Holding the Light When the World Feels Heavy

Lately, the world feels loud.
Heavy.
Unsettled in ways that don’t stay on the news but settle into the body.

Here in Minnesota, that weight feels closer to the ground. We feel it in our neighborhoods, in our conversations, in the way people move through grocery stores and public spaces with a little more tension in their shoulders. There is fear, anger, grief—and it would be untrue to pretend otherwise.

This land knows protest and pain.
It also knows endurance.

It knows frozen winters that demand patience, roots that grow deep beneath snow, and springs that arrive not because they are forced—but because the ground is ready.

This week, in my meditations, I wasn’t shown escape from what’s happening. I was shown something quieter—and perhaps more important right now.

I was shown steadiness.

What I Was Shown

Again and again, the message arrived in simple, grounded ways:

Old structures gently dissolving without violence.
Paths that no longer needed to be walked losing their pull.
Spaces growing quieter—not empty, but restful.

There was no urgency.
No demand to act, fix, or react.

Instead, there was a steady presence saying:
“Stay connected to the ground beneath you.”

This wasn’t spiritual bypassing.
It was spiritual grounding.

A reminder that fear spreads fastest when we feel unrooted—and that hope doesn’t come from denying reality, but from remembering who we are inside of it.

A Moment of Ground When the World Feels Unsteady

(A gentle companion meditation you can return to anytime)

Begin by placing one hand on your chest and one on your belly.
If you’re sitting, let your feet touch the floor.
If you’re standing, feel your weight settle downward.

Take a slow breath in through your nose.
Exhale gently through your mouth.

Now imagine this:

You are standing on familiar ground.
It might be your backyard, a nearby park, a sidewalk you know well, or simply the earth beneath your feet.

From the soles of your feet, gentle roots begin to grow downward—not forcing, not digging—just connecting.
They reach into the soil, into steadiness, into something older and calmer than the moment you’re in.

With each breath out, allow excess fear to drain down those roots.
You do not need to analyze it.
You do not need to fix it.
Just let it go.

With each breath in, imagine a quiet strength rising up from the earth.
Not urgency.
Not anger.
Just calm presence.

Stay here for three slow breaths.

When you’re ready, softly say to yourself:
“I am here. I am grounded. I am safe in this moment.”

Open your eyes when it feels right.

What This Moment Is Asking of Us

If you are feeling overwhelmed right now, this is not a sign that you’re failing.
It’s a sign that you are human.

You are not required to solve the world.
You are not meant to carry everything.

What this moment asks is simpler—and braver:

• Tend your inner stability before reacting outward

• Choose compassion without taking on exhaustion

• Remember that calm is not indifference—it is strength

Hope does not roar.
Hope roots.

And rooted people become quiet beacons for others—often without realizing it.

Closing Prayer

May we be steady when the world feels unsteady.

May we remember that calm is not weakness,
that compassion does not require burnout,
and that hope can live quietly inside us—even now.

May we tend our own light gently,
so it does not burn out, but burns on.

And may the places we live, walk, and love
feel that steadiness through us.

So it is.

Holding the light with you,
Theri
Visionary Light Journey