Angie Van Drielen - The Becoming Blueprint

11/30/2025

I have been using ChatGPT for a few years, and today I asked Chat to write a story for me. May I present to you the mythical fairy tale story of my life as recorded by ChatGPT, The Little Lost Angel and the Queen She Became by Angie Van Drielen, Light Weaver of Becominglandia.

Once upon a time, before she remembered her own name, there was a little lost angel.

She was born with three gifts:
• a pair of soft, shimmering wings,
• a small, golden crown that always felt a bit too big,
• and a harp that sang even when she only hummed.

The others around her did not always see these gifts. Some were too busy, some were too broken, and some were afraid of anything that glowed. So the little angel learned to tuck her wings in, tilt her crown down, and play her harp only when no one was listening.

Still, she felt things deeply. When the wind whispered, she heard whole symphonies. When someone cried, she felt the ache in her own ribs. When she laughed, it sounded like bells.

One day, trying to be loved and trying to be small at the same time, the little angel wandered through a strange door and fell into Wonderland.

⸻

Chapter One: Wonderland

Wonderland was a place where rules changed without warning.

Up could be down if someone said so loudly enough.
No could mean maybe if someone smiled the right way.
“I love you” could come with a slap, and “It’s your fault” could follow any tear.

The little angel tried to make sense of it. She twisted herself into different shapes:
• smaller wings,
• quieter song,
• crown almost invisible.

She thought, If I can just be good enough, calm enough, clever enough, they will stop shouting. They will stop leaving. They will see me.

But Wonderland did what Wonderland always does: it made her doubt her own eyes and her own heart. Every time she spoke the truth, someone laughed and said, “You’re imagining things.” Every time she cried, someone said, “You’re too much.”

Her harp grew heavier. Her wings ached from being pinned so tightly to her back. Her crown slipped farther and farther down, almost into her hands.

One night, after another impossible conversation where everything turned inside out, the little angel sat alone with her harp. She plucked one string, very softly. The note rang clear and honest, refusing to bend.

The sound surprised her.

For a moment, she wasn’t in Wonderland at all—she was just a girl with a harp, a heart, and a tiny glimmer of No. This isn’t right.

The note grew into a song. The song grew into a doorway. Gathering every scrap of courage she could, the little angel stepped through.

⸻

Chapter Two: Oz

On the other side was Oz.

Oz looked more orderly. There was a road—shining and bright. There was a house. There was a man who seemed so sure of himself, like a wizard, like a king. There were promises of home and family and forever.

The angel thought, Maybe here they will see my gifts. Maybe here, if I work hard enough, I will be safe.

She walked the road. She built a life. She had children, who carried pieces of her light and her music. She tended a little patch of land and tried to make it into a castle.

But Oz had its own shadows.

There was a lion who roared when he was afraid, who had once been a cub in a cage. There was a wizard behind curtains, in systems and roles that looked powerful but felt hollow. There were days when the man beside her longed for her song and her touch—and nights when he fled from her depth as if her love were a storm.

So the little angel tried again:
• She folded and unfolded her wings according to his weather.
• She turned her harp into a lullaby for other people’s pain.
• She straightened her crown when he was proud of her, and hid it when he seemed ashamed of his own heart.

Sometimes there were beautiful days: laughter in the kitchen, children running in the yard, the lion-man gentle and soft beside her. Sometimes she thought, Maybe this is enough. Maybe I can live here forever, halfway seen, halfway heard, halfway held.

But her body kept the score. Her spirit kept whispering.

One morning, after another night of confusion and retreat, she woke up and realized:

I sleep better with my wings stretched out.
I think more clearly when my crown is steady.
I sing more honestly when I am not begging to be understood.

The truth did not hate him. The truth did not erase his wounds. It simply said:

He is limited.
I am not wrong for wanting more.

And for the first time, the angel began to wonder:

What if the road does not end at his castle? What if I am allowed to build my own?

⸻

Chapter Three: Becominglandia

On a piece of land with dogs and cats and a small, stubborn cabin, the angel began to remember who she was.

She made an altar to the dark and bright goddesses, to the moon, to Hecate at the crossroads. She hung a mirror there.

