February 21-22, 2025
Through Fire and Stillness: Lessons from Santhika
The past few days have been a whirlwind of emotions, lessons, and unexpected challenges, all woven together in the way only Kali Ma could orchestrate. She does not walk gently beside me—she pulls me through fire, stripping away illusion and forcing me to confront my deepest fears. This time, the lessons came through vivid dreams, bodily discomfort, emotional unraveling, and an unexpected confrontation with my own faith.
Dreams of Chaos and a Body in Revolt
I’ve been waking up repeatedly throughout the night, tangled in bizarre, vivid dreams that vanish the moment I open my eyes. One, however, lingered—a dream of vicious, monstrous monkeys terrorizing towns full of familiar faces, forcing us all to migrate in fear. Maybe it was inspired by my visit to the Monkey Temple, but it felt deeper than that, like something clawing at my subconscious. It’s clear I need to start writing my dreams down—there are messages in them that I am not yet seeing.
Physically, my body has been in rebellion. My stomach has been bloated, my neck aching, and my cycle has yet to arrive—going on six, maybe seven weeks now. Rationally, I know I couldn’t have gained as much weight as I feel I have, but the mirror tells a different story, one that sends me spiraling. It’s a brutal reminder of Maya’s power—yesterday, I thought I had realized I am not this body, and today, I let my entire morning be ruined by an illusion. The body is just a vessel, yet I keep falling into the same pattern, feeling unworthy, unlovable, as though love will always belong to someone else, never to me.
The Palm Reading That Shook Me
The palm reader’s small shop was tucked away near a vegan café I didn’t even know existed in Lovina. She knew who I was as soon as I stepped out of the bright orange jeep, leading me into a dimly lit room adorned with incense and offering baskets. From the start, something felt off. She spoke a lot about my ex, which confused me—I didn’t come here to dwell on the past. She told me I would find love at 35. When I told her I was 35, she quickly shifted, saying love would come when I was ready, that younger men would fall for me, that I would fall in love twice. It felt scattered, circular, like she was throwing ideas into the air to see what would stick.
Then, she said something that sent me into complete collapse—she told me that my Kali tattoo was draining my energy, that in Bali, it’s a bad omen to have her inked onto my skin, and that I should cover her with flowers.
It was like a knife to my heart.
Kali Ma is not just a deity to me—she is my mother, my protector, the force that saved me from myself and led me back to God. My tattoo is a devotion, a reminder of my journey, a symbol of everything I have fought through to be here. How could she tell me to cover it? To erase it? Did she expect me to cut off my arm?
I felt myself unraveling. I knew Kali’s energy was heavy—I’ve always known. But was the tattoo actually harming me? I’ve trusted my path, my connection to her, but in that moment, I let a stranger plant doubt in my mind. I let her make me question everything I knew to be true.
I ended the session early, unable to sit with her words any longer. She told me I didn’t have to pay, but I left a small offering, not wanting to turn her words into a curse. She blessed me with holy water, and I walked out, feeling like I needed to escape my own skin.
The Fire Within
My first instinct was to numb. To not feel. I considered buying a vape—anything to ground myself, to separate from the rawness of what I was experiencing. But before I could follow through, I stumbled upon a café with hookah. Instead of escaping into smoke, I ordered a fresh coconut, desperately needing hydration, clarity.
For the first time in eight years, I pulled out a notebook and began drawing my Kali tattoo. I’ve never done that before. But something about this moment demanded it. My hands moved instinctively, adding details—two snakes, spirals, elements that were deeply personal to me. It wasn’t just a sketch; it was a reclaiming. A reminder. Kali is in everything. Even in this moment of doubt, she was guiding me. She is the lesson.
The Rash: A Lesson in Surrender
That night, as I tried to settle back into my room after the palm reading, I felt it—an unbearable burning sensation spreading up my arm. My Kali arm. At first, I thought it was just irritation, maybe a reaction to the heat or some lingering mosquito bites, but within minutes, it escalated. Red rashes and hives broke out in angry, inflamed patches, swelling and itching with a vengeance. It felt like fire beneath my skin, like my arm was being branded from the inside out. I panicked.
I tried everything—Benadryl, anti-itch cream, healing oil. Nothing worked. The burning persisted, an unrelenting reminder that there was no quick fix, no escape. It was 3 AM, and I didn’t know what to do, who to call. Out of desperation, I called my mom. Then Putu, who answered but offered no real solution. I debated going to the hospital. My mind raced with possibilities—was this some sort of karmic punishment? Was the palm reader right? Was Kali actually rejecting me, punishing me for carrying her image on my skin? Had I done something wrong?
And then, like a whisper through the chaos, I understood.
There was no escaping this moment.
This was the lesson.
I had to sit with it.
The discomfort, the burning, the fear—I had to be present with all of it. No numbing, no distractions. Kali was forcing me into surrender, into the exact thing I had been resisting for days. I had spiraled over my body, my worth, my choices, my tattoo. I had been trying to escape—through overthinking, through external validation, even through the idea of numbing myself with a vape. But here, in the middle of the night, in excruciating discomfort, there was nowhere left to run.
