It’s a gray and hazy Sunday morning here in the low mountains of Asheville. And my mood is matching the weather. I feel a little lost; my mind clouded over so that no light can come through. No clarity. I’m full of feelings and wet tears threaten to fall at any moment just as the rain teases the land.
I continue to try to maintain some semblance of composure during these heavy days of challenge and extreme discomfort. Some days it’s easier than others. I’ve been learning so much about nervous system regulation, and neural reprogramming. These things are helping. But some days I just wake up feeling the weight of all this unrelenting stress—this constant fight or flight response—that my only option seems to be to lay down and cry.
The crying does bring some relief of its own. Strangely we are taught to hide our tears; to swallow them down with our proverbial swords. The world whispers that crying is weak and unconstructive. But these are lies. Crying is cleansing. It’s its own form of nervous system regulation. To lean into these feelings and to allow the physical response to deep sadness, frustration, fear, and pain helps to move those feelings through their full cycle so that we can feel them, release them, then reset back to neutral.
What a wonderful miracle our bodies are. They come with built-in mechanisms to heal practically anything that ails them. In moments like these, I may not have space for much, but I do feel an immense gratitude for the wisdom of my body. And for her remarkable resilience.
This morning may be hard. And I may be hurting. But that’s okay. I can be here and I can be reminded that my body is my safe place. While my mind wanders through the past and the future my body is rooted solidly in the present moment. She brings me back to now. And right now, I’m okay. I’m safe. I’m not being asked for anything I don’t have. I can manage right now.
This year (2025) is unfolding so quickly, it seems. We just closed out April, and the first third of the year is now behind me. This seemed like a good time to check in with my Omen Days divinations from the close of last year to see where I am and if those divinations actually had any alignment with the way events actually unfolded. Following I’m going to share each month’s ‘omen’ with a synapsis of what actually happened for me. Here we go …
JANUARY
The Omen Day tarot card I pulled for January was The Emperor. (To see the post with all the original card interpretations go HERE.) I began the year with some fresh sovereign energy, which tracks with The Emperor. This month I managed to get a random new astrology client from an unexpected resource online, I committed to some manifestation/neural reprogramming work, I started doing local in-town Tarot reading events, I made some new social connections, and I began a beta test of a Human Design training course that is in the works. It was an active and engaged time in which I was feeling a more in control of my own personal ‘sovereign nation’, and it felt really steadying amidst the ongoing chaos permeating so many facets of my life. This feels like a pretty accurate foretelling for this month.
FEBRUARY
This month’s Omen Day card was Four Pentacles. I did experience this energy during February, but not as dramatically as I might have hoped during the moment of first pulling the card. I feel like this month was really punctuated by some reckoning awareness around how I hold myself back from fully connecting with the outer world. But also recognizing that some of those protective boundaries serve me well. I feel like this energy opened me up to an ongoing conversation with myself around what boundaries are helpful and which are actually keeping me from progressing toward what I want. I did continue to steward those new social connections, which felt nice and felt very ‘Four Pentacles’. I also continued with the Human Design beta workshop, the local tarot events, and the manifestation/neural work.
MARCH
March’s Omen Day tarot card revealed The Hanged Man. This month saw a drastic decrease in client appointments which left me hanging in a position that felt very uncomfortable and unprecedented … even amid the past year of uncertainty in my financial sector. I did manage to shift my focus toward the online side of my business and started looking at what it might be like to rely less on the brick and mortar bodywork piece. This was a month of reflection and questioning. I increased my tarot reading gigs, and wrapped up the Human Design beta workshop. One of my two new social connections left town. (She lives part-time in AVL and part-time in California.) That was a bummer, and another opportunity to shift the view of my current landscape. I also had a little “time out” while pet-sitting for my parents while they were away. They live in KY, so it was a chance to get away and clear my head from the everyday stressors that I was dealing with at home. The Hanged Man feels pretty on point here.
