A summary of a series of text and voice messages to a significant other in March and April 2026, describing an extraordinary event I experienced, and now shared with you in written form.

I. Something Is Breaking Open

I would like to share this with you, but I’ve experienced something so profound and deeply healing that if I start writing, you will probably end up with a whole book to read.

I’ve been — and probably still am — going through some kind of Shakti Awakening, as my tantra mentor would probably call it. Or a Kundalini Awakening, or… I don’t know… a satori-like experience, since the Sun moved into gate 25. Like an initiation after that gate-36 Darkening of the Light experience I’d just come through.

I’m in a strange place right now. I have hardly slept this past week, and I can’t even describe the level of clarity I’ve had. It’s still ongoing, though a little softer now. I was awake most of last night again, caught up in this inner dialogue, as if I were tuned into a higher source, receiving download after download of questions instantly answered. And the number of synchronicities — I can’t even describe how it’s all connected.

I honestly don’t know what to do with it right now. I remember that The Voice asked Ra, “Are you ready to get to work?” And it wasn’t really a question. Well, I feel much the same now. But it scares the hell out of me. This whole book idea is tied up in it, and everything that follows. I keep seeing connections between the people in my life, between charts, cycles, you name it. I think Richard Rudd would call this a mix of Epiphany and Ecstasy.

I’m scared because I feel like this is simply what I’ll have to do, even though there’s a real chance of failure, with real consequences for my personal life and future stability.

And I have to be honest: sharing this with you feels a little scary too. We’ve only just started to get to know each other. So far I’ve told only one other person, one of my closest friends, because part of my mind keeps insisting this is insanity — “you’ve got to be kidding me, stop that delusion.”

I’m well aware that Rahu is currently traveling with Mars and Mercury, transiting my natal Ketu in the seventh house, and Rahu is the enhancer, the obsessive one. And of course, everything I “saw” has to do with relationships and the Family (Gate 37). I could go into a lot of detail here, but for now I’m simply caught between mental disbelief and a body that feels intensely aroused and ecstatic — which is exactly why it’s so hard to sleep, even though I meditate daily, and a lot. I swear I haven’t taken any plant medicine or psychedelics. I don’t even drink alcohol anymore.

II. Reading the Sky

Forgive my undefined-Ajna, scrambled thoughts, but looking back on this past week and at the astrological transits behind it — the North Node conjunct Mars conjunct Mercury in Aquarius, in my seventh house. What Mars and Rahu together feel like is so close to how I imagine the Cross of the Sleeping Phoenix: this 34-20 channel, the power of the Sacral connecting to the now, the voice of the now. Fast, powerful, impulsive, like Mars itself. And then 55 and 59 as well. Rahu enhances, obsesses, makes everything feel otherworldly, in a sense. So, there’s a link here to a new era coming — I follow Richard Rudd’s transmissions about it, which take a slightly lighter view.

And feeling all this in my body this past week — it’s strange, because when we met, when our charts were matched in Neutrino Design, there’s something about that timing. Then, by the next transit, it was the 36, which happened to be your solar half-return, and for me, everything shifted there. It felt like a week of Grace — 22 is Grace for me, not only in the social, emotional sense. Then the 36 pulled me into a kind of Darkening of the Light, a dark night of the soul more intense than anything I’d experienced before.

From there I moved into the softer 25th gate, and it was on the second day of that transit that I had this Shakti awakening.

III. The Body Breaks Open

My body broke open, and I still can’t fully describe how it felt. Everything was completely different. I felt like a different person entirely, even though I was still in the same body — the body itself just felt different. The kind of thing a “woo-woo” person might describe as raising your frequency, waking up. And I did feel that, though not at first. First, I had to move through a flood of emotion, all pain, something primal. Only once I’d moved through it did it turn into ecstasy. I’m borrowing Richard’s word here, because he has a vocabulary for feelings I can’t easily find in ordinary English. Ecstasy. It’s such a strange word to use, and yet it fits.

