I am currently staying in the home of a young mother whose 2.5-year-old daughter died. She is currently on an expedition in Antarctica. That is her way of coping with grief. The first time I stayed in her home, she was climbing a second or third of the Seven Summits, the one in Papua, New Guinea. I wasn’t sure how I would feel being here. I was a little hesitant, worried it might be too much, too heavy, especially since it was only a few weeks after a very life-threatening surgery and losing an organ. I hadn’t even begun to have the capacity to process what had just happened to me… I still haven't been able to in full.. I need time and space. But I also thought this place might carry medicine for my own process, for this close encounter I had with death. All of her baby daughter’s things are still here. Her room. Her play area in the living room. Photos of beautiful moments on the fridge, the dressers, everywhere. Her purée still in the fridge. Her bubble bath things in the bathroom. Her tiny pairs of shoes at the entrance. Her jackets hanging in the closet. I could have chosen not to come here. But I took it as an invitation… an invitation to potentially commune with death and grief in their own unique way. I couldn’t imagine a more painful thing in the whole wide world than a mother losing her child. My aunt lost hers. My cousin died when he was 18. The grief took me before I entered the home. Every time I looked at a photo, my body got heavy. Sad. Feeling just a glimpse of her pain. It took me three days of being in this grief-stricken home for the deep well of grief living inside me to finally spill out… dozens of books on grief surrounding me, picking them up at random, opening a page, reading a passage. Sitting in bed one night, all of a sudden, rivers of tears poured from deep within. Straight from the headsource… unforced, unencumbered, pure, abundant. It was here that I had a dream. I was at my grandmother’s funeral, lucidly I thought her passing in waking reality must be near. I woke up that morning to receive the news that she had passed away within the hour… while I was dreaming. #dailydhyana

Did I get banned or something?

She titled it "inspiration for you". An email from my therapist I found this am. GM Nostr. 🌞 "What the Goddess asks for is not understanding. She is not interested in how clearly we see, how spacious we feel, or how convincing our realization sounds. She is not impressed by insight, and she is not soothed by transcendence. What she asks for is contact. Direct, naked, immediate, relational. Contact with what has not yet been metabolized. Contact with what was set aside in order to survive. Contact with the places in the body and psyche that learned to go quiet, compliant, or invisible. This is why descent is unavoidable. In every genuine initiatory path, there comes a moment when clarity is no longer enough. When light, however beautiful, begins to feel thin. When the nervous system senses that something essential has been bypassed. The Goddess appears precisely there. She emerges out of the spacious darkness not to obscure or derail our path, but as a corrective to premature resolution. She draws consciousness downward—into the body, into sensation, into grief, rage, longing, erotic life force, and the unfinished business of relationship. She insists that what was left behind be met, not transcended. This is not a metaphor. In the body, it looks like emotions that no longer stay regulated by insight alone. In the psyche, it looks like shadow material that refuses to remain symbolic. In relationship, it looks like old attachment wounds resurfacing just when we thought we were “beyond” them. Many people mistake this moment for regression. It isn’t. It is initiation. The Goddess does not dismantle us because we have failed. She dismantles us because something more honest wants to live. Because the nervous system is ready for a deeper reorganization. Because love is asking to move from concept into flesh. This is where spirituality stops being about rising above, and becomes about incarnation. Not ascent, but descent. Not clarity alone, but intimacy. Not power, but surrender. And what emerges on the other side is not a brighter identity, but a more inhabited one—a life that can feel more, hold more, and love without leaving the body behind. This is the work she guards. And she does not rush it. Her timeline is written elsewhere, in the stars." Matt Liccata