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Hanging With Jesus

Amber Adrian

Hi, I’m Amber and I talk to Jesus.

Not out loud (usually), but we’ve got a good system.

While I’m pretty sure he’s been with me for a really long time, I only noticed him about six months ago.

(Amber: Ignoring Jesus Since 1978)

He showed up while I was walking down the street and basically said, YO, I’M RIGHT HERE. LET’S HANG.

My response was wide eyes and frantically trying to verify his identity by doing basically everything but checking his driver’s license, which I sincerely hope says Jesus H. Christ. He was very patient, and continues to be patient - though he does tend to roll his eyes at me when I’m being particularly stubborn.

Jesus has been pretty persistent about hanging out with me ever since. If I ignore him for too long, I get the ascended-master-on-another-plane equivalent of the “Dude, WTF?” text.

I still feel awkward bringing this up because it feels a bit too much like, “Do you have a moment to talk about Jesus?”

And who wants to admit that their best friend is invisible? Pretty sure I grew out of imaginary friends about thirty-five years ago.

But talking about the things that make us feel weird or awkward is one of the best ways I know to kick down my bullshit walls of “I’m too weird for most human consumption.” 

We all think our weird is weirder than everyone else’s weird, but it's so not true. We’re all delightful balls of love riding around in human suits doing weird, wonderful things. But, hot damn, can our brains convince us otherwise.

For a friend you can’t text or even see, Jesus does a damn good job. He cheers me up when I need it. He rolls his eyes at me when I deserve it. He threw a birthday party for me, which was basically a rainbow rave with unicorns and archangels and red wine.

Once, when I was in a bad mood driving down the freeway, my shuffle switched to Everyday People by Sly and the Family Stone and Jesus started lip synching, with the Marys as his backup dancers. I started laughing so hard that I almost had to pull over. My mood and energy shifted in an instant. He’s good at that.

Another time when I was cranky, he started bouncing on a trampoline in that long robe you always see him wearing in pictures, the dangling end of his rope belt flying up and down with him. Mary Magdalene joined in and they stopped, looked at each other like, “Why are we wearing this shit?”, and suddenly they were wearing normal clothes, circa now. Mary Mags was super excited about her sports bra.

He’s like a friend and brother and that super awesome co-worker who brings you strawberry cupcakes for no reason.

One could argue that I have a slightly-too-involved inner life and need to socialize myself better, and one would definitely be right.

At the same time, it’s starting to feel more and more like I’m shifting planes, dancing in and out of my human reality. Like we all are, if we pay attention.

The veil has gotten thin, my friends. And I’m enjoying the hell out of it.

Grinch of Las Vegas

Amber Adrian

My heart grew three sizes this weekend.

While I’m definitely the Grinch of Las Vegas - my 70-something mom and aunt both out-gambled and out-drank me - it was more than just fleeing the Strip for the rocks and the lakes.


Vegas has nice rocks. 

It was seeing my brother happy. It was exploring caves and riding a train with a stuffed fox-toting seven-year-old, and buying his love with vanilla ice cream. Sitting by a lake in the twilight while bugs hummed, kids ran, and a new baby kicked.  

Some people go to Las Vegas to gamble. I go to sheep-gaze.

It was wholly unexpected and so perfect. My heart definitely grew bigger, and that gives me more faith in myself and my capacity for love.

Before I left, I was telling a friend that I 100% expected this trip to be epic, I just wasn't sure what that epic would entail. Las Vegas epic makes most people think of slot machines and unexpected marriage certificates under an empty tequila bottle on the bedside table - not freshly-hatched babies or a field full of big horn sheep. But that's the kind of epic I prefer these days - and it doesn’t even require a hangover.

But going to Las Vegas with your family will definitely test your empath boundaries. I started to see where some of this grief I've been carrying around for years isn't my own, and realizing anew how hard I have to work to stay clear of what's not mine. When you feel it, you assume it belongs to you, especially if you've been sponging up other people's pain all your life.

It's the challenge of the empath - to remember to ask to whom this emotion belongs. Even when your brain can logically assimilate it to your own experience, pointing to a specific event and saying, "This. Yes, this is why I feel this way. It makes perfect sense." When, in fact, it isn't yours at all - and there's no sense to be made. 

God love you, smart empaths. It's not an easy road. Someone told me recently, "You're very smart. But more often than not, your brain completely fucks you." Well...yes. 

Luckily, having a stuffed therapy otter in your purse helps.

As we circled Las Vegas, getting ready to land, I got the hit that my father had just reincarnated in India, because he doesn’t want to miss this time, this rebirth of ancient wisdom that's beginning to sweep us clear of multiple dark ages. He hit the re-set button and landed back on planet Earth, ready to go. 

Honestly, who knows. As with most intuitive hits, they’re impossible to fact check. You just have to trust - and realize that, in the eternal sense, it ultimately doesn't matter. But it was fun to think about, in those last moments before we landed.  

We're all connected to our people - those we know and those we don't yet remember - on this plane and beyond it. It's like my relationship with my brother - fathoms deep and about half an inch wide. Like, we had no idea he had a girlfriend. He just...showed up with her. There was a lot of frantic rearranging of facial expressions, let me tell you. 

