In the past few months, Spirit has begun showing me new types of information when I conduct readings for clients. This has happened many times over the years as my practice has deepened and my channel has opened. At some point my connection with Spirit evolves, and then new layers of understanding and information are revealed to me.
I am home from a month in the jungles of Costa Rica where I was vacationing with my sweet family and teaching back-to-back transformational meditation retreats with my older sister Lacy Young. For two weeks we watched beautiful souls soften and transform on meditation cushions right across from us, their lives utterly and totally changed. I left the experience completely renewed and deeply grateful for this incredible work she and I get to do together.
Retreating is near and dear to my heart, and it's something I prioritize in my own life. In the last five years I've attended at least one week-long meditation retreat a year (some years more than one) with many other workshop weekends peppered in for good measure.
I lead retreats because I believe in it. Fiercely. And because I've seen the powerful ripples faithfully attending them has created in my own life. In fact, if it weren't for that first meditation retreat all those years ago, I wouldn't be doing the work I'm doing now.
There is a thickness to my breath that wasn’t there two weeks ago.
Thick with power. Like it’s taking up space in this confident, sure-of-itself sort of way.
It rushes into my body in mighty waves and then flows out with ease and achievement, knowing where it’s been and proud of the work it’s done.
I’ve been cultivating this space for my breath. For a string of 10 or 12 days I have abandoned the booming music and guided voices of my many trusted meditation tracks, and I’ve been sitting in the sweet silence peppered by only my breath.
It was time for a stripping back.
It happened again.
But this time I was 15 stories up peering out over miles and miles of shimmering blue waters in front of me. The morning sun was soft and gauzy, and the sounds of the ocean sang a soothing tune that echoed on my heart. I was flowing through yoga poses and carefully twisting my body when the sabotage began yet again.
The road to discovering, unlocking and refining my mystical abilities has been a radical experiment in following my curiosity and wildly trusting myself. Ask anyone who actively flexes their clairsenses for a living about their experience with understanding and managing those gifts, and they'll undoubtedly tell you it's a mine field of high highs and low lows.
The work I do isn't taught in schoolrooms growing up. There isn't an accredited manual to reference when things get weird. And there isn't an alumni group waiting to pat you on the back and validate your woes.
Today I sat in mediation with tears streaming down my face, and I saw the litany of ways flash before my eyes that I've been beating myself up lately. Big things. Tiny things. Strange little things you wouldn't even imagine.
Like the planter in my window. I tried to start cilantro from seed about a month or two ago, and while three little shoots popped up to say hello, they eventually fizzled and fell. Now the planter is sitting in the window with dried out soil and tiny little cilantro carcasses, and I didn't even realize it was making me feel bad.