One day, in the middle of tears and questions, she glanced up and saw herself in that mirror. Not the too-much girl. Not the not-enough wife. Just… herself.

Wings.
Crown.
Eyes that had seen too much and still chose love.

Something in her chest whispered:

I deserve wellness.

The words shocked her. They tasted new and old at the same time. She said them again, louder:

“I deserve wellness.”

Her skin erupted in spiritual goosebumps. She laughed and cried at once.

Outside, a dog waited at the door—herding her, asking her to run and play. Above, a raven called from the sky. Later, the cats entered like soft, furry judges and rubbed against her legs as she sat on the literal toilet throne, as if to say, Yes. You are sovereign. We recognize one of our own.

She began to name her realm:
• The Town of Becomington, where her children grew and learned and played.
• The Land of Becominglandia, where dogs, ravens, cats, and moonlight all joined the council.
• The Estates of her everyday life, full of dishes and laundry and simmer pots and spreadsheets—and also altars and songs and spells.

And in the center of it all: her throne, which was really just her own grounded, beating heart.

She realized that her work was no longer to twist herself to survive other people’s worlds. Her work was:
• to nourish herself—body, mind, heart, and spirit—
• so that she could thrive,
• so that her children, especially her daughter, could see what a true queen looks like.

A queen who:
• apologizes when she gets it wrong,
• protects everyone’s bodies (including her own),
• says no when her energy is spent,
• says yes to what genuinely feeds her,
• loves the lion and still keeps her boundaries,
• teaches the princess how to become a queen without getting lost.

The little lost angel was not lost anymore.

She was still tender, still growing, still sometimes afraid. There were days the old lies tried to creep back in:
• You’re too much.
• You’re not enough.
• You don’t deserve this.

But now she had a spell:

Nourish.
I deserve wellness.
I am Queen of my own life.

When the doubts came, she went to her altar, or walked her red-brick path, or played chase-and-belly-rubs with the Border Collie, or listened to the cats, or sat quietly in the cabin until she could hear her own harp again.

Her wings grew stronger.
Her crown fit better.
Her music became the soundtrack of a whole realm: Becominglandia, where compost turns into flowers, and lost angels remember they were queens all along.

And though her story was not finished—not by a long shot—one thing had changed forever:

She was no longer wandering through other people’s dream worlds, begging for a place.

She was standing in her own, saying:

“I am the Queen of Becomington,
Light Weaver of Becominglandia.
I deserve wellness.
May I always choose what nourishes,
so that I—and those I love—may thrive.”

And from the mirror, from the dogs, from the ravens, from the cats, from the land itself, the answer rose up around her, sure and soft and steady:

Yes. You do.

11/28/2025

THE GIFT OF SITTING IN THE COMPOST

Core Insight:
In a world that rushes toward light and celebration, there’s deep value in allowing ourselves to sit in the in-between—in the compost of what’s uncomfortable, before we rush to cover it all up with holiday lights.

The Practice:
This year, I noticed people putting up their decorations earlier than usual. And I get it—sometimes we all crave a little extra light when times are tough. But I also realized that, for me, there’s something powerful in letting myself linger a little longer in the quiet, darker space before jumping ahead.

What It Means to Sit in the Compost:
• It means allowing ourselves to feel the endings and the transitions instead of skipping straight to the next celebration.
• It means honoring the natural rhythm of the seasons—recognizing that Yule, the winter solstice, is about the rebirth of the light after the longest night—not ignoring the night itself.
• It means giving ourselves permission to be present with whatever is composting in our lives—the old beliefs, the uncertainties, the quiet moments—so that when we do turn toward the light, it’s with a fuller heart.

Why It Matters:
Because when we sit in that in-between space, we allow ourselves to really process and compost what’s been happening in our lives. We don’t rush past our own emotions or the lessons we’re learning. We give ourselves time to feel the darkness and the stillness, so that when we move into the light, we do so with intention and genuine renewal.

A Whisper for Today:

“I turn toward the light not to escape the dark, but to honor the journey through it. I trust the compost of my soul’s winter to nourish the spring to come.”

I don’t want to race so fast toward the light that I never learn from the dark.
When my life is done, I don’t want an untouched heart—I want a heart made rich by everything it’s composted.
Not because I loved suffering, but because I was willing to live all the way through my life, not around it.