In the small talk sense, I know more about most of my first dates than I know about my only sibling. But it ultimately doesn't matter - I can feel his heart and so it makes my heart happy when his is happy. 

Maybe that's the reward for being an empath. I got to be so happy this weekend in Vegas because he was so happy. When there's that much love gathering, each heart reflects it like a hall of mirrors reflecting a lightbulb. And I got to feel it all - and feel my heart expand with it. 

Going to Mount Shasta So Jesus Can Roll His Eyes at Me

Amber Adrian

Mount Shasta has been tugging at me for months now. Sometimes my soul gets really insistent, and I've found that it's best for everyone if I give it what it wants. So last weekend I drove five hours toward what I've been told is one of the biggest energetic centers on the planet. 

Most of me is on board when I hear things like that, but there's still a small portion of my East Coast lineage and education that says, "Yeah, okay, whatever." 

My still-clinging cynicism was firmly chastened when I hit the town of Shasta and got so dazed that I almost hit a pedestrian. 

Whoops! Sorry! You're right, that was a crosswalk! I'm very glad you just got mad instead of covered in tire treads!

Between the sun in my eyes, an unfamiliar town, and the kind of energy that I only experience after I've been channeling for long periods of time - after which I have to walk and eat mashed potatoes and not be around other humans - I most definitely should not have been driving a heavy metal box. 

Once after a healing, one of my clients said "This is my favorite drug." That's the kind of energy infusing Mount Shasta. So deeply healing that you feel like you just popped a horse tranquilizer. It's the kind of energy that lifts you out of your body and into another dimension. A lighter, far more awesome dimension, unless the you in this dimension stops obeying the laws of traffic and common decency. 

Wandering around Lake Siskiyou, I gazed at the light playing on the water and was so entranced, I felt like a three-year-old who got into the pot brownies. I kept listing sideways, tipping into walls, people, and almost over a cliff. 

The next day, I met up with a friend and we went to the mineral baths and dunked ourselves in the freshly melted river. I felt myself leaving heartbreak in creek beds and felt old patterns and beliefs melting into the mountain. It was like a car wash for the soul. 

I also had the most literal Come-To-Jesus moment of my entire life. 

Now, Jesus has been showing up a lot lately. He made an appearance when I was walking down the street a few months ago. I was asking for information about the next round of Activate, the six month group healing thing I run, and he stepped right in and waved and said he was one of our guides. My reaction was basically "what the fuuuuuuck?" As you'd expect when Jesus walks up to you and says, DUDE, WE'VE GOT SHIT TO DO. 

I always thought Jesus was pretty cool. Whatever thought I gave him was split between being deeply annoyed on his behalf at the way his work got twisted up by power-hungry patriarchal agendas and being super into Christmas. Not just because of the presents and cookies - though I never turn down presents and cookies - but because it always feels infused with love. Christmas actually does feel holy to me, and also I like Christmas carols. Like, a dumb amount. Sorry, anyone who has ever spent time with me in December. 

That was about it until he basically accosted me on the street, because that was apparently the only way to get my attention. (He notes that I'm being melodramatic again - there was a gentle wave and zero accosting - and I say, Who's telling this story, you or me?) 

Like any good light worker and way-shower, I've been dutifully ascending. Dealing with all my old shit - and a lot of other people's old shit, damn it - so that I could be good and ready to do my work here. Because I'm here for some pretty specific reasons. You are too, if you're reading this. 

Apparently, if you do your energetic housecleaning well enough, you start having visions of Jesus. 

Yes, I do hear myself when I say these things. But I figure if Jesus takes the time out of his busy schedule to show himself to you as you're walking down the street, more or less minding your own business, you should probably pay attention. 

So I started paying attention.

(Though, apparently, not enough attention. One of the biggest messages from my Shasta trip was Jesus telling me that I haven't been listening. Damn it. SORRY, JESUS. I thought I was listening, but there have been some things I admit I don't want to do. Mainly in the area of eating vegetables.) 

When I do let him in, he does a stellar job at lifting me out of my drama and getting me back on track. A few weeks ago, I was driving and feeling super cranky. Until Sly and the Family Stone come onto the radio, and I get a vision of Jesus lip-synching "Everyday People" with the Marys (Mother and Magdalene) as backup dancers and I start laughing so hard, I almost had to pull over on the freeway. My entire energy and mood shifted to absolute joy in a hot second. 

But apparently, he's got a lot to tell me about my work and I haven't been paying attention. I'm like that annoying co-worker who ignores your emails until you have to get up, walk over to their cubicle, and smack them upside the head. Maybe that's why my soul was so adamantly shoving me toward Mount Shasta. So Jesus could smack me (gently, of course) upside the head. 

After a guided meditation at the base of the mountain, the friend I was with said, "It's like you're homies. Like you and Jesus have lived lives together."  Insert wide-eyed emoji right here. The energy she got was that we were friends and coworkers. Family. "Whatever he's been telling you to do, do it." 

According to the messages she received for me at the base of the mountain, I've only just begun to scratch the surface of my powers and gifts - and now it's time to get serious.

