Category: Engaging the Magic

Enchanting Birdsong Synchronicity

Enchanting Birdsong Synchronicity

Yesterday I took a walk in the woods. A question had been lingering in my mind all day regarding someone dear to my heart who is going through a challenging time: If I could converse with their higher self, what would it have to say about my role in their life and our relationship? What’s most important for me to know?

This is something I’ve contemplated in the past with regard to other close relationships. It’s like when you’re not getting anywhere talking with a frontline worker, so you go over their head and speak with the manager. When you’re able to tap into something greater than the personality, higher wisdom can come through.

I can’t say for sure where it comes from. Maybe we connect with our own higher nature or the other person’s, or perhaps at that level we’re not separate anyway. Nonphysical guides? Who’s to say? Seems to me it’s not necessary to have that part figured out to receive useful guidance. 

I decided to take a trail I was less familiar with and after a while wondered if it would take me where I wanted to go. At one point, I considered turning around and taking the road back to where my car was parked. However, intuition kept me on the path.

Eventually, I encountered a tree that was absolutely bursting with birdsong—the liveliest bird-music I’d heard so far this year. It was so intoxicating that I stopped walking to marvel at and record the songbirds.

A couple minutes into recording, a car came within earshot. A young man in the car was belting out a song. He had a decent voice, but after a few lines, he began shrieking out the lyrics, and I stopped recording. Until the shrieking began, I didn’t pay much attention. I was more interested in the birdsong. However, the shrieking drew my attention and curiosity. I realized it was a song I knew well.

I continued walking—a little faster now, aware of and grateful for others on the path because this guy seemed a little unhinged!

When I got home that evening, I listened to the recording and pulled up the lyrics for the song (“You Say” by Lauren Daigle). The part of the song I recorded (before the voice became completely distorted) seemed like clear guidance concerning the question I carried in my heart:

“I keep fighting voices in my mind that say I’m not enough
Every single lie that tells me I will never measure up
Am I more than just the sum of every high and every low
Remind me once again just who I am because I need to know

You say I am loved when I can’t feel a thing
You say I am strong when I think I am weak
And you say I am held when I am falling short”…

I’m actually blown away by this because I had prayed for guidance. And there it came, drifting through the air in a moment of stillness and deep listening in the woods. Although I hadn’t intended to end up where I was when this happened and felt a little lost, I was exactly where I needed to be to experience this.

How perfect that the birdsong was enchanting enough to stop me in my tracks and keep me in that spot long enough for me to be in the right place at the right time so the words could reach me!

My husband and I had planned to walk together, but I felt drawn to this particular trail rather than ones closer to home. He had a lot to do and decided not to go with me. Which felt right. Had we been walking together, I probably wouldn’t have stopped to listen to the birds. The pieces wouldn’t have come together.

I’m amused by the idea of the young man who had given in to a crazy outburst in the company of his two friends. He was completely unaware that he was serving as a messenger for a woman he didn’t even notice walking on a nearby trail. It makes me think of how we might be entirely unaware of the roles we inadvertently play in someone’s life—even strangers, as we pass through their field of awareness, however briefly. How many times have we been an unwitting messenger or catalyst?

By the way, the song is amazing. The first time I heard it, I found myself annoyed by yet another “codependent love song” during the second verse (not part of the above excerpt). But as I kept listening, I realized it carried a powerful message if I imagined it being sung to the higher self, not to another person. Later, I learned that was actually the songwriter’s intention. Lauren Daigle is a Christian artist, and she wasn’t singing about a codependent relationship. 

 

If you’re interested, here’s the birdsong recording (with singing at the very end):
 


© 2022 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. You are welcome to share this post or excerpts of it as long as you give proper credit to Susan Meyer and SusanTaraMeyer.com. Susan Meyer is a photographer, writer, and spiritual teacher who lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.

At Peak

At Peak

Yesterday was a gorgeous, warm, fall day: the kind that we’re keenly aware are numbered at this time of year.

That’s what I love about October: Its vibrance seizes the senses and teaches us to be here now and really experience and savor it rather than just autopilot through it. And if we’re really aware, we realize that presence kindles inner peace and satisfaction and that it isn’t limited to beautiful, fall days when the foliage is at peak. Or beautiful days in general.

