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The Wisdom of Not Knowing
Staying Present in the Space Between Stories
There is something deeply human about the need to make meaning. We search for patterns. We weave experiences into stories that help us understand who we are, where we belong, and what kind of world we are living in. Stories become the way we make sense of love and loss, joy and suffering, beginnings and endings. They help us find our bearings within the mystery of being alive. Yet every story has its horizon. Moments when life opens beyond the edges of the stories that have carried us this far. Moments when we step into the space between stories, a place of endings and beginnings, where the familiar no longer carries us as it once did, and another way of meeting the world begins to emerge. The space between stories is not empty. It is alive with mystery, creation, and becoming. It is here that the wisdom of not knowing begins to reveal itself. 
The Power of "I Don't Know"I used to think I knew. Not everything, but enough that the world felt arranged. The stories I lived inside had clear edges. They told me who I was, what mattered, what to trust. And then those edges softened. Not all at once, but enough that I couldn’t pretend the old shape still fit. That’s when I don’t know stopped being a gap I needed to fill and became a place I had to learn to live within. Its a place that feels exposed, and at the same time a place that feels deeply honest and alive. A place where the questions remain open. Where the story is still unfolding. And I’m still here. The power of embracing "I Don't Know" isn’t in being vague. It’s about staying present. It’s about letting the mystery be real without turning away. “I don’t know” can be a kind of courage. It can keep us honest. It can keep us listening. It can keep us close to what’s actually happening. If you too find yourself here, in that wide open space of “I don’t know”. You’re not behind, you’re not failing. You’re simply standing in a real place, and maybe “I don’t know” can be a steady way to stand here. 
The Stories We Are Living ThroughWe are surrounded by stories. Stories from media, politics, religion, spirituality, culture, family, and community. Some offer meaning, connection, and direction. Others seek to persuade, frighten, divide, or sell. The sheer volume of these stories can make them appear larger than life itself. More important. More powerful. More real. We can begin to feel as though the world is the story being told about it. Yet stories are only one way of knowing the world. There are other ways. The warmth of the sun on your face. The sound of rain on the roof. The silence of the woods. The ache of grief after loss. The love you feel when someone you care about walks through the door. The feeling of your feet meeting the earth. Perhaps this is another gift of "I don't know." It loosens the grip of certainty. It creates enough space to step back from the stories for a moment and return to direct experience. To listen. To pay attention. To remember that reality is always larger than the stories we tell about it. 
A Different Kind of KnowingFor much of my life, I assumed that knowing came through answers. Through information. Through understanding. Through finding the right explanation and fitting the pieces together. I still value those ways of knowing. Yet over time, I have begun to notice another kind of knowing. A quieter kind. One that does not arrive all at once or announce itself with certainty. It arrives through experience. Through paying attention. Through walking the same trail in different seasons and noticing what changes and what remains. Through grief. Through love. Through listening to a friend's story. Through making mistakes. Through staying with a question long after the need for an answer has faded. This kind of knowing does not stand outside of life looking in. It grows through relationship with life itself. It asks for participation rather than certainty. Presence rather than conclusions. It unfolds slowly, often revealing itself only when we look back and realize something inside us has shifted. Perhaps this is why "I don't know" can be so powerful. Not because it leaves us empty-handed, but because it creates space for a different kind of knowing to emerge. One rooted less in certainty and more in relationship. Less in explanation and more in direct experience of a living, changing, mysterious world. 
A Shamanic View of Not KnowingMany shamanic traditions understand life as a living conversation. The world is not experienced as separate or inert, but as alive and responsive. Animals, dreams, weather, rivers, ancestors, illness, longing, loss, and unexpected encounters all become part of an ongoing dialogue with life itself. From this perspective, not knowing is not a failure of understanding. It is often the place where listening begins. Rather than demanding certainty, a shamanic way of seeing invites participation. It asks us to pay attention to what is unfolding around us and within us. To notice what keeps returning. To notice what stirs, what unsettles, what calls, what lingers. Meaning is not imposed upon experience. It emerges through relationship with it. This does not mean every event carries a hidden message or that every question receives an answer. Some mysteries remain mysteries. Some questions accompany us for years. Yet there is a different quality of attention that becomes possible when we stop trying to force life into conclusions and allow ourselves to meet it with curiosity, humility, and presence. In this way, not knowing is not the opposite of wisdom. It may be one of the places wisdom enters. 