Two years ago, I went through three days in an ecstatic state I still can’t fully explain — it felt otherworldly, like I was losing my mind, but in a good way. It was bliss. This experience was similar, but more embodied, if I can put it that way. The first time was more mental; this one lived in the body. I couldn’t stop crying, over the smallest things — the beauty I suddenly saw around me, the synchronicities I started noticing everywhere. I couldn’t believe how everything I’d ever done, studied, or lived through had led to this exact point, as if I could almost see the whole picture at once. But my mind couldn’t hold it. Even trying to describe it now, it’s too much to put into words.

So, something broke open. I don’t know exactly what. It probably has something to do with the shadow work I’d done the week before, and I can’t help linking it to our charts too — the composite. You happen to carry the 36 in a prominent place, and the 22 in your ascendant, and I met you right before your solar half-return. Now we’re moving through 25, heading into 17 — which is my solar half-return. It’s almost too much of a coincidence. And yet, it doesn’t feel negative at all.

This has become a real problem, honestly, because I haven’t slept more than two to four hours a night in days. I feel as though I have a defined Sacral center — not as strong as a Generator’s, but I can feel it. It just keeps burning, and I can’t seem to disconnect from it. So, I lie awake at night, unable to let it go. With this much sleep deprivation, I can feel the energy wearing me down, the way it does when you spend too long around a Generator and need to withdraw and shed that Sacral charge — except I can’t seem to shed it at all.

I really wonder whether this conjunction — the speed of Mars and Rahu together, with a mental Mercury caught up in it (and for a part, going retrograde), in Aquarius, which lands in Pisces in Western astrology — explains why it all feels so dreamy, so watery, so emotional. I can vouch for the emotional part, at least.

It feels like we’re getting an early taste of the Sleeping Phoenix, this constant hum in the background, this Sacral 34-20 that won’t quiet down. It’s exhausting. But then I think: if that’s what it is, maybe these transits are simply helping us adjust to that frequency, so that by the time we actually arrive there, we’ll know how to hold it.

And this ecstasy that came with the awakening hasn’t left. Tonight, I got some good news from a friend and felt ecstatic all over again. It feels like abundance, spiritual abundance — a strong, joyful connection to something higher pouring straight into me, all bliss and ecstasy. Creative, freeing, a completely different register of emotion.

I honestly don’t know how I’ll manage until this conjunction moves out of Aquarius. I hope my body adjusts, or I’ll have to find another way to avoid burning out completely, because I can feel it in my nervous system. I’m on shaky ground right now — I have to meditate for an hour, sometimes two, just to find a little equilibrium. Then everything softens, everything quiets, but it’s hard to stay there for long, and there’s a lot of emotion moving through me, too.

IV. The Sacral Hum

Something else happened on top of all this — something I’m genuinely excited about, though again, I have to be careful it doesn’t end up controlling me.

These past few nights I’ve lost all sense of time. When I wake at night, I do sleep a little, simply because I’m so exhausted, but by the time I actually get to bed, I might only manage two hours before it starts again — these conversations in my head. I think of it as Gate 24, the rumination — the shadow side of it circles the same thoughts, searching for an answer. I carry that gate in my Chiron, in line 6.

The rumination had already started during the Gate-36 transit, driven by the emotional turmoil I was in — an active brain, a strategic mind, everything wide open, pressure coming from every direction. I ruminate easily anyway: the same worry patterns circling without ever landing on an answer. Maddening, and exhausting, for an undefined Ajna like mine.

But a few days after the awakening, something shifted at night — the rumination slowed down. I could actually hold conversations. It felt almost Splenic, because it moved so fast: I’d ask a question and get an answer, immediately. Sometimes I’d only be halfway through forming the question, and the answer was already there. In my head it plays out like a conversation, just an extremely fast one — closer to telepathy than anything else I can compare it to.

