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.

Saturn is often referred to as the “Great Teacher” or “Taskmaster” of the zodiac. It represents discipline, responsibility, structure, and the lessons we must learn in life. Unlike the more benevolent energies of planets like Venus or Jupiter, Saturn’s influence can feel challenging and demanding. However, it’s through these challenges that we grow, mature, and gain wisdom.

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.

They crucified the man and built a business on his name. The church turned salvation into transaction and access to God into control. But awakening isn’t for sale — it never was.

These aren’t cute Sanskrit terms to sprinkle on a yoga class or spiritual meme. They are doorways into the Divine. And if you’re a teacher — in yoga, in spirituality, in life — you carry a responsibility when you speak them.

Because words like these shape how people live. When you flatten them, you lead people into bypass, victimhood, and shame. When you embody them, you point people back to Truth.

Sophia is the Divine Feminine before the erasure.
The ache in your bones to remember what you were taught to forget.
The voice under the noise. The knowing behind the veil.
The split in your own soul that’s been trying to come back into wholeness.

And if you’re reading this?
It’s probably not the first time She’s called you home.

Taught you were born bad? That Jesus died because of you? That God was angry? The betrayal wasn’t Jesus on the cross — it was the church’s distortion of his message. Here’s the truth.

We don’t need to be saved from sin.
We need to be saved from the lies the church told us.
Just like the ones society and government told us.
From the truths they took out on purpose —
the ones people were burned alive for remembering.

We need saving from:
– The shame economy.
– The belief that God is outside us.
– The business of religion that sells salvation like it’s a limited-time offer.
– The separation myth.
– The edits. The mistranslations. The centuries of spiritual colonialism.

We were never the problem.
The system was.

They erased the women.
Silenced the mystics.
Crushed the rebels.
Packaged the holy into pulpits and paywalls.

But the truth?
It never died.
It hid.
And now — it’s roaring back through every soul brave enough to say:

“I don’t need saving.
I need remembering.”

“The Kingdom is within me.”

“God never left.”

I see so many people returning to Christianity out of pain and unresolved fear — and rejecting everything they once explored as “New Age deception.” I see astrology, energy work, and ancient mystical systems being trashed by people who once used them as lifelines. 

And it’s not OK. 

Not because Jesus is the problem — but because they’ve confused their longing for safety with the need to exile anything that doesn’t agree with where they think they’ve found it.

But Jesus was never afraid of the unfamiliar. He walked into temples and overturned tables. He spoke in parables. He wandered into deserts. He held hands with the outcasts.

So if you love Jesus — wonderful. Me too. But don’t tell me I can’t love Him and chant mantra, read the sky, honor the Goddess, and speak with trees. Don’t tell me that Christ must be alone on the altar. 

Because the One I know? He walks with all of them. And loves any sincere worship of God.

Before you came here, you said yes. Not to the comfort. Not to the clarity. But to the forgetting.

You agreed to fall asleep—so waking up would mean something. You didn’t mess up. You didn’t get lost. You kept your part of the deal.

The Soul’s Vow to Forget Forgetting wasn’t a mistake. It was sacred design. Because remembering what you never forgot—without ever forgetting it—wouldn’t crack you open. It wouldn’t humble you. It wouldn’t change you. It would just be information. And information doesn’t save anyone. But remembrance? Remembrance resurrects.