APRIL
The Omen Day tarot card for April was the Ace of Swords. This card’s energy played out in a way that was unexpected, but that, in fresh retrospect, seems very aligned. My client load continued to be dismally decreased. And while last month’s tarot gig was amazing and lucrative, this month’s fell very short of that ideal. This felt like a somewhat fallow period where things might be happening behind the scenes. This can sometimes be the case with the energy of the Ace. It can sometimes be a little quiet and still as that new seed germinates beneath the surface. I wonder if this is what is happening with me. I feel myself growing and maturing. (That Saturn energy is still barreling through my transits.) But this month felt kind of slow and stagnant; like I’ve been waiting for something ‘next’ to happen. I admit that I slid a bit on my self-care. I didn’t lose it completely, and in some ways I actually ramped things up, but I faltered in my consistency. (This is an ongoing challenge for me.) But it also makes sense that things get a little messy and disorganized when changes are taking place. So, I am going to choose to see this as a kind of gestation period during which I am learning, internally, to release the old, to open to the new, and to integrate what is not connected and embodied.
I’ll check in again later in the year to see how the rest of the Omen Day predictions align with the reality of my year. Stay tuned …
Today is the Pink Moon. The Libra Full Moon. Astrologically speaking, it’s a fairly generous lunation. It also features some undiluted emotional influence. And I felt those emotions yesterday, for sure.
It wasn’t like I was feeling particularly sad or mad or joyful, or any other individual feeling, in a big way. It was more like I was feeling a strong undercurrent of ALL my emotions. I could feel them bubbling there under my surface like some magma-heated boiling underground springs. It’s these moment when I become glaringly aware of just how emotionally sensitive I am, and how many emotions I’m feeling at any given time, that I get overwhelmed and struggle to simply sit with that awareness and feel the beautiful chaos of so much feeling.
Instead, when these moments arrive (usually without warning) I panic, go feral, and start eating and drinking. (In the past I’d also hit the cigarettes.) Anything to help keep the feelings submerged. It’s like laying a thick insulating blanket over those deep emotional springs. Can’t let them flood me! Must throw some dirt on them!
This is, of course, a terrible way to navigate these moments. It leaves me feeling rotten. I may have managed to tamp down my feelings, to subdue the internal emotional noise, but now my body has been massively overfed. And it is not happy about it.
This happened yesterday.
I am house- and pet-sitting this weekend out on Lake James. It’s a lovely house with gorgeous views of the lake and the mountains surrounding it. Wildlife abounds here. It’s quiet and peaceful. And even though I’m only here for a weekend, it feels like a real vacation. You’d think I’d be able to relax and just lean into my feelings in this tranquil environment. But, sadly, that is not what happened.
I found myself trudging to the pantry and refrigerator so often I’m surprised I didn’t wear a path in the flooring. I ate well beyond the limits of my hunger. And then I ate some more. In fact, I ate until I felt so stuffed and uncomfortable that I literally could not eat anymore.
Then I went to bed.
And I felt terrible all night. Why did my subconscious believe it would be better to make my physical body feel like shit in order to keep my emotional body feeling neutral? This is false! It’s not better! It’s way worse! It’s a frustrating and confusing and highly disappointing pattern that I’ve been nurturing for decades. And I don’t want to do it anymore.
I imagine it will take more than this one moment of determination to break the habit altogether, but it’s a step.
Today I’ve decided to bring back a practice I used to do maybe fifteen years ago: Moon Day fasting. Moon Day fasting involves avoiding solid foods on New and Full Moon days. I dabbled with the practice, previously, for a few months with mixed results. My addictive food patterns are strong, so it can be a real challenge for me to abstain from food altogether for a full day. (Weirdly, it was easier to undergo the fast I did in Hawaii that lasted 10 days. But, then again, I had a lot of support then.)
