The Magician's Trick: Learning to Trust Myself
Feb 11, 2025
Oyy… another early morning.
I woke up in gastrointestinal distress, cramps, and PMS—my body continuing its seemingly endless conversation with me through pain. It wasn’t even 6 AM, and my mind was already racing, so I did what any logical person would do—I picked up my harmonium.
My fingers found their place on the keys, and I began reciting my new poem The Flight Home to the melody of Free Bird, weaving in Radhe Govinda between verses. The challenge was in keeping the poetry on beat while honoring the song’s original rhythm, which is complex to play in itself. But practice makes perfect.
Outside my door, the birds were already singing. As if they knew the song before I even played it. As if they, too, were part of this unfolding symphony. They became my rhythm section, my background vocals, my messengers from the unseen.
By the time the sun began creeping through my window, I had recorded a take (click picture for video!) and sent it to my mom—who, of course, was thoroughly impressed. (But let’s be real, she’s impressed with anything I do. Love you, Mama.)
I thought about going to yoga, but my body begged for more rest. Two more hours of sleep it was. When I woke up again at 10:10 AM, my throat was raw from singing—and probably from those damn sugar-free sucking candies. When will I learn?
An Omen Before the Session
At 11 AM, I made my way to the yoga shala for my metaphorical card session with Anita. Unlike other facilitators, she doesn’t hold group readings—this was personal. The night before, she had messaged me:
“Am I always on my side?”
The words unsettled me in a way I couldn’t quite explain. The timing was eerie—just minutes before reading her message, I had been lying on my left side, feeling my sciatica pain flare up, wondering how much longer I could tolerate it. For a brief moment, I scanned the room, half-expecting to find cameras watching me. Was I being watched? (News flash: I wasn’t.)
Still, the question lingered like an omen.
The morning was humid, hot, and rainy—the signature of Bali’s wet season. Before heading out, I posted a reel of my first leg of India with the same poem I had just finished. It all felt strangely aligned.
The Missing Child and the Pain That Speaks
When I arrived, Anita was already there, her table carefully arranged—piles of cards, two cushions, two cups of water. The air felt dense, heavy, like something was waiting to be unearthed. She greeted me, then asked how I was doing—a loaded question.
I hesitated before explaining my menstrual cycle struggles, endometriosis, and the relentless pain that has followed me since childhood. Was there a spiritual reason for all of this? Had my body been speaking to me in a language I still hadn’t learned to understand?
I thought back to being 11 years old, to my first period. A moment that should have marked a transition, yet instead, became an echo of invalidation. I was the kid who always went to the nurse’s office, the one who constantly complained of stomachaches. My father turned it into a joke, mocking me with, “My belly hurts a little.” It did hurt. Whether it was anxiety, autoimmune issues, or psychosomatic—I didn’t know. I was a child.
At 11, I went to the nurse in unbearable pain, and—true to form—both of my parents refused to leave work to get me. Instead, my mother sent a coworker, who took me on errands, to get pizza, and to a car lot to look at new cars. I collapsed at the car lot in agony, the pain sharp enough to knock me off my feet. Still, I didn’t trust myself. I had been told for so long that my pain was imaginary, attention-seeking. The next morning, I told my mom I wasn’t well. She yelled at me, saying I was making excuses. But then—she found blood in the toilet.
...I had gotten my first period. And suddenly, I felt vindicated. The pain was real. I wasn’t crazy.
The 12 Archetypes: Playing the Hand You’re Dealt
Anita asked me to formulate a question. I had so many. But the pain in my body was the loudest voice in the room.
I asked: “What is the pain trying to teach me? How do I use more effective coping strategies? And how does this pain shape my purpose?”
She introduced me to the 12 archetypes—explaining that they are like a basketball team, each playing a vital role in our soul’s journey.
She focused on a few archetypes that deeply resonated with me:
• The Innocent – The part of me that longs to feel safe and whole. I realized I had been walking through life, hoping for reassurance and validation from others, instead of offering that security to myself. The Innocent within me wanted to believe that the world was a safe place, but I had learned that pain and suffering were part of it. The Innocent archetype was a reminder that I need to show myself more compassion, like a parent would with a child.
• The Caregiver – The nurturing part of me, which was absent in many ways. Anita pointed out that I needed to become my own caregiver. I had spent so much of my life looking outside myself for support, approval, and care, but I needed to learn to show up for myself in the same way I would for someone I love. I had to stop waiting for others to cheer me on. I had to cheer myself on.
• The Jester – The part of me that could laugh at life’s absurdities, dance in the chaos, and let go of some of the seriousness I held so tightly. Anita told me I needed to embrace playfulness more often— the Jester within me wasn’t fully activated. I had gotten so serious about my spiritual journey, my pain, my healing that I forgot how to enjoy the moment, to simply be and laugh.
And... the magician (more on that in a bit)
Anita emphasized that the archetypes within us must work together as a team—just like in a basketball game. We can’t be all Sage or all Seeker, or just The Magician trying to transform everything around us. There are times for all of them to shine. The Innocent, the Caregiver, and even the Jester all need a voice.
She pulled out a psychosomatic deck and told me to ask what my pain was trying to tell me. I shuffled the cards, and one landed on top. I turned it over to reveal an image of two parents holding a picture of a missing child. I wasn’t the parent. I was the missing child.
