Those half-written emails and screenshots on your phone? They’re still there—taking up psychic space.
It’s like walking into a storage unit that never stops growing.
You stop wanting to look.
You stop wanting to create.
The mess becomes a block.
The Cloud Is Not a Sacred Vault
We treat the cloud like magic. Like a limitless, weightless space where our data can live forever. But someone has to maintain it. Someone pays for the servers. And someone should be thinking about how much of what we store is actually necessary.
Just because it’s digital doesn’t mean it’s harmless.
This is how landfills happened in the physical world.
Now we’re recreating them online.
Hoarding Is a Sign of Unprocessed Energy
Why do we keep everything? Why don’t we delete?
Because we’re afraid.
Afraid to lose something important.
Afraid that deleting a mistake might erase a part of ourselves.
Afraid we won’t ever create anything better.
But the truth is: letting go is part of the creative process.
• Not everything needs to be kept.
• Some things are meant to be composted.
• Mistakes aren’t trash—they’re training.
The Spiritual Weight of Tech Debt
In IT, tech debt is what happens when you skip maintenance, cut corners, or keep stacking new systems on old ones. Eventually, it slows everything down. Makes everything fragile. And someone has to pay the price.
We have a similar debt building up in the psycho-spiritual realm:
• Overstimulated minds
• Disorganized inner worlds
• Fear of stopping long enough to clean house
This kind of clutter doesn’t just slow your hard drive—it fogs your intuition.
We Need a Culture of Digital Composting
It’s time to rethink what we save. What we let go of. What we consider “precious.”
Creativity is a living thing—it thrives when there’s room to breathe.
We need:
• Platforms that let users delete
• Artists that honor white space
• Tech leaders who understand that saving everything is the same as valuing nothing
And maybe, just maybe, we need to ask ourselves:
Why are we still hoarding yesterday’s drafts?
The Sacred Power of White Space
One thing we don’t talk about enough—outside of artist circles—is the importance of white space.
For those of us who live in creative flow, white space isn’t just a blank canvas. It’s sacred. It represents freedom, possibility, a moment to exhale and start again. It’s what clears the static so the signal can come through.
White space is a trigger—a signal to the subconscious that the channel is open.
It’s the silence before the music.
The pause before the insight.
The breath before the brushstroke.
But when your space—physical or digital—is filled with clutter, chaos, and a million half-finished drafts, it jams that signal. The channel gets clogged. You can feel it. You sit down to create, but there’s noise in the background—energetic interference from all the unprocessed and unfinished things still hanging around.
Let me tell you a little story:
My son used to push back hard when I’d ask him to clean up his room. He was in that teenage phase—didn’t want to hear anything from me, especially not about his space. But years later, after he moved out and had his own place, he came by one day and said, “Mom… you were so right.” He’d just finished straightening his room, lit some incense, organized his hats, and for the first time, he felt how different the energy was. It just clicked.
That’s what I’m talking about.
And that’s exactly how I feel every time I go to MidJourney. The tool is brilliant—the output is stunning—but the space itself is cluttered and heavy. Drafts I’ll never use. Mistakes I can’t delete. 5011 lines of visual noise. It drains the excitement. It muddies the channel.
Sometimes the most genius creative trick is this:
Throw it all away.
Not the core idea—just the noise around it.
Come back with a clean slate.
A fresh page.
Let the white space do what it does best—call forth the next right thing.
White space is The Fool card. It’s the child mind. The moment before the masterpiece.
It says: “Anything can happen here.”
That’s not just poetry—it’s real. And it’s something we all need to protect, especially in a world that’s constantly trying to fill up every inch of our time, attention, and screen space.
What Our Waste Says About Us
Let’s be honest—this isn’t just about creativity. It’s about who we are becoming as a culture.
The clutter in our digital lives is only a reflection of the clutter we tolerate in our physical world. We’ve got entire continents of plastic swirling in our oceans. Landfills overflowing. Tech devices piling up like graveyards of innovation. And it’s not like we don’t know it’s a problem—this isn’t a secret. We’ve known. We’ve known for decades.
So why haven’t we gathered our brightest minds—scientists, psychologists, spiritual leaders, system designers—to form a real, worldwide effort to start dealing with this in a meaningful way?
Not to fix it overnight—but to commit to the work of healing the systems we’ve broken.
Because this isn’t just a logistics issue. It’s a psycho-spiritual one. We don’t throw things away because we’re afraid.
• Afraid we’ll need it again.
• Afraid we won’t find that spark again.
• Afraid that letting go of that notebook or photo or AI image means losing something wecan’t get back.
• Afraid of death. Afraid of the unknown.
We get sentimental over scraps. We get stuck in emotional memory.
But the truth is—there’s magic in release.
When you let something go in the creative space, you create room for it to return bigger, deeper, or entirely new. Letting go doesn’t mean losing the idea. It means giving it space to expand.
That’s the kind of mindset shift we need—not just on our hard drives, but in our policies, our homes, and our hearts.
This is the time to reclaim the beauty of space, of endings, of sacred nothingness.
And to stop pretending we can hoard our way into safety.