Kaleidoscope

It was the first time I had done this. And it wasn’t. Seven years ago, a glimmer pierced through layers of armor, and I found myself alive. I had forgotten it all and then, like awakening from a fever dream in the aether from which I had been lost. Each moment, it drifted further from a place I could never return. The center of my universe had cracked wide open to reveal someone I had never met, yet I had known my entire life.

The kaleidoscope window cast a rainbow across my knee and caught my eye as I stared down at my legs. These legs have been with me my entire life. I’m grateful for these legs. They’ve seen it all. Every step. They’ve run miles, played, and danced. Oceans have crashed at my ankles, and my thighs wrapped around lovers. They have carried me my ENTIRE LIFE. An overall sense of gratitude washed over my temple, a wave of warmth and light. I remember.

When the world beneath me crumbled, I sought guidance from the great mother. Belly to the earth, to the roots of her ancient memories, a sweet whisper: Show me what I need to know. An incantation. An intentional call to source, to Ma, to guide me to the wisdom of my womb. Here, I’ve traveled to places I was unable to see, eyes wide shut, through the underworld, through the walls that had built around me. All the ways I had imprisoned myself, now unshackled.

A wave crashing at my edges, calling me deeper. It would all be revealed in the perfect moment. Divine timing. Trust. The renovation of my temple revealed a deep remembrance. A restoration. An honored duty to bring life to the parts of myself that had been neglected. I remembered a deep remembering… no part of me needed to be gutted and discarded. It was not faulty or flawed; it all served. It was all perfectly imperfect. The light pierced through a weathered crack, its brilliance guiding me through the shadows, hidden behind decades of neglect and complacency. Shielded behind a militia of fear in witnessing its wholeness. Behind it all sat a sacred temple, a secret garden, a lost civilization hidden within and ready to be rediscovered.

***

I had been here before. In other timelines and incarnations. We all have. And in this lifetime, some of us would remember it. Our soul would awaken to it again and again, but would we be present for the awakening or turn away, fearful? We would bear witness with compassion — or maybe lock it away and hide the key. It had been lost for lifetimes until the right time. The divine time — only then would it be revealed. There would be a time when enough of us remembered it so deeply that ALL of us had no choice but to follow the light.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. There have been cycles of life, death, and rebirth for as long as we have existed. Evolution is unrecognizable in the moment. The shift is almost invisible until decades have passed, and even then… unclear. Hazy like a distant memory of someone else’s journey.

And there are times like this. Times when there is an upheaval, a death that shatters the structures and illusions that have created a frame around our reality. A moment like this, when the call… when the pull for something more is an unseen force so strong that we have no choice but to rise. No choice but to listen and take action.

This death isn’t anything we have prepared for. We couldn’t have prepared for it. We never can. Death is feared because we fear change. A great teacher once said, “We want everything to change, only if nothing changes.” We fear the unknown, so we stay inside the lines. Behind the wall. We stay tucked away, safe and isolated from the destruction and chaos around us. But are we ever really safe from it all? Or is that just another illusion woven by fear? Because here’s the thing about isolation — the more we self-isolate, the more we close ourselves off from connection, from feeling. When we become disconnected from the community, we become MORE fearful. Afraid to be seen, to be safe, to be heard. We become fractured, fallen from our wholeness.

***

I had set the circle expecting maybe 5–8 people at the most. I carefully crafted the group altar. A yellow candle and a feather to the east, Air. Orange candle and carnelian stone to the south, Fire. Blue candle and a smudge mist to the west, Water. Green candle and a pinecone to the North, Earth. In the center, a white candle representing our light and spirit. Source. Ma. As folks began arriving, we gathered and quickly expanded the circle. More people poured in; we grabbed cushions and blankets and created space for each other. THIS is what divine feminine looks like. We create space. We hold space. Eighteen people filled the space of the sanctuary that night. I could feel the static of the full moon and our collective light — the pure magic of a room pregnant with remembrance.

I have done this hundreds of times. But I could still feel a sense of anxious energy, imposter syndrome creeping up. The curse of a woman who dares to take up space. I have held space as a teacher, a mentor, a guide, a friend, and facilitator. I had been here before. And… it was all brand new.

For the last several months, I had been peeling away the layers of what used to be. I examined. I explored. I exposed what was not my voice, what was no longer authentically me, in an effort to show up in this world as my FULLEST self. I had given my body, my spirit freely to some, hidden it from others. I had scooped out the shame onto a silver platter, and now we feast. Placed on the altar of my temple. An offering. An open house, a work-in-progress, on display. I might be too much for some people. And that’s okay. It’s okay to not be liked or even digestible. Ahhhhh, a sigh of relief. Goodbye, a layer of tacky people-pleasing wallpaper glued over a delicate hand-painted mural. The restoration. Here lies the beauty of it all — the jewels, the glass, the light creating something so beautiful — the kaleidoscope. My heart. My soul.

***

As people shared, they spoke of the fragmented pieces of themselves placed into boxes. See this. Hear This. A Mother. A Teacher. A Sister. A Career. A Passion. A voice. A pretty face. A Witch. A Woman. Not a Woman or a Man. Both… a piece for you. A piece for me. We dared to feast on the entirety of our being. We shared and connected through a golden thread in the weave of our collective hunger for more. A thread of light brought us together. We needed it. We wanted community. We yearned for a soft place to land and people to walk alongside us when it was a crash landing. Yet we had all felt lost, fragmented, isolated — self-inflicted or as a circumstance of society. For some of us, the conditions of our current political climate or any other factors had left us feeling detached and longing to be woven together. We had all come here. We could all identify with making ourselves small and unseen to feel safe. The wound of a woman. The wound of a Witch. We had ALL, in some way or another, fashioned a padlock and locked ourselves deep in the corner of the dark basement in our own temple, afraid to simply exist. Drapes drawn tightly. Fearful of being seen.

The calling to create this container came from somewhere beneath the surface of the earth. Deep in my roots. I had first brought it forward as an idea three years ago. It was a time for change. Of uncertainty. AND it wasn’t the right time. I needed time to marinate, to restore, and remember who the fuck I was before I could really BE here. I endeavored to create a space for female-identifying and non-binary folks to connect, feel safe, and let down their walls. A potluck of pieces of each of us. To feast upon the hidden truths. To be open and supportive — and open to support. A sanctuary to uplift each other and make space for the fullness of who we dared to be.

As I looked at the new faces around me — only a few of us friends or acquaintances — the energy was the beat of the earth’s heart synced with my own. We arrived with pure intentions, cracked open. Our bits and pieces puzzled together, we let the light shine through our kaleidoscope. We dared to see our brilliance. The more we shared these parts of ourselves, we realized we knew each other all along — we had just forgotten.