It was the ultimate test.
Kali does not let you escape your lessons.
So I laid there, arm on fire, letting the pain consume me. I focused on my breath, on the sheer sensation of it all, on the raw presence of what was happening. And somehow, in that moment of surrender, I found something I didn’t expect—peace. A deep, unwavering stillness beneath the suffering.
I fell asleep eventually, exhausted and depleted, but by morning, something had shifted. The rash was still there, but the urgency had faded. My mind was calmer. My emotions, less volatile.
Looking back, I don’t think it was bed bugs. I don’t think it was a reaction to my sheets, though I had been quick to blame my surroundings. I believe it was something deeper—a manifestation of the heat, the exhaustion, the unprocessed emotions, the poison leaving my body. A final purge before I left
And so I thanked Kali—not for the suffering itself, but for the lessons hidden within it.
No quick fixes, just raw presence. This is her way—no gentle lessons, only the fire that purifies.
Unraveling and Rebuilding
By the time I met with Anita for my final integration session, I had nothing left. I broke down completely, sobbing, blaming everything—the palm reader, the retreat, my own decisions. I wanted to believe I had wasted my time, that I should have left the first week when I got injured, that everything was going wrong.
She looked at me, eyes full of tears, and said, “I’m really disappointed to hear you say you got nothing from this retreat, because I have watched you transform.”
And she was right.
Growth doesn’t always look like peace. It isn’t always coconuts on the beach, smiling with the sun on your skin. Sometimes it looks like breaking, doubting, burning in your own fire. Sometimes it looks like being dragged through every fear you have so you can finally, finally surrender.
Kali never meant for this path to be easy. But it has always been meant for me.
I let the last of my resistance go. I wept. I admitted that I wanted to run, that I wanted to blame everyone and everything for my discomfort. But the truth was, I needed this experience. Every painful, frustrating, and exhausting moment of it. Because transformation is not clean, or pretty, or easy. It is messy. It is uncomfortable. It rips you apart before it stitches you back together.
I know now that I was never meant to escape this moment. Not the rash, not the emotions, not the uncertainty. I was meant to sit in the discomfort, to let myself be undone so that I could rebuild. This cycle will continue, as it always does—Kali tearing me apart, Shiva waiting with open arms on the other side. I feel him now, in the stillness, in the relief of surrender.
Shiva’s Stillness: The Sound Healing That Brought Me Home
After the whirlwind of emotions, unraveling, and physical discomfort, I didn’t expect much from the sound healing session. I’ve been to so many before, and at this point, my body and mind felt too exhausted to absorb anything new. The rash, the migraines, the heat, the emotional exhaustion—it all felt like too much. But life, in its mysterious way, always gives you exactly what you need, even when you least expect it.
The first wave of relief hit as soon as I entered the room—it was air-conditioned. I hadn’t been in AC for three weeks, and the moment the cool air touched my skin, something inside me softened. My body, which had been in a state of constant fight-or-flight, finally exhaled. The room was small but filled with instruments I had never seen before. There was a sacredness in the simplicity—a reminder that healing doesn’t always have to be grand or complex. Sometimes, it’s just about stillness.
Mora, the healer, looked at me and said, “You don’t need to do anything. Just receive.”
And for the first time in days, I let go.
As the first vibrations moved through the room, I felt myself sink into the sound, letting it wash over me like a wave. My mind was still restless—the monkey was still there, shaking the cage, but there were moments of stillness. Moments where, for just a breath, I wasn’t thinking, analyzing, or resisting. I was simply being.
And then, I felt him.
Shiva.
It wasn’t a voice or a vision—just a presence, a stillness that I hadn’t allowed myself to rest in for a long time. If Kali is the fire, Shiva is the silence that follows. She has been dragging me through transformation, through pain and doubt and lessons wrapped in suffering, but here, in the vibration of these sounds, Shiva whispered, You don’t always have to fight. You can rest.
It was a small moment, but it was enough. Enough to remind me that I am not meant to burn endlessly. That I can lean into the balance between the fire and the stillness. That I do not have to constantly prove my strength through struggle.
As I walked out of the session, I felt different—not fixed, not magically healed, but softened. I gathered my things and made my way to the hotel where I would be staying for the next two nights. After three weeks of toughing it out in the heat, the noise, the discomfort, I finally allowed myself some ease. And maybe that was another lesson—one I wouldn’t have appreciated if I hadn’t been through the fire first.
That night, I checked into the quiet hotel, complete with air conditioning and peace. The contrast hit me immediately—how much unnecessary suffering I had put myself through, thinking I needed to earn ease. But maybe that’s another lesson, another shift. Maybe I don’t always have to struggle to prove my devotion. Maybe I can allow softness, stillness, grace.I slept deeply that night, wrapped in quiet, the cool air soothing my skin. Maybe, for once, I had nothing to prove. Maybe it was okay to just receive.
Tomorrow is my last day at Santhika. I am leaving changed, though the transformation is still unfolding. Kali has given me another opportunity to trust myself, to trust the path. And I will take it.
With love and gratitude,
Kali Grayce
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