On my drive home from work, only a few minutes from home, the light of the sunset sky bathed the already colorful, autumn leaves in beautiful, golden light that illuminated the trees magnificently. There was one piece of land in particular that commanded my attention. It was a spectacular landscape with a house and a red barn surrounded by the blazing trees.

I pulled over at a spot that required a brief walk for the best view. Although my intention was to photograph the farmhouse, the angle of sunlight was changing quickly, and I realized I might not make it in time.

Then I noticed where I was, right next to a cornfield. When I got out of my car, I was drawn to the sunset colors over the cornfield and decided to skip the farmhouse landscape and photograph the cornfield, instead.

Cornfield sunset reflected on car hood

After composing some shots and savoring the moment, I continued on, filled with the radiance of the sunset and the satisfaction of witnessing its golden-pink glow. Listening to magical handpan music as I drove, it hit me: Happiness. I am happy. Satisfied. Peaceful. Content.

It occurred to me that for the first time in my life, I’m not chasing anything. Not a relationship, a career, spiritual growth, anyone’s attention, financial prosperity, a slimmer body, home ownership, or anything else. It’s not that I received everything I wanted or threw in the towel. Rather, I learned somewhere along the way that I didn’t need what I thought I needed and had been pursuing in order to be happy.

In other words, I realized I’m already good enough. My self-esteem doesn’t hinge on any conditions or outcomes. I can just be without needing to impress anyone else to feel good about myself. I don’t need others to act differently for me to be happy. I can carry contentment and boundless compassion within me like an inner sun and not be so needy in relation to the rest of the world. I can experience inner peace even when the outer world feels like it’s spinning out of control – without disconnecting from it.

It’s the best feeling ever, and I’m writing about it not to brag but to communicate that it’s possible. Happiness is possible. By that, I mean deep joy and satisfaction, not the fleeting, conditioned, circumstantial variety. 

When I pulled into the driveway, I sat in my car for a while watching the sunset sky with tears of joy and gratitude dripping down my face. I realized that every single step was part of the journey that got me here. The photography that helps me to find beauty and experience gratitude every day and uplifted me during some very difficult times. The trauma of losing close loved ones and supporting others through mental health crises. Feeling invisible on social media. Challenging relationships. The list could go on and on. Yet, every step mattered and carried blessings. Every step brought me to this moment of feeling so full and whole and complete. 

I wasn’t born with a silver spoon in my mouth, but I was born privileged, nonetheless. I’ve experienced so much that I never imagined “someone like me” would experience in life. Tough and humbling stuff but also tremendous beauty. Because of it all, my heart is so full of compassion, gratitude, and joy. It wasn’t always that way. I’ve worked hard to rewire my neural programming.

For the past few years, I’ve felt an unconditionally loving presence growing stronger in me. I don’t know where that presence comes from – whether it’s Divinity, loved ones who have crossed over, my teachers, or my own Self. (Is there a difference?) However, I no longer berate myself with judgments and expectations of accomplishing more than I already have in this life.

Experiencing this kind of inner peace doesn’t mean life will be smooth sailing from now on. There will be challenges and suffering. Life will still send inevitable curveballs. But there are peak moments when the light shines through so brightly and seems to swell up from the truest depths and fill us with luminosity and grace. We might realize we have grown through all the trauma and heartache and unconditional love and resources we’re blessed with and say thank you. For all of it. Even when the story is still unfolding, and we don’t know how it will all turn out.

Thank you. I trust that this, too, serves awakening.

Even after these peak moments have faded like sublime sunset colors, memories of them can cut through the gravity of our earthly dramas and remind us that we are so much more than the myopic desires and aversions of our ego consciousness. We can perceive challenges and curveballs as opportunities to develop inner resources we didn’t even know we were capable of. We can still have aspirations, but they are unclenched. More spacious. For example, I aspire to be a healing, loving, uplifting presence in this world. At the same time, I don’t need to accomplish anything in particular or help or change anyone else to feel I have worth. I have worth because I exist. 

Being less dependent on this shifting world and all its personalities, I wonder (with curiosity rather than a sense of obligation): What’s possible now that wasn’t before? What is possible when we set ourselves free from the prison of our own making?


