Softening Into Surrender: Navigating the Dualities of the Path
February 16-18 2025
Embracing Stillness and Flow
The past few days have been both slow and deeply nourishing—a conscious softening as I prepare to transition from this first leg of my journey in Bali. There is an invitation to surrender—to move without resistance, to flow with the current rather than fight against it. I have given myself permission to slow down, to listen, to simply be.
In this space of stillness, I’ve prioritized self-care: long walks through the village, harmonium practice, and time away from the constant pull of social media. The screen time limit on my phone has been a game changer, revealing just how much energy I unconsciously give to digital distractions. There’s something profound about consciously reclaiming that energy and redirecting it toward presence.
I’ve also been receiving more massages, sitting in quiet contemplation, and reflecting on what’s next. My personal yoga practice has been less structured but deeply intuitive, meeting my body exactly where it is. I feel myself mentally and physically preparing for the next step of this journey—trusting in the unfolding, trusting in my higher purpose, trusting in the divine.
Body Dysmorphia, Maya, and the Illusion of the Self
Yet even in this flow, familiar undercurrents of body dysmorphia have surfaced. The mind clings to distorted perceptions, whispering fears of weight gain, despite the reality that my nourishment has been simple and whole: vegetables, protein, fruit. I haven’t been eating “badly” at all, and yet, my body feels unfamiliar.
It almost sounds ridiculous to even write—like that moment in Mean Girls: “I haven’t had a carb in three weeks!”—but the feelings are real. And even if they aren’t based in truth, they hold weight in my mind.
This is maya—the illusion that keeps me tethered to self-doubt and unworthiness, pulling me away from the divine presence I so deeply long to embody. The shift from divine connection to self-criticism is so instantaneous, so subtle, that it almost feels orchestrated—as if every moment of transcendence must be countered by a test. Can I stay in devotion when confronted with the mirror? Can I hold my inner light even when the ego screams otherwise?
And yet, I remind myself: I am not binging. I am not purging. I am nourishing myself. I am walking, stretching, and taking care of my body in ways that feel sustainable. My weight will even out, and my mind will catch up to reality in time. I just have to keep going.
Numerology, Divine Timing, and the Fear of the Unknown
A numerology session added another layer to this internal dialogue. The guru—though well-versed—simply read traits of Aquarius from a book, reinforcing qualities I already know about myself: I am a leader, deeply compassionate, divinely connected, meant to serve. There was a sense of validation, yet also a question—what does it mean to truly know something beyond intellectual understanding?
Then, something surprising happened—he looked at my chart and told me it was one of the most perfect charts he had ever read. He told me I was here to do great things, to bring wisdom, healing, and divine knowledge into the world. He spoke about my kindness, my compassion, my ability to inspire and uplift others. That I am deeply connected to the divine, that I am meant to teach, to guide, and to leave an impact. That no matter what path I choose, I will be successful because my purpose is so deeply woven into my being.
Hearing this felt like confirmation—like an external voice mirroring back everything I have always felt in my soul but sometimes struggle to believe. It was a reminder that I am not lost. That I am already on the path, already fulfilling my Dharma, already walking toward my highest purpose.
Then came the part that unsettled me—his mention of financial instability in my late thirties. The mention of a ‘zero’ between the ages of 36 and 42 triggered deep-seated fears about security, about my parents, about my ability to sustain myself in the life I am called to live. What if something happens to them? What if I lose the support that has allowed me to be here, to travel, to serve?
Perhaps this was not a warning of disaster, but a push toward self-sufficiency—a reminder that my purpose is not dependent on external stability but on an unshakable foundation within myself. The ‘zero’ could be the womb space from which something entirely new will be born—a symbol of infinite possibilities awaiting my conscious choice.
Still, the thought lingers—what if the ‘zero’ means something bad will happen to my parents? I can’t even bear to imagine that possibility. I know I need to reframe it, to see it as a sign to step into my own sovereignty, to create something sustainable so that no matter what happens, I am safe. But the fear is real. The love I have for them is real.
I’ve been talking to my mom almost every day—not in a way that feels codependent, but just to share love. And I hope that continues for a long, long time.
Attachments, Abundance, and the Illusion of Struggle
Reflecting on financial fears, I began to see my own contradictions—spending money impulsively on clearance sales while simultaneously feeling guilty about paying for laundry or an extra luggage fee. There is a strange conditioning that tells me struggle equals worthiness, as if suffering is a necessary prerequisite for abundance. But is it?
The conversation turned toward cultural conditioning—this obsessive relationship with productivity and work, the deep-seated fear of stillness, the constant grasping for more. And yet, here I am, in Bali, unlearning these patterns. Here I am, confronting my attachments to material things, to external validation, to the illusion that my worth is measured by how much I sacrifice.
Maybe abundance isn’t something to earn through suffering. Maybe it’s something to allow.
Returning to Rishikesh: A Test of Strength and Growth
As I prepare to return to India, memories of my previous time in Rishikesh resurface. Last time, I relapsed into my eating disorder, overwhelmed by overstimulation and unprocessed emotions. But I am not the same person who was there before. The tools I have now—the awareness, the devotion, the commitment to healing—are stronger. This time, I am not merely surviving; I am choosing to walk forward in trust.
This return is not a mistake—it is an initiation. If I were not ready, I would not be called back.
Kirtan as Devotion, Not Performance
Last night, I was given the opportunity to lead a small kirtan. The space was intimate—a flower mandala carefully arranged by Nina, a small gathering of souls, the hum of divine energy filling the air. As I sat behind my harmonium, something within me shifted.
This was not a performance. This was devotion. A collective opening of voices, a merging of energies, a surrender to something greater than ourselves. It reminded me of a teaching I heard in India:
“We are each individual sparks plugging into the same electrical outlet of God. Alone, we shine in our own way, but together, we become the great divine light. When we chant, when we come together in bhakti, we amplify the current of God, and our light radiates even brighter.”
It was a deeply special evening—one where I truly felt the offering of kirtan pouring through me, something so sacred, so woven into the fabric of my being. I became a vessel for Kali, sharing the stories of the deities, guiding the group to awaken their divine qualities within. It felt effortless, like the devotion was carrying me rather than the other way around.
I hadn’t eaten before the kirtan, and by the time we ended, it was after 10 PM. In my hunger, I ate my dinner and fruit quickly, not mindfully, almost absentmindedly. And then—almost immediately—I found myself slipping into self-judgment. Seeing pictures and videos of myself afterward sent me into a spiral of hyper-criticism, self-consciousness, and unworthiness. The contrast was so stark, so immediate, that I almost had to laugh.
How could I go from being a vessel of devotion to being consumed by ego in a matter of minutes?
But perhaps this, too, is part of the work—learning to hold both. Learning to let the voice of maya arise without allowing it to consume me. Learning to see it, acknowledge it, and then consciously return to truth.
Integration, Gratitude, and Moving Forward
The lesson in all of this, I think, is balance. The duality of Shiva and Shakti—hardening and softening, striving and surrendering.
I do not need to punish myself for my attachments, nor do I need to cling to them. I can hold both the struggle and the gratitude. I can recognize the tests while also trusting the path.
As I move forward, the focus is clear:
• Devotion over performance.
• Sustainability over fear.
• Surrender over control.
The gifts of this journey are unfolding exactly as they are meant to. I trust that Kali is guiding me, that every challenge is a lesson, and that everything is happening in divine timing.
With love, gratitude, and unwavering faith,
Your servant, Kali Grayce
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