For three or four nights now, I’ve had these conversations for hours on end, and I can’t make them stop. I try to disconnect, roll over, try to sleep, and sometimes I do drift off, only to be jolted back awake by that adrenaline-like Sacral hum. My nervous system is overwhelmed, flooding my system with stress hormones, even though I still feel full of energy during the day, and apparently at night, too.

Then it starts again — questions and answers about all kinds of things, charts, past experiences. I genuinely don’t know what this is. I imagine a psychic medium does something similar, though perhaps more slowly, with more effort, more concentration. For me, it’s effortless. It just flows, like talking to a spiritual guide, some kind of entity — the answers come instantly, mostly to yes-or-no questions. And it isn’t that I’m forming the questions myself; they simply arise, in my own vocabulary, my own tone of voice, and the reply comes back the same way. And yet, I know the answers aren’t mine. The questions might be, though I couldn’t tell you where they come from — only that they’re always tied to something I’ve seen, or something from my own life.

Images came too. There were creatures in the room, very small, not on the ground but everywhere. I heard myself asking about them, and the answer came: “Yes, they’re here. They’ve always been here. And you will see them. They will become visible.”

One evening, as it was getting dark, I was in the kitchen — feeding the dogs, or myself — and out of nowhere I started having these conversations out loud. Not the answers, just the questions, and I was reacting to whatever came back, laughing, responding, as if I were talking to myself. Fortunately, I live alone. My dogs certainly noticed.

Then came another image, so vivid I could almost touch it: a fork in the road, two worlds splitting apart, one side a shadow frequency, the other a higher one, slowly drifting away from each other, like a kind of projection hanging in the air.

I don’t know where any of this is coming from. Part of me thinks: I’m not this person — you’re meeting someone completely different from who I was before we met. And at the same time, I’ve never felt more like myself. Even my sense of my own design feels sharper now, as if Rahu, or Mars, has made it more tangible, almost psychic.

I was talking with a good friend of mine, a Manifesting Generator, and while replying to her, I could feel myself pulling on her Sacral energy — my voice, my laughter, even the rhythm of my speech shifting to match hers. I caught myself doing it mid-sentence and had to laugh.

V. Holding the Field

There’s something I want to connect this to — things I’d noticed in myself long before this week.

There was a time in Texas, in a group of ten people, all Projectors, several of them Mental Projectors. I wasn’t a participant; I was an observer. I could hold the whole field for the entire weekend, watching every relational dynamic play out, the group ones and the individual ones. It put me in a very silent place. My mentor noticed my silence and told me afterward she’d wanted to draw me out more. I was relieved she hadn’t — it would have shattered my ability to observe, pulled me into action, and I wouldn’t have felt safe, or invited to be there simply as myself.

And there was the time in Bruges, when a man had a heart attack on a busy street. I was sitting in my favorite noodle bar, waiting for lunch, and oddly, I was the only person in the restaurant — unheard of on a Saturday. Outside, the scene was unfolding: the cooks behind the open kitchen growing frantic, people gathering. I slipped into that same heightened, observant state, holding the whole field, watching everyone move almost in slow motion. I felt like a lighthouse.

One of the cooks came over and started talking to me, venting about her years as a nurse in the Philippines, and I could feel her nervous system settling through me — not through my emotional energy, but through the field itself, as if I were simply giving her access to something that let her regulate. Another person joined us. It was profound, and I stayed in this peaceful, tranquil state the whole time. I never found out if the man survived — they had to resuscitate him and put up a tent around him. But none of that chaos touched me directly, or in any negative way. If anything, it felt like I was exactly where I needed to be, with whatever gift this is.

I can hold that kind of inner peace for hours without losing any energy. It might have something to do with my 37-40 channel in the nodes — as if it isn’t my energy at all, but something I can hold through my design, through my body, like a bridge, making sure everyone in the field has what they need.

Back then, I didn’t have this awareness of my own design; I could only feel the field itself. Now, it’s as if the field, my design, and even other people’s designs, are all far more available to me than ever before.