Since today is a Full Moon day, I’m choosing to fast today. It feels like a good response to yesterday’s gluttony. Also, it feels like a healthy test of my will power and discipline, which, traditionally, have wavered under pressure when food is involved. When I feel the call of the pantry or fridge, I remind myself just how miserable I felt in my body last night. So far it’s working. I’m nursing mugs of herbal tea. I managed to make it through my yoga practice this morning despite the leftover fullness and heaviness in my body. And I’ve planned some gentle self-care treats for myself during the day.
I can’t say for sure if I’ll be successful with fasting the whole day. I like to think I’ll be, but past experience has shown me what a challenge fasting days can be for me. Still, I’ve been in this pivotal phase since last year, and I can feel myself becoming something new. Maybe this new version of me will have the tenacity and self-respect to get the job done.
I’m later writing this than I’d hoped to be. Such is the state of my life of late. Still, better late than never, right?
Ostara. Vernal Equinox. A time of balance. A time of celebrating the renewal and reawakening of the Earth as She continues to stir from Her Winter slumber. Imbolc quickened Her pulse, but Ostara is when She begins to yawn and stretch and start donning Her finery for a new day.
Honestly, I’m feeling a strange sense of balance during this year’s Ostara. On the one hand, I am experiencing my usual Spring Fever symptoms coming in strong. The readiness for a new cycle, a new season. The jonesing for some cosmic reset. Yet, on the other hand, I am struggling to believe in the possibility that something fresh and new will present itself to me. This pessimism, floating in the wake of one of the most challenging years I’ve ever experienced, is tainting my usual optimism. The state of the world, at large, and of my world, specifically, has really been bumming me out.
I write this from my parents’ home in Kentucky. I’m acting as steward for house and canine companion while they are away. It’s a very small town inhabited mostly by people with very small dreams. Or at least that is the impression I get as I move throughout the place. It’s a reinforcing reminder of how dichotomized, how polarized, the socioeconomic classes have become in recent years. Logically, I know this can be a sign of imminent foundational change. (Change which I believe is desperately needed to reset our entire cultural paradigm.) But living through the squeeze before the expansion feels so hard and ugly and painful.
Wow. This post is kind of a downer. And, yeah, that’s one side of the coin of my feelings at this Equinox. But the other side of that coin still shows the face of hope. I have a view perspective of possibility [in Human Design] which keeps me at least a little optimistic at all times. I recognize the different possible outcomes that could emerge from this unpleasantness I am witnessing daily. And some of those outcomes are pretty nice. I just need to do what I can to maintain my own composure during the unfolding. I need to manage my own transition in as positive a way possible so that I can be a viable role model for those around me. If I can demonstrate how to start anew with more love in my heart, more openness in my mind, more acceptance for the beautiful possibilities of this bedrock-busting change, then maybe I can be a positive steward for my community.
Ostara reminds me that change is inevitable. It also reminds me that change is often welcomed, fruitful, and beautiful. But there’s no getting to the beauty of Spring or the fecundity of Summer without first going through the frozen barren lands of Winter. Everything is cyclical. This, too, shall pass.
I somehow managed to claw my way through the rubble and by year’s end I was really finding my way through some deep shadowcraft and neural reprogamming work and reclaiming a bit of my Self and my power to stand up again. It’s been a very deep and emotional process.
Interestingly, this past week I’ve found myself on several occasion with little salty rivers running down my cheeks. Totally unexpected, and yet, still very real. This quiet sobbing has been born from a deep grieving of the life I rejected; the path(s) I didn’t choose. It seems like there is a new realization that for some of these options, the ‘change by’ date has officially passed, and I can no longer go back and do things differently. Those options are decidedly off the table now.
It wasn’t like I was even clinging to the idea that I might want something different in the future. I wasn’t consciously aware of any feelings of regret around the major choices I’ve made (or the doors I’ve closed because of them). But suddenly, I find myself awash with these feelings of grief. As if the finality of it all has finally set in and there are no takebacks and now I wonder if I really weighed my options properly.