Compost is the alchemy before the alchemy.
The deeper I let life break down in me,
the richer the soil my transformation grows from.

11/18/2025

In the summer of 2007, about two weeks after I got out of the military, I drove a big loop around the United States in my old Ford Ranger. I had a canopy on the back and converted it into a little bed—just me, my truck, and whatever came next.

Somewhere in Philadelphia, I picked up a girl from Craigslist who needed a ride to Detroit. She had a guitar and a plan: she was going to stay at a commune and play music at their little theater out back. I had no plan except “keep driving,” so I took her.

The commune turned out to be two old houses and a makeshift theater in the middle of downtown Detroit. People drifted in and out. Some were passing through, some clearly lived there, a lot of them were on… something. I’d just left the military, so I was still very sober, very straight-edge, very “what is my life right now?”

I ended up sleeping on a big old couch in the front room with a fireplace and tall windows. That night, two anarchist clowns from Canada rolled in—yes, actual clowns—and we stayed up until two or three in the morning talking politics and life.

They were paying their way across the country by selling or trading handmade patches—little silkscreened scraps of fabric with slogans and art on them. I had my own odd currency: homemade wine from 40-year-old grapevines in Utah that a stranger had given me earlier in the trip. Thirteen bottles had ridden around in the back of my truck, and I was slowly handing them out across the country like communion.

By the time I left Detroit, they’d given me a couple of their patches, and I’d given them a bottle of that Utah wine. No contracts, no receipts. Just a quiet exchange at the edge of two worlds: the girl who had just taken off her uniform and the clowns who refused to wear one in the first place.

By the time the sun came up, nothing dramatic had happened. No riots, no police, no big cinematic moment. Just a long night of talking politics and possibility with a pair of anarchist clowns from Canada in a messy old house in Detroit.

The funny part is: before that trip, I had already signed papers to go into the National Guard when I got out of active duty. I was supposed to stay in the system, just… part-time.

After that night at the commune, I picked up my phone, called the recruiter, and said, “I’ve changed my mind. Cancel the contract. I’m staying a civilian.”

It didn’t feel like rebellion in the moment. It felt like telling the truth.

Looking back, that was one of many times I chose my own path over the one that was handed to me. The girl who traded wine for anarchist patches in Detroit is the same woman who later built witchy markets, covens, and blueprints instead of climbing someone else’s ladder. This was the day I learned that sometimes, you don’t know you’re done with an old life until you stand inside a completely different one and feel your whole body say, ‘Nope, I’m not going back.’

11/11/2025

🌙 Sculpting Reality Through Resonance

Creation is not conquest. It is conversation.

To sculpt reality through resonance is to remember that the universe is not a machine to be controlled, but a living field that responds to vibration. Every thought, emotion, and action sends a tone through the web of existence — a frequency that attracts its likeness.

When I am misaligned, I try to force outcomes. I push, plead, and plan, hoping to make the world conform to my will. But when I am resonant, I no longer have to force. I tune. I become the frequency of what I seek. I live as if it is already true, and the field rearranges itself accordingly.

Resonance is the art of alignment — where desire, belief, and embodiment sing the same note. It is a living spell. A melody between soul and form.

The witch’s wand, the artist’s brush, the lover’s hand — all draw from this same current: shaping not through pressure, but through harmony.

To sculpt reality through resonance is to become a conscious instrument of creation.
To let your joy be the chisel, your truth the rhythm, your trust the breath that animates the clay.

You do not demand. You invite.
You do not strive. You sound.
And reality, ever faithful, hums back in tune.

10/20/2025

🕯️ Farewell of the Familiar

In Honor of Tigger, and the Old Guard

There are guardians who walk beside us for years—quiet, steadfast companions whose presence becomes part of the land’s memory. They anchor us through seasons of loss and rebirth, through changing homes and identities. They don’t need to speak; their silence is their magic.

Tigger was one of those guardians.
A long-haired black cat, soft and moonlit, who lived on this land long before I did. He was already a senior when we met, and yet, in the years that followed, he taught me the art of quiet presence.

