I love the way that when we truly listen, we are led to exactly what we need in the moment.
A while back, Yeshua shared something with me. He said that I had been trying to force the light—trying to make myself burn like a candle when the conditions were not quite ready yet.
He showed me what I now understand as the Bridge State—that place where we are connected, awakened even, and yet still releasing what no longer serves before fully stepping into the other side.
He did not come as the image often portrayed, but as the Presence of the fullness of his Being.
He said that our unfolding is like the sunrise.
It arrives exactly as it should—
in its own time,
without needing to be rushed, improved, or controlled.
He is present as we recognize both what we are releasing
and what we already are,
but have not yet been ready to claim.
He does not push.
He does not demand.
He simply waits—
holding space,
trusting that we will awaken
and ask.
He shared that the embodiment of our I AM Presence and our movement into service are not separate paths.
We do not first become fully embodied and then begin to serve.
Embodiment happens through the journey—
through the living,
the sharing,
the showing up.
Not in preparation…
but in participation.
Stop rehearsing your worthiness.
Start living from it.
The beliefs and ways of being we have been dismantling once served a purpose.
They held us at a certain stage.
But they are now too small for what is trying to emerge.
He said:
“Deconstruction is messy.
It is meant to be messy.
You cannot tear down a house and expect the construction site to look beautiful.”
And yet, somewhere in the middle of that dismantling,
we begin to judge ourselves—
for not being further along,
for not being ready,
for still being in the process.
There is a gap we feel—
between where we think we should be
and where we actually are.
We interpret this gap as:
“I’m not ready yet.”
“I need more healing.”
“I need more clarity before I step forward.”
But he said… this is the illusion.
The old program.
The voice that keeps us small, safe, and waiting longer than we need to.
He then showed me something profound.
He took that perceived separation—
the “gap”—
and held it in his hands.
He said:
“This is not a problem to solve.
It is a gift to receive.”
Because the space between the ideal and the real…
is where compassion lives.
It is where we learn to love ourselves
and others
as we truly are—
not as we think we should be.
True service is not found in perfection.
It is found in the willingness to be seen as we are—
without judgment,
without withholding.
When we begin to share from where we are,
we realize something we had forgotten:
We have always been worthy.
We simply had not accepted it yet.
I had been thinking that I needed to fully embody Presence
before I could share it.
But what I came to understand is this:
It is in the sharing of the process
that others learn to love and accept themselves.
He told me:
It does not need to be profound.
It needs to be original.
It needs to be true.
My truth—
the deeply personal truth
of what I have lived,
felt,
and learned over decades of being alive.
The dismantling.
The moments I thought I was broken—
only to discover
I was simply changing.
He also spoke of something deeper—
something I felt especially in women, though it touches many.
The pattern of martyrdom as service.
We learn to hold space for others,
to give,
to support,
to place others first.
We begin to measure our worth
by how much we give.
It can look like love.
Like selflessness.
Like spirituality.
But it comes at a cost.
Each time we place another’s path before our own—
each time we become the vessel for others’ healing
while ignoring our own—
we reinforce the belief that our worth is conditional.
That love must be earned.
That we are valuable only through output.
He called this the Christ wound—
a distortion of his true message.
And he said clearly:
“I did not come to show you that suffering and self-sacrifice are the path to God.”
He said:
“I came to show you that love does not die.
That consciousness continues beyond the body.
That you are eternal, beloved, and free.”
But somewhere along the way,
the message became twisted.
People began to worship suffering
instead of understanding the love beneath it.
They began to believe that denying themselves,
punishing the body,
and rejecting their humanity
were spiritual acts.
And he said to me:
“You absorbed this deeply—on a cellular level.
You learned that holiness requires sacrifice.
That growth requires suffering.
That you must decrease so others may increase.”
And then he said:
“None of that is true.
None of it was ever true.”
He also showed me another shadow:
Perfection disguised as devotion.
The belief that I could not fully show up—
in writing,
in presence,
in sharing—
until I was healed, whole, and perfect.
He named it clearly:
It was not devotion.
It was fear.
Fear of being seen as inadequate.
Fear of judgment.
Fear that after everything…
I am still human.
Still learning.
Still unfolding.
And then came the truth that softened everything:
Our humanity is not an obstacle to our spiritual path.
It is the point.
We did not incarnate to escape being human.
We incarnated to discover
that being human is sacred.
The body is a temple.
Emotions are guides.
Imperfection is not a flaw—
it is a feature.
What matters is not perfection,
but how real,
how relatable,
how present we are with one another.
He said:
“People do not need another guru.
They do not need someone on a pedestal telling them what to do.”
They need someone willing to stand in the middle of the mess and say:
“Me too.
I am figuring this out too.
It’s okay.
We are okay.
Let’s walk together.”
He reminded me of something from many years ago.
On the Navajo reservation, I was guided to purchase a ring—
a woman seated with children gathered around her.
It is called The Storyteller.
I was told then
that it was part of my path.
Now I understand.
He said that this past year
has been about clearing the space
to share these stories—
unfiltered,
uncensored,
real.
Not perfect.
Just present.
And this is the gift we can give ourselves:
To say yes before we feel ready.
To share from the middle of the process—
not just the end.
To stop waiting for permission—
from others,
from teachers,
even from him.
To begin, imperfectly,
within the beauty of our humanity.
To allow our truth to evolve.
To be willing to grow,
change,
and see differently tomorrow.
He said this is a sacred step.
Not dramatic.
Not grand.
Just real.
So this is me—being real.
This message came to me in February,
and it has taken time to rise fully into expression.
I am grateful for the guidance,
and for the way it returned to me this morning.
Let us walk this path together.
Each journey is unique—
yet when we share,
when we connect,
the path becomes lighter.
Because in truth…
it all begins and ends in the same place.
✨ Closing Blessing: The Grace of the Bridge ✨
May you soften into the space where you are.
Not where you think you should be…
Not where you once were…
But here—
in this quiet, unfolding moment of becoming.
May you feel the gentleness of your own process,
like the sunrise that does not rush,
but arrives in perfect timing.
May you release the weight of perfection,
and lay down the burden of needing to be ready.
For you are already within the sacred crossing—
the bridge between what has been
and what is emerging.
And this space…
this tender, in-between place…
is not a delay.
It is a blessing.
May compassion rise within you
like a steady flame—
not forced,
not striving,
but naturally illuminating
all that you are.
May you learn to meet yourself
with the same love
you so freely give to others.
To hold your own heart
with patience…
with kindness…
with truth.
May you remember:
You do not need to earn your worth.
You do not need to prove your light.
You do not need to perfect your humanity.
For it is your humanity
that makes your presence sacred.
May you have the courage to begin—
even when you feel unfinished.
To speak—
even when your voice trembles.
To share—
not from perfection,
but from truth.
And may you feel, always,
that you are not walking alone.
That there is a Presence—
quiet, steady, loving—
walking beside you,
within you,
as you.
May you trust your unfolding.
May you honor your becoming.
May you rest in the knowing…
✨ You are already enough. ✨
And so it is. 🌿✨
Oracle of Divine Grace 