Transformed in the Light of Shakti’s Embrace
Last night I had a vision.
I was pushing a huge boulder up a steep mountain. It hadn’t always been this way—the rock began as a small pebble, something I kept nudging forward until it grew enormous. What started as a gentle hill became a towering mountain. And still, I pushed.
Finally, I collapsed at the base of the boulder. I couldn’t roll it back, couldn’t escape—if I moved away, it would crush me. I couldn’t even lie down for fear it would flatten me. I sat there crying, not as the woman I am now, but as a small girl—innocent and tear-streaked, a little like Alice in her smock and pinafore. That child in me felt helpless, as if she didn’t deserve comfort.
Then someone appeared beside me. Shakti. She glistened with light of every color, radiant beyond description. She held out her hand. Her voice was barely a whisper, but I heard it perfectly: Let go. Trust. Everything is already perfect.
I hesitated. I was afraid if I reached for her, the boulder would crush me. But I was so tired. Finally, I took her hand. And in that instant, everything—the mountain, the boulder, the child, Shakti herself—dissolved into a light that was all colors and no color, everything and nothing.
When I let go, something deeper happened: the recognition that I am enough didn’t simply stop the pushing — it dissolved the boulder and the mountain themselves. I saw, clearly, that for years I’d been carrying the weight as proof that I mattered, as if busyness and burden could make me visible. Shakti’s hand showed me the lie of that story. Letting go wasn’t surrender to nothingness; it was waking up to the truth that I have always been enough, and that I am held.
I woke with tears of release. I don’t have to push the boulder anymore. I don’t have to carry this alone. Maybe you know that boulder too—the one made of shoulds and sorrows. Mine taught me that letting go isn’t being crushed. It’s being carried.