Navigating the Mysteries of the Soul from Darkness to Light

There comes a time in every soul's journey when the call becomes too loud to ignore.

For me, that moment came softly, like a whisper carried on the wind. A persistent pull beneath the surface of my everyday life, beckoning me inward—into the great unknown, into the dark forest of the self, where truth often hides in shadows.

I had lived many lives in one lifetime—a daughter, a mother, a wife, a teacher, a seeker, and so much more. But none of those titles truly defined me.

Deep inside, I knew there was something far greater waiting to be uncovered, something sacred calling my name in the spaces between my breaths. I was on a quest to uncover the truths of the spiritual world—and, more importantly, to uncover my own.

As I answered the call and took my first steps into the darkness, I was not afraid. Not exactly. It wasn’t fear that gripped me—it was reverence. I knew instinctively that I was walking into a realm where ego could not survive, where masks would melt away, and where I would be asked to see myself fully… even the parts I had hidden away for far too long.

I wandered deep into the soul’s wilderness, past familiar beliefs and worn-out narratives. The deeper I ventured, the heavier the air became. The darkness wasn’t cruel—it was still, potent, watching. It wasn’t evil—it was ancient. And somehow, I felt I had been there before. I remembered this place, not with my mind, but with my soul. It was there, in that liminal space between fear and surrender, that I came upon it. -- An ancient book lay waiting for me, as if placed by divine hands in the exact spot I was destined to reach. The leather that bound it was worn with age, etched with sacred symbols that pulsed gently under my fingertips. At the center of its cover, the Tree of Life stretched upward and downward, its roots and branches mirroring each other—reminding me that above and below are one in the same.

I opened it with trembling hands, the scent of old parchment mingling with something more elusive truth.

The pages were alive with intricate script, handwritten in beautiful flowing strokes, inked in a language I didn’t know but somehow understood. Diagrams of energy, sacred geometry, and symbols I would later come to recognize as universal codes spilled across the parchment. This wasn’t just a book—it was a doorway, a map and a mirror.

It felt as though the pages were reading me as much as I was reading them.

As I turned each page, a voice, ancient and wise, began to whisper to me—not from the book, but from within. It stirred memories buried deep in my bones and reminded me of who I was long before I ever forgot. It spoke of light, yes—but it also asked me to go deeper into the darkness. To see it not as something to fear, but as something to honor. It was in the dark, after all, that the seeds of our soul begin to take root. That voice became my guide, echoing softly as I continued to descend through the veil that once separated my human self from my higher knowing.

And so, my journey truly began. I didn’t know then how deeply I would be transformed. I didn’t know that the darkness I had feared for so long was not my enemy—it was my teacher. That beneath the heaviness of my pain, my doubts, my unworthiness… was the light of the Divine, just waiting to be remembered. Finally, I was beginning to see it.

The veil had fallen. And behind it, I was finally face to face with the raw, untamed truth of my soul.

And that was only the beginning...

Once the veil had fallen, there was no turning back!

The ancient book had stirred something deep within me—a spark, a knowing, a recognition of truths I could no longer deny. But awakening doesn’t come gently. It often arrives through the unraveling, through the silent nights of questioning everything you thought you were.

I descended further, willingly, into the labyrinth of my soul. I knew that if I were to truly rise, I had to confront the shadowed parts of me—the old identities, the wounds, the unspoken griefs I had buried beneath layers of survival. It was there, in that dimly lit place of raw honesty, that I began to shed the skins of who I had once been.

In that darkness, I met myself. I mean, truly met myself—the version of me I had forgotten, the one I had silenced to please others or to simply make it through the day. I saw her. I sat with her. And I wept for all the times I didn’t.

The puddles at my feet—those emotional reflections—were not traps of shame, but sacred mirrors of my shadow self. I realized, then, they were only remnants of a former version of me that I had simply outgrown. I didn’t judge her. I reminded myself, “I was once her.” And because I had walked through that part of my journey, I could now see through eyes of compassion and wisdom.

Through my own darkness, only I could see what was right for me.

It was then that Spirit began to whisper again, this time guiding me toward something new… something healing...Reiki.

The word floated into my awareness like a feather on a still pond. I didn’t understand what it meant at first, but I felt its energy before I ever knew its definition. It pulsed with possibility. With life. With remembrance.

My path soon crossed with a woman whose presence radiated peace and quiet strength—Margo, a Reiki Master Teacher whose soul I recognized instantly. We had traveled together before in lifetimes past, I was certain of it. There was something eternal about our connection. She saw me not for who I had been, but for who I truly was beneath the wounds.

Under Margo’s guidance, I began my formal training in Reiki—Level I, then Level II. I remember the first attunement. The energy flooded my being like warm golden light, unlocking doorways I hadn’t known existed. For the first time in my life, I could truly meditate—quiet my mind, surrender, and enter the space between the breaths.

Reiki became the bridge between me and the Divine. It softened my edges. It cleared the static. It allowed me to feel the language of Spirit through my hands, my heart, and my intuition. I could sense the flow of energy through others, but most importantly, I began to sense it more clearly within myself. My connection to my Higher Self deepened. I no longer sought answers outside of me—I listened within.

I continued my Reiki journey with deep reverence, eventually reaching the Master level, not to claim mastery over others, but to master the energy within myself. To become a vessel. A light in service to others who still wandered through their own dark nights.

Margo remained a trusted soul companion throughout. Her teachings extended beyond the structure of Reiki—they flowed into the realm of true soul embodiment. She reminded me that healing wasn’t just about energy. It was about integrity, alignment, and living as the truest expression of who we are.

Along the way, spiritual guides began to appear—some in visions, others through dreams, and many in the form of people who crossed my path at just the right time. Each brought wisdom, guidance, and sacred reminders that I was never alone on this journey.

There were moments I thought I might lose myself entirely—but in truth, I was being remade.

The more I leaned into the stillness, the more I heard the ancient voice again, rising like a wind through the vastness of my being, guiding me, comforting me as I made my way through the shadows.

I began to live differently. More awake. More aware. I no longer saw the world through the lens of fear—I saw it as energy, constantly shifting, constantly teaching. I had become a student of light, yes—but also a mentor to those still navigating their darkness.

It became sacred to me, this life of spiritual devotion. I was no longer just seeking—I was embodying. I was no longer hiding—I was rising, like a phoenix on fire, awakening to the exorbitant light within me. I finally understood that without the darkness, we would never know the light. The contrast was necessary. It was beautiful. And every tear, every ache, every unanswered question had brought me here.

Here—where my visions were becoming clearer, where I moved like water, fluid and intuitive, connected to the rhythm of Spirit.

I was no longer afraid of the dark. I had danced with it. Learned from it. And now, I was walking out of it, carrying the torch of everything I had discovered.

And so, this chapter ends not with closure—but with initiation.

The journey from darkness to light is not linear. It spirals. It deepens. It expands. And as you walk with me through this path, I invite you to consider: What parts of your shadow are actually holding the keys to your freedom?

Your light is waiting. Let’s walk together.

Until next time -- think about what keeps you from looking within to find your own darkness -- then challenge those thoughts, allow yourself to lean into that fear and see what happens!

I promise you won't lose your light... you'll only find what separates the light from the dark and how you understand the difference!

See you soon! xoxo