The Spiral Way and the Space Between StoriesThe more I pay attention, the more I see that life rarely moves in straight lines. We imagine growth as a steady progression. We expect clarity to replace confusion, answers to replace questions, certainty to replace doubt. Yet life often unfolds differently. The questions we thought we had answered return. Old patterns reappear. Longings we believed we had left behind rise to the surface once more. Life invites us into a deeper relationship with what we thought we already knew. This is one of the reasons the image of a spiral speaks to me. A spiral returns, but it never returns to exactly the same place. Each turning offers a different perspective. A different understanding. A different relationship with the mystery at the centre. What once seemed simple reveals new layers. What once felt certain softens. What once felt impossible begins to open. The space between stories is woven throughout this movement. It appears whenever a way of seeing has run its course and something new is beginning to emerge. It appears in times of transition, loss, longing, change, and becoming. It appears whenever life asks more of us than certainty can provide. From a Spiral Way perspective, these moments belong to the journey itself. The invitation is to remain present. To listen. To participate in what is unfolding. To trust that something is taking shape, even when its form is still unknown. 
Companions for the JourneyThese companions do not offer answers. They do not remove uncertainty. They help me stay present when the path ahead is unclear. Deer reminds me to listen with my whole being. To move gently. To remain open even when fear is present. Fool reminds me that wonder is still possible. That disappointment does not have to close the heart. That life is larger than what I already know. Salmon reminds me to trust what keeps calling. To honour the deeper currents moving beneath the surface of my life. Stone reminds me to slow down. To be patient. To stay. To remain grounded when everything feels uncertain. Dog reminds me that companionship matters. That we are not meant to carry everything alone. Raven reminds me that every story reveals one thing and conceals another. She invites me to look beyond first impressions and to remain open to what I may not yet see. Mystery is not something to solve, but something to enter. Perhaps you have companions of your own. A place. An animal. A tree. A dream. A memory. A person whose presence helps you return to yourself. Something that reminds you how to stay present when you cannot see the way ahead. 
Practices for Staying Present in the UnknownThe space between stories asks something different of us than certainty does. It asks us to listen. To pay attention. To remain present to what is unfolding. The following practices are simple ways of staying in relationship with that space. Practice Saying "I Don't Know" Walk with a Question Spend Time in the Living World Listen for What Keeps Returning Create Space for Silence Notice What Is Here Play with "I Don't Know" 
Journal PromptsThe following prompts are offered as invitations rather than questions to answer. You may wish to sit with one for a while, carry it on a walk, or return to it over time. Some questions are meant to be lived with rather than solved.
I Am Still HereNot every question arrives with an answer. Not every story reveals its meaning all at once. Some stories fall away before new ones emerge. Some questions deepen rather than resolve. Some forms of knowing become available only when certainty loosens and we learn to remain present to what is unfolding. From this place, the world begins to feel different. Less like a collection of separate things. More like a living conversation. The wind in the trees. The river finding its way around stone. The encounters that linger. The questions that return. The things that call for attention and refuse to be forgotten. Threads in a larger story that continues to unfold whether we understand it or not. The questions remain. With gratitude, 
© 2026 Lorriiii Dragon Dream | SpiritDrumming.com
Words and images are living offerings — please share with credit and care.
Share this Reflection
If this reflection met you in the space between stories, where certainty has softened and the questions remain alive, offer it onward to someone who may also be learning how to stay present to the mystery.
Listen on YouTube
If you enjoy these written reflections, you may also enjoy the spoken versions.
