What was intended to be a simple planning meeting turned into something far beyond what I could have anticipated—an experience that I will not soon forget, one that feels like it belongs somewhere between the tangible world and the deeper layers of awareness.
We began with an intentional card draw to guide the planning of our upcoming event. The cards drawn were:
Schisandra (The Herbal Astrology Oracle)
Great Expectations (Alchemy of Awareness)
High Priest (Angels & Ancestors)
The message felt clear and aligned:
Schisandra spoke to bringing diverse energies into harmony and finding balance within complexity. Great Expectations invited us to hold vision without becoming attached to outcomes. The High Priest emphasized spiritual leadership, sacred intention, and approaching this work as a container for transformation rather than simply event production.
Together, the reading suggested that what we are building is meant to be held with reverence, flexibility, and devotion to something greater than ourselves. The High Priest, in particular, felt like a blessing over the work—reminding us that this is not just organization, but sacred service.
At the time, everything felt deeply aligned. The symbolism mirrored exactly what we strive to embody in our work and in the events we hold: intention, openness, and trust in the unfolding.
But as the experience progressed, something shifted internally. What began as clarity moved into overwhelm. I entered a state where my perception of reality became unfamiliar, and I found myself confronted with an intense fear response—one that felt, at its peak, like the possibility of death.
In moments like that, familiar reference points fall away—control, certainty, identity, even the sense of time. It can feel like everything is dissolving at once. And yet, within that intensity, something else also became very clear: what anchors you when nothing else feels stable.
For me, that anchor was my family—my husband and my children. That connection brought me back into myself when everything felt like it was slipping away.
What I told myself in those moments was simple, but essential: “I know who I am, and this will pass.” Returning to that truth became a lifeline.
Looking back, I don’t see the experience as a prediction or message of death, but rather as a profound confrontation with fear, surrender, and grounding. These kinds of overwhelming states can sometimes feel like dying, but more accurately they reflect the temporary loss of familiar internal structure.
What stands out most now is not the fear itself, but the way I moved through it. The ability to return to center. The choice—moment by moment—to trust myself and remain anchored despite the intensity.
In reflecting on the original card spread, I can also see it differently now. Perhaps it wasn’t pointing to something external or literal, but instead highlighting the internal qualities I would need when faced with something far beyond expectation: balance, trust, and alignment with inner wisdom.
The lesson feels less like “something was predicted” and more like “you already had what you needed to move through it.”
After experiences like this, it can be easy to focus on the most dramatic aspects of what was felt or perceived. But what feels more meaningful in reflection is this: I returned to myself. I found center again.
And from that place, I can see that the capacity to stay grounded within inner storm is stronger than the storm itself.
We are all moving through experiences that range from expansive to overwhelming, sometimes both at once. If anything remains with me from this, it is the importance of staying anchored in truth, presence, and inner knowing—allowing something greater than fear to guide the way.
Something in me feels like it shifted through this. Not an ending, but a transformation—like a part of me dissolved so something more steady and aware could take its place.