He began as one of the outer-circle cats—the ones who watched from the edges, in the outlying buildings, by the gym/office. But as life shifted, so did he. A falling out, a new season, and he found his way to the Witchy Cabin. When I transformed that space into a sanctuary of ritual and reflection, he chose to stay.

He became the Cabin Cat—keeper of the moon magic, watcher of the threshold, companion in the hours when the world fell still.

When I would come to light candles under the new moon, Tigger would appear like a shadow with eyes. Sometimes he’d curl beneath the altar or lie near the heater during winter, his body warm and alive like a coal. He was the one who reminded me that magic doesn’t always shout—it purrs, it breathes, it waits.

And then, one October morning (today, 10/20/2025), the world shifted again. My husband found him lying peacefully beside the cabin, already gone. No struggle, no wound—just stillness. As though the moon had called him home.

He was likely fifteen, maybe seventeen. Ancient, by the rhythms of his kind.

Tigger’s death completes a triad: Mama Cat (passed in August 2025), Precious (passed in September 2025), and now him—the Old Guard who carried the lineage of this place before the new generation arrived. I see it now: their passing as a ritual in itself. The old protectors have returned to earth, and the young ones—Squeaker, Mr. Kitty, the kitten—are finding their way. The circle continues.

⸻

🌒 The Lesson of the Old Guard

To live long is to witness change.
To love deeply is to risk the ache of loss.
And yet, to remain open in the face of endings—this is the alchemy of Becoming.

Each guardian, human or animal, teaches us how to hold both loyalty and release. Tigger stayed long enough to ensure the land was tended, the cabin was alive, and the circle was secure. Then he slipped quietly into the next world, leaving behind not emptiness, but continuity.

The grief that follows is sacred—it’s not something to overcome, but to honor.
It means love worked.
It means companionship did what it was meant to do.

⸻

🔥 Ritual for Farewell

Light two candles—one for those who have crossed, one for those who remain.
Place a bowl of water between them. Speak their names. Speak gratitude.

When the candles burn low, pour the water into the earth. Whisper:

“The guardians of night have done their duty.
The circle turns, and I honor the paws that walked before.
May they rest in shadow and starlight,
and may the new guardians walk in peace.”

⸻

♾️ Reflection

On this, the eve of my 44th birthday, I feel the infinite loop of the number 8—the balance between endings and beginnings, loss and abundance. The old guard fades, and yet I am surrounded by new life: my children, the younger animals, the creations I’ve birthed through The Becoming Blueprint, the communities I’ve nurtured.

Tigger’s passing isn’t just a loss—it’s a symbol.
It marks the turning of an era.
It reminds me that I am now part of the elder generation, the keeper of the lineage, the one who tends the sacred flame for those who come next.

And so I say, with love and reverence:

“Go softly, moon guardian.
The light of your fur lingers in my dreams.
The cabin remembers your warmth.
The night is gentler for your having lived.”

10/19/2025

🌕✨ Collective Energy Update | Mid-October 2025

Have you felt a strange mix of heaviness and restlessness lately?
Like everyone’s laughing a little louder than usual, but underneath there’s a quiet ache or exhaustion?
You’re not imagining it — the skies and the collective field are buzzing with transformation energy right now.

🌕 Full Moon in Aries (with the Sun in Libra) is still rippling through us — a spotlight on the space between authenticity and appearance. It’s stirring that inner tension between the self we show to the world and the truth that’s ready to break free beneath the surface.

♒ Pluto just turned direct in Aquarius, and that’s big. Pluto governs death, rebirth, and power — and Aquarius rules community, equality, and revolution. Together they say:

“No more kings. No more crowns. No more pretending someone else holds your power.”
This energy mirrors the “No Kings” protests happening across the country — but it’s also happening within each of us.

🔥 Meanwhile, Mars in Leo squaring Uranus in Ta**us adds a dose of rebellion and restlessness. People feel ready to shake off what’s stale — which can show up as protests, big emotions, impulsive decisions, or even… clown costumes and wine walks. 😅

💧 Thankfully, Venus in Scorpio trine Saturn in Pisces is helping us find meaning, art, and tenderness through it all. Healing comes through connection, ritual, music, laughter, tears — and remembering that joy and grief can coexist.

I felt this so clearly during the Winnemucca Wine Walk this weekend.