On my YouTube channel I share quiet readings of reflections, poems, and stories — along with simple spoken practices you can listen to in still moments of the day.
A place for listening, reflection, and the slow turning of the spiral.
Walk This Work More Deeply
If you find yourself in a place where something is loosening… where an old way no longer holds and what is coming is not yet fully formed… you do not have to walk that threshold alone.
My work is not about fixing or forcing change. It is about listening… deeply… to what is already moving within you, and creating space for it to take its true shape.
Through one-on-one sessions, ceremony, and intuitive guidance, I support you in meeting these moments with clarity, steadiness, and trust in your own unfolding.
There is a timing to these things.
If something in you is ready… you will feel it.
Read More from The Spiral Way
If this reflection met you in the space between certainty and mystery, where questions remain alive and life feels larger than the stories that once explained it, you may also feel drawn to:
The Calling Beneath the Season
on the first stirrings of change, the quiet pull of longing, and learning to listen before the path becomes clear. Read →
When the Old Shape Can No Longer Hold
on the threshold where familiar certainties begin to loosen and something new asks to be trusted before it can be understood. Read →
May you find the courage to live with open questions.
May mystery deepen your relationship with life. May the path reveal itself one step at a time.
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The Life That Is Emerging
A reflection on surrender, transformation, and the courage to stay open.
The Turning of Bealtaine
At the edge of May, the ground gives way under what is rising. Life pushes upward from within. Buds swell past the point of holding. Nothing asks permission. It happens because it has to. May 1st marked Bealtaine (BYAL-tin-uh), also called Beltane (BEL-tayn) or Bealltainn (BYAL-tin). The fire day. The crossing. A threshold between spring and summer, when the land turns outward and life begins to emerge. What begins to open does not do so gently. The shell gives way. The bud breaks its own edge. What has been held reaches a point where it cannot remain contained. Life pushes through. Not carefully. Not cleanly. But with a force that cannot be stopped. What emerges cannot return to what it was. 
When What Is Emerging Takes the Lead
Bealtaine does not only begin with celebration. It begins with a shift that is harder to name. A quiet but unmistakable sense that something within you is no longer willing to stay where it has been. Not because anything has gone wrong. But because something has become too alive to remain contained. You may feel it as tension. As restlessness. As a pull that doesn’t have a clear direction, but refuses to disappear. Something begins to emerge under that kind of pressure, though it rarely happens all at once or in a clean line. On the surface, it may seem as though nothing has changed. And yet beneath it, something is already moving. A life that refuses to stay where it is. Something has opened. 
What the Fire Reveals
At a certain point in this season, what has been quietly emerging meets something it cannot pass through unchanged. This is where the fire enters. Not as something separate, but as part of the same force that has been building all along. The same life that has been pressing, opening, loosening what can no longer hold, now begins to meet heat. And heat changes things. Bealtaine has long been understood as a fire festival. Fires were lit across the land, not simply as symbols, but as a way of meeting this moment of transformation. Fire does not negotiate with what it meets. It alters it. What is already emerging comes into contact with it and is revealed more fully. This is why this season is often spoken of in terms of life, fertility, passion, and creation. And it is. But this life does not arrive gently. It arrives by showing what can no longer remain as it has been, by bringing what has been held beneath the surface into the open. Fire does not only warm. It illuminates. It exposes. It reveals where something has been kept beneath the surface, where something has been felt but not spoken, where something has been held in place to preserve stability, loyalty, or identity. There are truths that are carried quietly for a long time. Not out of avoidance, but out of complexity. They are woven into relationships. Into roles. Into ways of belonging that have mattered. Silence, at times, is not absence. It is care. It is loyalty. It is the absence of language for something that has not yet found its form. But in this season, what is emerging begins to press more firmly. What once felt supportive may begin to feel heavier, harder to carry. What once held begins to tighten. And what has been living beneath the surface begins to move toward expression. 