This is, of course, irrelevant. I can’t change most of these things now. At least not without a great deal of effort, expense, and serious compromise. I wouldn’t even want to make those choices at this season in my life. But I feel myself grieving over the paths I didn’t choose when I was younger. Maybe it’s a grieving for the lack of full awareness and understanding of myself and of life that I have now, which would have allowed me to at least understand what I’d be gaining and what I’d be giving up for the options that faced me.
Most specifically, I’ve been grieving my choice to not have children. I am conflicted by this grief. I spent a lot of time sitting with the question of whether or not I wanted children. I concluded, very consciously, that I did not. But I think that choice was more easily made by the fact that I had no partner, nor any potential for a partner with whom I could feel comfortable raising children. Would that have changed my decision if I had? Who knows.
And I don’t even think the point of this grief is to question the choice. I feel like it’s just something deep within me that needs to feel the sorrow, the loss, the finality of that decision. This is my life. I am childless. I am unmarried. I am not living the kind of life that is traditional to my culture.
Most of the time I am very content with these choices. So strange to be feeling these feelings now. Or maybe it’s not so strange. We are just entering the Lunar Year of the Wood Snake. Perhaps this is just me shedding some old skin I’ve outgrown. Perhaps this grieving is preparing me for the birth of something new and ultimately very fulfilling in my life. Perhaps.
I can trust this. And, I can be in this grief. I can tend to this sadness. I can welcome these emotions for the gift they are, and be grateful for what it has to teach me.
It’s Wednesday morning. About a week and a half after Tropical Storm Helene forced a path through the Southeastern United States, including Asheville, NC. Asheville is where I live. Asheville was also the location that was hardest hit by the storm and where there was, reportedly, the most devastation.
(image courtesy of AP Press)
I was away when it happened. A petsitting engagement at my parents’ home in Kentucky that was planned before we even knew there was a storm called Helene brewing in the sea. I suppose this makes me lucky. And, in many ways, I am well cognizant of this good fortune. But, in reality, now I know that those living in the area of my home weren’t too endangered physically, it has actually felt more traumatic for me to have been absent.
My sister and young niece were home during the whole event. Not being with them was hugely challenging for me. But then I have some pretty strong codependency issues, so that’s to be expected. Not being able to communicate with them for the few days they had no phone service was particularly difficult. Were they safe? What was happening?
A neighbor staying in our apartment building—my sister and I live in the same building—had a large tree limb fall onto his car and smash through his windshield. He was parked immediately behind my sister’s car. Two neighbors just two houses away had a large fallen tree crush both their cars as if they were made of paper. We may not live near enough the rivers to have had to navigate the terrifying effects of the flooding, but there was still damage. Still trauma.
I only returned two days ago. I had to take a circuitous route home in order to avoid roads washed away by the storm or buried in mud or barred by fallen trees, dislodged houses or cars, or other debris. It took me two more hours than usual. Such were the detrimental effects of the storm on western NC and eastern TN.
Driving into town was an eerie experience. Signs of the storm at every turn. Fallen trees and branches everywhere. In piles. Very large piles. Familiar buildings no longer standing. In some instances there were no signs they’d even been there at all. Streets covered in blankets of mud and debris. Shops closed. Downtown completely devoid of the usual pedestrian crowds. And most noticeable, at least to me, was the pall that hung in the air. It was a heavy quiet. Not a total silence. but a quiet sense of loss, confusion and fear. Trauma.
Adding to the eeriness is the fact that some areas of town look the same as ever. Save the odd pile of debris, of course. But this makes a strange and confusing landscape of contrast. It can trick the mind. Look in one direction and nothing’s changed. In another, everything’s changed.
I live in one of those ‘less changed’ areas. We are fortunate enough to have power and phone service. We don’t have internet services or water. Some parts of town have none of these luxuries. Some have them all.
I don’t think I ever fully realized just how much I take running water for granted. This has been the hardest loss of utility I’ve ever had to cope with, I think. Power outages are inconvenient, yes. But they are manageable with generators and candles and battery-operated devices. But lack of running water, especially when one doesn’t live very near a plentiful clean natural water source, is … disruptive.