© 2019 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. To use any or all of this article, include this exactly: Susan Meyer (SusanTaraMeyer.com) is a photographer, writer, clutter coach, Reiki practitioner, and mindfulness meditation teacher whose work is infused with a deep interest in the nature of mind and appreciation of the natural world. She lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.

Angels in My Heart

Angels in My Heart

I’m sure you’ve experienced it: The 3 A.M. wake-up. All shields are down. You are like a turtle without a shell, vulnerable to the thoughts and feelings that seem so urgent in the darkest hours when everyone else is asleep. Thoughts that keep running in circles inside your head like a cat, high on catnip, chasing its tail. You want to go back to sleep, but the thoughts won’t stop. 

I woke up recently in the middle of the night gripped by fear. To be honest, fear is a visitor that has not shown up much recently, and I’ve appreciated its absence. But there it was again, strong as ever.

In my daily meditation, I practice noticing and naming emotions that arise. So when I woke up overcome by fear, I noted, “Ah, fear. This is what fear feels like.” It’s like when you pick up the phone and recognize the voice of a familiar acquaintance at the other end.

This fear was financial in nature and whisked me into poverty consciousness before I even knew what hit me. It fell into the “Forbidden Forest” category of thoughts that don’t lead anywhere productive. Although I work diligently to retrain my brain away from those kinds of thoughts, it caught me off-guard in the middle of the night when my defenses were asleep.

The way I saw it, I had four options:

  1. Think
  2. Meditate
  3. Focus on where the fear is manifesting in my body
  4. Ask for help.

I’m a big fan of developing inner resources. However, I was really tired at the time. So I chose the fourth option.

Calling All Angels

Recently, I’ve sensed an angelic presence in my life and believe there is a great deal of help available to us. We just have to remember to ask for it. At the risk of sounding totally woo-woo, I believe there are legions of unemployed angels just waiting to be asked. They love us and want to help but cannot interfere with our free will and therefore need to be asked. Even so, they won’t work against our highest good, which we might not be aware of in a given situation. 

So I asked the angels for help. I disengaged from fear and became still. From that stillness, a warm light arose and engulfed the darkness of my fear. It carried the realization that insight and intuition flow to me in abundance and are great sources of prosperity in my life. The flow of this kind of wisdom provides the answers I need. I just need to trust in it, open to it, and not block it with fear!

That thought was like a soft blanket of peace. It was as if an angel jumped right into my heart and shined a spotlight on what I needed to know and where I needed to put my attention.

I learned that if it’s hard to feel good about money, focus instead on a form of prosperity that is easier to buy into. The closest approximation that brings you a feeling of hope and abundance. 

Inside the Tank

Something similar happened during my most recent float therapy session. There are no distractions in the silent darkness of the float tank. It’s just you and your mind. Usually, my float sessions consist of 90 minutes of very deep relaxation and meditation. Thoughts tend to lose their hold when I float because there’s nothing to reinforce them. When I’m that relaxed and undistracted, they dissolve like soap bubbles that pop within seconds of becoming.

However, a compelling thought managed to take root this time. It was about how my mom must have felt when she knew she was dying of pancreatic cancer. How hard it must have been for her to let go of absolutely everything that was important to her in this world. And everyone she loved. I also really missed her as I floated in the darkness.

This time, it wasn’t fear. It was the pain of separation that seized me. Feeling apart from. It was a very uncomfortable feeling. However, I stayed with it, knowing it wouldn’t last. I felt both the pain of separation from my mom and the emotional pain she presumably experienced during the weeks and days before she transitioned out of this world. 

Then I experienced an inner sensation of light and warmth, just like when I was gripped by fear during the night. Two memories emerged from that light.

One was a synchronicity that took place after a Reiki training, when I wanted to know which archangel(s) I have a strong connection with. I sensed green light and the presence of Raphael but wondered if I was just making it up. The next day while working at the library, a patron approached me because he had an appointment with a co-worker. He announced in a strong, clear voice, “I am Raphael.” As if that weren’t enough, on my break I got takeout from the natural foods café, and the bill was $4.44. The cashier exclaimed, “That’s a good number! It means angels are with you!”

