Our Deep Need for Nature Time

Sometimes, stillness is the only way through.

First published in 2015, this message came through in 2014—a gentle yet firm reminder from my guidance team about the sacred importance of returning to the Earth.

At the time, I was moving through an intense and prolonged dark night—not just of the soul, but of the ego. It had unfolded slowly since my eldest son died in 2007 and I often couldn’t stay grounded or even feel present in my body—until nature reminded me how.

For me, 2014 was a year of clearing deep energetic patterning and dense emotional residue from other timelines. Many of you may relate now—but at the time, few were talking about what it meant to move such heavy, multilayered emotion, especially from beyond this lifetime.

It was the most intense emotional and spiritual initiation I’ve ever faced—both deeply challenging and physically draining. I was stripped of so much, including any sense of a stable identity. Often, I would lie on my back in the grass, seeking the cradling presence of Mother Earth as my body, mind, and spirit were being rewoven for the times ahead. All the while, I was navigating energies that felt like attacks—both from human sources and forces less visible.

Before this chapter, I’d lived with a great deal of joy and lightness. But during this time, I was dissolving quietly—rearranging from the inside out. Only one person in my life could hold a steady presence without retreating or projecting—at least for a while. She carried me through many years, and for that, I remain deeply grateful.

I made mistakes as old trauma surfaced—how could I not? Those around me had no framework for the depths I was navigating. Sometimes my voice would grow raspy, thinned by the energy moving through me that was clearing my energetic throat. My life force felt stretched. And still, few asked what was truly happening. Some around me mentioned I looked too thin. Funny how people will point out your weight, but not your wings—especially when they’re molting.

Getting my ego out of the driver’s seat and into the passenger’s seat was a sacred battle. I often felt isolated and disoriented, stripped of any familiar compass. On the human level, I sacrificed more than most could see—for the sake of inner peace. And yet, deeper loss awaited. When my youngest son also died, it felt as though their two departures formed the bookends of a 13-year passage—guiding me toward a conscious union with my true self.

In the depths of those initiations, I began to understand that no one could truly harm me without some form of inner permission. I was the gatekeeper. It wasn’t about building walls or becoming impenetrable—it was about noticing the openings in my own foundation where energy could enter. So, I turned inward. I worked to seal the cracks with awareness and love. And I took responsibility for the only soul I could truly transform: my own.

Now, while I still feel deep sorrow for humanity, I’ve come to see more clearly that when someone lashes out—through judgment, projection, or cruelty—they are ultimately harming themselves. Most don’t yet realize we all come from the same Source, drawn together for mutual growth. Not just mine. The difference in me is that I’ve learned to meet it calmly—without letting a wounded six-year-old part of me take the wheel.

Life in transition becomes most difficult when we resist the process—or try to rush our emergence from the cocoon. I’m grateful I stayed with it. That slow, sacred unraveling eventually brought deep peace and released me from patterns and relationships that no longer honored my soul. [I am not referring to my children.]

Amid all the unraveling, I received a simple but holy reminder: Stay close to nature. Stay close to the light within you. Stay close to the people and things around you that speak wisdom.

In retrospect, I recommend listening within—and going outside.

Oh... my wings are so heavy

sometimes, she says.

I don't know what to do.

I want to fly... to soar.

I want to show you that you can, too,

but my wings make it difficult if I stay inside too often.

Some days, I want to give up flight,

to curl up on the floor in the fetal position.

Yet, when I get outside, in nature,

my mood changes.

My wings become light, and

life becomes lovely again.

My friend, Flower of Life—

reminds me of the sacredness in all living things—

especially when I can’t get outside to see the pattern myself.

He's always telling me to "lighten up." I try to tell him that my wings aren't heavy outside.

Only when I’m stuck inside these

box-like structures humans call home.

He doesn't understand.

There isn't any way to compare our experiences.

Just like humans, we are both so unique.

We always talk about how they are like individual snowflakes...

that no two are the same—they are all so beautiful...

but they struggle to see it— in themselves or one another.

Go outside—where your wings remember their lightness,

and your sacred pattern can breathe again.

Please see yourself as the unique & divine being you are.

We love you. We always will. (This reflection arose during a spiritual coaching class in 2014.

The assignment was to listen intuitively to items in my space

and let them speak.

Mine spoke of nature and winged remembrance.)