Unfortunately "get serious" seems to mean "stop it with all the fried chicken and TV." Give your body what it really wants. My body wants running lots of miles and green juice. My brain wants naps and fried chicken. But I am serious about this, so vegetables and miles it is. 

Besides the "be healthy" thing, I do tend to get confused because the messages I receive are along the lines of "Have fun! Have sex! Have more adventures and write about them!" Sex is my spiritual assignment? And road trips? Really? Well, that sounds too good to be true. 

And then I remember the broccoli. And Jesus rolls his eyes at me because he didn't specify broccoli and I know it, and if I'm going to go around telling people that Jesus is making me eat broccoli he says he can't help me. (Yes, I think I'm hilarious.) 

But basking in the powerful and pulsing healing energy of that mountain, where I'm so much lighter than I'm used to being, I remember that writing is the basis of my work - and writing my joy has always been the way I've moved into that lighter space, with or without Jesus and big mountains. 

He says, "Write. Write your adventures. Write whatever sounds fun. Because writing is where your love flows and you are finally loving yourself fully. So writing about yourself in the service of others is one of the best things you can do right now." 

Then I say, "Thanks, J-Dog" and he rolls his eyes again and told me I am the whitest individual ever and what is up with all the pink shoes. I say the pink shoes make me happy and he says, "Well, that's okay then." 

The veil really is getting thinner and I am so very thankful for that. It's reminding me that the density of this reality isn't all there is, and if I keep moving - if we keep moving - toward the light, we'll all get lighter.

Even if Jesus has to spend a lot of his time rolling his eyes at me. (Heh.) 

My Heart Feels Like Charlie Brown Trying to Kick a Football

Amber Adrian

Plowing forward, filled with hope, leaving the ground with the high of the kick as you look up to the sky ...and then the nausea-inducing spinal trauma of crashing flat into the ground. Yup, my romantic life most accurately resembles Charlie Brown trying to kick a football.

This is mostly my fault. If I try to date out of fear that I'll miss out, or because I'm bored, or because I want the quick hit of validation, or because I think I should, or before I'm completely out of the grieving cycle, that's when I get stood up four times in two weeks by four separate people or end up unraveling a tangled mass of karma. 

So I vow to be more careful a dozen times a week, to guard my heart better. But that’s not really what I want, and I know it. Even when I’m carefully instructing myself to just go ahead and be a different human this time. 

Being in a relationship with me means you occupy a portion of my heart’s real estate and you get to live there for the rest of your life, whether you want to or not. Luckily, my heart is growing bigger every day, so I don't begrudge the space. Construction is ongoing.

So far, three people have annexed a corner of my heart. As much as it hurts in the healing stage, if I love someone enough to assign them a lifelong corner of my left ventricle, how could I pass up that love for as long as it lasts? I can't, and I wouldn't want to, no matter what I tell myself in the getting-over-it process. 

Minor heart fractures do fade. Karmic entanglements do drift right back out again. Melt like ice cream on a hot sidewalk, leaving only a sticky residue to eventually wash away in the rain, the cement no worse off - and maybe even retaining a hint of that invisible sweetness.

But the big cracks, the breakages, those don’t recede as easily.

Two major heartbreaks in one calendar year strike me as more than plenty - and explains all this hard-felt keening and flopping in my ribcage over the past few months. 

(This is what keening and heart flopping looks like.) 

I was wrangling last year's heartbreak around this time in Hawaii. Hey, if you have to get over something, you might as well do it on a tropical island. The big energy of those islands had me rolling through vision after vision of my not-on-this-plane-but-still-very-persistent daughter

As these visions drove saltwater into the cracks to unapologetically bust me wide open, I saw my heart being knit back together with gold light.

Heart breaks open, you put it back together again. With Elmer's glue, if you have to. 

A friend once called me a dating warrior. “You just keep throwing yourself back out there to get trampled.” I'm an enthusiastic warrior, but apparently not a very good one. 

But every time I hurl myself into the ring, my heart does grow bigger. It has to. 

Feeling big clears out big space. Space for unconditional love to flood in naturally, replacing the sadness and the anger and the “here are seven reasons we both royally fucked up” judgment parade marching through my brain in an alarmingly predictable loop.

When the unconditional love starts sweeping everything clean again, the space that lets everyone have their own experience and knows that the love doesn’t go away even if the people do, that’s when I start having more trust in the process.

Trust in myself - that I haven’t profoundly fucked up this time, even when my brain is pretty certain I have. Trust that the right relationship will work out at the right time for everyone involved - and that I don’t have to hurl myself warrior-style into the coliseum to be gnawed on by a tiger for the privilege.

I do want to be kinder to my heart. I'm learning what that looks like, slowly but surely. It means not proceeding out of fear or need for validation. It means giving myself plenty of space and room to nurture me and my relationship with myself. For now, I'm just thrilled that my heart is finally feeling less raw. Joy is starting to feel more natural, and all the I'm-in-a-grieving-period bad decisions and massive karmic tangles have finally stopped. It kind of feels like a hot shower and big meal after running a marathon - routine experiences that suddenly feel like Christmas morning, simply because you put yourself through the wringer first. 

