Karmic energy: Science, mysticism and practices for life here and now

Karmic energy: Science, mysticism and practices for life here and now

Emma Koch

Illustrations Midjourney

© Emma Koch, 2026

ISBN 978-5-0070-5346-4

Created with Ridero smart publishing system

“Karmic energy: Science, mysticism and practices for life here and now”

Introduction: Science, Mysticism, and Our Lives

Humans have always tried to understand why certain events happen to them and not others. Why do the same scenarios repeat over and over again, like a broken record: similar relationships, the same fears, and the same mistakes? In ancient times, this was called karma — the invisible law of cause and effect that weaves the pattern of our fate. In the modern world, we more often speak of the psyche, beliefs, and neural connections. But if you look closely, the difference between these languages isn’t as great as it may seem.

Karma no longer seems like a mystical force dwelling beyond the boundaries of reality. Today, it increasingly resembles an internal algorithm — a system of automatic reactions shaped by experience, emotions, and choices. Every stress we’ve experienced, every suppressed emotion, every decision made or not made leaves a mark on our nervous system. We carry our past not in an abstract “energy field,” but literally within our brain — in the form of established neural pathways through which our attention and energy flow repeatedly. Neuroscience calls this neuroplasticity — the remarkable ability of the brain to change under the influence of experience. The brain is not carved from stone. It is alive, fluid, and constantly rewriting itself. What we think regularly becomes a habit of thought. What we fear intensifies. What we pay attention to grows. And in this sense, karma is neither punishment nor reward, but accumulated inertia — the direction we are carried by the force of past choices.

The energy spoken of in spiritual traditions also stops being something abstract. It is the energy of the psyche, the energy of the nervous system, the energy of focus and intention. When we get stuck in anxiety or guilt, the energy seems to “freeze” in the same neural loops. When we become aware of our reactions and change them, this energy is released and starts to flow along new pathways. Ancient practices of mindfulness, meditation, and intention unexpectedly find confirmation in experiments with the brain and behavior.

The most important discovery is that karma is not a sentence. What we have come to call destiny is actually a process that takes place right now, in every second of our lives. Every time we choose awareness instead of automatic responses, calmness instead of reaction, responsibility instead of escape, we are literally rewiring our brains. We create new neural connections — and thus, we lay down new karma.

This book is not an attempt to debunk mysticism, nor is it a desire to reduce the human being to a biological mechanism. It is an invitation to view your life as a living system, where ancient wisdom and modern science speak of the same thing in different words. Here, we will explore how thoughts turn into habits, habits into character, and character into destiny. And how, by understanding the laws of neuroplasticity, we can stop running from our karma and instead gently and consciously rewrite it, transforming life from a repeating script into a space of choice.

Neuroplasticity is a scientific term, almost dry, but behind it lies one of the most hopeful ideas of our time. The brain does not fix our personality once and for all. It constantly rewrites itself under the influence of experience, emotions, thoughts, and even where we direct our attention. Every experience leaves a trace, but no trace is final. We change — literally, physically — every day. What was once called a “karmic knot” can now be seen as a persistent neural loop: a thought triggers an emotion, the emotion triggers a reaction, and the reaction leads to a familiar result. And so on in a circle. But if the brain can create such loops, it can also unravel them. Reprogramming karma, in this sense, is not a metaphor, but a process: the conscious formation of new connections, new reactions, and new internal pathways.

Interestingly, in the 21st century, humanity unexpectedly received a visible mirror of its own psyche — artificial intelligence. Modern neural networks learn just like humans: through repetition. They are shown millions of examples, and they begin to recognize patterns, predict behavior, and reproduce scenarios. If the data is skewed, AI amplifies the distortion. If there is a recurring mistake in training, it becomes the “character” of the model.

We look at these systems and recognize ourselves. The algorithm that repeatedly gives the same result because it was trained that way. The model that “expects” certain behaviors because they occurred more often in the past. Isn’t that how the human psyche works too? Our brain is a biological neural network, trained by personal experience. It predicts the world not because it knows the future, but because it remembers the past.

AI shows us a simple yet unsettling truth: without revisiting the input data, we cannot get a new result. If we continue to live, think, and react in the same way, the brain — just like any neural network — will reproduce familiar scenarios. But change the data, the focus, the learning conditions — and the system begins to behave differently. This is where technology stops being something external and becomes a metaphor for inner transformation.

This book was not written to add yet another theory of self-development. It is written for practice. For life here and now. For people who feel ready to step out of repetition, but do not want to dive into dry science or abstract esotericism. Here, psychology, neuroscience, ancient concepts of karma, and modern technologies come together — not as trends, but as tools.