Yes, I know this is a First World Problem. But the biggest part of the problem is that our First World culture has become so removed from the Natural World that we are reliant on our governmental infrastructures to provide our basic needs. Like water. We need water for drinking. For cooking. For cleaning bodies, homes and dishes. For plants. For flushing toilets. (And flushing a toilet requires such a large quantity of water!) To be without it really forces one to be in the present moment. To consider conservation in a way that wasn’t even on the radar for most people. It can feel debilitating. Disempowering. Traumatic.
Many of the people in town, including myself, are unable to work under the current circumstances. We are bringing in no income, despite still having bills to pay and groceries to buy. Like many, I have applied for disaster relief aid, but the application system is needlessly confusing and vague. There is no knowing if or when any aid will be given. Plus, it all happens online. So, we have to figure out where to locate the few WiFi access points in town in order to make the application and check for follow up email missives. It’s stressful.
Not to mention the fact that everyday I wake up with no sense of what to do in the day. I have no purpose. No structure. I’ve been trying to reach out about how I can help in the relief efforts, but have not yet received any word on how I can participate. So, I sit at home. Trying to make sense of things. Trying to regulate my nervous system enough to keep moving, keep breathing, keep trying to figure things out, moment to moment.
I am holding so many feelings within myself right now. Feelings that are mine. Feelings that are permeating me from my environment. (An empath’s blessing and curse.) A wide spectrum of emotion. But most notably fear, anxiety, confusion, and grief. These are feelings I have been holding on my own already since February, 2024, and now it’s amplified. It’s heavy. It’s suffocating. It’s traumatic.
Walking through downtown, through my neighborhood, brings no comfort. Almost everything is closed. The stench of long-rotting trash hangs heavy in the air. The few people scattered about look tired, shoulders bent. Those who have been here through it all, are exhausted, over it all. Those who are just arriving are, like me, just trying to make sense of things as we land, uneasily, into the middle of this ongoing story.
I know there is generosity and loving kindness in this world. I have not become so jaded. And I experienced an outpouring of it when people from many different portals of my life reached out about my safety. Still, I have also met with some unpleasant and unsupportive encounters. People telling me I have no right to have any feelings about this situation because I wasn’t present for the full experience. Telling me I have no right to have an opinion or to complain or to express discomfort of any kind. Their words were not always so embellished, but they were plain in their meaning. “You weren’t here? You’ve got nothing to complain about!” “You weren’t here? What’s been so traumatic for you?”
This was particularly painful as I was feeling so much guilt and helplessness for not being in Asheville when the storm landed. In fact, I was having some pretty extreme digestive distress from the stress of being away from it all. The guilt and powerlessness was overwhelming. I understand that it is not the same distress as those who are suffering the loss of homes, family, friends. But it is still trauma.
I fully understand that there are many people who have experienced much more devastating effects from this event (and others). I recognize my good fortune, and I do not take it lightly. However, in instances such as these, I think many of us tend to overlook the fact that trauma can affect people in ways we don’t always recognize externally. It ripples through the epicenter of disaster and out into the surrounding communities. There is no limit to whom it can reach or when or for how long. And there are no certainties as to how trauma will be experienced by one person or another. It is very personal. It can be public. It can be private. But it is often more pervasive than we realize. To invalidate another’s experience does harm to the whole human community.
I am in a trauma response. I am doing my best to honor that and to make space for myself. I have no idea how to navigate this particular trauma as I have no previous experience with this particular type of trauma. But I feel like communicating a little of my experience is a good place to start.
I know that I will be okay eventually. But for now, while I am physically fine, I am embroiled in a psycho-emotional trauma response. And that is okay. I can give myself permission to be a little off my game, a little bit of a mess, a little lost/confused/scared/anxious right now. I can allow myself to feel my feelings. I can let myself cry. I can give myself grace.