The Spiral Way of Emergence
In the Spiral Way, life does not move in a straight line. It opens. It deepens. It returns. And then it moves again, not from the same place, but from a place that has been changed by what it has already passed through. Bealtaine is not the beginning of this movement. It is the moment when it becomes impossible to ignore. What has been stirring begins to take form. What has been quiet begins to ask for expression. What has been held inward begins to move outward into the world. This is where the work changes. Not from waiting, but from participation. Not from asking what is happening, but from allowing yourself to be moved by it. The Spiral does not ask you to control this. It asks you to stay in relationship with it. To notice what is opening. To feel where it is leading. And to allow what is emerging to take its next shape, even when you do not yet understand what that shape will be. 
Wonder Is Medicine
There is a way of meeting what is emerging that tightens. It tries to understand too quickly, to name, to decide, to bring something into form before it has fully arrived. This is natural. When something begins to move, especially in ways we do not yet understand, the mind looks for ground. It reaches for what is known. It tries to shape what is emerging into something familiar, something predictable, something that can be managed. But emergence does not move that way. At this time of year, nothing comes into bloom without first coming undone. The bud does not open gently. It splits. It yields to what is pressing from within. What becomes the bloom cannot remain in the form it once held. And perhaps this is true for us as well. What is emerging in a life does not always follow what is probable. It does not always move along the lines we expect based on past experience or current conditions. It often asks us to hold something we cannot yet see, to remain open to what is possible rather than collapsing into what seems likely. In a world that so often pulls toward fear, toward certainty, toward narrowing what can be imagined, this becomes even more important. This season asks something else of us. Not to deny what is real, but not to reduce what is possible. This is where wonder becomes medicine. Not as something light or abstract, but as a way of staying open in the presence of what is breaking, shifting, and becoming. Wonder does not close around what is emerging. It stays with it. It allows something to unfold without forcing it into form too soon. To meet what is emerging with wonder is to hold a quiet trust that something more is possible, even when you cannot yet see how. This does not remove the challenge. But it changes how you stand within it. And there are ways of staying open that do not rely on certainty. 
Prayer as Relationship
At a threshold like this, when something is opening and cannot be undone, there are ways of staying in relationship with what is emerging. In the Celtic way, the world was understood as profoundly alive. Every tree, river, well, and stone carried spirit. Ceremony was never about commanding the elements, but about entering into relationship with them. Offerings at sacred wells, fires tended at seasonal festivals, and prayers spoken at cairns or groves were acts of reciprocity. Giving and asking were never separate. At Bealtaine, prayer was not separate from life. It rose from what was needed: rain, growth, protection, the continuation of what was trying to come into being. To pray for rain was not to demand, but to join the earth in her own longing, to lend your breath and your voice to what is already moving, to stand within the same current rather than apart from it. Because the earth, too, is emerging. The ground is opening. The roots are pushing. The bud is breaking itself to become. And what rises does not do so alone. It is met, held, and made possible by what surrounds it. And perhaps this is true for you as well. What is opening in you does not ask you to carry it alone. It asks you to enter into relationship with what allows it to become. At Bealtaine, this was often met through fire. Not as something to control, but as something to sit with, to tend, to witness, to let what is rising be seen in its light. Ceremony becomes the place where the seen and unseen lean toward one another, where longing and response meet, where you remember that your voice, your breath, your hands are part of the great weaving. What is offered in devotion does not vanish into silence. It moves. It ripples. And the world answers. And in a season like this, when something is pushing into form, prayer becomes a way of staying with it without forcing it. You can meet this moment in the same way. You might stand on the earth and speak. You might sit beside water and listen. You might tend a flame and watch what is revealed. You might place your hands on your body or the ground and let the contact itself become the prayer. Not to make something happen, but to stay with what is already asking to become. 
Allies of This Season
At a threshold like this, certain allies walk close. Not to guide you away from what is opening, but to help you stay with it. Fire Deer Horse Wind Bee Dandelion These allies do not force becoming. They move with it. 