She told me this image represented the parts of myself that I needed to parent. The pain in my body was not just physical—it was an energetic manifestation of abandonment, self-doubt, and learned helplessness.
Then, she had me shuffle again, this time to pull three cards representing the resources I need to heal.
The first was a girl looking out a window with a packed bag.
The Seeker. Me. Always looking, always searching. But she pointed out something I hadn’t considered—sometimes the answers don’t come from running away. Sometimes, they come from being still.
The second was a figure holding the entire universe in their hands.
A reminder that everything I need is already within me.
The third was a lighthouse, a hand reaching out to light its flame.
The lighthouse will shine no matter what. What others do with its light is not my responsibility.
The Magician – Trusting the Magician. Trusting the Flight
The Magician is the part of me that orchestrates synchronicities, turns obstacles into opportunities, and reminds me that there is always something greater at play. Anita told me I needed to trust the Magician more often—to believe that even when things don’t make sense, there is an invisible thread weaving it all together.
I had gotten so caught up in controlling the outcome, analyzing the past, and trying to force clarity before its time that I forgot how to surrender to the unfolding. The Magician within me wasn’t fully activated because I still struggled to let go, to believe that the right things would happen at the right time without my interference.
She told me that the Magician doesn’t just remove obstacles—sometimes he places them in our path to guide us toward something better. My pain, my struggles, the moments where things didn’t go the way I wanted—they weren’t punishments. They were part of the process.
“The trick of the Magician,” she said, “is that you can’t always see the magic while it’s happening. But one day, you will look back and realize everything had a purpose.”
Maybe the moments I thought were missteps were actually part of my path all along. Maybe the Magician had been working behind the scenes, moving the pieces into place in ways I couldn’t yet understand. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to figure it all out right now—I just had to trust.She told me that sometimes, the pain is the Magician’s magic trick—leading us to the right place at the right time. I couldn’t see it at the time, but she reminded me of Ganesha, the remover of obstacles. However, sometimes Ganesha places the obstacles in our way to shift our perception, forcing us to go through something to discover a deeper truth about ourselves.
“Your journey has already been unfolding perfectly,” she said, “Even when you couldn’t see it. Trust that the universe has placed you where you need to be. Your pain is part of that.”
I reached for my green Ganesha pendant—I hadn’t worn it since India, but I felt drawn to it today. Ganesha doesn’t always take the obstacles away; sometimes, he puts them in our path so we learn to walk around them in a new way.
And then, back to the one archetype I neglect the most: The Caregiver.
I know how to seek.
I know how to analyze.
I know how to transform.
But do I know how to nurture myself?
As she was speaking, loud music blasted across the way. The bass pounded, and suddenly, I couldn’t focus. It was too much. I was spiraling.
I had felt this way last night, too, when karaoke blared at ungodly decibels. It had sent me into a tailspin about why I didn’t want to be here anymore. I told my mom, and she fed the flame—as we do to each other, neither of us knowing when to stop. I made Anita pause. I told her I couldn’t pay attention with the noise. Her voice cut through the chaos:
“It’s not in your control.”
Anita then reiterated the message I had been hearing all along: “Trust the Magician.”
I grasped my green Ganesha pendant. I hadn’t worn it since India, but something told me I needed his energy today. Ganesha, the remover of obstacles. But also, the one who places them.
Maybe the noise was part of the lesson.
Maybe my pain was part of the lesson.
Maybe the Magician was at work.
Anita kept repeating: “Trust the Magician.”
It reminded me of Leela last week, when I landed on Ananda Loka (Divine Bliss). The message? Trust the process.
Maybe the process itself is the Magician.
Maybe the pain is the initiation.
Maybe the bird outside my window knew it all along.
And maybe, just maybe—this entire journey is unfolding exactly as it should.
Meditation Mishaps
I went back to my room for lunch then a brief walk down the block. I began to read a book Anita had given me called "Love your body, Love yourself" which was supposed to have the emotion,mental and spiritual blocks behind each physical pain ailment. Later that evening, I decided to attend 5 PM meditation—my first in the twelve days I had been at the retreat. I even got there early, sat in the sun, and reflected on the morning. I felt good. Like I was doing something right.
Then, I realized something. I had read the schedule wrong. I wasn’t early. I was late. Meditation had already ended. I felt so stupid. Like I couldn’t even get one simple thing right. But maybe the lesson is to embrace the Jester, to laugh at life’s absurdities, and to let go of my need for perfection.
Since I was already there, I decided to do my own yoga practice. No rules, no structure—just my flow. I moved for ninety minutes, letting my body guide me, until the sun started to set and the mosquitoes came out.
I went back to my room, feeling calm, centered. I had dinner, got ready for my 9:30 PM meeting with Liz. I was in a good mood. And then, the entire retreat went dark.
A blackout.
No power. No lights. No WiFi.
And suddenly, everything shifted for the worse.
For now, I am holding onto this truth:
The Magician is always at work.
Even when I don’t see it.
Even when I don’t understand it.
Even when I resist it.
And the bird outside my window?
Maybe it knew that, too.
Maybe the challenges—my chronic pain, the cycles of self-doubt, and the struggles to trust my own body—are meant to teach me something deeper. I’m learning how to play the hand I’ve been dealt with grace and understanding. I’m learning to trust the Magician, the process, and most importantly, myself.
To Be Continued…
With love and a touch of surrender,
Eve aka Tested by the Fire of Kali Grayce
Comments