And I can give you grace, too. Whatever you might be feeling—whether it’s related to Tropical Storm Helene or not—is valid. And it’s okay to share it. And if you haven’t got anyone else to share it with, then consider following my lead, and sharing it online. I hope we all find the support we need.
Thank you for reading this. Thank you for any space-holding you may be offering. Thank you for being a part of this journey in your own way. Thank you for showing others in your sphere grace, as you never know what trauma they may be carrying. Thank you for showing yourself grace. This is how we evolve. This is how we change the trajectory of our human story. We connect. We share. We hold each other and ourselves until eventually we rebuild ourselves into wholeness.
I’m sitting on the precipice of change. My life has been shifting beneath my feet all year, and it seems to be reaching some tangible pivot points. Recently I was scrolling PInterest and saw a pin defining a relatively obscure word: coddiwomple. Apparently, to coddiwomple is to travel purposely toward an as-yet-unknown destination. Something inside me shouted “Yes!” when I read that. It feels like I’ve been on a coddiwomple all year long! (Photo sourced back to The Tea Chest Blog.)
This entire year has been a long, strange journey … one in which I have felt very little control and completely insecure in my footing and direction. It actually began in a place of comfort and relative stability, but one month in and everything collapsed in a giant metaphorical sinkhole. It was neither fun nor pretty.
Still, it didn’t kill me.
I mean, I have had many a moment in which I felt the panic rising up my spine and the bitter bile of terror rising up my throat. But I’ve managed to allow those moments to express and release, and then I’ve continued to take step after step after step toward … something else.
The really tricky bit is that I actually have no idea what I’m moving toward; not in a tangible way, anyway. And that is generally an experience that exists far outside my comfort zone. However, for some reason, this year, while it’s still not really comfortable, it’s, well, not so uncomfortable, either.
Yesterday I realized that on my birthday this year (back in April), I forgot to calculate my personal year (numerology). So, of course, I calculated it. I’m in a 7-year. Okay, so I am not a skilled numerologist. I have dabbled in the past, but never really committed all the interpretations to memory. When I looked up information on the 7-year, it was like I was reading a synopsis of my own personal experience.
The 7-year is one often fraught with challenges and hardships. It is about recognizing what is no longer serving and severing those things from one’s life. It’s a year of learning; of asking questions; of seeking truth and finding answers within. It’s basically a year of taking inventory (willingly or by cosmic force) to help one discover where one has become lazy and complacent and misaligned. And, admittedly, I kinda needed this kick in the pants.
I’ve become extremely complacent in my life. I’ve lost all touch with ambition, desire, and passion. I just sort of accepted that those things were behind me, or ahead of me, but not here now. And that is crap. This is the complete antithesis to everything I believe; everything I teach. What a sobering mirror I’ve chanced to look into on this long and winding coddiwomple!
I feel so grateful that I’ve had the presence of mind and the presence of Self to be able to garner the gifts being offered during this tumultuous year. I’m so proud of myself for not letting the weight of all the heartbreak, confusion, panic and fear crush me into dust. And I’m slowly starting to feel some of those more active and motivating emotions seep back into my consciousness. Huzzah! I am learning to be patient. I am learning to trust more. I am remembering (if slowly) how to be more.
And with all this magick happening, I become less concerned about figuring out that as-yet-unknown destination. And I become much more invested in showing up for the journey.
Over the past several months, I’ve been using subliminals as part of my self-care/personal development/crisis management systems. It’s been an interesting experiment, and while I cannot separate out and quantify how they’ve been helping me—I’m not that scientifically minded—I can attest that they are helping me to some degree.
One interesting thing I’ve noticed is how my dreamscapes have been shifting since introducing the subliminals. I created my own subliminals track with an overlay of trance-y relaxation instrumental music. I included about 10 affirmations on the subliminal track that were specifically geared to my current situation and circumstances. I listen to this track at random times throughout the day, usually while I’m working on the computer. I also play it throughout the night as I’m sleeping. This is where some powerful re-programming seems to be taking place.