The second memory was from the earliest weeks following my mom’s death. Lying in my bed at night, I felt myself enveloped by an indescribable sensation of love and golden light that pushed happiness into me. It started at my feet and worked its way up to my head until I was embraced by it completely and immersed in it from head to toe. It seemed to be associated with my mom. Perhaps it was a non-physical hug or a glimpse of what it feels like on the other side? I sensed she is with us and able to tune in to our thoughts. But that wasn’t all. Another family member who is much more skeptical than I experienced the same thing in their bed.

Those two memories engulfed and dispelled the sense of separation that seized me in the float tank. They were much greater than the pain of separation. In the silent darkness of the float tank, I felt deeply connected to and part of the universal life energy that my mom is also part of. For the remainder of the session, I floated in peace and joy. 

Valuable Insights

The morning after fear paid me a nighttime visit, I got up and meditated first thing. During meditation, I understood that help is available when I need it. Answers about the future are not available now because it’s not their time yet. We cannot foresee what choices, possibilities, information, understanding, and assistance will be available to us in the future.

Instead of getting stuck in fear, we can trust that the best path will be revealed to us with every step we take, if we tune in to our inner guidance system. We can trust that we will learn, grow, and expand more between now and then and make choices that have not shown up yet on our radar. We don’t have all the necessary information at this time to pass judgment on how the future will be. In our journey toward the future, we will receive more useful guidance from a state of inner peace and trust than fear or anxiety. Fear blocks the good stuff.

Then I got zapped with an inspiration. Something I couldn’t believe hadn’t occurred to me before. All of a sudden, I envisioned my home in a completely different way that included space for something my heart yearns to do more of. This opened up a new world of possibility and was specific evidence of the insight I had moments earlier. 

Basically, my fear dissolved when I understood that insight and inspiration create new possibilities that haven’t come into view yet. I realized my job is to trust that I will be led to the best paths by following intuition, making time for stillness, and acting on the wisdom that arises. One step at a time.

Such a better alternative to thinking too much, trying so hard, and doing too much work that doesn’t produce desired results. It doesn’t have to be such a hard and fearful journey when there is so much help and light available!


© 2018 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. To use any or all of this article, include this exactly: Susan Meyer (SusanTaraMeyer.com) is a photographer, writer, clutter coach, Reiki practitioner, feng shui consultant, and mindfulness teacher whose work is infused with a deep interest in the nature of mind and appreciation of the natural world. She lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.

Four Bags and a Canon in D

Four Bags and a Canon in D

Yesterday would have been my mom’s 80th birthday. Well, I suppose it still was. She just wasn’t around to celebrate with us – in the physical sense, anyway. Instead of going to my parents’ house (which was sold earlier this year) for a birthday celebration in the evening as we would have in a parallel universe, I lit up her miniature Victorian Christmas tree in my living room, sorted through a bag of her clothes, and shared some memories with others who loved her. And not just family. Facebook is pretty great for things like that.

Something kind of magical happened on my drive home from work last night. My mom LOVED Pachelbel’s Canon in D. She always made sure it was played during family weddings. We played one of her CDs with many different versions of it in her room at the hospice house the night she was dying, and it created such a peaceful, sacred atmosphere. I can’t recall ever hearing it on the radio, but when I turned on my car radio during my evening drive home, it was playing – which brought me to happy tears because it was her birthday, and I felt her presence in that music.

Music, dreams, and license plates are the biggest ways I feel my parents’ presence, as if they are popping in to say hi. Over the weekend, I turned on my car radio, and “Frosty the Snowman” was playing as I sat at a traffic light in town. I don’t tend to linger on Christmas music stations, but my mom loved everything Christmas, including Frosty (which I remember her playing on piano), and before I had a chance to change the station, I noticed the license plate on the car in front of me read: FROSTY. I kid you not. 

Even though it’s a silly children’s song, it was a compelling synchronicity. It wasn’t until a couple days later that I thought about the lyrics: 

Frosty the snowman
Had to hurry on his way
But he waved goodbye saying, 
“Don’t you cry
I’ll be back again some day.”

And then I cried tears of yes because those simple words touched a nerve. When pancreatic cancer struck, my mom did have to hurry on her way, and I know she wouldn’t want us to grieve and cry because she was such a jolly, happy soul who spread joy and kindness everywhere she went. 