It's like the universe is asking for my faith, asking me to just surrender. Because the more I try to control, the harder everything gets. But if I just trust what comes my way, and trust myself to handle it, everything simplifies. 

Intuitive Work and Its Real Ass Effects on Your Real Ass Life

Amber Adrian

Translating energetic concepts into human language stumps me sometimes - which, as a writer, I'm hugely embarrassed to admit. 

So I'm sitting here vacillating wildly between sharing my story about having angelic visions while walking down the street and telling you about the real ass effects of intuitive work on your real ass life. Because angelic visions are great but they don't write your book or pay your rent or find you a husband, am I right? 

(Actually, I think they do, but it's not as immediate as one might assume divine intervention to be. Stupid divine timing.) 

So: talk about my wild visions of Jesus saying "Hi, I want to support you and SINCE I'M JESUS I've got some serious chops at that sort of thing" or tell you how this work can actually help you.

Maybe I can do both. I’m learning that I’m a bridge - a bridge between the elemental and angelic worlds, a bridge between humans and their magic. Because you are a magic human. I know I’ve been harping on this, but I really believe it and I won’t shut up until you believe it too. (You’re welcome!)

Speaking of bridges, look at this picture. What do you notice? Besides the fact that I am not smiling and, while the light in my house is epic, my selfie game is questionable. 

If you said, "whoa, what's up with those eyes?" congratulations. In every recent picture of myself, one eye is present while the other eye seems to be gazing into another world. Like I'm the human Golden Gate. 

So maybe I can start acting like the bridge I am and talk about Jesus ("Do you have a few minutes to talk about Jesus?" I mean, I do hear myself when I’m saying these things) and how channeled guidance and energetic healing can make an epic difference in your real-ass life.

About That Jesus Thing

I was walking through my neighborhood a few weeks ago, minding my own business, when six guides showed up out of nowhere. I’m used to visions at this point (#intuitivelifeyo), so I went with it. But when I asked who they were and why they were here, I tripped and slammed to a halt on the sidewalk for a solid minute.

Six shadowy visions stepped forward and introduced themselves: Mother Mary, Jesus Christ, Mary Magdalene, Archangel Michael, Archangel Azrael, and Archangel Raphael. Here to guide, teach, and heal us through the next six months of Activate.

Yep, Jesus. Like Jesus Christ Jesus. Christmas Jesus. As a total yuletide fan-girl, this is the one I had to check and double check. "Like, really? I'm really supposed to be channeling Jesus?"

Yes, even ascended masters will roll their eyes at you if you pester them too much.

All of these guides belongs to the Order of Magdalena, an order of ascended masters (and archangels and unicorns apparently) (for real) who are devoted to the alleviation of all suffering. Apparently, Joan of Arc and Mother Theresa were also part of this order, so it’s not a bad membership card to have in your pocket.

I was also told by a beautiful channeler - because channelers gots to work with other channelers - that this container is divinely ordained, and my soul’s work here on earth. I’ve always known that my job is to bring more love to the planet and that I need to step way the fuck up. So here we are.

By the way, when someone tells you, “Oh, hi, this container has been divinely ordained. Go talk to Jesus and tell everyone what he says,” you start to feel like you lied on your resume and got handed a much bigger office than you were prepared for. 

Since Jesus is rolling his eyes at me again - he really is delightfully human - I will share that I also know this is absolutely not true, because this is what I’ve been training for. Healing myself, unraveling ancestral patterns and past life experiences, spending years clearing the channel and learning to trust my guidance and being so present with this journey even when I would have rather just gotten a job and a husband and had a few kids and a nice house to put them in. (Every time I tried, the universe literally wouldn't let me. Go figure.)

My commitment to humanity is like a raging forest fire, and that’s what this work requires. To push through all the fear, the changes, the work that felt hard / painful / not worth it / unrewarding / ego obliterating and just a general pain in my ass. Part of the time. The rest of the time - the time that I’m in the work and not letting my brain tell me about the work, it’s bliss and pure love and joy and oh-thank-you-goddess-this-is-why-I’m-here.

I'm so beyond thrilled (slash-terrified) to be channeling this kind of guidance for the beautiful and intimate sisterhood that's now forming in Activate. I honestly don't fully know what our six months together will bring, but I know it will be HUGE. For each of us personally and for what we'll begin seeding in the world through this work.

If you’re feeling called to this order o' ascended masters and unicorns and Jesus, if you’re a “I have a huge effing purpose here and I’m dying to express that” brand of magical human, this six month sisterhood may just be for you. 

Or if you're not sure about angelic guides but you still feel intrigued, here are some handy...