Practices for Staying Open
When what is emerging feels difficult to hold, these are ways to stay with it. Hold What Is Emerging The Question Walking With the Fire Holding the Whole (Divine Feminine and Masculine) 
Closing the Circle
There are moments in a life when something begins that cannot be undone. They do not always arrive easily. They do not always feel welcome. They do not always come with clarity or certainty. Often, they arrive as challenge, as pressure, as discomfort, as the sense that something is being asked of you before you feel ready to give it. It can be tempting, in those moments, to turn away, to believe that something has gone wrong, to search for a way back to what was known, what was easier, what required less. But there is another way to see this. That perhaps the moments that ask the most of us are not interruptions to our lives, but the very places where life is trying to take its next shape through us. That what feels difficult is not always a sign to stop, but sometimes a sign that something important is underway. Not all challenge carries meaning, but some does. And learning to recognize the difference may be one of the deepest forms of trust we are asked to cultivate. To stay with what is opening, even when it stretches you, to allow what is emerging to move, even when it asks more than you expected, to remain open not because it is easy, but because something in you knows it matters. There are moments in a life that change everything. They rarely arrive as certainty. More often, they arrive as this. And to meet them, to stay with them, to allow them to shape you, may be among the most important things you will ever do. Because this is how life changes shape. Not all at once. Not in a straight line. But through moments like this, where something has opened, and you choose to remain with it. With reverence, 
© 2026 Lorriiii Dragon Dream | SpiritDrumming.com
Words and images are living offerings — please share with credit and care. If this is where you find yourself, standing at the edge of something you can feel but cannot yet name, I would love to welcome you into Gate One of the Spiral Way. This is a space to stay with what is stirring, to listen more deeply, and to remain in relationship with what is beginning, without rushing it into form. If you feel the pull to step further into this threshold, you are warmly invited to join me there.
Share this Reflection
If this reflection met you in the place where something is opening, where life is pressing into form and asking you to stay, offer it onward to someone who may also be standing within that becoming.
Listen on YouTube
If you enjoy these written reflections, you may also enjoy the spoken versions.
On my YouTube channel I share quiet readings of reflections, poems, and stories — along with simple spoken practices you can listen to in still moments of the day.
A place for listening, reflection, and the slow turning of the spiral.
Walk This Work More Deeply
If you find yourself in a place where something is loosening… where an old way no longer holds and what is coming is not yet fully formed… you do not have to walk that threshold alone.
My work is not about fixing or forcing change. It is about listening… deeply… to what is already moving within you, and creating space for it to take its true shape.
Through one-on-one sessions, ceremony, and intuitive guidance, I support you in meeting these moments with clarity, steadiness, and trust in your own unfolding.
There is a timing to these things.
If something in you is ready… you will feel it.
Read More from The Spiral Way
If this reflection met you where something is already opening, where life is pressing into form and asking you to stay, you may also feel drawn to:
The Calling Beneath the Season
on the quiet beginning, when something stirs beneath the surface before it can be named or understood. Read →
Spring Equinox — When the Old Shape Can No Longer Hold
on the moment of loosening, when what once held begins to give way and something new presses toward life. Read →
May what is opening be met with care.
May what is emerging be given space to become. May you remain with what has already begun.
The Calling Beneath the Season
A reflection on awakening, longing, and the quiet beginning of something not yet formed.
The Season Has Already Turned
The season has already turned. It doesn't wait to be noticed, and it doesn't arrive all at once. Where I am, the daffodils are open, some already softening at their edges, their brightness not holding the way it did even a few days ago. The trees are no longer empty. Buds press outward, not yet leaves, but no longer contained. The ground has released what it was holding, and you can feel that release under your feet. The mornings are filled with birdsong. It comes from everywhere at once, full and insistent, calling out across the day as it begins. There is something in it that feels like searching and something in it that feels like celebration, as if the world is already in relationship with what is returning. And still, nothing settles. There are days where the rain comes and stays, soaking everything slowly, working into the ground without urgency. You can feel it softening what has been held tight for months, loosening it from the inside. And then the storms come. Sudden, charged, felt in the body before they arrive. The air shifts, something builds, and then it breaks. Both are here at once. The slow softening and the breaking open. The steady soaking and the sudden release. And somewhere in you, something has already shifted. You can feel it, even if you have not turned toward it yet. This is where Gate One of the Spiral Way begins to come into view, in the quiet turning, where something has already begun to shift. 