Was there a message in that song and something more to it than pure coincidence, or do I think too much? Prior to considering the lyrics, I just couldn’t stop thinking about the synchronicity – kept coming back to it – because, even though I originally attributed it to coincidence, it wouldn’t let me go. It seemed like there was something more to it. Something personal. It was a nagging feeling I had. At any rate, hearing a few seconds of the song made me think of my mom, and that brought a smile to my heart. And that’s good enough. But in my heart, I think there was more to it than that.

A couple weeks ago, I finally took four huge bags of my mom’s clothing out of my storage unit, and they have been taking up space in my studio (a.k.a. the enclosed porch) ever since. I’ve had to navigate around them countless times a day. Last night, I finally dragged one of the bags into the living room to prepare the clothes for donation.

They still carried the scent of my mom’s fresh, clean laundering. As I looked at and smelled each article of clothing I took out of the bag (while the Pachelbel Canon played in the background), I really felt her presence. I examined each article of clothing carefully and considered whether I would want to keep it. Virtually every item was from her favorite store, Talbots, and she had really nice clothes, but nothing I’d wear (aside from one Christmas sweater and two jackets I set aside). So I took my time buttoning every button, checking every pocket, and feeling my mom’s energy in each blazer and blouse I held in my hands. Some of the clothes brought to mind certain photographs or memories, which I paused to remember: her working in her garden, celebrating Christmas, going to work, dressing up for parties and social events, vacationing with my dad. I wanted to make sure every piece of her clothing was in good shape before delivering it to the next stop on its journey. Because my mom’s clothing meant a lot to her.

This afternoon, I delivered the clothes to a bustling consignment/thrift shop that donates all proceeds to the local hospital where my mom used to volunteer, playing guitar and singing for the patients she visited on her rounds. She’d always wanted to be a nurse and started nursing school when my children were very young but enjoyed the career she was in and wanted to spend more time with her grandchildren, so she didn’t finish the program. After she retired from her career with the Saratoga Performing Arts Center, she took up guitar, and it quickly became her passion. Her volunteer work at the hospital was a fusion of her lifelong desire to work in a health care setting and her lifelong passion for music. Donating her clothes to a place where they would benefit the hospital felt right and filled me with the joy of giving. 

My rented storage unit is filled with my parents’ belongings that I didn’t want to dispose of in a mad dash when we sold the house earlier this year. It allows me to take the time to go through their things mindfully and let them go in a way that feels right, one bag or box at a time. This is the week to give my mom’s wardrobe a proper sendoff. And that is how I spent her 80th birthday. By the end of the week, all her clothes will be gone and hopefully will make a lot of people happy – just like she did. 

© 2017 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. To use any or all of this article, include this exactly: Susan Meyer (SusanTaraMeyer.com) is a photographer, writer, clutter coach, feng shui consultant, and mindfulness teacher whose work is infused with a deep interest in the nature of mind and appreciation of the natural world. She lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.

Amidst the Morning Mist

Amidst the Morning Mist

This will not be a wordy post. I don’t have anything deep or philosophical to share today. I just want to share a simple, seasonal pleasure that I find so lovely and peaceful.

This time of year, mornings tend to be quite dramatic on the river, often featuring mist. The calm river becomes a dark, sprawling stage on which the steam fog performs a spirited ballet. I sit on my dock for a front row view and take in the graceful movement. It reminds me of the countless New York City Ballet performances I’ve seen at the Saratoga Performing Arts Center throughout my life. It’s that graceful and unified. The musical accompaniment features the sprawling, seasonal ritardando of the last few crickets and a variety of birdsong solos. 

It’s as if I can make out individual mist dancers and watch as they break away from the mass and twirl on their own or in small circles with other misty dancers, as part of a unified choreography and rhythm. One dance with different parts. Another dancer breaks away for a vigorous pirouette, like a tiny whirlwind, before rejoining the rest. When sunbeams shine through spaces between the leaves of taller trees, they look like spotlights shining on certain groups of mist dancers twirling in circles. 

Sometimes other music arises in my mind when I observe the dancing mist, such as the romantic waltzes of Johann Strauss. But I suspect that if I were to become even more still and free my listening from any filters or memories, I’d hear the misty river’s authentic music, as has happened a few times in the past.