I am a ‘busy’ dreamer. I always have been. I dream prolifically and I often remember my dreams when I wake. I’m also prone to lucid dreams, and can often actively observe and analyze and even interfere with my dreams as I’m dreaming them. (It’s exhausting.)
Since I’ve started playing the subliminal track while I sleep, the subjects and overall feeling of my dreamscapes have been changing. I’ve also noticed that while I may remember my dreams upon waking, those memories slip away very quickly once I’m up and moving. This has made keeping track of the shifts a bit more challenging. (And, no, I don’t keep a dream journal. Every now and again if I have a particularly resonant dream, I’ll write about it, but keeping a regular sleep journal puts too much time, energy and focus on my already overemphasized dreamlife.)
There was one dream I had last week, though, that has stayed with me. It involved me being on some kind of campus or compound kind of place with lots of large buildings on it. (It resembled a very small college campus, but wasn’t one my waking mind recognized.) My sister was there, and other people I knew, but can’t remember now who they all were.
The important part was that one building caught fire and started burning with growing intensity as the flames began to engulf the entirety of it. I saw it as it first began, and went to tell my sister. Somehow it seemed like she was the one in charge. She started directing people to get water (in buckets!) to douse the fire. As that was happening, I noticed another building starting to burn. So, I told her about that one, too. It seemed like before we could get any kind of interference on one fire, another would catch. The fires always started on the ground floors, too. I don’t remember a ton of the details, but I do remember looking out over the campus that was once so familiar and safe for me, realizing that it would never be the same. The place, as I had known it, was gone. I felt sad, but also felt … curious.
I woke up at that point—mid-burn—in the dark of the night. I had this horrible feeling like the apartment building might be on fire. I got up and went through each room sniffing for smoke.(I smelled none.) I checked my oven and all the burners to make sure they were completely turned off. (They were.) I listened for any unusual sounds for the middle of the night. (There were none.) Finally I went back to bed, content that it was just a dream.
Several days later, I had an epiphany: The burning buildings were actually my subconscious self burning down the structures of my conditioned thoughts and beliefs. They had become so familiar to me that they felt like my own; like home. But they weren’t actually mine. They were taught to me—like in school—and I had been clinging to them because they kept me close to the person I’d always been. They kept me codependent on my family, too. Releasing this conditioning means disrupting my place in the family, in society, in the world and in my own life story. Destructive … but curious!
It reminded me of a vision I once had during a guided meditation in a Shamanic Circle I used to frequent when I lived in Austin, TX. During that vision, I watched myself spontaneously combust in flames, but I wasn’t dead. It was super trippy. (And it was a long time ago, so I don’t remember all the specifics.) I remember, however, sharing it with the circle. The circle’s facilitator, who was guiding the meditation, told me I had had a dismemberment journey (read more about that experience here). While that vision was about the complete dissolution of my Self so that I might reconfigure myself into whatever version was ready to come through next, this recent dream feels similar, but different.
This dream was more akin to The Tower card in the Tarot’s Major Arcana. In The Tower card, a tower (large building) is usually depicted as being on fire. The implication is that it is being burned to the ground. It speaks of the readiness for a new beginning; new foundations to be built upon the rubble of the old structures and systems and beliefs that came before.
This feels promising.
My epiphany was the realization that my subliminals are working! They are helping me to break down those old conditioned foundations from which I’ve been operating; which haven’t been serving me. This whole experience is awakening me to the fact that it’s time for me to start anew; to leave the chrysalis; to come down from the roof and re-enter the world in a new and more authentic way. I’m clearing house. I’m razing the land. I’m making space for the new city of my own delight to be built and lived in.
It feels so exciting and so … hopeful. Especially as I still sit in this precarious place in my life; during the period of unexpected and fear-inducing challenge; during this year of crisis.
