We are all witnessing a slow-motion car crash—watching the world unravel before our eyes. The state of things is heartbreaking, and often, we feel powerless to fix or even fully understand it. The weight of anxiety, grief, and dread for the future feels like a tidal wave poised to crash over us at any moment.
But here's the truth: we are in this together. And we must move forward rooted in that knowing—trusting it with every fibre of our being.
There is no us and them, no simple black and white, no tidy lines between good and evil. We are all human. Fragile, extraordinary beings sharing a delicate, awe-inspiring planet suspended in a quiet corner of the galaxy. We each have a brief life to live, and we live it on a planet abundant enough to provide for us all.
Right now, there may be no immediate solution to end the chaos, the genocide, the war mentality. And so we ask: What can we do?
We can choose to resist despair. We can find joy, truth, and strength within ourselves—and live from that place. We can connect with others on that level and begin to build communities rooted in sustainability and inclusiveness, even with those whose beliefs may differ radically from our own.
This isn’t about condoning cruelty. It’s about recognising the shadows within ourselves, healing them, and allowing our inner world to align with the world we long to see. Because no transformation can happen outside unless it first begins within.
Many elders and visionaries have prophesied this moment. And some now tell us: Wait. Do the inner work. Be ready. We are not just bystanders to the collapse of an old world—we are midwives to the new.
This is not a time for fear. This is a time for fierce love.
Love that dares to reach beyond the boundaries of identity, politics, race, and belief. Love that welcomes the stranger, that embraces the one who seems different. This is the kind of love that heals.
Our shared humanity is not a philosophy—it is a truth. And yes, we must rise. We must speak out against injustice, we must march, we must write, raise our voices, fly flags, and demand real justice. But at the same time, we must do the quiet, personal work. We must bring peace to the battlefield within.
The elders have always said, “As above, so below.” Our outer world reflects our inner one. If we want peace out there, we must find peace in here.
These are times that call us to come together, to create circles where no one is left out. There's an African proverb that says, “A child who is not embraced by the village will burn it down to feel its warmth.” We all have an inner child, or many, who were never embraced. Parts of ourselves we exiled, ignored, or judged.
We must find these parts. Listen to their pain. Invite them home.
Because once we welcome them—once we allow them to speak their sorrow, their rage, their longing—we begin to feel whole. We begin to understand what healing truly means.
And no, inner work doesn’t mean life becomes easy. It doesn’t end all conflict. The work is humbling. Daily. It will ask something of us, every single day.
And no, not everyone will belong in our lives. Some people, no matter how much we grow, will remain unsafe for us. That’s okay too. Our intuition exists to help us draw the lines that protect our soul.
But what inner work does give us is the courage to face the things we fear inside ourselves. It expands our capacity to love, to trust. It’s not glamorous work. It’s gritty, raw, and sometimes exhausting. But the result is a quieter mind. A steadier heart.
And in times like these—times that are anything but peaceful—what are we meant to do with that peace and love?
We hold circles. We make space. We stop pointing fingers long enough to turn inward, to stop projecting our pain onto the world. We get honest about our own wounds, our own blame, our own fear. And slowly, we become safe havens—for ourselves and for others.
These are times that call for more love. And love is, first and always, an inside job.
Love flows more freely when we face our fears. That is the paradox: we must befriend the enemies within to become a source of peace in a world bent on division.
While we wait for the new world—and it is coming—we do the work. And I promise you: it is not as frightening as the alternative.
Sometimes the healing begins with a gentle unveiling. A moment of stillness. A walk in nature. A deep breath. And in that silence, your inner guidance begins to stir. The love within you starts to rise, shyly at first, then more confidently—offering wisdom, offering grace.
It’s not easy. But in these times, it seems like there is no other way.
You have a rich inner life. A council of guides within you. They’re waiting for you to turn inward, to take one step toward them. They want nothing more than to show you the truth of who you are—and how deeply loved you’ve always been.
And that, above all, is one thing I know for sure.
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