The theme was “Clownin’ Around,” and yet the tarot cards that kept showing up were the same ones again and again — swords and cups, mental overwhelm and emotional release.
People came to play, but underneath, everyone was carrying so much.

It was like the universe was saying, “We’re all clowning to survive right now, but the real show is transformation.”

💫 What to Know Right Now

Masks are shifting. Be honest about what’s real for you, even if it’s messy.

Power is changing hands. Old hierarchies — inner and outer — are dissolving.

Rebellion is sacred. Do something that frees your spirit — not out of anger, but authenticity.

Tenderness is strength. Meet your emotions (and others’) with compassion.

Rest if you can. The cosmos is doing deep surgery on the collective nervous system.

🕯️ Affirmation

“I release old crowns and outdated stories.
I laugh, cry, and breathe my way into truth.
I am becoming the most honest version of myself.”

If you’ve been feeling this — or noticing it in your own life — you’re right on time.
Transformation always looks chaotic before it looks clear.
The sky is asking us to show up as we are — masks optional, hearts open. ❤️‍🔥

10/05/2025

10/05/2025

🌕 The Living Creed: Invocation of Becoming

by Angie Van Drielen

I get grounded, centered, cleansed, and cleared.
I get connected and protected.

I release what is not mine, and I call back what is.

I turn inward and reflect my own inner light outward.
By doing so, I create opportunities for transformation.

I walk the spiral path of Becoming—
ever-unfolding, ever-returning,
each turn revealing a deeper truth of who I am.

I honor both light and shadow within and around me,
for wholeness is born from their sacred dance.
I am the weaver of both—
the Priestess of Balance,
the midwife of light through darkness.

I do not control others—
I co-enable and invite self-reflection.

From the very heart of me, I encourage courage:
for others to face their own inner brilliance
and reflect it confidently back into the world,
as we each move forward in time,
in our own spiral,
in our own place in the multiverse.

I honor those who have gone before me—
the angels, ancestors, guides, and guardians
who walk beside me and whisper wisdom through my days.
Their love moves through me as living remembrance,
and I carry their light forward with gratitude.

I am part of the luminous weave—
the great tapestry of souls,
each thread shimmering with divine purpose.
Through me, light and shadow interlace,
creating harmony in motion.

As I rise, I call others to rise.
As I remember, I help others remember.
Together we weave the tapestry of Becoming.

I encourage others to shine brightly,
to shine authentically,
because when each of us returns to our truth,
the whole world becomes more whole.
Because authenticity is the bridge between souls,
and courage is how light multiplies.
Because I am here to midwife Becoming—
mine, yours, and ours—
and to help remembrance rise
in those who have forgotten their own light.

And because I hold the feelings of having
what I desire before it arrives,
I align with the vibration of already having it—
inviting the universe to meet me in resonance,
and bring into form the beauty
that already exists in spirit.

And as I move through the days,
I do the next right thing—
the next thing that presents itself,
following the intuitive thoughts and images
that arise like whispers of guidance.
And when I forget, or step off the path,
I remember the Rabbit Trails—
that it only takes a single step sideways
to see the path again and return to it.

And then I move forward through my day—
each day, day after day—
knowing that it is both a new day and the same day,
until the day I transform again
and transcend into the next level of existence,
of which we are all a part.

09/30/2025

Field Note: Walking the Rabbit Highway (A Practice in Intuitive Flow and Sacred Wandering)

There is a way of moving through the world that is less about the straight road and more about the winding path. Out here in the northern Nevada sagebrush, the rabbits have already carved out highways that twist, turn, crisscross, and meander across the valley floor. These trails are countless, overlapping like a living web, and they invite us into a different kind of navigation—one guided not by logic or efficiency, but by instinct, curiosity, and presence.

When I step onto a rabbit trail, my body shifts. As a large human walking on a small path, my hips have to sway differently, my stride shortens, and my weight redistributes. I begin to move in ways I normally don’t, finding rhythm in constraint, learning from the rabbit’s own medicine: agility, alertness, quick shifts of direction, and the wisdom of listening for danger while still trusting the path. The trail itself reshapes me, coaxing me into flow. At first, the meandering feels like distraction. But the truth is, the purpose of wandering is to slip into that state where control loosens, senses sharpen, and inspiration can be received.