The Spiral Beneath the Surface
There is a rhythm I have been in relationship with for as long as I can remember. Not something I was taught, but something I found myself inside of, in moments of change, of undoing, of becoming. It came through seasons, through breath, through experiences I did not understand until they had already changed me. I have come to know this rhythm as the Spiral Way. It is not a path you follow, but something you find yourself moving within. It doesn't move in straight lines, and it doesn't ask you to progress in any fixed way. It turns. It returns. It deepens. Within this rhythm, there are thresholds. Places where something shifts, where something begins, where something asks to be met. And I have come to know these as Gates, not as steps to follow, but as living thresholds we move through, again and again, in our own way. Gate One is where the movement first becomes felt. Not as direction, but as awakening, as longing, as the pull to listen. 
When It Feels Familiar
There is a quality to this season that feels familiar, as if it’s touching something you’ve known before. The first warmth. The first opening. A beginning your body recognizes before your mind does. And with that recognition, something else rises. Memory. Not always as a thought or story, but as a feeling that says this is how it goes. But this is where it becomes subtle. Something in you remembers, but it is not the past that is moving. It is something deeper, rising through what feels familiar. You may feel anticipation and call it knowing. You may feel the past and believe it is prediction. But this is not repetition. It is emergence. The season is not repeating itself. It is meeting you where you are now, and what is possible here has never existed in exactly this way before. 
The Power of Beginning
In the Spiral Way, beginnings hold power. Lately, I’ve felt the truth, how the way we start shapes what follows. Some paths I’ve walked, I now see how much easier they would be to shift had I honored the beginning more deeply. Gate One reminds us that each opening is a threshold, and how we meet it matters. As you stand here, you might begin with something simple. Pause, and say, quietly or aloud: “This is where I begin.” Let that be enough. From there, write down what matters to you now, knowing it may change. Name the boundaries of what you are willing to hold, not to limit what comes, but to give yourself something steady to stand within. And at the same time, remain open. What is beginning here may not unfold the way you expect. There is familiarity in it, yes, but also the possibility of something entirely new. To begin well is not to control what comes next. It is to meet the beginning with presence, clarity, and a willingness to stay in relationship with what is still taking shape. 
Where This Lives in You
Gate One does not live where things are clear. It lives closer to the body than the mind, in the place where you feel something before you can make sense of it. A quiet pressure, a pull that stays just beneath the surface of your life. You may notice it in your chest or deeper than that in your belly, in the way your breath changes when your attention falls toward it. It is not strong enough to demand anything, but it does not leave. It shows up in the spaces in between, in the pause after a thought, in the moment before you respond, in the way your attention returns again and again to the same place. It doesn't resolve. It remains. This is the calling as it first appears, not as direction, but as a shift you can feel. 
Gate One — The Calling
Awakening · Longing · Listening
Gate One is the threshold where something begins to move in you before it has direction, meaning, or form. It does not arrive with clarity or offer you something to follow. It arrives as a shift, a place where something in your life is no longer held in the same way, and you can feel it even if you cannot explain it. This is why the season matters, because the land shows us how this works. Nothing forces the buds open. Nothing explains to the ground that it is time to release. Something moves, and everything begins to respond. There is a familiar way of responding here, to take what you feel and turn it into meaning, to name it, define it, decide what it is, and move on. But what is here has not taken form yet, and when you rush to understand it, you bring it back into what you already know. You close what is trying to open. So this gate asks something different, not action, not clarity, but attention. 
