When the Veil Softens: Finding Stillness and Spirit in the Waning Year
The Weight of the Moment
Lately, I’ve been struggling with something that’s become difficult to ignore. My anxiety has been running so high that it’s begun to affect my blood pressure in dangerous ways. There are moments when I can actually feel it pulsing through me, reminding me that even emotional pain can take a physical toll.
If you’ve read my previous blog post about Growing Up Queer in the South and my coming out journey, you probably already understand where some of this anxiety comes from. It’s something I’ve carried most of my life, shaped by fear, resilience, and the constant process of healing from the past. But over time, it has grown heavier, pressing into both mind and body.
Recently, my doctor and I have been trying to find the right balance of medication to help calm my system. So far, it’s been a process of trial and error. Some days I feel like I’m making progress, and other days my heart races as if my body has forgotten how to rest. Through all of this, I’ve realized that healing isn’t just a matter of chemistry or medicine. It’s also spiritual. It’s emotional. It’s learning how to listen when your body and soul are both asking for gentleness.
Stepping into the Morning Light
This morning, I decided to step outside before the day truly began. The air was crisp and cool, about 57 degrees, and the sunlight was spilling gently through the trees in my neighborhood. After so many heavy days, it felt like an invitation. The kind of light that doesn’t demand your attention – as it does in an Orlando Summer – but welcomes you into its warmth.
The ducks were already swimming across the pond, gliding in calm circles that rippled like quiet laughter. Three crows perched nearby, their dark feathers shining in the morning light. I could hear smaller birds in the branches above me, calling to one another, and the faint hum of cars and lawnmowers somewhere in the distance. Even in the stillness, life was carrying on.
Something about it struck me. The world didn’t stop because I was anxious. It didn’t ask anything of me except to be present for a moment. The sunlight on my skin felt nurturing, almost maternal, the same sun that can feel oppressive in the summer now felt kind and healing. For the first time in weeks, I took a full breath. I didn’t even have to force it.
In that small act of simply standing outside, I realized that peace doesn’t always come through effort. Sometimes it finds us when we finally stop running from the noise inside our own minds.
As I stood there, breathing in the morning air and watching the ducks glide effortlessly through the water, I felt a quiet shift inside me. The tightness in my chest began to ease, and I sensed energy moving through me with calm intention. I had been channeling Reiki throughout the morning, letting the energy flow wherever it was needed most. In that moment, I realized the peace I was feeling was not separate from me. It was a reflection of the energy I had been cultivating all along, mirrored in the soft rhythm of the world around me.
Energy, Openness, and Reiki
The longer I stood in that sunlight, the more I felt the Reiki energy weaving itself through my body like a current. I could sense it traveling from my heart chakra to my palms, pulsing gently in time with my breath. Energy work like Reiki has always been my way of realigning with what is sacred, of remembering that everything is connected. Each inhale felt like an exchange between my body and the living world, an unspoken dialogue between myself and my spirit.
The light seemed to hum with awareness. The air shimmered faintly, as though the boundaries between me and nature were softening. I could feel the energy spreading outward into the space around me, merging with the energy of the earth, the water, the trees, and the wind. For a few moments, I was no longer only a person standing beneath the sky. I was literally part of its rhythm.
I thought of how often I try to control my anxiety through effort and willpower, when what my spirit really needs is surrender. Reiki reminds me that healing is not about pushing. It is about allowing. The more I opened to that flow, the more I felt a quiet awareness wash over me… a presence that was both within and beyond myself.
This sense of openness brought with it something else: a recognition that I was not alone in my healing. The same life force that animates the ducks and the trees and the breeze was flowing through me too. It was a reassurance that I am part of something vast and benevolent, and that even in my struggles, I am deeply connected to the pulse of life itself.
The Thinning of the Veil
There was a quiet shift in the air, something almost imperceptible yet deeply familiar. The light felt softer, and the sounds of nature seemed to echo with a kind of reverence. I recognized the energy immediately. This is the time of year when the veil between worlds begins to thin, when the boundary between the seen and unseen grows gentle and transparent.
In that awareness, I could feel my ancestors close. They were not distant figures or fading memories. Their presence was living, warm, and deeply rooted. The energy of those who came before me, who endured hardships and carried love through centuries of struggle, felt alive in the same current of energy that flowed through me. It was as though their strength had found a way to speak without words.
Their comfort surrounded me. It was quiet but powerful, like sunlight that seeps through the trees and warms the skin without burning. I could feel the echo of their resilience moving through my spirit, reminding me that I come from endurance, courage, and love. The more I opened myself to that awareness, the more I realized that I have never truly been alone.
This season is not only about remembering those who came before, but also about reflecting on what they continue to teach us. It is a time to slow down, to look inward, and to listen. The veil may be thin, but its purpose is not to frighten. It invites connection. It invites gratitude. It invites peace.
Stillness, Harmony, and Healing
In the quiet that followed, I felt an ease I had not known in a long time. The world seemed to breathe with me. Every sound, every movement, every ray of light became part of a larger rhythm that felt steady and kind. For the first time in weeks, my heart felt less like a warning bell and more like a steady drum keeping time with the earth itself.
The peace that settled over me was not loud or dramatic. It arrived softly. It was gentle and certain. The kind of stillness that reminds you how healing often begins not in great effort but in surrender.
My anxiety did not vanish, but it no longer felt like the center of my world. The weight in my chest eased, replaced by gratitude for what the morning had given me. I thought about how easy it is to lose sight of simple harmony when life becomes loud. We chase control, believing it will bring peace, when what we really need is presence.
Moments like this remind me that healing is not a single act. It is a conversation between body, mind, and spirit. Nature, Reiki, and reflection each play a part, guiding me back toward balance. I left that space knowing that my healing journey is still unfolding, but also with the certainty that peace is never gone. It simply waits for me to remember how to find it.
An Invitation to Peace
If you have been carrying your own heaviness, I invite you to step outside and let the world meet you where you are. You do not need to have the perfect mindset or a clear plan for healing… Just breathe. Feel the air on your skin. Listen to the quiet movements of life around you, the birds, the wind, and the hum of the earth.
There is wisdom in the natural world that asks for nothing in return. It speaks softly but with power, reminding us that peace is always nearby. The trees do not rush their growth. The sun does not hurry its rise. Even in seasons of darkness, life continues to find its way back to light.
Allow yourself to rest in that truth for a moment. Let the stillness seep into the places where worry has lived. Let your spirit remember what calm feels like, even if just for a sacred moment. Whether through prayer, meditation, Reiki, or simply a walk outside, there are countless ways to reconnect with the pulse of life that unites us all.
Today reminded me that healing is not just about fixing what feels broken. It is about remembering that peace has never left. It waits patiently beneath the noise, ready to rise again when we are still enough to hear it.
