What is it that has brought you here? Is it a feeling? An inexplicable pull? A curiosity seeking satisfaction?

There is something waking up in us from a place deep inside. A yearning. A longing for what we used to know. Sometimes it feels like walking down a lonely street in the dark toward a destination that isn’t even clear. But you know you have to go.

There’s no instruction booklet. No map. It requires a listening - with all of our senses. A trust that the light that you’re headed toward will reveal something you recognize. Something you remember.

In the dark, alone, we trip. We fall. We become afraid. What am I even doing? Why I am even doing this? But you know that you must. To refuse feels like suffocation. Like death.

And then we are told that there are guides. Pathfinders who have gone before us. We have a glimmer of hope. We remember that we aren’t alone. We never were. We just forgot.

The guides are like braille for us in the dark. Their messages becoming clear as we heighten our senses, our awareness. The guides are within. And all around. Simultaneously. They want us to listen. They want to help us remember. They want us to know what it is we already know. They want us to reclaim HER. The SHE that we were before we forgot.

SHE is rising. We feel HER within. Just breathing in HER energy aligns our spines upward. And expands our shoulders outward. We feel her enter us from above and below, exploding outward from our hearts. We are SHE. You are SHE. I am SHE.

And then the phone rings or our child cries out. And we forget. We forget, but we can’t help but remember a little bit more.

So then, when the dishes are cleared and the files are sent, we return, just for a moment in our yearning to glimpse HER once again.

In this time, right now, it’s been way too easy become lost again, in the endless swirl of disorientation that we’re swimming in. We don’t know what life will look like six months from now. Not that we ever do, but right now, the idea of anything we thought we knew seems a bit precarious looking out at half a year from now.

Once we become caught in the momentum of the hurricane, drowning can feel like too very real a possibility. Finding that grounded center, where the calm lives, takes commitment and faith.

Even the practices we’ve relied on like meditation or hiking or dance are so easy to forget when we’re in the midst of the tornado-like vortex.

In those times, what can feel the most difficult, the most challenging, is to find the willingness to shift out of the forgetting, the downward-feeling spiral.

We create confusion, usually unconsciously, but purposely, kicking the mud and muck around because the idea of clarity can become terrifying. If we do have clarity, if we can see the path in front of us, we’re obliged to act. To keep taking steps. To move ourselves forward.

It is a commitment. One that can even make us feel a little bit nauseated. It’s out of our comfort zone. It is the unknown. Or so we think…

What if, you actually are a brilliant star? Not like some celebrity, but a jewel, a brilliantly shining light?

Glimpsing that possibility, the nausea actually means it’s closer to a probability, and it may have you running and diving under the covers. Or wanting to.

But why??? Why are we so terrified of our light? This supposed comfort zone we’ve been hiding in has likely become pretty damned uncomfortable, or you wouldn’t be here. But the liminal space, this space between, requires letting go of the known and leaping into the void.

Perhaps you can feel just the pads of your fingertips, still, barely making contact with the trapeze bar behind you. The trapeze bar that links you to the old. The familiar. The once-comfortable.

What will it take for you to be willing to inhale and leap with enough momentum to be able to reach that bar ahead of you?

But then you realize that in order for you to be touching that bar behind with nothing but fingertips, you are already mid air.

You’ve spent years building this momentum, preparing for this leap. But in the moment of recognition of the reality of the situation, you’re probably freaking the F out.

All of the work you’ve done - all of the therapy, the endless stacks of self-help books, have brought you to this point for a reason. It’s too late to stop. And, in truth, you don’t want to. You just want to be on the other side.

So breathe. Deep breaths. With gratitude. And patience for your process. And compassion for your fear.

Somewhere, you do know what’s on the other side. It’s what’s kept you in the game up to this point. You’ve been in the forgetting, the numb safety of seeming comfort, of the apparent known. But it’s time. Now.