I am exactly where I need to be. I am strong enough, clever enough, patient enough and resourceful enough to navigate this destruction. And I’m equipped and ready to build anew. I have no idea how long it will take. (My challenging astrological transits are active through the better part of 2025.) But I can, at least, now feel like I’m moving in a helpful direction. I can continue to take it moment by moment, stone by stone, brick by brick, and rebuild a brighter future for myself. The Universe never gives us what we cannot handle. I am learning to trust in the process and the bigger picture, even while I flail down here in the details.
I’m so glad I decided to try the subliminals. It’s been hugely helpful. And I’ll continue to use them as I move forward on this roller coaster of a life. After all, I want to rebuild something beautiful, solid and opulent that wholly reflects who I am and what I’m here to do in this world. I’m determined. I’m hopeful. I’m ready.
I know we are still in the transitional period where the afternoons still threaten to swelter with residual Summer heat, but here in this mountain town, the mornings are whispering of approaching chills, and that always conjures feelings of Autumn for me.
I’m oddly ready for it. Well, parts of me are ready. I think this is why the old agrarian calendar demarcations of the seasons resonate so much. Though, a huge part of me will always mourn the passing of Summer.
Summer is where I feel most alive; most healthy and vibrant; most happy.
But, in Autumn, there’s a shift to my more maternal, internal urges. I want to tend to my house. I want to spend time in my kitchen. I want to host friends and family in intimate nourishing opportunities for connection.
I want to create.
And, of course, there’s the nostalgia.
Autumn is, and always has been for as long as I can remember, a time of deep and melancholy nostalgia. Already I’m getting wistful. Already, those old familiar yearnings for … what? … are stirring in those darker nooks within.
As the days grow darker, so, too, can my mood. A little of this is fine. It’s welcomed, even. I can really get down with a little time spent in the bittersweet haze of melancholia. But the colder it gets, the colder I begin to feel in my heartspace, and my carefully cultivated optimism and trust in all of life can begin to crumble a bit at the edges.
I am already sitting in dread of this.
I want to be the kind of person who doesn’t dwell on things that have not yet transpired, but, alas, I don’t seem to be built for such luxury.
I am imagining an Autumn in which I create a stage of cozy connection for myself. A season of midwifing myself from the glories of Summer toward a nurturing and supportive introspective cocooning in Winter.
I am imagining reading lots of books, and drinking lots of warm, soothing beverages. I am imagining very mindfully choosing recipes to make for myself (and to share with others) that will be delicious and nourishing. I am imagining engaging with my Self in ways that feel delightful, reflective and supportive of necessary growth and development. I am imagining dreaming … lots and lots of dreaming.
I’m in my old stomping grounds this weekend. Actually, I officiated a friend’s wedding last night. It was intimate and beautiful, and I felt so honored to be a part of it.
Every time I come back to my hometown – the town that was my self-chosen home for many years – I feel my roots tugging at my feet. It’s like they are begging me to come back home. But it’s also not the same home I left 8 years ago. There are glaring reminders of this every time I drive through downtown. What was once a small little postcard of a downtown is now peppered with high-rise buildings standing all through the place like foreign sentinels casting shadows on the once-bright Eden of my past.
But it’s not all changed. There are still many landmarks standing strong amid the piracy of progress and change. And these are the places that call my heart like sirens in a stormy sea.
With my current life situation being so uncertain and unsteady it’s easy for me to imagine that a life back here would be so much better, so much more promising and supportive. And while that could be true, I also am wise enough to know that changing geography doesn’t change problems. Though, it can change perspectives, and changed perspectives can spot new solutions to old problems.
Thus lies the conundrum: What to do? Which road to take? Which action to initiate? What feelings to trust when all the feelings are churning around like toilet water beneath the weight of a frantic plunger?
So, for now, I sit on this sweet screened porch on this gorgeous Southern Summer morning, and I write, I think and I breathe. And I wait for more clarity.
experimentsinbliss 