Real Ass Effects on Your Real Ass Life

Any one or combination of these things can happen when you begin steeping in the universal love of source (either with us in Activate or in some other way): 

  • Your big work in the world takes shape and your creative projects blossom

  • Deeper connection with your higher self

  • Sudden uptick in channeling and psychic ability and other latent super powers

  • Increased peace, joy, and prosperity

  • Inner healing that ripples into exciting outer change

  • You sleep really well after doing this healing stuff

  • Magnified power and boundaries in your own life 

  • Deep sense of self-love that overflows into the rest of your life

  • Ground firmly into your true self

  • Major artistic flow

  • Your light glows like a fucking beacon

  • Clear guidance through challenges 

  • You get better looking (yup, really)

  • A more intimate relationship with the divine

  • A more intimate relationship with yourself - and knowing what's yours and what's someone else's that you don't need to be toting around with you

  • A more intimate relationship with your partner (hell, finding your partner)

  • Acceleration of your timeline

If you want tinder for your creative genius, comfort for your sensitive soul, spirit medicine for modern life, divine connection that swirls you toward your greatest potential, and, ya know, JESUS, consider joining us. (I 100% never in my life imagined I'd be talking about Jesus so much.) 

(Doors close on Thursday, at which point I will be shutting up about this. I've just vowed to give it my all until then, because that's what you and this work deserves.) 

Did you read this whole post? If you're still here, I feel like you deserve a reward. Comment and say "I FINISHED, YOU WORDMONGER," I will send you something. Maybe a picture of a giraffe or a quickie channeled reading or a big digital hug. 

Meeting My Daughter

Amber Adrian

My daughter first stood in front of me on a summer day three years ago.

I was sitting in the Super Duper Burger near my house, eating a hamburger under a sunny window and minding my own business, when she showed up out of nowhere - eight years old with long blonde hair and wise eyes.

I’ve had visions before, especially when I was younger, flashes of downloaded information about how we all connect as souls and how the universe works. But this was my first holy-shit-I-can-see-her-standing-in-front-of-me vision.

She was my daughter. In my future, but already so present. Her name jumped right into my head as we looked at each other and I started sobbing into my lunch.

It shifted and rearranged me on a cellular level. Not having children was no longer an option, because I had seen her and felt her and knew her as mine. I loved this vision that, even a year or two before, I might have chalked up to biology-driven yearning or low blood sugar. Which is probably why she waited to visit.

When I accidentally got pregnant a few months later and my new boyfriend was panicking, my rib cage released a few terrifying questions: Is this my daughter? Will I have to do this alone if he bails? Will I have to make a choice that will break my heart? In a channeled session with my teacher, my daughter told me that this wasn't the only chance, she could always come in another time, another way. 

I ended up miscarrying, and coped by developing a rather intense attachment to a stuffed sea otter

So many relationship decisions have been drastically affected by that summer lunch I spent crying into my french fries. Can’t commit to children? Bye. Not ready to even have the discussion? Bye.

Sometimes I wonder if I should give those relationships more of a chance, if maybe the flesh-and-blood human in front of me should win out over the etheric vision. But she was so powerful - as an energetic being, as a part of my future - that if this man wasn’t ready for her, I couldn’t stay. Because I wouldn't be sacrificing my dream child, I would be sacrificing some essential piece of myself.

She looks like me, but lankier, with light-filled eyes she'll get from her dad. 

She left for a few years, as I struggled through that relationship and breakup, but when I was in Hawaii last April, my daughter started showing up again.

Wearing goggles and bumblebee wings and racing around a grassy farm fueled by a delirious hybrid of pure joy and epic sugar high.

A toddler, handing me a lollipop because she sensed I was sad.

In the last vision, she tugged on my hand, dragging me through the zoo as I ask, “Where’s your daddy?”

I cried a lot in Hawaii, is what I’m saying.

She’s been quiet for the last year or so. But I’m sure she’ll show up again. It would be super convenient for me if she really would point out her daddy. But I don’t think children are that biddable, especially spirit-realm-children you can’t threaten with loss of television privileges.

I turn 39 in July, which is terrifying on one level, but on a deeper, more peaceful level, I know I have time. I’m healthy, pretty damn fertile, and still working on healing my own wounds and releasing ancestral patterns so they aren’t passed on to her.

She’ll be like me, and probably even more so, a ninth generation sensitive with superpowers that will likely be both a gift and a terror. The more work I do before she’s born, the more I’ll be able to help her when she lands on this planet in the haze of forgetfulness that we souls sign up for.

Or maybe she’ll be born fully realized, knowing exactly who she is and how she’s here to contribute, and just needs me to feed her and clothe her, and drive her places. I don’t know. But I’m really excited to find out, and finally hold her in my arms.

Living in the Crucible

Amber Adrian

I am so, so, so ready for a change. 

When you feel stuck, it’s often because something energetic, emotional, physical or spiritual needs to be unraveled before you can move forward.

But unhooking the threads of karma that bind you is no small task. It’s like picking apart a tapestry and re-weaving shadowy demons into white dragons. You can’t leave any loose threads or they’ll form a pathway to let the shadows to walk back in.

We’re entering a six month cycle of great change and, in order to be ready for this change, I’ve been deep in releasing mode. I’ve been burning things, tossing things into the ocean, doing rituals, and throwing a few hissy fits in the general direction of god. (Or in the general direction of my bed pillows, but if god is everywhere, it’s basically the same thing.)