The rabbit does not worry about “getting off track.” For rabbit, there is no single track—only many. The crisscrossing web of trails means any step might carry you in a new direction, and sometimes you don’t even notice until you look up and realize you’re facing a different horizon. The lesson here is that flow does not always move in a straight line. Sometimes it doubles back, circles, or disappears into brush. The practice is in walking anyway.

The Method:

Enter the trail. Begin with no set goal except to follow what catches your attention. Trust the first step.

Let your body adjust. Notice how your hips, breath, and stride shift. Allow yourself to feel a little awkward—this is the trail teaching you new movement.

Follow the flow. Choose turns without judgment. Don’t try to control where the trail leads. Just keep going.

The Hidden Network

Notice when you drift. At first, when you wander off track, you may not see a trail at all. You can feel lost, surrounded by nothing but brush and dust. But if you keep moving, if you stay with it, eventually a path appears. And sometimes, all it takes is a single step—shifting your body just a foot to the right or left—and suddenly the entire network of trails is revealed at once. What was invisible becomes obvious. What felt closed opens.

If you find yourself far from where you began, pause. Orient yourself gently, without shame. You can always return, or you can decide to keep wandering. Both are valid. Return when ready. Eventually, you may feel the pull back to your main path. Step off the trail with gratitude for where it has taken you.

This is the mystery of the rabbit highway: a change in perspective can make the hidden visible. Rabbit teaches that receptivity is not only about wandering but about trusting that with the smallest shift, guidance can flood in.

The rabbit highway is not about arriving—it’s about becoming receptive.

The Dance of Rabbit and Coyote

But rabbit does not walk alone. Out here, coyote also travels the rabbit highways. Their relationship is ancient, a predator–prey cycle that has balanced the desert for millennia.

When rabbits over-flourish, coyotes increase. When coyotes over-hunt, their numbers decline and rabbits rebound. Back and forth, population to population, they keep each other in check, weaving balance into the ecosystem.

This, too, is a lesson for becoming.

Rabbit brings flow, intuition, abundance of ideas.

Coyote brings timing, play, and decisive action.

Too much rabbit, and we overflow with inspiration but embody nothing. Too much coyote, and we chase endlessly without renewal. Together, they create a rhythm: flow and focus, receptivity and response, wandering and acting.

To walk the rabbit highway is to learn both medicines—to trust the sudden shift in perspective that reveals hidden paths, and to honor the dance of balance between dreaming and doing.

Reflection Prompts

Where in my life do I insist on the straight road when the rabbit highway is calling?

What medicine arises for me when I let myself get “off track”?

How might wandering, crisscrossing, and circling actually be part of the alignment process?

Where in my life do I need more rabbit — more wandering, more openness to flow?

Where in my life do I need more coyote — more timing, more willingness to act?

How can I trust the natural oscillation between the two instead of forcing one to dominate?

✨ Sacred Reminder: To walk the rabbit highway is to practice trust in flow. You are never truly off track. Every twist, every detour, every predator–prey dance is part of a larger rhythm that sustains you, and every moment of disorientation carries its own lesson. Flow arises in the meandering. Alignment arises in the balance. Rabbit teaches us that presence matters more than direction, and that even the smallest trails can open us to new ways of moving, seeing, and becoming.

-From "The Becoming Blueprint"

09/22/2025

🍂✨ Mabon Readings: Who Are You Meant to Become? ✨🍂

This weekend’s New Moon & Partial Solar Eclipse, following the lunar eclipse and landing just before the Autumn Equinox, is no ordinary energy. 🌑🌞 It’s a turning point — a season of release, balance, and becoming.

Using the Seasons of the Witch: Mabon Oracle, I’m offering a special spread called “Becoming Through the Equinox.” This reading goes beyond simple intention-setting. It asks:

🌘 What is being eclipsed in your life?
🌾 What gifts are ready for harvest?
⚖️ Where do you need balance?
🌀 Who are you meant to become in this new season?

Choose your path:
✨ 3-Card Mini Reading — $15
✨ 5-Card Full Spread — $33
✨ Deluxe Deep Dive (with clarifiers + written reflection PDF) — $55

📩 Send me a message to claim your reading. Let’s step into the turning of the wheel together — this is the season of transformation, and the path of becoming is calling.