At some point, I can’t resist anymore. I get into my kayak and glide across the dark, reflective stage decorated with clusters of lily pads and aquatic grasses, as the dancers continue to move, lift, and twirl all around me. It is sheer delight and is always best when I am facing the sun with the mist in the foreground.

One morning, already enraptured by the mist dancing all around me, I paddled under the bridge and noticed a great blue heron standing like a statue amidst all the activity, a striking counterpoint of stillness. Fortunately, I had the foresight to bring my camera that morning. 

And then there was another recent morning when I was all alone on the misty river except for a solitary goose that was moving gently in the direction of the sun. I don’t often see a lone goose on the river, as geese tend to stick together. As I “read” this image with my heart, a number of metaphors came through.

That morning, a poem arose in me:

Here
I am grateful
For the full catastrophe
Of life,
Grateful for blessings
I’m not even aware of
And only can sense
The existence of
Deep inside
Where patterns seem
To be shifting
Like a kaleidoscope
Being turned
By a heart
Tuned by poetry,
Stillness and gratitude
To be in harmony
With a greater Self
Rather than the usual
Dissonant
Distractions.

Misty, autumn mornings on the river are a special gift. Engaging with the cool morning air, the sunrise colors, the stillness of the water, and the dancing mist is such a peaceful way to begin the day in harmony with my environment and my greater Self. I feel so blessed to live here and so grateful for this time of year.

© 2017 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. To use any or all of this article, include this exactly: Susan Meyer (SusanTaraMeyer.com) is a photographer, writer, clutter coach, feng shui consultant, and mindfulness teacher whose work is infused with a deep interest in the nature of mind and appreciation of the natural world. She lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.

Tuning Out and Tuning In

Tuning Out and Tuning In

Imagine what it would be like to be raised with the belief that all the answers you want and need are inside you. Imagine being taught from a young age the importance of dropping down into yourself every day, becoming still, focusing on your breathing, and allowing all the mental chatter to settle so you can hear your own wisdom. Can you even imagine? I recently listened to an interview with two daughters of a spiritual teacher who described their upbringing this way, and it blew my mind! Imagine the possibilities! It certainly wasn’t the way I was raised. It’s a concept I’ve been familiar with for a long time but didn’t really believe, deep down in my bones, until quite recently. And it feels like a total game-changer.

A dear friend shared with me her story of a recent commute to work. Normally, she drinks a smoothie in her car as she drives along a winding road near her house that she knows like the back of her hand. This particular morning, as she reached for her smoothie, a voice arose inside her that told her not to drink it. Although she thought it was peculiar, she listened to the voice, and when she went around one of the next turns, she was shocked to discover an unaccompanied toddler in the road! Apparently, the child’s caregiver didn’t notice the child had slipped out of the house and made his way down the long driveway, all the way to the dangerous, country road. Had my friend tipped her head back to drink her smoothie as she normally did, she might not have noticed the child until it was too late. Fortunately, she listened to the voice and was able to help the child get back home safely.

Last weekend, Jack went out for a drive and returned home quite shaken. He explained that he was driving along, and a voice arose in him that said the purple car up ahead in the distance was going to pull out in front of him. The voice took him by surprise. As he got closer to the purple car, sure enough: It did pull out in front of him, causing Jack’s vehicle to screech and swerve. Had he not listened to the voice, he probably wouldn’t have paid such close attention to the purple car or reduced his speed ahead of time. It could have been a bad accident. In addition to being shaken by nearly getting in an accident, he was in awe of the voice that knew what was about to happen and was looking out for him.

We all have that voice inside us, and I’ve learned through plenty of experience that when I follow it, I’m much better off than when I don’t. It seems to be the voice of a sophisticated intelligence that connects us with our greater self, like E.T. phoning home or vice versa.

Last month, I committed to taking time for self-care first thing in the morning and not checking emails or social media until after I have checked in with myself. Sometimes it takes the form of kayaking on the calm river because that’s where I tend to hear the voice of inner wisdom most clearly. One morning, I paddled across the river, reflecting on what a great decision it was to be on the river instead of doing any number of other things. My phone rang, but I did not answer it and felt good about how disciplined I was with regard to my self-care time. I thought: I paddle through stillness to a quiet spot where a deeper voice arises. Right after thinking and recording that thought into my phone, a feather floated by me. It gave off an electric energy that compelled me to turn around and take a second look, and I realized it was a bald eagle feather! In all my years on the river – in all my years on this planet – I’d never come across an eagle feather and considered it a powerful sign that a feather held to be so sacred would float by me like that. It felt like a nod from the Universe for taking the time to turn away from distractions and tune in to my authentic self.

