“You are not merely a drop in the ocean. You embody the entire ocean within a single drop.” —Rumi
As the year drew to a close, I made the decision to release the past. In my backyard, I stood surrounded by twenty-five years of journals—filled with prayers, confessions, and thoughts from sleepless nights—waiting to be set ablaze.
This wasn’t a dramatic act; it was a conscious choice. I had ceased daily journaling years prior.
For many years, my journals functioned as an internal courtroom, compiling charges against myself or those around me. Each page represented proof of shortcomings and my remarkable capacity for self-deception. I could alter my narrative to suit others’ comfort.
These petite, floral-covered notebooks chronicled all the instances I failed to get “it” right.
I believed I was processing, but instead, I was prosecuting.
Then, something peculiar occurred as I glanced through them one last time. My inaugural journal opened with passionate prayers from a fifteen-year-old devoted Christian girl seeking divine guidance. The final one concluded with a forty-year-old woman inviting her spirit guides for assistance. Distinct words, yet the same urgent energy.
I was consistently pleading with someone or something else to rescue me.
Across the decades—through births, relocations, career shifts, and various spiritual identities—one persistent theme emerged: I documented my experiences as if I held no control over my universe. My writings illustrated a portrait of me as merely a passenger in my own life, making decisions I failed to grasp, powerless against unnamed forces.
Please assist me in ceasing this behavior.
Why do these situations repeatedly occur in my life?
I cannot comprehend why I struggle to transform.
When will the ideal resolution I genuinely require arrive?
Every entry reinforced the narrative that something external was masterminding my existence. Whether I labeled it God, the Universe, my Higher Self, energy, or spirit guides, my relationship with it was consistent—like a powerless child imploring a parent for control over my life.
I was unaware of this dynamic. That’s the subtle nature of spiritual bypassing masquerading as devotion. It appears sacred, modest—akin to surrender.
However, surrender differs from abdication.
When Spirituality Turns into Disempowerment
Last year, I enrolled in a shamanic training program. Out of all my educational experiences, it was the most rewarding. My mentor observed something during our initial session that had eluded me for years. She listened as I described my spiritual practices—my daily prayers, readings, and seeking signs—and simply stated: “You’re engaging with the spiritual realm as though you lack agency.”
I recoiled. Wasn’t that the purpose? Wasn’t I meant to request assistance from the heavens? It was fundamental to how I had interacted with a force beyond myself.
“Prayer isn’t the equivalent of power.”