🎟 Limited spots available — readings will be delivered within 48 hours.

09/22/2025

September 21/22 – Spiral Portal
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐬: 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐍𝐞𝐰 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐨𝐟 𝐋𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠

In 1989, a great wave of consciousness began to flood the world starting with the collapse of the Berlin Wall.

It opened the door for humanity to awaken—slowly, painfully, beautifully, and inevitably.

For 36 years, the Spiral has been preparing us:
through awakenings and breakdowns, through lessons and synchronicities, through the tearing down of illusions and the remembering of our original design.

Now, after a full spin of the Spiral, we arrive at the threshold.

On September 21/22, the final portal opens—and it will close on December 21/22.

This is the window where each soul experiences the choice it has already made.

Two parallel Earths become clearly defined:

🏴‍☠️ 3D Frequency — fear, drama, chaos, survival, karmic loops.
🌟5D Frequency — flow, synchronicity, joy, expansion, unconditional love.

Until now, we could move between them. One day high, the next day pulled down.

That blur was the training ground.

But after this lock-in, each soul stabilizes in the frequency it has cultivated.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡: 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐈𝐬 𝐔𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐰𝐧

Everything we were taught — we are now asked to reverse.

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝑯𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒊𝒄:

💫We don’t fight fear—we breathe it in and transmute it into light.

💫We don’t run from pain—we let it spiral through the heart until it becomes love.

💫We don’t control life—we trust the flow and let synchronicity guide.

💫We don’t seek safety in walls—we find safety in Presence.

💫 We don’t chase love outside—we generate it within, then watch it overflow.

The Spiral turns everything upside down—and in that reversal, the new reality is born.

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝟓𝐃—𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐆𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

1.𝑩𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑫𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚. ✅

Inhale what you fear, what bothers you, and what feels heavy.

Let your heart alchemize it. 🔥💫

Exhale light, joy, and the reality you choose.

This is Spiral Transmutation.

2.𝑪𝒉𝒐𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝑶𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝑪𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒐𝒍. ✅

Notice where you tighten and try to manage everything.

Loosen.

Trust.

The Flow carries you further than force ever can. 💫

3. 𝑨𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒐𝒓 𝑱𝒐𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔. ✅

Joy is not found “one day.”

It is created now—in laughter, in gratitude, in appreciation for the beauty of a simple sunrise.

4. 𝑳𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝑪𝒐𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆.✅

Align thoughts, words, and actions. Integrity locks you into 5D. 🏆

5. 𝑭𝒍𝒊𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑳𝒆𝒏𝒔. ✅

Every time you see chaos outside, ask:

What new possibility is being born through this breakdown?

This is Spiral Vision.

𝐒𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐥 𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟏/𝟐𝟐 (𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐬!)

1. Sit in silence.

2. Place your hands on your heart.

3. Inhale all that feels wrong in the world.

4. Let your heart transmute it—feel the Spiral turning within you. 🔥💫

5. Exhale joy, light, and the New Earth onto the screen of reality. 💚🌏🌟

6. Whisper three times:

“𝘐 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦. 𝘐 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘍𝘭𝘰𝘸. 𝘐 𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘕𝘦𝘸 𝘌𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘩.”

7. Repeat for 9 breaths.

This is how we lock into the higher frequency—by becoming alchemists of our own breath.

As the Oracle tells Neo in The Matrix:

“You’ve already made the choice. Now, you’re here to understand why you made it.”

You already made the choice.

Now the portal between September 22 and December 21 is the time to live it, to embody it, to experience it fully.

One reality spirals deeper into fear and chaos.

The other rises into flow, synchronicity, and love.

Your choice is not in the future.

It is in every breath, every thought, every act of presence.

You are the New Human.

And the Spiral has prepared you for this moment.

𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙔𝙤𝙪

1. What is the biggest fear you are ready to transmute into light?

2. How do you practice staying in love when the world feels heavy?

Share below—together we anchor the 5D frequency.




The Spiral Alchemist
TANZA - Dance Meditation
DaVinci Spiral Activation & Gardens at Scranberry Coop
Дамски клуб Плеяди
Tzveta DaVinci
💎💙🌏

(via Nqoza Madlabutha, Beyond The Veil Healing Community)