Why all of this? To help people understand: they are not broken. They are trained. And if the training has led them somewhere they do not want to be, it can be retrained — consciously, carefully. By using knowledge of the brain, attention, energy, as well as modern technologies — from digital practices to AI tools — as support, not as a replacement for lived experience. This book is an invitation to become an explorer of your own psyche. To stop being a passive object of circumstances and become an active participant in your life. Not to rewrite the past, but to change the trajectory of the future. Because karma is not who you were. It is who you become in every next moment.

It is important to say right away: this book does not offer quick miracles and does not promise instant “enlightenment.” It is not about erasing pain, forgetting the past, or rewriting yourself. It is about something else — understanding, and understanding, unlike illusions, truly changes life. We are used to looking for the causes of what happens to us outside: in circumstances, in other people, in the era, in “bad timing.” But more and more studies show that the decisive part of our reality is formed from within. Not on the level of abstract thoughts, but deeper — in automatic reactions, bodily responses, unconscious expectations. This is where decisions we consider random are born, and the choices we call fate.

Neuroplasticity gives us a rare sense of support. It says: change is possible at any age. The brain does not close its doors after childhood and does not stop updating after trauma. It changes all the time — the question is whether we consciously participate in this process or allow the past to do it for us. Every day we either strengthen old pathways or create new ones. There is no third option. Modern technologies make this process visible. We live in an era where behavior can be modeled, predicted, and analyzed. Algorithms are already able to guess our desires faster than we can become aware of them. And this is frightening — but it also gives us a key. If we can be predicted, it means we are subject to patterns. And anything subject to patterns can be studied and changed.

This book invites you to stop viewing yourself as a mystery or a victim of circumstances. And to start seeing yourself as a system — complex, alive, sensitive, but teachable. There will be no division between “spiritual” and “material,” between “scientific” and “intuitive,” because in real life, they are long intertwined. The brain reacts to meanings. The body stores emotions. Attention directs energy. And a choice made in one moment can change the trajectory for years to come.

Why this book? To provide tools. Not abstract advice, but ways to observe yourself, work with attention, emotions, habits, and thinking. To show how we can use knowledge of the brain, mindfulness practices, and modern technologies — not to escape life, but for deeper presence in it. So that changes do not happen “someday,” but here and now — in everyday conversations, in complex feelings, in daily decisions.

This book is for those who feel that old scripts no longer work, but new ones have not yet formed. For those who are tired of fighting with themselves and are ready to start a dialogue. For those who understand that true transformation does not look like an explosion, but rather a quiet, irreversible shift.

In the following chapters, we will break down how internal karma is formed, how the brain creates repeating patterns, and how, step by step, we can break free from them — without violence against ourselves, without running to illusions, but with clarity, support, and respect for our own experience. Because the strongest form of freedom is not the absence of the past, but the ability to not be controlled by it

Chapter 1. Karma Through the Lens of Science and History

The idea of karma did not arise as an abstract philosophy or a religious dogma. It emerged from a very simple, almost everyday human observation: our lives have consequences. We do something — and something returns. Not always immediately. Not always literally. But often enough that a person begins to look for a pattern in it.

In ancient India, karma did not mean punishment or reward. It was a word for action. Karma literally translated as “deed.” A person is what they do. Not because someone judges them, but because every action leaves a mark — in the external world and within the person themself. If you live in anger, the world begins to seem hostile. If in fear, dangerous. If in honesty, predictable.

Ancient thinkers knew nothing about neurons, but they keenly sensed the inner mechanics of life. They saw how habitual states of mind shape character, and character — destiny. Karma was not about “past lives,” but about the repetition of internal states that a person carries with them day after day. At almost the same time, but on the other side of the world in Ancient Egypt, there was a similar idea about causality. There they believed that after death a person’s heart would be weighed on the scales of truth. But the important thing isn’t the image itself — it’s the idea behind it: the person carries the consequences of their life within them. It isn’t a god who decides their fate — it is already written in their heart. And if you remove the mythology, what remains is a surprisingly modern thought: we become what we practice within ourselves.

Later, in Ancient Greece and Rome, Stoic philosophers approached this question from another angle. They hardly spoke about fate as an external force. They were interested in another question: what is within our control and what is not. Epictetus, a former slave, wrote that it is not the event that destroys a person, but their judgment about the event. Marcus Aurelius, an emperor, reminded himself daily: “You are not obligated to react as you reacted yesterday.”

