Brilliant breakthroughs are not the final destination—they are the openings. The true work begins once the insight has landed, once the veil lifts for just a moment and we glimpse a higher frequency. That’s when we are called to integrate, to embody, to ground that light into our nervous system and our choices. This is the sacred work of planting a new story in the cells.

A fleeting experience—no matter how powerful—remains fleeting unless it becomes a living frequency within us. Without embodiment, we risk becoming time travelers addicted to our past awakenings, living inside memories that quickly become delusions. We tell ourselves we’ve already arrived… while our lives quietly say otherwise.

The medicine is in the “allowing.” And this, I believe, is the mantra of the decade: Allow.
To allow something to pass through—to be what it is without becoming it—requires presence, humility, and trust. Energy is always moving, stories are always unraveling, and our job is not to cling or contract, but to let life breathe through us.

I’ve witnessed an interesting shift in recent years. Many who once walked proudly in the plant medicine world—who once held the staff high in devotion to a lineage, a modality, or a sacred practice—have since left. Disillusioned by spiritual dogma, inner chaos, or the projection of their own unresolved fears, they’ve traded one belief system for another. Some now declare allegiance to Christianity or another structured path, standing firmly on a new righteous pedestal, proclaiming they’ve finally found the true light.

And I chuckle—not in judgment, but in recognition. I’ve seen this before. The human desire to be on the “right side,” to be the light-bearer, the savior, the one who knows—it’s ancient. And underneath it all, it’s simply the yearning to be saved…from ourselves.

But no external path can do that. No savior can substitute the inner surrender required to dismantle the architecture of the divided self.

Because the real salvation isn’t found in a fight between darkness and light. It’s found in the doorway between them.
That still point. The zero point. The place where the angel and the demon sit in silence beside each other, and we are asked not to judge, but to see.

This is the teaching that continues to return to me again and again:
When we stop fighting the inner war—when we stop needing an enemy to justify our righteousness—we finally become whole.

The angel and the adversary are both aspects of us. Both have wisdom to offer. And the true light of God is not the one that defeats the dark, but the one that illuminates the very place where the two meet and cancel each other out. That light does not shout. It waits. It watches. It stands in stillness as we ricochet between poles, thinking we’re moving forward when we’re really dancing in circles.

But eventually, grace finds us. And if we’re willing to see, we’ll recognize the doorway at the center—the one that’s been there all along, waiting patiently for our return.