Living lightwork

For a long time I didn’t identify as a lightworker.  I suppose maybe I didn’t feel “good enough” or like I had enough years in the love and light tribe, the credentials to be “proper”.

More recently, however,  I have been thinking it’s one way to describe what I do and where I feel my soul’s calling lies; intuitive (psychic) readings, healing work with reflexology, Reiki and crystals, supporting others as they explore their own soul path, creating moments of everyday magic and healing through spellcraft and writing.

But something has still felt off.  I look out there, into the beautiful lilac and pink glow of the lightworker community, and I feel that what I’m doing isn’t quite right.  While I “shouldn’t” there’s a tendency to look at my peers and mentors and feel that what I’m doing isn’t quite shiny enough.  There’s the tendency to doubt myself, but maybe I really am doing it wrong?

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I went to my guides.  What, I said, is going on?  Why, I said, given the amount of time and effort and energy I’m putting in isn’t it like that?

Of course, you will most likely have guessed the answer.

Firstly, because it’s yours.  Your part of this work is not going to look like anyone else’s. There’s no template. When they made you they broke the mould.

Secondly, because you only see the 2D version of anyone else’s journey.  There is sound and vision, but it’s like a movie and you don’t get the rest.

In your own life you have the 360/ 4D experience with added emotion.  This means that when you’re preparing an offering you can hear the conversations taking place downstairs in the kitchen, or experience the frustration of cat-on-the-keyboard.  You have the itch behind the eyes of an interrupted night when you’re pulling your morning cards, or the concern about whether there’s enough bread for lunches while you’re taking your shower and saying prayers.  When you sit out in the studio, stealing an hour away, and prepare a candle spell with fresh flowers and herbs from the garden, you are accompanied by the fragrance of singed fur, after the cat got a little too close to the magic. When you’re feeling fragile and heartsore it colours the moments.  Which doesn’t mean they are not blessed, it means they are real.

And it dawned on me.  This is what it’s like.  Showing up everyday at your altar, even if it’s just a few minutes to pull a card and light a candle.  Talking to your guides and angels in the car on the way to work. Responding to emails, putting in time to create your content, making the time to take part in self-development work and study.  This is it.

And it doesn’t feel like an Instagram post with beautiful filters and atmospheric meditation music because it isn’t.  It’s real life.

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For you too.  Your journey, with it’s people and obligations and loved ones and pets and the need to buy groceries and do laundry and go to the dentist.  This is it.

So I am voting for cutting ourselves a little slice of grace and pouring a cup of compassion, for looking at where we did well (or even where we think we did O.K.) and celebrating the messy magic we live in the middle of.

Let’s start there.

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