Staying With the Calling
Gate One does not ask you to figure anything out. It asks you to stay. There are ways to remain in relationship with what has begun, without forcing it into form. Not as steps to follow, but as ways of staying close to what is already moving. 1. Stay with what has already shifted 2. Let the question remain open 3. Listen without reaching 4. Track what returns 5. Do less with what you feel 
The Allies Who Meet Us in Gate One
In Gate One, the calling does not always come as a clear idea. It often comes through what you are already experiencing. Even here, where nothing has fully taken shape, there are companions that draw near. You come to know them by how they hold, how they shift, how they remain just at the edge of what you can name. You might meet them as Earth holding what has not yet opened, Water softening and slowly shifting, Wind moving before it takes form, Clouds forming without becoming clear, Twilight holding the meeting of light and dark, Shore holding the meeting of worlds, Forest Edge revealing and concealing at once, or a specific animal that appears and returns in a way you can’t ignore. These are not separate from your life. They are how the gate begins to make itself known. 
If This Is Speaking to You
If you recognize yourself here, you are not alone. You are already standing at this threshold, not because you chose it, but because something has already begun. The same rhythm that moves the season is moving in you. The same uneven opening, the same quiet insistence, the same sense that something is beginning even before it has taken form. And wherever this is touching your life, even if it is faint, even if you almost miss it, it matters that you have felt it. This is where the Spiral begins. If you feel the pull to go further into it, to remain in relationship with what is beginning, you are welcome to step further into it with me. And if you choose to stay with it in your own way, that is enough. What has begun will continue to move. 
A Blessing for What Is Beginning
May you feel the rhythm that moves beneath your life, even when you cannot name it. May you recognize the turning as it comes, quietly, without needing to understand it. May you remember that you are part of something larger, something alive, something already in motion. May you move as the season moves, opening in your own time, in your own way. And may what is beginning in you be given the space to become. With reverence for what is already beginning,Lorriiii Dragon Dream 
© 2026 Lorriiii Dragon Dream | SpiritDrumming.com
Words and images are living offerings — please share with credit and care. If this is where you find yourself, standing at the edge of something you can feel but cannot yet name, I would love to welcome you into Gate One of the Spiral Way. This is a space to stay with what is stirring, to listen more deeply, and to remain in relationship with what is beginning, without rushing it into form. If you feel the pull to step further into this threshold, you are warmly invited to join me there.
Share this Reflection
If this reflection met you in the place where something has already begun to shift, where a quiet pull is asking for your attention, offer it onward to someone who may also be standing at that threshold.
Listen on YouTube
If you enjoy these written reflections, you may also enjoy the spoken versions.
On my YouTube channel I share quiet readings of reflections, poems, and stories — along with simple spoken practices you can listen to in still moments of the day.
A place for listening, reflection, and the slow turning of the spiral.
Walk This Work More Deeply
If you find yourself in a place where something is loosening… where an old way no longer holds and what is coming is not yet fully formed… you do not have to walk that threshold alone.
My work is not about fixing or forcing change. It is about listening… deeply… to what is already moving within you, and creating space for it to take its true shape.
Through one-on-one sessions, ceremony, and intuitive guidance, I support you in meeting these moments with clarity, steadiness, and trust in your own unfolding.
There is a timing to these things.
If something in you is ready… you will feel it.
Read More from The Spiral Way
If this reflection met you where something is already shifting, where a quiet pull is asking for your attention, you may also feel drawn to:
Spring Equinox — When the Old Shape Can No Longer Hold
on the moment when something loosens, when what once held begins to give way, and something new presses quietly toward life. Read →
The Pause Between Seasons — Where the Ground Begins to Soften
on the threshold space where something is preparing to shift, even before it becomes visible. Read →
May what is stirring be honored.
May what is not yet formed be given space. May you stay with what has already begun. |
Lorriiii Dragon Dreama ceremonialist, writer, and poet whose path is shaped by Celtic and animistic traditions. Guided by the rhythms of the Earth and the unseen, her work invites healing, belonging, and remembrance through ceremony, drum, and story.
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