The Struggle And The Magic In The Process

Returning to the Sacred Rhythm Within

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We live in a culture that teaches us to hurry through discomfort.
To mask the process.
To chase success in metrics instead of meaning.

Yet—
Life is a process.
And the process… takes time.
It unfolds in breaths and seasons—
in moments that ache and others that shimmer.
It is not linear. It is not neat.
It pulses in spirals and stillness.
It asks for presence—not perfection.

But somewhere along the way, we learned to forget that.

We’ve stretched ourselves far from the natural rhythm of things—
the slow, sacred timing of the Earth,
the breath of a season,
the wild, intelligent unfolding of grief, joy, or change.

And we feel it—
in the confusion,
in the numbness,
in the quiet ache of not knowing why we feel so far from ourselves.

We forget that the seed must dissolve before it blooms.
That the caterpillar becomes unrecognizable before the wings arrive.
That grief and growth often share a bed.

There is an ache that comes with being human—
the ache of not knowing how long a chapter will last,
of not yet seeing the fruit of your inner work,
of shedding identities faster than your outer world can keep up.

In that liminal ache, urgency can arise.
And right now, urgency is everywhere—globally and personally.
But not all urgency is sacred.
Some of it is a pressure to perform, to resolve, to arrive.
But sacred urgency feels different.
It doesn’t demand perfection—it invites presence.

Most of us were taught to push, to strive, to hustle for our worth.
But urgency without reverence burns us out.
It fragments us.

The sacred fire within you, however, does the opposite.
It doesn't push from fear—
it pulls from truth.
And that pull is what changes everything.

It's the ache of transformation—
that tender stretch between what has been shed
and what has not yet taken form.
To the wild, holy fire of sacred rage
that erupts not only as destruction, but as devotion—
a refusal to keep betraying what is true inside in coherence with the heart.

And through that— the unexpected quiet that can simultaneously exist…
a soft peace that doesn't erase the ache,
but holds it with reverence.

It honors the bewildering spaces
where the old maps no longer apply,
where meaning dissolves
and your only orientation is the pulse of your own becoming.
You may not know where you're headed—
but still, you are held.

This path is not about proving worth through healing.
Not rushing toward some polished arrival—
but allowing the truth of who you are
to root deeper,
to unravel gently,
to move at the sacred pace of trust.

The Struggle of Everyday Life

Your body often knows before your mind does—
and what feels like discomfort may actually be sacred fire knocking.

It might show up as:

✧ That ache in your belly, that rush of heat in your throat 

✧ Feeling behind before you’ve even opened your eyes 

✧ Scrolling for connection, but feeling more disoriented

✧ Guilt for needing rest

✧ Wondering why you're still stuck in a pattern you thought you'd healed 

✧ Questioning your worth when the outer world doesn't yet reflect your inner knowing 

✧ A heartbreak that unearths childhood wounds 

✧ A loss or experience that rearranges everything you thought you knew 

✧ A fog of confusion so thick it settles in your bones

✧ Longing to belong, but not knowing where or how anymore

✧ The feeling of being in a void

These are not detours.
They are the rhythm itself.

Even confusion—yes, even that—is sacred.

In energy sessions, I’ve felt it arrive like a thick fog… insistent and heavy… bringing the urge to just “make it go away.”
But the moment I give it permission—“I allow confusion to be here”—something shifts.
It softens.
As if it’s saying: Now I can do what I came here to do.

Because confusion has a function.
It stirs the pot. Makes us question, and in doing so—
The process of it clears the noise.
It dissolves the false and lets what’s real rise to the surface.

It’s the pull of our inner being that causes us to ache not only for what’s next—
but for what’s real.

And in that ache, something ancient stirs.
Something tender.
Something untamed.
Calling us to remember that we were never meant to contort ourselves to fit into someone else’s version of “enough.”

There’s struggle in that remembering—
but there’s also sacredness.
A luminous homecoming.
One that doesn’t ask us to shrink,
but to root deeper into the wholeness we already are.

So when you’re in a space where things feel murky—
where the work is deep and the outcomes are quiet—
know this:

You are not broken.
You are not behind.
You are in process.
And the process is holy.

Involution: A Return to Wholeness

We often speak of evolution as if growth must always be upward or outward.
But what if the next step isn’t out… but in?

Richard Rudd calls this involution—the inward journey back to the source.
It’s how we meet our shadows,
reclaim the gifts hidden beneath layers of fear,
and remember what the noise tried to make us forget.

It’s not self-improvement.
It’s self-remembrance.

As we each do this… the entire world shifts.
We stop creating from dissonance.
We begin creating from resonance.
Not because we are the same—
but because we are each attuned to our own unique rhythm.
And from that place… we harmonize.

Magic: the Process

The magic has never been somewhere else.
It lives here—

In the breath that softens your chest after holding too much.
In the tears streaming down your eyes while washing dishes, as an unexpected truth quietly lands.
In the pause before you scroll, when you choose instead to stay with yourself.

These small, sacred moments?
They collapse time.
They reweave connection.
They return you to a rhythm that isn’t rushed—
but deeply reverent.

A rhythm where even confusion, grief, and stillness have a place.
Nothing is wasted.
Nothing is out of place.
It’s all part of the tapestry.
Not asking to be bypassed—
only witnessed, welcomed, and folded back into the wholeness you already are.

This is sacred momentum.
Not born from pressure, but from coherence.
From burning true, instead of burning out.
From staying aligned with what’s real, even when the world can’t yet see it.

And here’s the grace:
You don’t have to be finished to be sacred.
You don’t need answers to be holy.
There is divinity in your longing.
There is wisdom in the space between stories.

This isn’t about striving.
It’s about remembering.
Honoring the wisdom innate in your natural rhythm.
Trusting that the fire that burns away what is false is the same one that illuminates your path home—
not in a sprint,
but in a sacred returning to yourself,
again and again.

Come back to the pulse.
To your breath.
To the truth of what’s here.

The process is not separate from the miracle—
It is the miracle.

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