On September 13, 2020, a man I had loved for fifteen years died suddenly in my arms. Death was already everywhere. And then death entered my house. Six years later, I can tell the truth I could not fully write then.

“I feel hurt.”

“You hurt me.”

How did someone else get the power to hurt you?

They got it from you.

Did you mean to give it?

Sometimes what happened was painful. But not every painful truth has to become a wound. Sometimes the most useful thing another person gives us is information.

Some encounters with the sacred soothe us. Others undo us.

Mysterium tremendum names the mystery, awe, terror, and fascination we can feel in the presence of something far greater than ourselves.

Sometimes that arrives through beauty. Sometimes through grief. Sometimes through a landscape so vast it reminds us how small we are.

And sometimes awe has teeth.

I have gurus. I’ve met several, learned from them, questioned them, and gone looking for one of my own. With guru scandals back in the conversation, I’m examining what the guru relationship is actually meant to be — and what happens when devotion, authority, discernment, and truth collide.

People talk about Mercury retrograde. I watch Saturn. Now retrograde in Revati—the final nakshatra of the final sign—Saturn is confronting what has expired, what remains unfinished, and what must be completed before the next cycle can begin.

A woman practicing āsana is not converting to another religion or abandoning Christ. So why is yoga still treated as spiritually dangerous? This essay examines the fear, ignorance, and religious superiority behind the question—and what that fear reveals about Christianity itself.

Holding space is not the same as holding the weight.

Holding space says:

I can be present with you.

Holding the weight says:

I will take this on so you do not have to.

Holding space allows someone to meet their own life.

Holding the weight quietly interrupts that process.

Every moment leaves something behind.

A conversation leaves residue. A betrayal leaves residue. A loving embrace leaves residue. An injury leaves residue.

The body remembers. The nervous system adapts. Relationships carry unfinished conversations. Life leaves impressions.

The bones broke near the wrist.

But the hand is living the aftermath.

Not just of the injury.

Of the surgery.
Of the swelling.
Of the dislocation.
Of the immobilization.
Of the long, slow work of returning.

This injury has taught me that healing is not only about getting back what was lost. It is also about learning how to be with what is limited, how to work with what is available, and how to let function return without turning recovery into a war.

This is about the programming of consumer culture and the beauty industry — especially the version aimed at women — that points to a natural process called aging, calls it a flaw, makes you feel ashamed of it, and then sells you a product or procedure to fix it.

The X-ray showed me the break.

It did not show me the long, humbling aftermath.

It did not show me how much healing would ask of me.

I have spent years helping people cross thresholds. Now I am writing from inside one.

I could not have written this earlier. I had to return to trusting my own read, my body, my perception.

Threshold work is not something I offer because I’ve avoided the edge. It is something I offer because I know the edge changes you.

On the flight home, I had my first business class pod experience.
I was comfortable. Taken care of. Enjoying myself.

And then a Carole King song came on. “I feel the earth move under my feet. I feel the sky tumbling down.” That’s what I had experienced in India.

I love her.
Her music brings me back to something innocent —
before life told me who I couldn’t be or what I shouldn’t want.

There were nights I was in considerable physical pain. Amma told us She was performing “surgery” on us every day — removing obstacles, clearing karma, and purifying our systems.

All I can say to that is: Wow.

Even now, weeks later, I find myself at a loss for words — because my body feels different. Physically different. Not just lighter or stronger or more open. Something more fundamental.

I don’t know how to describe it exactly. But I know something changed.
Something recalibrated.

Mysterium tremendum—a phrase coined by theologian Rudolf Otto—is the experience of encountering the vast, awe-inspiring, and sometimes terrifying presence of the Divine. It is the feeling of being utterly small and yet profoundly connected. It is the rush of energy that overtakes you when you stand on the precipice of something beyond comprehension.

You’ve been taught to manage your emotions—
to curate your face,
to dress your pain up in spiritual quotes
and Instagram “transparency.”
You’ve learned to suck it up, get over it,
never let anyone see you break.

But here’s the truth:
The world doesn’t need any more “high-vibe” bypass or performance grief.
The world needs you to crack open and let the wild, holy mess out.

The Gospel of Judas shattered the church’s foundation: Jesus wasn’t betrayed, he was freed. Awakening wasn’t heresy — it was the very thing the institution feared.

Is Christianity really about Jesus? Or has it become tangled in fear, control, and Bible distortion? This piece exposes the gap between Christ’s teachings and what many practice today — and why so many are walking away.

They crucified the man, then buried the message. The church turned awakening into heresy and killed those who claimed direct access to God. This is the story of the silenced teachings of Jesus.