People have been telling me for years that I have self-worth issues. I mean, yeah. I get it. But unearthing your self-worth from the landslide that buried it often means digging without a map - it can be hard to know where to aim your shovel. You have to rewrite the stories you’ve absorbed from others, untangle the knots of normalized abuse, peer at the karmic baggage you may have grabbed - and empaths are so much more likely to carry other people’s bags as well as their own. For the first three decades of my life, I was basically a martyred hotel porter.

When I look at the Facebook highlights of the past ten years, it looks like a litany of loss. Death, miscarriage, getting fired, trying-and-failing-trying-and-failing, getting fired again, breakup after breakup after breakup. My ego has been thoroughly thrashed.

When I scan through the loss litany, relatively unbroken by brag-about-able triumph, my life starts feeling like a crucible whose only purpose is to burn me down to the bone. 

Where I go when the crucible feels extra hot. 

Where I go when the crucible feels extra searing. 

But the up side to all that fire is that I've gotten really good at transmuting dark into light. 

Diving into the depths of the bubbling muck of your soul and swimming around even when you’re afraid you might suffocate and hitting the same problem over and over again from every angle will show you what you're made of - and I'm made of pure tensile strength, baby. I am whittled down. Sometimes I feel like I'm two taps away from breaking, but I haven't broken yet. I've bent, I've danced, I've sobbed like a broken doll, I've set fire to the branches, and I'm still standing. 

I’ve gone from unconscious empath to understanding that if I’m angry for no reason, it’s not because I’m slowly and methodically going insane, it’s because I just sucked up that anger from someone else. I’ve gone from hating myself for being too sensitive to recognizing that sensitivity is my primary superpower. From words that were funny but flagellating to being able to write my story from a place of deeper, if less amusing, compassion. From trapped in the hell of my own head to relatively accessible joy.  

If it took that litany of loss to get me to a place where I’m mostly free of the hell my brain spent most of every day re-building, it was worth it.

But I'm not here to swim in my own stuff forever. I'm not here to heal everybody else. I’m here to feel joy. I’m here to share what hits me in the solar plexus and expands from my rib cage. I’m here to be a gift to the planet, just as you are.

So I’m re-weaving the patterns of my life, unraveling the threads of the images that don’t serve me and tying off all the loose ends. It’s not easy to keep track of all those dangling knots. And just when you think you've tidied everything up, you find a whole new room full of yarn. 

But we can’t be that gift until we see ourselves as that gift. So that’s where my effort is going now. Into the day-to-day process of keeping my energy and gratitude and joy high. Not to heal myself or anyone else, but to know that ascension from the hell of your own head is possible. Because it is. And it’s required.

And sometimes that means spending the evening watching TV and eating ice cream straight from the carton so you can get up in the morning, light the match, and ask what the crucible has for you today. 

My Job Description Involves Angels. So...That's Weird.

Amber Adrian

In the pilot of Newsroom, one of the main characters says, "America leads the world in only three categories: Number of incarcerated citizens per capita, number of adults who believe angels are real, and defense spending."

When realize you've entered a category mocked by Aaron Sorkin, you have some thinking to do. 

Raised in the church of hippie, with a brief dip into Christianity every December, I certainly had a passing acquaintance with the idea of angels. But I never gave them much head space. Because I was an adult with an education, a reasonable grip on reality, and a slight allergy to feeling stupid.

In a Portland bookstore years ago, I passed a magazine rack boasting CHANNELINGS FROM METATRON and made a rude comment. Possibly accompanied by a snort. 

Five years later, everything I dismissed in that bookstore has become part of my daily lexicon. Because I am a channeler. I can ignore it or embrace it, but either way, it's part of me. And, while I'm still not 100% sold on the name Metatron, damn can the dude balance a chakra. 

Aligning my sarcasm with my healing, my channeling with my East Coast education, my love of words with the challenge of capturing these experiences in language, and my tendency to curse while tapping into the divine has become something of a quest.

I've been told by many fellow healers and intuitives that it's time to stop waffling and step the fuck up. "Allow yourself to be seen." "Own your magic." "Learn to embrace your gifts."

I still don't know exactly what that means and if one more person tells me to do it without telling me how I'm going to shriek so loudly they cringe in Timbuktu. 

Here's what I can say, even though stating it so bluntly still makes me nervous: When you tap into the energy of the angels? Holy whoa. You feel your body shift on a cellular level and this sense of peace descend from seemingly nowhere. Sometimes it's a gentle vacuuming of the icky feels hanging out in your stomach. Sometimes it's like getting hit with a horse tranquilizer.

But, and here's the catch: it can't be understood intellectually. Even the word is just to give our human brains something to wrap around. This energy has to be experienced viscerally - and we're a world that lives in its head. 

Straight Up, My Actual Job Involves Angels

Today, I woke up at 3 am - not on purpose, I assure you - and by 4:30 a.m., I was trekking back and forth to my altar to fetch whatever crystal called to me for the person I was working on. I'd plop down on my big red chair, feel into their energy, and the name of an archangel would pop in. So I'd grip my crystal and call on that angel, asking them to send healing energy to land in the person's body, emotions, mind, or energy - wherever they most need it. 

Whenever I'd double check the timezones to make sure the healing landed when the client had requested it, I'd get an angelic eye roll, like, "Woman. I am an unfathomable being of light and power. I've got this." 

