It's Getting Heavy, and I'm Still Holding the Light
A Star moment in a Tower world - choosing hope, healing, and collective faith.
Lately, it’s felt unbearable.
There is a weight pressing on the world—on my chest, my thoughts, my spirit. I don’t know if it belongs to me or to the collective, but it’s here. And it’s loud.
My energy feels polluted by pain that isn’t mine. My mood has been hijacked by the ache of what we’re all witnessing: division, destruction, deception. And I don’t feel like I have anywhere to safely place it. Nowhere to release it. Nowhere to feel held.
Is anyone else asking -
Are we prepared?
Are we ready for what this world is becoming, or has already become?
I find myself whispering prayers under my breath, not just for protection, but for clarity. For strength. For purpose. Because something in me knows - this is spiritual war.
And I didn’t come here to sit it out.
But how do we fight it? Not with violence. Not with rage. Not with separation.
I believe… it’s our time.
But how?
How do we rise when the world wants to drag us under?
How do we unite when so many in the “spiritual” community have become commodified, performative, or divisive?
I’ve had to cut ties. I’ve blocked and unfollowed people I once loved because their beliefs began to harm. I’ve questioned everyone’s intentions - including my own. I’ve found myself crying tears that didn’t feel like mine. And in the stillness, I’m faced with this:
Can we trust one another? Can we build again?
Because that’s what I want more than anything.
To create actual community. Not just Instagram likes and fake support, but real connection. To barter herbs, share meals, raise each other’s children, protect one another, and pray together without ego. I want to live in a world where your survival is tied to mine, and we honor that.
But instead, it often feels like we’re all clinging to different ships, yelling across stormy waters, hoping someone hears us before we go under.
So what do we do next?
I don’t have all the answers. But I know this:
I don’t want to move in fear.
I want to move in faith.
To live in it.
To breathe it so deeply that the world can’t corrupt it.
To remember that we are protected, and not because we’re untouchable, but because our spirit is eternal. Because our ancestors did not carry us this far for us to forget who we are.
So if you’re reading this and feeling the same ache:
You’re not alone.
And you’re not broken.
You are a healer navigating a wounded world.
You are a soul remembering its mission.
And you are loved.
We may not have the system we need yet, but we can become it—in micro-movements, in quiet acts of courage, in the conversations we choose to have and the community we choose to build next.
If you’ve been wanting to cry, scream, pray, or rebuild — this is your sign to do all of it.
Let the tears cleanse you.
Let the fear alchemize.
Let the faith rise.
We were made for this.
Remember that when the noise of the world grows unbearable, The Star asks us to return to silence.
To the breath. To our source.
She kneels between two realms, one foot on the earth, the other in the water. Reminding us that healing is both practical and spiritual. She doesn’t fight for attention. She pours. She trusts. She shines, even after the storm.
Let us become The Star in our own lives.
Pouring truth into dry ground.
Pouring love into a wounded world.
Pouring hope into the collective ache.
We are not powerless. We are not lost.
We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.
If you’re overwhelmed, place your hand on your heart.
If you’re grieving, offer your tears as sacred water.
If you’re afraid, light a single candle and let it burn as a prayer.
If you’re called, whisper to the Universe: “Use me.”
There is still beauty.
There is still magic.
There is still time.
Let The Star guide you home.
<3 Amanda