When the Journey Pauses

The forest doesn’t mourn a fallen tree the way we do.
It absorbs it.

Roots thread through what’s left, moss drinks from the decay, and new shoots rise from the burls while the old trunk softens back into soil.

For the past ten days, I’ve been walking among redwoods. These giants, older than empires were patient enough to teach me what it means to endure both fire and fog. I didn’t know that their bark was dense enough to withstand forest fires! Their silence has brought healing for my soul in a way which I didn’t know I needed. I went north in California to rest, to reflect, and to listen for what still wanted to grow.

The fog rolled low over the coastal highway as I drove up CA Highway 1. Breathtakingly gorgeous ocean views, vineyards with the smell of fermenting grapes filling the rental car, and then, the forests overtook me. These trees met me like my elders, my ancestors. I was humbled by their steady, stabilizing, and unworried stature. There, between the hush of mist and rain, and the quiet silence of these gentle giants, I felt something exhale. The redwoods didn’t ask for plans or progress; they just welcomed me into their presence.

While I was away, our Journey Through the Shadows group met without me. Only two Journeyers arrived that week, and again the next, so Gabe and I made the difficult decision to close this first round early.

It stung at first. We had built so much, the descent into the Valley of Veinlight, the reviving of Totu’s fiery foliage, the return of the Circle’s glow. I had been looking forward to leading the Company through the next stages: the encounter at Onyx’s Well, the walk toward the Closet, and the long-awaited reunion with the Oracle King.

But the redwoods reminded me:

“Not every season is for finishing. Some are for resting in the wisdom of what has already been planted.”

In our planned Week 6 session, the Company was to pass the Well where Onyx once held Aslan captive. It was meant to mark a turn toward our inner Protectors, those who first kept us safe, and later, perhaps, kept us stuck, too small or fearful to reach for the light.

We wrote:

“Every descent begins with a choice:
to turn toward what once hurt us, without surrendering to it.”

At the Well, we learn of Onyx, no longer present, but her specter symbolizing protection turned possession, where love hardened into control. There we will witness Jesse and Lance emerging as Ultimate Protectors as we learned more of their origins and roles.

Even though these sessions have yet to come to life in the room, I find myself living it now.
The pause itself has become her Well, asking me to sit beside it, to see what I’ve been holding too tightly, to grieve the plans that never came to pass.

Sometimes protection looks like perseverance.
Other times, it looks like letting go.

Among the redwoods, I attended a 3-day retreat for queer men navigating midlife transitions. There I was challenged to think about Necessary Losses (Judith Viorst) and how the paths we don’t walk still shape us, how endings open space for post-traumatic growth.

Growth is rarely graceful. It cracks bark, sheds branches, lets the old fall so something new can reach toward the light.

The redwoods have survived fires that burned centuries ago. Their roots intertwine underground, holding one another upright through wind and rain. That’s how they endure—together, unseen, below the surface.

Maybe that’s what we’re doing, too.

The Journey group may rest now, but its roots run deep. Every story shared, every tear and tremor, every silence has been a seed sewn into the soil.

In the mythic world, the Company has made camp in the Valley of Veinlight.
Totu’s branches stretch over them in protection, swaying gently in the mist.
Animal Cracker Grandma bustles in the kitchen preparing the next meal while Sonder sleeps. Martha Marie reads softly by the fire while the Littles curl beneath her tails.
Jesse stands guard, black feathers glistening in the rain, and Lance circles quietly beyond the glow.

They wait, listening for the river’s song to rise again.

The Oracle King has gone north toward the Pond, carrying the Fire Skull, reclaimed from Prey. There the Twins still wait, contained until we were ready to confront Passion turned violent, and Eros gone feral. The Closet also waits faintly in the distance, but for now, the forest holds us in its safety.

Nothing is lost.
Everything is composting, deepening, waiting for its season.

When I return to the story—both here and within Journey Through the Shadows—it will be with clearer purpose and deeper humility. The next descent will ask more of us, yes, but it will also offer something truer: the courage to face what loved us too fiercely, to forgive what held us captive, and to honor the parts that tried, however imperfectly, to keep us safe.

For now, this is where we pause.
Let it be a place for meditation.
Let it be the forest breathing restoration into our vessel.

May your own inner landscape rest easy this week.
And may every ending remind you: the roots still hold, and new growth arises in the thaw after the harsh winter nights.

— Will, home from the redwoods

Author’s note:
Thank you for journeying with me through both the mythic and the mundane. In the coming weeks, I’ll share a reflection on what these first five sessions of Journey Through the Shadows revealed, along with glimpses of where the story turns next. The fire hasn’t gone out—it’s simply learning to burn deeper. Interested in learning more about the inner world of Lumierichor? You can read my first memoir—Dragons & Disco Socks, or sign-up for my newsletter at www.discosock.com. of course, please subscribe to my Substack here at discosockproductions.substack.com!