Fair enough, angelic being of unfathomable light and power. 

This is maybe a fourth of my collection. I might have a problem. 

This is maybe a fourth of my collection. I might have a problem. 

Yes, I'm every new age cliche that has a meme on Facebook.

Here's the thing: This using-the-energy-of-angels-to-heal-people-across-the-world thing totally works. Which shocked the hell out of me when I got the text from my first guinea pig.

I can sit in California with a crystal I bought for three bucks and, in ninety seconds, send energy in someone's direction to land hours or days later - and they feel it. A lot of it. Right at the specified time. 

These suckers have cured migraines, helped people sleep the sleep of the well-drugged, helped them feel lighter and happier and more prepared to move through life.

Really. It blows my damn mind. 

I didn't know I could shift energy like this until about a year ago. I didn't know I could call on angels to do healings - whenever and wherever I wanted - until a few months ago. And the discovery was as simple as, "Hold on. Other people can do this. So why can't I?" 

So I did. 

We can all access this kind of power. Especially if we choose not to worry about getting mocked by Aaron Sorkin.

We're a culture that's learned to live detached from our bodies, our hearts, our intuition. Since these things can only be experienced in the body, in that lump of muscle beating in your ribcage and the tender energy that surrounds it, angels can't exist until we learn to tap into these places.

But if I can tune in to this unfathomable light and power, so can you. 

I think that's what I'm here to do - remind people of this. To remind them of how loved, and precious, and needed they are.

And if I can lay aside my well-crafted sarcasm to commune with angels and only feel a little bit silly, so can you.

So until more specific information around "owning my magic" comes through, admitting to the internet that angels are part of my job description seems like a reasonable next step. 

Because I Know You've Been Dying for a Sally Update

Amber Adrian

I have a weird relationship with a stuffed sea otter. I can admit it. 

It all started when said stuffed sea otter became a stand-in for a child I miscarried a few years back. Things have since escalated. 

Her father and I separated, because he wasn't sure he wanted a stuffed sea otter and I plan on multiple stuffed sea otters. Sally was sad for awhile, but she was comforted by both Roger (her red sea star) and Pony (her silent giraffe pal). But she's pretty sure she doesn't want a sibling. She enjoys being the only recipient of my affection. She'd much prefer to be the only recipient of everyone's affection, but I've warned her about the dangers of getting greedy. 

Sally has developed a sassy side - being a teenager is apparently an inter-species phenomenon. She's started turning Roger sideways and poking those who don't do her bidding fast enough. She pulls up Amazon when I'm not home and uses my credit card. She drives like her sole life goal is to hike my insurance into the stratosphere. 


I never had a security blanket or a favorite stuffed animal as a child. But as a 38-year-old, I've gotten a bit overly reliant on a cheeky otter. She's in my carry-on when I travel. I miss her when I'm gone all day. I sleep with her every night. I tell her I love her. 

While it's a bit strange, maybe it's not unexpected. I don't have a husband or a child or a pet or even a plant that stays alive long enough to see a season change. I honestly never thought I'd get this far along in my life without kids or a partner or a Boston terrier. Humans are designed to love and, if there isn't someone readily available, we will love whatever else we can wrap our emotions around. 

Part of me worries about my devotion to Sally. I'll carry her around like a baby while making tea and look down at her and think, "This isn't normal."

But, really, love is love. Loving Sally makes me happier. Having her around brings me honest-to-god joy, especially when she turns her sass on the new human in my life. We can use all the happiness we can wrest out of the world right now. 

So I make no apologies for Sally. And Sally is unabashedly thrilled with herself, just as she is. 

Yup, she even takes selfies like a teenager. 

Best Defense in a Cheeto Battle

Amber Adrian

Tomorrow, the day a human-size Cheeto takes to the Oval Office, I will be doing none of the things a concerned/enraged/pick-your-modifier citizen should be doing.

I will not be writing a letter to my senator. I will not be marching for anything. I will not be gnashing my teeth over the state of the world.

Instead, I will drive over the Golden Gate Bridge and down the coast to Half Moon Bay, where I will get a haircut, a massage, and gaze at the ocean. The way we do in California. I will have dinner with magical friends. I will take care of myself.


To do my work for this country and for this planet, I have to take care of myself. I can’t show up in the world from a place of fear or anger or pain because if I do, that’s what I'll spread. 

Enough fear, anger and pain has already been spackled on until we’ve built ourselves a robust cement cage - and wonder why we feel trapped.

We’re not trapped. We have voices and intelligent curiosity and our own gifts to share, gifts that will shift the world in the direction we long to see.

But we have to take care of ourselves so that we can unleash those gifts, that light and that love, in the world. 

So rather than steep myself in outrage (not that I ever object to a little well-placed anger and I fully accept that it may crash my little Self Nurture Party tomorrow) I'll be nourishing myself, and hopefully losing some of these goddamn persistent knots in my shoulders. 

There are no shoulds here. Yes, you want to show up for the world in the way you most believe in. But there’s no one right way to do it. 