One morning earlier this month, I got out of bed at a ridiculous hour and felt compelled to take a long drive because I was certain it was the right thing to do. It would have been much more convenient to stay in bed, but I knew I needed to get up and drive. The inner guidance was very loud and clear! The image of a particular scenic overlook popped into my mind, and I wondered if I’d end up anywhere around there for the sunrise. I never checked my GPS to see what time I would arrive; I just kept driving. Amazingly, I arrived there exactly as the sun was about to peek over the distant mountains. I didn’t have to wait at all or linger to catch it but arrived at precisely the right moment, without rushing or trying. I experienced a glorious sunrise that now serves as a symbol of following my inner knowing. Every time I look at pictures of that sunrise, I feel the power of following my intuition.

On the other hand, I recently didn’t follow my inner guidance and ended up suffering a painful injury that absolutely could have been avoided if I’d been more rested and centered and therefore better able to access and act on my intuition. Sometimes, the worst pain compels people to do whatever they can to medicate it away. But it can be an opportunity to really drop down into yourself and see what’s going on – what’s getting in the way of you feeling better and healing. That’s what I’ve been doing during my convalescence while staying close to home and keeping things real simple. 

Did I ever get in touch with what was holding me back as I writhed, cried, and prayed my way through excruciating pain! I confronted some deep issues and patterns that mostly involve not following my inner wisdom throughout my life – whether to please others, to be loved and accepted, or because I truly believed other people knew better than I did what was best for me. I began this healing journey feeling awful about how I betrayed and injured myself as a result of not listening to the voice of my greater self. I wanted more than anything to go back in time and prevent the injury from happening in the first place. However, when I started tuning in to my inner guidance, I realized the importance of accepting the situation and even being thankful for it because it is an opportunity for seriously deep healing and overcoming unhealthy habits I had not been able to free myself from any other way. I think I needed this to happen in order for deeper healing to take place. I’ve been listening closely to my body and what foods it wants for healing. I’ve rediscovered the joy of true nourishment and am naturally gravitating away from certain foods and people that take me out of alignment with my deeper wisdom. 

It feels so good to tune in to my inner guidance system. I’m happy to report that I turned a corner over the weekend and began to feel much better. No more pain! As I started to expand my food choices and communications, I noticed instantly which ones didn’t feel right. They were more of a jolt to my system than usual because I’d been so tuned in to what felt right. I realize the importance of making space for stillness and tuning in to my inner wisdom on a daily basis. If I’d been doing that all along, I probably wouldn’t have ended up in this situation.

Sometimes it’s really hard to follow inner guidance. It’s easier or more fun or exciting to remain in denial or not face your fear, or maybe you don’t want to disappoint someone. But following intuition saves us from so much more suffering, and when we are ready, it is there for us, helping us find our way through what might feel like a no-win situation. Even though we may convince ourselves otherwise, doing what’s in harmony with our greater self will ultimately benefit everyone else, too. I have learned the hard way that betraying myself causes the worst suffering and that tap dancing around issues and being afraid to speak and act on my inner knowing ultimately prolongs and worsens the unconsciousness and suffering for all involved.

You can do the work on your own proactively, or you can wait for the Universe to step in and help you along. It is usually more comfortable and empowering to do it on your own. But if you are unable to do it on your own for whatever reason, the Universe will step in eventually. And when that happens, no matter how painful it is, be grateful. If this level of pain is what it took to get me back in alignment with my inner knowing, then so be it. The feeling of being in harmony with both my body and my greater self is its own reward.

© 2017 Susan Meyer. All rights reserved. To use any or all of this article, include this exactly: Susan Meyer (SusanTaraMeyer.com) is a photographer, writer, clutter coach, feng shui consultant, and mindfulness teacher whose work is infused with a deep interest in the nature of mind and appreciation of the natural world. She lives on the Hudson River in Upstate New York.

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