There are moments in life
where we stretch forward
with all our heart,
only to feel ourselves pulled
three steps back.
We long for a new beginning,
yet find ourselves tangled
in the familiar.
The known.
The uncomfortable comfort
of old routines.
They never taught us
how to listen to the voice within.
Not in school.
Not in the systems we grew up in.
They didn’t teach us
to follow purpose.
To honour our gifts.
To build lives
not just to survive,
but to serve —
ourselves, each other, the Earth.
And so, once again,
I found myself falling.
Backwards.
Into panic.
Into the echo of old programming
that says,
Find something new — a job, a house, a fix.
The noise got loud.
So loud, I almost forgot
what I already know.
What I’ve been building
since the stillness of lockdown.
You see,
I’ve been walking a path.
A path not paved by others.
One where I guide souls
through their healing.
Where I hold space
for people to come back
to their humanness.
A path where I dream
of sacred land,
a place to remember Earth,
to feel her heartbeat,
to return to what is real.
And though I’m not “there” yet —
that word again: yet —
I now see the pattern clearly.
The backward steps.
The triggered response.
The illusion of failure.
It’s all part of the dance.
All part of the becoming.
Because I’ve witnessed transformation.
I’ve held hands through trauma.
I’ve watched others rise,
miraculously,
beautifully.
And in those moments,
I’ve felt joy.
Real joy.
The kind that can’t be bought or borrowed.
The kind that lives in purpose.
So I turn inward.
Again.
Willingly.
This is the season
of trust.
Of releasing the beliefs
I didn’t choose.
Of shedding the subconscious fear
I never questioned.
It’s time.
To allow the Divine to move through me,
unfiltered.
To surrender,
and to rise.
Not perfectly.
But truthfully.
We are waking up.
To a new world.
To a new consciousness.
And even when we fall —
we are still rising.
One breath,
one step,
one miracle
at a time.
Shamanic Healing 