There are moments in life when clarity dissolves, when certainty feels distant, and we are left standing at the threshold of the unknown. I had a profound moment while standing in front of the Mayan Calander in Mexico City, a moment I am still processing. It is in these times that we are asked to surrender—not as an act of resignation, it is a profound invitation to trust.
Lately, I have found myself in this space of surrender more often than I would like. And if I’m honest, it unsettles me. As I return to work in Idaho Springs, I can feel the sheer weight of uncertainty, of unanswered questions, of shifting ground beneath my feet.
I have been trying to balance, to stay grounded. And yet, I find myself pulled into the extremes—the need to do, to work endlessly, to push harder, to stress, to worry. And then I reach my breaking point. The place where exhaustion overtakes effort. The moment when pushing no longer serves.
And so, I take a breath.
I return to compassion.
I return to surrender.
I return to love.
Because the truth is, uncertainty is not something to solve, it is something to soften into. And in that softening, there is grace.
William Blake once wrote, “The roads of excess lead to the palace of wisdom.” Why? Because when we are pulled to extremes whether through work, food, love, or longing we also meet the part of ourselves that aches for balance, for restoration, for homecoming. The craving for more is not a flaw; it is a power, a force that reveals where we have abandoned ourselves and where we are being called to return.
I have been diving deep and reading The Gospel of Mary, she speaks of this force, not as a sin, not as a demon, simply as a part of the ego, part of ourselves. It is not something to be condemned, it is an invitation to be understood. Often, we treat ourselves in ways we would never dream of treating another. We sabotage our own purpose out of fear that we may never find one. We fill the silence with excess—because stillness, presence, and trust can feel unfamiliar and uncomfortable terrain.
AND what if we remembered?
What if we remembered that we are beloved, that we are all held in the web of unconditional love?
What if we understood, in the marrow of our being, that we are worthy of the same tenderness we so effortlessly extend to others?
That the love we seek has never been separate from us, that it has been woven into our very existence?
When we hold this truth, excess no longer feels necessary. We no longer grasp outwardly for what has always been within.
And remembrance is a practice. A path we must walk again and again.
And we do not walk it alone.
The plant kingdom has always been beside us, whispering, guiding, offering its medicine of presence and return. Rose, with her soft yet unwavering strength.
Reminds us to open even when we want to close.
To soften even when we feel brittle.
To receive even when we have been conditioned only to give.
Rose, in all her softness and strength, is a guide through this terrain of the heart. A medicine of both grief and love, she teaches us that transformation does not come from striving, it is from surrendering into the fullness of who we already are.
When the unconscious mind stirs, when emotions rise without explanation, when longing moves through us like tides, Rose reminds us that healing is not an act of force it is about presence. If the unconscious is an ocean, then creativity is the way we learn to swim. We cannot demand clarity from what is meant to be fluid, nor can we shape the waves to our liking. Instead, we move with them, allowing symbols, sounds, and sensations to rise in their own language.
So rather than thinking your way into healing, feel your way through it.
Rose is a portal, a bridge between what we fear and what we long for. She teaches us to open, not just to love, but to the mystery of our own becoming. She whispers that art is a conversation with the unseen. That movement can be a prayer. That the waters, the wind, the whispered melodies carry us into the places beyond logic—where truth is not explained, but experienced.
If you feel called to walk with her more deeply, to enter into sacred communion with her, I invite you to explore the practice of a plant dieta (If you would like to learn more, read this post).
Or, if you are simply feeling the pull of her presence, I would be honored to craft a Rose tea blend for you—to sip, to soften, to open the doors within.
For now, simply remember you are beloved. You are not separate from the love you seek. You do not need to chase it. You are already whole, already worthy, already held.