One more moment, just last week: standing in line at a small local supermarket. Suddenly, I could feel the whole field again, even more vividly this time, without the slow motion. Everything kept its own pace, but every other sense came alive too — I could hear every sound, catch the whole picture at the edges of my vision, take in every smell. All of it at once, and I felt completely at ease, no need to hurry. Then the cashier started scanning my groceries so fast that it yanked me straight back into my ordinary body, my ordinary mind. I was almost offended. I wanted to say, “Could you please slow down?” It felt jarring, almost aggressive. It just wasn’t right.

VI. What It Feels Like Now

Standing in the shower one morning, I realized again how different everything feels now that this last barrier has been removed, since that Sun-in-36 transit weeks ago. I wanted to describe what it’s like when there are no solid barriers left, because the whole experience of being in a body changes. Being able to breathe that deeply, filling your lungs completely, feeling your belly expand all the way down with nothing holding it back. And this warmth, like stepping into a warm bath, rising up through the spine — starting at the base and slowly climbing to the back of the head, sometimes even reaching the crown. I can still feel it now, just talking about it, though it’s softened since those first days — now I need ten or fifteen minutes of meditation to find that warmth again and feel it climb.

And this lightness — like a weight that had been sitting on my shoulders, my back, has simply lifted. The diaphragm moves so freely now, and the heart feels expansive; sometimes I catch myself lifting my chest just to feel that openness more. There’s a pulsing at the third eye too, and I can rest my attention there so easily. In meditation, information and images arrive there almost on their own.

And this sense of having more than enough energy, regardless of how much I’ve slept or rested. A kind of vitality that regenerates itself — not quite like a Generator’s, more like a Projector’s own version of Sacral renewal.

And being able to hold the heaviest feelings, thoughts, and emotions — the darkest ones — and still stay anchored within myself, and offer that same steadiness to other people. Holding the field for them, not so they collapse into it or draw on my energy, but so I can gently guide whatever they’re carrying, facing, or avoiding, almost without them realizing it. I can feel that field and hold it like a container.

Feeling centered in myself even as what I witness stirs my own emotions — there’s a core stability to it, to borrow a phrase from the Gene Keys. It’s not just me holding that field; it’s as if an entire fractal of energy, ancestry, and guidance from somewhere higher is holding it with me, through me. Like standing firmly on my own two feet while staying completely open to the heavens, and being the still point between the two. And through the heart, holding that field of presence. My Vocation carries Presence as its Siddhi, in the Core, and I see that same Siddhi in you, in the Pearl. My own Pearl is intimacy — self-honesty and intimacy, Gene Key 59.

So, whatever happens next — however chaotic, however much it feels like a crisis, however tempting it is to run — if you’ve already decided to stay with the process, it’s worth it. It really, truly is worth it.

I could almost burst out of my own skin with this feeling of ecstasy and bliss, one I can call up almost at will. Of course, life carries on, and I still move between Shadow and Gift, but this field stays present underneath all of it, everywhere. It’s there when I’m caught in the Shadow, there when I return to the Gift, there when I slip back into the Shadow again. It never really leaves; it’s just that when the barriers are still up, it’s nearly impossible to feel that field, let alone hold it at a Siddhic level — the body is simply too dense for that.

These days, I can stay in that feeling for longer stretches. That’s why I meditate. It’s like a dance: you remember it, you feel it again, and then life happens, and it fades. But I trust that the field never really disappears. It carries me, in a way.

VII. Suffering Is Grace

The other thing that frightens me most, I think, is the feeling of losing control — because somewhere in this process, my sensitivity increased so much that it dragged up all sorts of old fears with it. But that sensitivity is proof the barriers are dissolving. And feeling everything is exactly what makes us human; it dissolves every illusion of separateness. Because sensitivity like this comes paired with deeper core stability — the more sensitive you become, even to the point of crying over the smallest things, tears of gratitude, tears of grace, the more centered you also become. It isn’t a sensitivity born of fear. It’s a sensitivity born of love, of being able to hold more love even in the middle of a crisis, opening the heart further each time.

