The Valley of Threshold
I firmly believe we can’t miss something that’s truly right for us.
I’ve felt the accuracy of these words in the heights of excitement, the lows of disappointment, and the doldrums of boredom.
This inner knowing creates space for peace, hopefulness and patience to reside alongside frustration, confusion and longing. Which is helpful, ‘cause we experience all the things!
Most recently I felt this while hiking in Raggeds Wilderness of Western Colorado (close to where I’m currently house sitting). Somehow I missed the intended trail by 20 miles (hmmmm) and found myself on a path less traveled that led me up a steep ascent and into a hidden valley. Evergreen forests merged with aspen groves which then opened into a spacious meadow surrounded by the Southern Rockies. A crystalline river ran through. I was the only human there (see video below).
It was breathtaking and completely unexpected. It moved me deeply.
The smell of an alpine forest and the rush of living water over my toes touches places within me that I can scarcely name. I wasn’t looking for it, but was led there nonetheless. It was freely given.
This cloaked valley feels reflective of where I currently find myself in Life’s adventure.
Deep in the unknown. Drawn to silence. Unclear as to the destination but here in presence, gratitude and service to what is directly in front of me.
I’m here for the purification, for the higher levels, for the emergent.
More wants to come through, but I don’t know what. Sometimes this feels peaceful, exciting even. Other times it’s agonizing and deeply humbling. I feel the pressure, but the living momentum has yet to take form.
I’ve extensively explored the Garden and the Tree of Giving and Receiving: true abundance, real service, honest overflow, open receiving, love-pulsed economies, etc. But more recently, it’s been all about the void—which of course is part of the Garden. It’s been about the sacred in-between. The hidden valley. The emptiness that’s in the fullness. The fullness in the emptiness. And the slowness and silence required to fully enter in.
The next level of abundance, embodiment and true creativity emerges from this spaciousness—never from a past template or the traunches of lack.
I find myself in this literal and metaphorical valley after seasons of heavy shedding. Of crawling back to my parents’ home after deep heartbreak, extreme dis-ease and a tremendous release of land, love, resources and community close to three years ago. It’s been a season of relearning to walk, clarifying my speech and detoxing my body. Of forgiveness and the erection of necessary boundaries. I’ve been sweating it out in sweet home Alabama, reconnecting with my family and sitting with both the love and discomfort.
It’s been a time of anonymity—of becoming nobody. A time of loosening ambition and the metrics of success lauded by both society and the spiritual. Of taking responsibility and putting my life in order—piece by piece, detail by detail. It’s been an era of questioning... And then releasing the questions. Of seeing knowledge for what it is.
It’s been a thorough initiation in unapologetic nakedness and cringe-worthy vulnerability.
Yep, I deleted the Instagram; released the poetry; burned 15 years of journals; cleared closets, inboxes and drives. That woman is no longer here. I’m not rejecting her... yet those identities have moved on through. So many relationships have reorganized or concluded. I refer to my small handful of friends as the few and the proud ;)
But what’s left? What’s on the other side of such a clearing? Sometimes I’ve felt barely human. Even this book and work on Abundant Beingness looks different from what I anticipated. It feels both critical and completely irrelevant. At one point I thought my “service” would include supporting wealth stewards as they transitioned from the weight of excess and the grief of holding what is no longer right for them, into the joy of aligned giving and real prosperity. More recently it’s looked like babysitting, sitting in silence, and helping my grandma sort her email. There was also the dream of the Pod Cohort, but this has yet to materialize. This type of structure may not even be necessary.
I’m ok with it—just noticing. Sometimes I feel that I’m here to be a signal. A space holder, a frequency marker, a morphic field, as I embody Abundant Beingness in my own microcosm and embody more Love on this planet. The ripples are real. I know—I’ve seen the effects. But sometimes I also sense there are more tangible expressions that want to come through me as well.
I’ve felt plenty of insecurity and defensiveness that I’m not out there creating more, doing more, and (if I’m honest) being recognized for more. The voice of self-judgment arises as I pass on opportunities that sound exciting on paper, important for these times and aligned in vision, and yet the sense of congruence and true calling remains elusive.
“What do I want to do?” Crickets.
I’ve experienced paralysis and creative frustration. Every medium has been like dead weight. Beginning again feels daunting if not insurmountable. Inadequacy and uncertainty abound. Good lord, I’m bored just hearing myself talk.
Am I lazy? Undisciplined? Unable to collaborate and work with a team? The thoughts cycle through... “What the hell is wrong with me? Where is my spark?” Not mine, I remind myself and elect not to hook on to those invasive suggestions.
I’m just now beginning to sense light peaking through the clouds, heralding the promise of nascent clarity, next steps and inspiration. But it’s not here yet—I’m still in the void. I missed the turn I set out for and found myself in a hidden valley of Mystery. It’s beautiful once the expectations are released and the voice of self-criticism named. I’m alone, yet not.
While I’m here, my commitment is: not to rush it, to go slowly. To surrender to nature’s timing and to remain in devotion to alignment even a midst the noise of my mind. No forcing sweetheart, I remind myself. I’m also committed to playing with creativity without attachment. Because if I’m honest, there’s plenty of fear there... Fear of inadequacy. Fear of not liking what I see. Fear of failing.
Creativity has flowed freely in the past for me. Now it feels really vulnerable, like I’m back at ground zero. But that’s what’s calling me—being with the fear of failing, while gently, tentatively learning to play again… without agenda.
I felt inspired to write these words and to create a new section on my website for sharing this exploration. I will be allocating small increments of time to be with a certain color, word, sound, theme and to share occasional snippets of unfinished work here—raw, unfiltered, immature—a signal, a humble offering. We shall see what emerges! There will be spelling errors ;)
The anchor statement below was mirrored back to me as I metabolized this Valley experience. I will leave it here.