This was almost psychology. The Stoics noticed that if a person repeatedly chooses the same reaction, they seem to lock themselves in chains. Not because the world is cruel, but because their internal response has become automatic. They didn’t call this karma, but they spoke of a habit of mind that shapes destiny no less effectively than any notion of fate. And here an important shift occurs: destiny stops being something mystical. It becomes the result of repetition.

Thousands of years passed, and humanity finally began to look inside what the ancients felt intuitively. Modern psychology has found what was once called karma in the form of thinking habits, cognitive biases, and automatic reactions. We know that the brain likes to save energy and seeks predictability. If a certain way of reacting once helped someone survive, it becomes entrenched even after it has long ceased to be useful. A child who was often criticized grows up with an internal voice that continues that work for the parents.

A person who has experienced betrayal begins to see threats where there are none.

Someone who has long lived in scarcity continues to expect loss even in safety. This is not weakness. This is learning. Psychology calls these habits cognitive biases, defense strategies, mental patterns. But in lay language — this is what karma really is: accumulated experience that continues to operate without our conscious participation.

Neuroplasticity — this is when karma ceases to be a sentence.

The most important discovery of recent decades is neuroplasticity. The brain is not fixed. It does not become stone-like after childhood. It changes throughout life, responding to what we do, think, and feel regularly. Each repetition strengthens a neural connection — every moment of awareness can weaken it. If a person lives for years in anxiety, their brain becomes a master of anxiety. It notices threats faster than opportunities. This is not “bad fate.” It is a trained system. But here’s what matters: the brain does not distinguish why you do something. For it, repetition is what matters. If you begin to notice your reaction and choose another — even awkwardly, even uncertainly — the brain begins to reorganize. Slowly. But irreversibly. In ancient times this was called cleansing karma. Today — forming new neural pathways. The essence is the same.

Karma is not about dramatic events. It shows up in the tiny details: the way you reply to a message, how you respond to criticism, the way you speak to yourself when you make a mistake. A person who says, “I’m always unlucky” rarely notices how many times they chose the familiar instead of the new. Someone who says, “This always happens to me” often doesn’t see the signals they themselves are sending out into the world. This isn’t an accusation — it’s an invitation to observe. Because as soon as karma becomes visible, it stops being blind.

The story of karma is the story of humanity growing up. From myths to philosophy. From philosophy to science. But the meaning hasn’t disappeared — it has simply changed language. Today we can talk about karma without fear, without mystical fatalism, and without denying responsibility. We can see it as a process — alive, changeable, and understandable. And perhaps the most valuable thing in that knowledge is not control over fate, but the return of authorship — the realization that life is not a chain of coincidences or punishment, but a dialogue between past experience and present choice.

Karma stops being a philosophical concept the moment a person suddenly recognizes themselves in it — not in books, not in ancient stories, but in their own repetitions. In the feeling that life seems to circle back on itself. The same conversations, the same disappointments, the same reactions that arise even before the thought appears. In those moments, you don’t need explanations — just an inner breath: “I’m here again.”

The ancients called this the return of karma. Modern science would call it differently: a familiar scenario has activated, the brain has chosen a well-worn route. But to a human being there is almost no difference. There is only that feeling of exhaustion from repetition and a vague suspicion that it’s not just about external circumstances.

We rarely notice how this internal inertia forms. It begins unnoticed — with an experience that once mattered, maybe painfully, maybe savior-like. The brain does what it is designed to do: it learns. If closed-off behavior once protected you, it will become habitual. If control gave a sense of safety, it will take root. If anxiety helped you stay alert, it will return again and again — not as punishment but as care stuck in time.

Over time these reactions stop being conscious. They become background, part of character, what a person calls “that’s just who I am.” He doesn’t decide to be anxious — anxiety appears first. He doesn’t choose not to trust — mistrust switches on automatically. And then karma no longer looks like mysticism. It looks like a habit of living in a certain way.

Our brain doesn’t perceive the world directly. It sees it through filters of past experience. We don’t see reality — we see its interpretation: the one that once helped us survive. A person who once felt rejected begins to notice signs of rejection even where there are none. Someone who is used to expecting danger finds it in the most neutral situations. The world seems to confirm expectations — but in reality we are just recognizing the familiar.

The body takes part in this no less than the thoughts do. It stores memories of what has been experienced just as meticulously as the brain does. Tension, restricted breathing, readiness for defense arise before conscious awareness. A person may understand that everything is fine, yet the body continues to live as if danger is near. In ancient times, this would have been called stuck energy. Today we speak of the nervous system — but the essence remains the same: the past continues to echo into the present.

