"Please Hold While I Translate From Soul to Human"

What comes in whole often comes out in pieces.

I’ve often felt I am both a receiver and a transmitter, and what I receive doesn’t arrive in straight lines.

When I’m part of a communication, I don’t just see the person or people standing in front of me, or simply hear their words. I feel the energy beneath everything.

I can be listening to someone while also sensing what they are not saying. I may feel the energy — the feelings, thoughts, or beliefs beneath the tone — or the tension beneath a smile. I may sense the conflict between what is being presented and what is truly moving under the surface, or even the residue of something that happened before they ever entered the room.

At the same time, other impressions may be coming from every direction — practical concerns, intuitive knowing, symbolic meaning, old patterns being stirred, and the larger context surrounding the moment. The sheer volume of what arrives so rapidly can feel overwhelming and difficult to sort quickly.

Then, when I open my mouth, people likely wonder why I skipped from A to Q and they can’t follow. My challenge is not perception. It is translation.

Sometimes I simply need to pause long enough to say:

"Please hold while I translate from Soul to Human."

At times, rather than feeling as though I’m receiving one clear thought, it is more like being flooded with an entire field of information at once. If I try to speak it all, the other person can feel flooded too, and I have often wondered what to do with that.

Drinking From a Two-Way Firehose

One time, an employer said I didn’t look her in the eye when I spoke, as though that meant I couldn’t be trusted. What she did not understand — though I tried my best to explain — was that sometimes looking away helps me speak more coherently. It helps me take a bit of time to tune into the source of the flowing information. Otherwise, it can feel like trying to drink from an energetic firehose while also being expected to explain what the water contains.

And it is never my intention to turn that firehose on someone else. Yet, this is the challenge:

• First, there is what I sense,

  
  

• then what I can translate,

  
  

• then what I say out loud,

  
  

• and finally, what others understand.

  
  

Those are not the same thing.

For some of us, the distance between them can be enormous.

It is not always because we are confused. It is not because we are dishonest. And it is not because we are trying to be complicated. Sometimes it is because what arrives in us comes whole, while language only comes one sentence at a time.

Sometimes, too, the flood is not only about what is happening in the present moment. It can also have to do with how much has been held internally for a long time, without enough space to process, speak about, or share it.

A person can live through intense experiences or simply carry a great deal alone. Then, when someone is finally present to receive them, more may come through than the moment can gracefully hold. The firehose can turn toward those new connections, accelerating depth before there is enough trust or grounding to hold what is actually coming through. And that isn’t the other person’s responsibility.

In my case, I often sense that I planned too many Earth School courses in too short a time coming into this life. At times, the intensity of those experiences came through with more force than anyone, myself included, could reasonably bear or hold alone. 

When Translation Takes Time

What overwhelms me is not simply having a lot to say. It is having so much arrive before there has been time to sort it and choose what actually belongs in words. Some of it is not meant to be spoken. Some of it is only meant to be felt. Some of it still needs time to be received. Often, the sorting takes so long that I end up saying nothing. Yet silence serves no one.

I have often wished more people understood that some of us are not struggling because we have nothing within us to say, or because we are not perceiving intelligently, but because we are perceiving deeply. We are struggling because so much is happening within us that it takes real effort to bring it through clearly. And often, by the time we do speak, what others hear is only the smallest portion of what was ever there.

That can be lonely. It can also make a person doubt themselves, especially when they know they meant something sincere, but it lands in a way they never intended. Still, I have learned that this does not mean there is something wrong with me. It means I have to honor the difference between inner knowing and spoken language. It means I sometimes need more time, more quiet, more space, and more care in how I communicate. It means translation is part of the process.

It also means I cannot expect to be quickly understood by those who do not take time to truly listen. Some forms of perception, some forms of feminine complexity, and some ways of moving through the world cannot be known at a glance. They take time. They take curiosity. They take the willingness to ask rather than assume.

Some people are not difficult to know because they are hiding. They simply take longer to know because more is moving beneath the surface than can be seen at first glance.

Perhaps that is part of what I am learning: not everyone is meant to understand me quickly, and not every misunderstanding needs to be chased. Real connection asks more of us than instant conclusions. It asks for humility. It asks for openness. It asks for a willingness to let another person reveal themselves in layers.

The Meaning Behind Awkward Moments

Over the years, I’ve realized that my awkward moments — silence, pauses, questions, or stumbles — do not mean I am not tracking what is happening. Nor do they mean I need someone else to tell me what I think, feel, or perceive. I do not need someone else to define me or the situation. I need them to ask and then listen to my experience with curiosity. We speak often of emotional intelligence, yet far less of intuitive intelligence — the quiet capacity to register what is subtle, layered, symbolic, and not immediately visible. For some of us, this is not abstract. It is part of daily life. And in a world that does not yet know how to support it well, it is often misunderstood.

More often than not, those awkward moments mean the translation is still happening, and that may take some time. What I need is time and patience to create some order out of what I am receiving. Then I can transmit it in a way another person can follow, without either of us losing the thread.

Yet in this 60-second soundbite world, patience is rarely the word of the day. Action, focus, and immediate clarity are. Yet Spirit does not speak in words but in packets of light and information. I can personally feel frustrated when I cannot offer those packets more coherently, and this is part of why my work has always been about more than explanation. It has been about creating enough space for exploration — enough safety and enough depth for what is subtle, layered, and hard to translate to finally be received.

Some things are understood in light before they are understood in words.

Some people, especially those who live with one foot in the unseen, will understand this immediately. For others, it may sound abstract. But for those who know, no explanation is really needed. They have lived the strange distance between what comes in, what can be said, and what is actually heard.

I have no final answers. Yet I do feel that those of us who know this terrain need to find one another. We need more curiosity, more authenticity, more humility. We cannot know another any better than we know ourselves, and the path to knowing begins with asking — not deciding, not judging, not telling. We are pieces of a greater whole. We need one another for our unique chords of the song. Otherwise, the song never becomes a melody. It remains chaos.

If this speaks to you, you may find more of my writing and work here.

~ We are all transforming. In union, the process is more graceful. ~