Lands, Not Floats

There’s a kind of spirituality that escapes the world.
That reaches toward the stars, the subtle, the light…
but never lands.

It speaks of presence, of awakening, of stillness
but the body remains clenched, dissociated, uninhabited.
The heart speaks soft truths… but avoids the raw ones.
The pain, the grief, the anger
all translated too quickly into light.

I’ve seen it.
I’ve felt the pull of it, the charm.
And I understand why it’s tempting… this escape into the transcendent.
When you’ve suffered, when you’ve carried too much,
when the world has never truly held you,
of course the sky looks like safety.

But here’s the thing:
Spirituality that floats isn’t liberation.

It’s disembodiment.
The kind of mysticism I’ve come to trust
doesn’t take you away from life.
It brings you into it.

It takes your hand as you descend.
Into the body. Into the grief.
Into the tangled threads of lineage, memory, trauma, and longing.
Into the mess of being human.

And there, in that quiet, intimate descent
the real presence is found.

Not as a clean, perfect state.
Not as some final destination.
But as something here, in the brokenness,
in the breath, in the bones, in the bare truth of the moment.

Yes, it’s all dream.
Yes, it’s all light.
Yes, it’s all passing.

But let it pass through.
Let it move. Let it matter. Let it touch you.

Don’t turn from it in the name of transcendence.
Don’t diminish it because it’s impermanent.

Let the lightshow be seen.
Let the ache be known.
Let the tenderness be lived all the way through.

That’s what makes it holy.
Not that it lasts,
but that you were willing to be here as it did.

I no longer resonate with spirituality that avoids.
I don’t offer teachings that float above pain.
I don’t believe in awakening that leaves the body behind.

Because I know that real transformation is not always light and ease.
It’s fire. It’s undoing.
It’s facing the places you swore you’d never look.

I know what it is to bypass.
To wrap language around what you’re unwilling to feel.
To stay in the conceptual because the heart is still bleeding.
To mistake dissociation for peace.

I know what it is to call it presence…
when really, it’s protection.

So I’ve made a vow in my own life,
not a vow of perfection, but of orientation:

To stay.
To turn toward.
To not use spirituality to escape my humanity,
but to let it soften me into it.

This is the mysticism I know and trust.
The kind that includes the body.
That holds rage and radiance in the same breath.
That allows grief to speak without needing to fix it.
That doesn’t need to be transcendent… just true.

Mysticism that lands.
That roots.
That holds you in the world, not just above it.

If you're walking this path,
if you're sensitive, awake, aching, open…
let this be your reminder:

You don’t have to leave to be free.
You don’t have to float to be holy.
You don’t have to deny your pain to find your presence.

The ground is sacred too.
Let the dream be lived. Let the light pass through.
You’re not here to escape. You’re here to feel it all.

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Thank you for walking alongside me ~ Imogen