And yet karma would not be so persistent if there were not one almost imperceptible gap in it. A moment that is rarely spoken about: the short pause between what happens and how we react. Usually, it is vanishingly small. We don’t notice it because we are accustomed to identifying with our reactions. We think that this is who we are. But sometimes — most often in moments of fatigue or crisis — this pause becomes noticeable. A person suddenly sees their own reaction from the outside. Not changing it, not correcting it, but simply noticing it. And in that moment, karma ceases to be destiny. It becomes a process.

Nothing grand happens. No revelation arrives. There simply appears a sense: I can respond differently. Not necessarily right now. Not necessarily perfectly. But the possibility now exists. And that is enough for old inertia to begin losing its power.

If we look at karma from this perspective, it stops being a sentence. It becomes a dialogue between what once was necessary and what no longer works. We do not erase the past. We stop allowing it to speak for us automatically. And perhaps this is exactly what the ancient sages were trying to convey thousands of years ago, not having the words “neuroplasticity” and “cognitive biases.” They simply saw how a person becomes what they repeat within themselves. And if repetition can be noticed — it can be changed.

Further in this book, the discussion will not be about fighting karma or trying to “become someone else.” It will be about attention. About how to gradually reclaim authorship of one’s own life — not through control, but through understanding. Because freedom begins not when reactions disappear, but when we cease to be entirely defined by them.

In the following chapters, we will gradually analyze how this internal karma is formed, where it lives — in the body, in emotions, in thoughts — and how a person can stop being its bearer and become its investigator. Because to understand one’s karma means, for the first time, to stop running from it.

At some point, an attentive reader naturally wants to test all of this not in theory, but in their own life. Not to take it on faith, but to see for themselves. This is precisely where the most honest conversation with karma begins — not philosophical, but practical.

One can start with simple observation. Not with an attempt to change something, not with promises to oneself “to become different,” but by recording repetitions. Over the course of a few days or weeks, a person suddenly begins to notice a strange pattern: the same situations arise again and again, as if life neatly presents familiar scenery. Similar conversations. Identical emotions. The same thoughts that surface almost word for word.

Some people feel guilt each time, even when they have objectively done nothing wrong. Some find themselves again and again in the role of “one who must,” who “is obliged,” who “endures.” And others catch themselves noticing that any expectation of something good is accompanied by anxiety, as if joy itself is unsafe.

If you start recording this without analysis, without conclusions, just as it is, an effect arises that is hard to overestimate. Karma, which used to seem something vague and elusive, suddenly becomes visible. Not as a sentence, but as a repeating pattern. Thoughts, emotions, and events line up into chains. And in these chains a logic appears. This is how a karmic journal is born — not an instrument of self-control, but a space of observation.

In it there are no right or wrong entries. There is only honesty. Sometimes one sentence a day is enough: what repeated today? What did I feel automatically? What thought came up first? Interestingly, this very method of observation is actively used today in psychology and neuroscience. Studies show that habits — emotional, behavioral, and cognitive — are consolidated in the brain through the formation of stable neural connections. The more often we experience the same state, the faster and more easily the brain reproduces it again. It literally “paves a path” along which the energy of attention begins to flow automatically.

Scientists describe this in dry and precise terms. Ancient traditions describe it in figurative and poetic language. But they are talking about the same process. What is repeated almost always strengthens. What remains outside of attention gradually weakens. The very act of observing already begins to change the picture. When a person writes down their reactions, the brain stops being completely absorbed in them. Distance appears. And with it — the first crack in automatism. Karma no longer operates blindly. It becomes an object of investigation.

And here it is important to emphasize: this is not about self-control. Not about correction. And certainly not about self-criticism. A karmic journal is a way to gently bring yourself back into presence — as if you had turned on a light in a room you have long lived in by feel. Over time, a person begins to notice subtle shifts. Not because they are “working on themselves,” but because they see. And what is seen can no longer be lived in the same way as before. Neural connections that used to fire instantly begin to receive a pause. And in that pause a choice appears — perhaps not sharp, not dramatic, but real. Thus the first chapter ceases to be a story about karma as an idea and becomes a personal experiment — without promises and without pressure. Simply with attention to what is already happening. Because one can only change what has become visible.

At some point it becomes clear that karma is not a hidden law of the universe and not a mystical force that controls a person from the outside. It is memory. The memory of experience that was once lived fully, and at other times only halfway. Memory that continues in thoughts, in the body, in habitual reactions and decisions we make faster than we can become aware of them.