Kali Sent me: A Journey from Bali back to India

Guided by Kali: A Journey from Bali to India

February 22-23 2025

The Final Day at Santhika: Angel Numbers and a Fresh Start

The final day at Santhika fell on 2/22—angel numbers that reminded me I was exactly where I needed to be. It was a day of transition, of endings and beginnings. I woke up feeling unexpectedly refreshed, cocooned in air conditioning I hadn’t realized my body so desperately needed. It was as if the cool air was washing away the heat of my time in Bali, making space for what was next.

Leaving the hotel that morning, I made my way to Dream Hill for a past life regression session with Ali. I had my hesitations—her yoga classes hadn’t particularly impressed me—but I pushed my judgment aside, knowing that every encounter on this journey was leading me somewhere. Kali had sent me here for a reason.

Past Life Regression with Ali: Music, Devotion, and Karma

We immediately bonded over our shared experience of chronic pain, both of us 35 years old, navigating our own paths of healing. As we spoke, she began revealing things about my spiritual journey before we even pulled a card. She described an old woman spirit beside me, holding a stick over my head—a figure she referred to as Holy Grandmother.

At first, I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but then recognition struck. Sarada Devi. Sarada Devi, the wife of Ramakrishna and a great devotee of Kali, had been appearing in my consciousness long before I left Florida. I had drawn her card repeatedly, and her name had surfaced in conversations at uncanny moments. The confirmation that I had been praying to her for lifetimes, that I had been a devotee of her and of Kali, resonated deeply. It was yet another sign that Kali had sent me here, that I was exactly where I needed to be.

Ali told me that in past lives, I had sat under a tree, playing the harmonium as people gathered around me in devotion. The connection I have to the harmonium in this life suddenly made sense—it was not just an instrument, but a continuation of something much older, something sacred that had carried through my soul’s many journeys. She told me I had been a father in a European lifetime, struggling with arthritis and deeply bonded to my daughter. That daughter, she said, would reappear on this journey—someone I would meet in the coming weeks, a soul I would recognize instantly. In another life, I had been a musician, drawing in souls with my songs, and in another, I was a revered mother goddess in Egypt, freeing slaves and earning karma that now awaited me in that land. If I were to go to Egypt, I should go when my heart was at peace, for the angels there had something for me.

Then came the karmic relationship card, along with the arts and community. She told me that I had made a soul contract to meet a certain person in this life through music, likely in India. It was a vow from another time, waiting to be fulfilled. Despite the intensity of the session, I left feeling lighter. It was confirmation that I was on the right path, that Kali had sent me exactly where I needed to be.

Final Hours in Bali: Frustration and Letting Go

The rest of the day was filled with final tasks—packing, a nail appointment (that, miraculously, did not go horribly wrong except for a few hiccups), and a much-needed head and neck massage to ward off an incoming migraine. But as the evening unfolded, my patience began to wear thin. My hunger, exhaustion, and the disorganization of travel logistics left me snapping at small inconveniences—wrong fruit, incorrect portion sizes, someone getting me the wrong shirt, and last-minute stress eating that made me feel sick.

By the time I got to my hotel for the night, I was mentally drained. I barely got three hours of sleep before waking up at 3:30 AM for my flight. My migraine had intensified to the point that I had no choice but to take medication. I questioned even going—but honestly, the Mother was calling, and I had to answer. Kali had sent me forward.

The Flight to India: Small Signs of Guidance

Once at the airport, things went smoothly. My wheelchair assistance was arranged (despite not being on my ticket, even though I had called Air India the day before to confirm). I made it to my gate with time to spare. Ori texted me that she had gone to see Krishna Das that day, sending me videos. A pang of homesickness hit me—I would have loved to be there, chanting along. But I knew that boarding this plane to India was its own sacred act of devotion. I was being guided. Hanuman, Maharaji, and Kali were all moving me forward.

As soon as I boarded the plane, things took a turn. My screen was the only one that wasn’t working, a small but frustrating inconvenience. I moved to another seat, hoping for a better experience, but the person in front of me had already reclined all the way back before takeoff. I sighed and figured it was better to just take the credit for the faulty screen (which, by the way, I’m still waiting for after a month of back-and-forth emails). Maybe this was just the universe telling me to let go—skip the distractions, read, close my eyes, and surrender. I took a melatonin and tried to sleep.

An hour into the flight, just as I was settling, they moved someone into the seat directly in front of me, and—of course—he immediately reclined all the way back. Frustration crept in, but I reminded myself that this, too, was a test of patience. Then, the energy around me shifted again. The couple in my row was in the middle of something deeply unsettling. The man was borderline abusive, hitting the woman beside him. She sat there crying silently. I felt powerless, unsure of what to do. On top of that, he was coughing non-stop. The whole situation felt like a mess. A reminder that sometimes, we have to sit with discomfort, to witness things that aren’t easy to process, to surrender to situations beyond our control.

Arrival in Delhi: “Kali Sent Me” & The Journey to Rishikesh: A Test of Surrender

After eight long hours, we finally landed in Delhi. But as I stepped off the plane, another issue arose. Despite confirming it the day before, my wheelchair assistance wasn’t on my ticket. Frustrated and exhausted, I got on the phone with Air India. Thankfully, they moved quickly, and soon I was being wheeled through immigration, skipping the long lines. I had to admit, the handicapped assistance was a golden ticket—not just a luxury but an absolute necessity with my chronic pain and heavy bags. It made the process so much smoother, and for that, I was grateful.

I had originally planned to take an internal flight to Dehradun for a shorter trip to Rishikesh, but at the last minute, I canceled it. Instead, I booked a private car through Booking.com, thinking that by paying more, I’d be guaranteed a comfortable ride. That assumption, however, would soon be challenged.

From here, things did not unfold as smoothly. And then I met my driver, holding a sign that read:

“Eve, Jill—Kali Sent Me.”

I laughed. Of course, she did.

And then I saw the car. It looked like something out of a post-apocalyptic film—cracked windshield, barely functioning trunk, hardly enough space for my luggage. My first instinct was to refuse it outright. No way. But then, a group of men began surrounding me, speaking in Hindi, trying to figure out the situation.

My mom’s voice echoed in my head: Choose peace over conflict. Surrender.

I sighed, let go of the fight, and got into the car. The eight-hour drive to Rishikesh was long, uncomfortable, and exhausting, but I made it. At one point, just 10 minutes from my destination, my driver suddenly informed me that the car couldn’t cross the bridge into Rishikesh. It was midnight. I had been traveling all day. I lost it.

Tears, yelling, frustration—I had reached my breaking point. Eventually, I called the hotel, who sent someone to help. They found a workaround, and I was finally taken to my accommodation.

India: The Fire of Transformation

As I lay down that night, eating some fruit, I took a deep breath.

I was back in India.

This was India—raw, chaotic, uncompromising. A land that strips you down, forces you to confront yourself, your limits, your patience, your faith. But I knew this was all part of the plan. Every obstacle, every test—it was Kali’s way. She was the one guiding me here, the one showing me that surrender is not just a concept, but a practice.

Kali had sent me signs at every turn. The regression session. The music. The “Kali Sent Me” sign at the airport. The trials of travel. The burning away of my resistance. Bali had been a stepping stone—a place of beauty, transformation, and deep introspection.

But now, I was in the fire. And Kali had sent me into the flames, not to suffer, but to transform. Because when Kali sends you, she does not send you to stay the same.

She sends you to burn, to surrender, to awaken.

And I was ready.

With humility & respect;

Kali Grayce