Staying Without Self-Abandonment

Choosing What I Let In...

My heart has been having a hard time lately - not with love, but with fear.

With how much of it is being generated, amplified, and circulated on this planet right now.

I find myself in a season of reassessing how I want to be in relationship with others in ways that feel joyful, pleasurable, nourishing, and sustainable for me; not just ethical or well-intentioned, but alive. This is newer territory for me.

I know I have lived on Earth during other end-games. I remember many: Atlantis, Lemuria, Avalon, Mu, and more. In my Gene Keys chart I carry the completion of large cycles - the death key, 42.6 - and in those other timelines I often chose to exit. To leave. And that choice was intimately tied to my inability, then, to remain in relationship with others in ways that felt loving, reciprocal, and sustaining.

This time, I am staying.

I am creating something new.

And that is a strange thing to navigate.

One of my lifelong strengths has been deep receptivity. I can take in almost anyone’s inner world and hold it neutrally; beautifully, even. When I listen in circle or conversation, I can hear the tracks, timelines, belief systems, and mythologies people are living inside.

What I am still learning is how to listen without being affected, especially when those realities are rooted in fear, coercion, or collapse.

Because I can remain calm and neutral, many people come to my spaces needing somewhere to place their stories, their fears, their beliefs. I become a sounding board, a processing channel. This is a gift ... and it carries a cost. Without discernment, life begins to feel less like living and more like being a surface others project onto.

So I’ve been asking a different question lately:

How do I say yes ... to friends, family, community ... in ways that are reciprocal in joy, in play, in ease?

And when joy isn’t immediately present, how do I meet others without abandoning myself?

Sometimes that means creativity.

Sometimes it means shared silence.

Sometimes it means choosing experiences where the story falls away and the soul becomes visible again.

I believe there are subtle, almost sneaky ways our souls can still recognize one another through layers of Maya and lived experience; ways that allow us to choose Heaven more consciously.

Some of us may have stumbled into Heaven. Some may have been born into realms where only heartspace existed. In my own soul memory, I originated in a place where collective consciousness was etheric; where subconscious programs were gentle and loving. It was beautiful. And eventually, I wanted more.

I wanted to choose consciously.

I wanted contrast.

I wanted sovereignty.

I wanted to hold space for more friends.

Eons later, here I am.

Now I witness immense propaganda moving through collective feeds: fear-based messaging, pressure-driven decisions, shadow-poking disguised as righteousness. Choices made not from discernment, intuition, or inner research, but from coercion, shame, and survival activation.

And I don’t yet know the perfect response.

Some favorites from Mavens' Haven where I began thinking about how I am in relation to others ;)

And I don’t yet know the perfect response.

What I do know is this: I love humans deeply. Truly.

And I can no longer allow myself to be endlessly inputted.

Here is what I know to be true:

• Playing with energy, music, or rhythm together is joyful.

• Cooking, sharing meals, watching movies—joyful.

• Coffee or tea, without agenda—joyful.

• Mountains and oceans—always joyful.

• Walking together in silence—deeply joyful.

Silence reveals who we are beneath our experiences and choices. When the stories fall away, something bright remains: a radiant Soul. I love feeling that frequency. People tell me mine tickles them, that it’s silly, yellow, and magenta.

I also know I can love more, laugh more, hug more, invite strangers to play more. I am learning to let small gestures matter: eye contact, smiles, doors held open, moments of shared humanity.

I am in a liminal space of recalibration; learning how to remain open without dissolving myself.

When conversation drops away, something living remains. A presence beneath opinions, fears, and timelines. That is the place I recognize. That is where connection feels real.

What has been hardest to navigate is the constant pressure to think, choose, or react from fear: messaging designed to provoke, polarize, or coerce rather than invite reflection, intuition, or sovereignty. I feel it everywhere.

And I am learning that my response does not have to be engagement.

I can choose what I let in.

That doesn’t mean I love less. If anything, it means I love more honestly. It means I meet life where exchange is mutual and alive. It means I protect the conditions that allow joy, play, and presence to exist.

Everything I am naming here is an inquiry into my own life - not a judgment of anyone else. I don’t see myself as above or ahead. I am simply learning how to nourish myself while remaining in relationship with a complex, beautiful world.

That feels like the work now.