We're all pilgrims

No matter what name we give it, God, Source, Spirit, or if we seek through Nature, the Universe, or Science, we’re all reaching toward the same light.

The same relief that comes from handing ourselves over to something larger than us, so we no longer have to carry the weight of it all.

At the core, we’re seeking the same essence of love and truth. And something remains true: We’re not meant to do it alone.

In a deeply polarized world, perhaps what we need most is reverence for the nuance in how we each find our way home.

Disbelief and Devotion.
Goddess and God.
Shadow and Light.
Surrender and Will.
What seem like polarities on the surface are really two sides of the same coin.
And the path to integrating this into our human experience is not linear.
It spirals ꩜

What makes us all pilgrims is not the place we worship, but the heart that keeps searching.

And when we set aside our judgments of the hearts that appear the most lost, might we see that these are the ones searching the hardest?

For a long time, I didn’t believe in anything beyond what I could see.

“I’ll believe in God if I meet him”, I would proclaim. Quickly followed by, “and I’m pretty sure God is a woman”.

I attended a Church of England Primary school by catchment, where I would very confidently keep my head up and my eyes open during prayer time.

I’m not quite sure where I developed such a defiant disbelief from such a young age. I wasn’t raised with any religious context in family life, but I don’t recall any significant anti-God rhetoric either.

Somehow I ended up adopting science and logic as sanctuary. A place where mystery was explained and made safe. Protection from disappointment, in hoping for something that might not exist.

I was happy in my not-knowing, so I didn’t go searching for God. At least, not consciously. Subconsciously, it seems the soul was calling me back. Perhaps because the working class belief system I had downloaded during my childhood of “you are born, you work a job you hate forever, and then you die” was filling me with existential dread.

The slow dance with unknown realms got so enchantingly loud that I made the decision to go to a plant medicine retreat. And I’m so glad I did. It rocked my perspective to the core, as God reached through me and gave me eyes to see. This awakening opened the door for me, and life as I know it has not looked the same since.

The door itself has not been a narrow path, but a wide open expanse that has led me to sit in many temples. I have had many more connection points since then, both with and without the assistance of plant allies. And as brilliant and piercing as these experiences are, so too are the subtle realms and the everyday mundane.

Unsurprisingly, since I always suspected God to be woman, the feminine rose first. She came as feeling, as beauty, as the pulse of life. Through her I began to sense something sacred. This led me to an ongoing study with Mary Magdalene, and through that study, I was delivered into a curiosity about Jesus.

I returned to the UK this summer, and as I walked my daughter around the village I grew up in, I saw a sign outside the Church: “Holy Communion, Sunday 10am, All Welcome”. And I felt inexplicably drawn in.

To sit in the pews my ancestors once sat in. To meet the masculine again, not through hierarchy or doctrine, but through the heart of devotion.

I have been going to Church on Sundays since then, and I have begun to meet some interesting parts of me that fear authority, structure, and surrender. I bump into patriarchal wounding almost every time I experience scripture, hymns, and prayers.

And at the same time, I have discovered open-heartedness, community, a willingness to set aside judgement, and a collective of humans who have been willing to share their own truth without telling me what mine should look like.

I don’t know where all of this is headed. All I know is that I am following my inner compass, leaning into resistance, uncovering the spaces and places where I am not free, and staying open to where it all might take me.

The spiral continues.

I have been sitting on this draft for a few weeks.

Partially because I have been busy spending time with family for my daughter’s first birthday. And partially because I felt nervous to share this piece of my story. I had considered leaving out the personal share and sticking with the pace of the intro. But that seemed to defeat the point.

In fact, the more vulnerable I am around my truth, the more I seem to find meaningful connection. Truth is piercing like that. It holds the power to bring forward a spark of connection and form a bridge that transcends belief systems.

Just recently, I shared a reel on Instagram about my walk with surrender which sparked some beautiful conversations with an old friend who spoke from the language of science and atheism. We were seeing through different lenses, yet the shared understanding and the gnosis of truly seeing each other was palpable.

Earlier this year, I made a quiet commitment to birth a book.

Last year, I birthed a child. This year, I am birthing my creative expression.

Since January, I’ve been writing in the pages of my journal, the notes app on my phone, and anywhere else I can catch what wants to come through.

Working title: BIG EMOTIONS. Small words.

It’s a collection of pieces that live somewhere between poetry and prose. Reflections on life’s biggest feelings, written with as few words as possible. It’s been a journey of weaving my own inner polarities: the full feminine flow of emotion held within the quiet, steady frame of the masculine.

Now, I’m moving into the next phase: compiling, editing, and shaping it into its first full draft.

And I would love your help in bringing this book into the world.

If you’d like to be part of the process, offering feedback, early reads, or simply holding space for this creation, I’d love to hear from you. Drop me an email and let’s chat.

I’m also looking to connect with a book designer (graphic or layout) to help bring the physical form to life.

More to come soon as the pages start to take shape.