At a certain point you simply feel everything, not just the difficult things but the good ones too, though “good” and “bad” start to feel like such flat words in this context. You feel it all so deeply it brings you to tears, and at the same time it brings this aliveness. I feel it again even now, writing this, and I could cry. My body feels almost too small, too dense to hold it. This feeling, this sense of everything, is the closest I’ve come to oneness — the truth of who we all are. Probably close to what people describe after a near-death experience, being out of the body — something unimaginably more intense than what I feel now, something the body simply couldn’t survive holding.

So, it isn’t a feel-good state; it’s a feel-everything state. It holds the suffering and the pain too, and that also brings me to tears, not from unhappiness, but always with a certain grief attached — and also grace. Richard Rudd says “suffering is grace,” and I never really understood that until now. It’s through the suffering that I get to feel everything, that I move through the barriers, that my body finally relaxes. Everything I’ve shared here has come through embracing that: the fact that it arrives through suffering. That, I think, is the key that unlocks all of it.

I wish this for everyone. If people could feel this, even once, there would be no reason left to keep avoiding their feelings, keeping the barriers up, keeping the heart closed behind all those old protection mechanisms.

And yes — there is trauma. So much trauma. I can speak to that from my own story too, a different story from yours, but the underlying theme is remarkably similar.

I’ve been to places within myself where I doubted I could hold the pain of reliving it. It goes all the way back to my conception — how I was made and brought into this world was already the wound. I never got the chance to feel welcome in this life. Even my own name was chosen to hide a large part of who I am — it carries a gentleness, a “nice girl” quality I’ve never liked, a softness that simply isn’t me. It’s the name my mother gave me to hide the part of me she couldn’t bring herself to recognize.

So, moving through all of it is an inner crisis so existential it comes close to dying — a kind of death that lets you be reborn as yourself, finding grace in what my mother did, what my father did, what the world did, what I did to myself through all of that, and in carrying this name regardless. It all carries meaning, and at the same time it is deeply painful.

VIII. What’s on the Other Side

But what waits on the other side of it is so worth it. I can’t describe it. Words simply fall short. I wish I could give you the feeling itself. I suspect you already catch glimpses of it.

We don’t know how long this takes — it could be years, or it could shift in five minutes. Looking at where I once was, and at what you’ve shared with me, I sense you’ve already moved through a great deal of it, though I can also see there’s still a part you haven’t fully faced. Looking at my own process, this last stretch of it seems to have begun last summer. It felt like a kind of upward pull leading up to my trip to the States, a trip that reminds me a little of what you’ve shared about moving to your home country and reconnecting with your roots.

When I came back from the States in November, I fell into a kind of void, and that’s when everything intensified. I could finally see how much dishonesty I still carried toward myself, how many illusions were still standing, even after feeling so good there and forming real connections. There was still so much standing between myself and other people.

Then, in February, I broke the last unhealthy bond in my life — a bargain in which the other person fed on my energy, and not fairly. I hadn’t planned to end it completely, only to take a pause, but she ended it for good, reacting badly to what was really just a boundary — which, in itself, was exactly what had felt wrong about that relationship all along.

Only a few weeks later, I met you, and something in me broke open. The synchronicities kept stacking up — your Cross appearing in my lunar return chart, then these transits arriving right on cue — and that turned out to be my last barrier coming down. In the week leading up to it, the 36 transit hit hard, really hard. My ex-husband was the one who triggered the crisis in me, but you were there, and so were others, and it felt entirely different from every other time I’ve had to move through an inner crisis.

I just wanted to share this, maybe as a reminder of what waits on the other side, for whenever everything falls apart, and how that feels, and that it really is worth it. And what I’ve managed to move through, anyone can.