The Rhythm of Passing Through by Rachel Colletta

The Rhythm of Passing Through

By Rachel Colletta

 

My life didn’t fit anymore. I could feel it in my bones, in my breath.

I knew I was deeply craving something different. Where I was felt flat. There was an odd numbness to the claustrophobia of feeling stifled. Most things felt muted. Like a distant echo of what they were meant to be. And in many ways, I attributed this to my surroundings. Suburbia. Traffic. A sea of hot asphalt. So many people squished into tight spaces who rarely looked up from their smartphones to make eye contact. Routines that felt uncomfortably snug, like a pair of jeans after a growth spurt.

But of course now I can tell you with the clear vision of hindsight that it was me who was asking to shift, expand, be consumed by the fire and reborn. At that point in time I wasn’t so sure. You see, I’d already grown and shifted so much. Broken down to rebuild. How could it be me? No, I needed to change my environment, my surroundings to sing in harmony with the new me (and in many ways, this was true). But my soul was ready for a new song as well.

I had been in a holding pattern. My husband and I sold our townhome five months prior. We knew a big move was on the horizon. We were getting ready. For what, I wasn’t sure. But I knew it was something that would change everything. I could taste it in the air, like a big pot of my favorite fragrant coconut curry on the stove that has just begun to simmer.

We didn’t know until we knew. And one day we just knew. I remember it clearly. I was enjoying a nice long shower after a particularly satisfying yoga and meditation session. As the water washed over me, I felt it in my heart and my solar plexus. Then it trickled up to my brow and crown with a gentle tingling. I wanted to move into an RV full time. I wanted to park my house in the forest, on top of a mountain, by the ocean or wherever else I pleased. I wanted to go to bed with dirty feet and messy hair. Dance naked under the moonlight. Stare into fires I built from wood gathered with my own two hands. Meet and connect with other creative wanderers. Now this, this would be freedom I thought. And in the perfect language of synchronicity in which the Universe so often lovingly speaks, my husband came home from work that day and declared, “Let’s move into an RV!”

Now to be fair, it’s not as though we hadn’t ever talked about this idea before. It was one of the many threads in a tangled ball of ideas that we’d tossed around, pitched back and forth to one another when we were feeling either particularly confident (or particularly desperate) in our ability to dream and pull those dreams from that delicate, milky space from which they are conceived into something that can be seen, heard, smelled, touched. But this time, it was something more. It was solid and firm like rock. A clear place where we could land if we were willing to jump.

So we jumped. Within two weeks we found the perfect RV. The make was a Winnebago and the model was aptly named Spirit. Fast forward a few more weeks and nearly everything I owned that didn’t fit into our RV’s limited storage cabinets had been donated or sold, with the exception of some sentimental items that were placed in a three-by-three foot storage unit. I had watched more YouTube videos than I care to remember about solar panels, inverters, lithium batteries, black and grey tanks, and water purification. Spent enough hours on the phone with insurance agents and mail forwarding services to constitute a part time job. We were ready, and we were off.

The first several weeks were a whirlwind. Barely real, like that foggy space when you’re just waking from a dream, unsure which reality you’re taking in. Everything was new, and beautiful, and exciting. I could feel that my dreams were, had, come true. I could feel the clear sensation of freedom with a depth and breadth that I couldn’t remember tasting before. And interestingly, this made me uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable.

That’s when it hit the fan. I felt like Alice falling through the rabbit hole. Down, down, down. But the further I fell, the less any concept of directionality made sense. I couldn’t quite determine up from down, left from right, in from out. The forests, the mountains, the oceans would overwhelm me with their beauty, peace, stillness, their ability to pierce right through me like an all-seeing eye. The warm-hearted creative wanderers that serendipitously crossed my path overwhelmed me with their generosity and the casual courageousness with which they bared their souls. The more I struggled to find my footing, the more it felt like I was being scrambled, stretched, and squeezed all at the same time. There were quite a few days where every inch of my skin literally ached.

The trees, the streams, the rocks, the ants, lizards, bats, hawks, deer, starfish, and whales, they were all singing to me. Joyfully sharing a melody of deep unconditional love. And my heart felt like it would break if I let it all in. So I fought, and I writhed. Then I fought and writhed some more. Now this isn’t something that’s necessarily easy to admit. I have walked through long, dark, damp shadow before and been reborn into the Light. Tasted the sweet nectar of newness on the other side. I’m familiar with this rhythm. But it’s the truth.

What is also true is that my soul knew the way through. And eventually I remembered that. At first it was a barely shimmering sliver. A flicker of something far off in the distance that I intuitively knew to follow. It was the call to soften. I held it gently and carefully like a delicate baby bird in my hands. I gave it my full attention. I surrendered to its magical spell. “Help me soften. Help me open. Help me receive.” I repeated it like a mantra. I made it my humble request to the inner Light of my being, to the Light in all that is.

And very very quickly things began to move. I could clearly and viscerally feel how I had expanded, yet was still held in the same physical space. A delicious paradox where I was still me, but different. Changed. My heart felt wide open and free. But this was a new kind of freedom. One I only recognized by the thorough knowing of its absence.

I’m sure this will sound utterly obvious, but maybe it’s something you need to hear now: Each rebirth is different. It will ask you to engage with it from a completely different and previously unexplored level of your being. It will require a new level of surrender. A new way of loving yourself. It will likely stir up fear. A desire to control. It will ask you to feel it all. Maybe quietly, softly, gently like a whisper. Maybe messily, intensely, piercingly like a deep guttural scream. (It is all okay.) And then it will ask you to remember that none of this means anything about your worth or where you are. None of it has happened because you’ve done anything wrong. All of it is happening for you. All of it has been evidence of a quantum leap in the making.

You see, our expansion is like a beating heart. Cycles of opening and contracting are inherent in the process. The dismantling, the discomfort, the squeezing are all really only hallmarks of a retreat back into the velvety darkness that is the void, the womb of creation. The place from which the Light is reborn, new and with a deeper understanding of its radiance. This is the cycle of becoming. It is the cycle of our remembering, truly remembering that we are free.

Rachel is an earth adventurer, cosmic explorer, and lover of the human experience. She shares her gifts through healing and intuitive sessions that include her own special blend of energy work, channeled messages, and practical grounded guidance. Her greatest joy is supporting others in connecting with the multidimensionality of their precious, unique soul. She lives in her RV full-time with her husband and enjoys dancing in whatever direction the wind takes her. https://www.youtube.com/user/rlcollettam https://rachelcolletta.lpages.co/energyhealing60min/