A Homecoming Letter

First major snowstorm of 2026, blanketing the earth in peace.

I used to think awakening would arrive with spectacle.

What I didn’t expect was how quietly it would free me.

I used to think something magical was going to happen.

That maybe the earth would actually split in two — Old Earth and New Earth.

That our bodies might change, become more translucent, maybe even sprout angel wings. That there would be some unmistakable moment when everything shifted and there would be no more doubt.

You know — the kind of anticipation that builds before a big celestial event.

The eclipse.

Y2K.

The endless cycles of something big is coming that move through the collective imagination.

I thought awakening would look like that.

Like a reset. Like heaven arriving all at once, obvious and undeniable.

Atlantis-type vibes.

I didn’t understand yet that everything is frequency.

That everything is energy.

Years before what I would later recognize as a deeper homecoming, I had already begun to notice something about my own suffering.

I used to replay difficult interactions over and over again in my mind. Conflicts. Misunderstandings. Moments that felt charged or unresolved. I would speculate endlessly — about what was meant, what should have been said, what might happen next.

It could haunt me for months.

At some point — I don’t even remember exactly how — I realized that this mental loop was creating my suffering.

So I experimented with something simple: neutrality.

I stopped labeling experiences as good or bad.

I stopped assigning meaning to other people’s behavior.

I stopped building stories around what was simply happening.

And the less I did that, the less I suffered.

My relationships softened.

My body felt lighter.

There was more space to breathe.

Later, I learned something else that landed just as clearly.

Worrying about what might happen does not help us in any way.

I had a front-row seat to that truth. I could be awake at night, anxious and bracing — while Tony slept peacefully beside me through circumstances that would have (and many times did) flatten my nervous system.

We were both living through the same experience.

Yet we experienced very different inner feelings and experience.

I began to understand the power of the present moment — not as an idea, but as relief.

And then, just a few months ago, during the quiet of the Christmas season — a time when I intentionally slowed down — I came across a sentence that stopped me in a different way:

Nothing originates outside of you.

And no one has ever done anything to you.

I remember reading it and thinking… wait.

Let me read that again.

And again.

I didn’t push back against it. I stayed open.

And as I let it settle — really settle — something in my body softened.

It freed me from carrying guilt that had lived in my body for years. Guilt that had never truly belonged to me. It loosened resentments I hadn’t even realized I was still gripping. And it let other people off the hook — not because they were “right,” but because I no longer needed anyone to be wrong.

It didn’t deny pain.

It collapsed blame.

I sat with that idea through winter days that invite reflection whether you want it or not. I didn’t turn it into a practice or a belief. I just let it work on me.

Life didn’t stop happening.

There were scares.

There was loss.

There were disappointments and delays and the familiar frustration of systems that don’t seem to care about human lives.

There were moments of fear for the people I love.

There were children growing up, moving away, pulling back, changing how they engage.

The outside world kept moving exactly as it does.

What changed was me.

So much emotional bandwidth came back online.

I could feel it in my body. My breath didn’t just deepen — it felt like it was infusing my cells with life.

My chest didn’t just soften — it opened.

Life felt less constricted.

Not because it became easier —but because I stopped fighting it.

Another realization arrived quietly in the middle of all this:

I don’t actually know anything about anything.

And neither does anyone else.

And there is a strange, beautiful relief in that.

When you stop needing certainty — stop needing to be right — stop needing to anticipate or control — something opens.

Not in the world.

In you.

When you stop believing that life is happening to you — when you stop outsourcing your inner state to external conditions — you realize something almost embarrassingly simple:

Love is here now.

Peace is here now.

Not because nothing painful exists.

Not because the world has been fixed.

But because you get to choose how you see.

We have complicated this beyond recognition.

Spirituality.

Healing.

Awakening.

All of it keeps circling back to one quiet, liberating truth:

Choice.

Not as willpower.

Not as positivity.

But as perception.

And the moment you see that — really see it — suffering loosens its grip.

Not because life changes.

But because you do.