For those of you who are marchers and impassioned letter writers, I salute you. For those of you who build movements and change the world for the better with your whirling energy, I bow in your direction.

For those of you who are easily overwhelmed, who know that marching would drain your reserves and somehow never get to the “write letter to congressman” box on your to-do list, fist bump. I'm with you.

Here's something we can do instead: Participate in 100 small actions that can be done in 100 seconds over the first 100 days the President is in office. After saying for months that I wish someone with my values who understands political action would just tell me what to do already in a way that wouldn't fry my cortex, I was over-joyed when this landed in my inbox. 

(Meaning, I'm pretty sure I invented this. The same way I invented the iPod and iTunes. By grumbling about how I had to wait until morning for Tower Records to open up so I could buy a whole CD to get the one song I wanted. By saying, "I really should be able to magically get this one song right now." LO AND BEHOLD.) 

Know that whatever you do, it’s enough. Know that showing up for yourself and your family and your community is enough. The last thing we need to do right now is beat ourselves up for any perceived failing or lack. Because that’s the energy that helped get us into this tangle. If all you do is help yourself feel better, raise your own energy, you will raise the energy of the world. I promise. From that place, you can take action that will have massive impact, whatever it is.

I love you, fellow Americans, fellow humans on this planet. You are enough and you do enough.

And if you are marching, make sure you bring mittens and a snack.

New Journey Requires Old Pen (Or: Blogging Like It's 2006)

Amber Adrian

Writing about myself was how I learned myself. Before I understood my extreme sensitivity, before I knew that I was sucking up everybody else's emotion and making it my own, before I had any notion of my own operating system. In those darker years, I would take the mess of my life and feelings and start writing a blog post. By the time I was done, I had cracked open the cement box of whatever was weighing me down and let in some light. 

I adored blogging. Back in 2006, I started a blog called Moose in the Kitchen to help me write everyday. It was my thing for years. Talking about squirrels and feelings helped me sort through the tangles of my life. It helped me feel less isolated in whatever prison I had built in my head. Words were the only real power I wielded at that time. Some of my first channeling came through in that space, though I didn't know to call it that. 

In the years before all this intuitive work, my writing was funny and self-deprecating and, more often than was probably healthy, self-flagellating. But it was a sacred space. My sanctuary. Writing myself to answers felt like magic. It was magic. 

Social media came along and blogging was no longer the only way we could interface via screen. Blogging started becoming used in business and boundaries got confused. Self-sabotage kicked in, as self-sabotage does. I stepped away from writing to focus on my intuitive work and amusing self-deprecation cannon-balled into rampant earnestness. 

But life just doesn't work as well when I'm not playing with words. When you're a writer who doesn't write, the wheels start coming off the bus. It's not noticeable immediately, but after awhile you're hopping down the road in circles, like a dizzy three-legged dog. 

Blogging like it's 2006 means not taking myself so seriously, not taking the words so seriously. I wrote thousands of words every month and none of them had an agenda. Words are here to be played with. Because play is where the magic lives. Magic tends to run screaming when I decide I need my writing to be a certain way or do a certain thing for my life. 

Enough with that, self. 

I want to find the sweet spot between the wild polarities of the blogging 20-something who hated herself because she was locked in a brain that tried to put her in the context of the normal world and the intuitive 30-something who sees so much bright light that she gets a bit overbearing at times. I've been trying to think my way there, but thinking rarely works. Because our brains, wondrous machines though they are, are only capable of spitting back canned recordings of where we've been. They aren't capable of navigating unknown terrain.

Only in the space of imagination and play can that new terrain begin to unfold. So it's time to write myself into a new space instead of trying to think my way there.  

So I'm going to blog like it's 2006. For me. For whoever might want to read it. Not to establish myself as an authority in anything (I am quite literally an authority in nothing except my own journey, and I often need other people to tell me things about that journey). Not to further any quest or agenda I might have. Because agendas are exhaustingly unproductive and quests never lead where you were expecting anyway.  

Since trying to guide my life and my story toward where I think it should go has left me dazed and wondering where seven years went, I'm just going to tell my story. I'm just going to show up to the words the way I used to, the way I love to do, and let them tell me what I need to know. 

How to Care For Yourself in Energetically Sensitive Times

Amber Adrian

Don't beat yourself up for anything you might be feeling. You are always, always allowed to have your feelings. You are responsible for feeling them, processing them, managing them, and not thrusting them on others (something I have historically been bad at, but am learning, oh how I am learning). But you are always allowed your feelings. Your feelings are never wrong, no matter what the world might say. 

Remember, you aren't just feeling for yourself, you are absorbing the energy of the world. Give yourself plenty of time to recover, whether by sleeping, reading something that soothes you, or tramping through nature. 

Shield yourself. Call in the pure white light of source love to protect you and sweep away anything you no longer need. Imagine diving into a pool of gold and feeling that gold cover your body. Calling in light and divine help is very powerful work and will go far to helping you feel better in whatever space you find yourself. 

You don't have to pay attention to the news or social media if it drains you and makes you miserable. Consider this your permission slip. 

Watch your sleep, nutrition, and hydration. Hangry is not a thing you want to be in big energetic times. 

Move your body. Whether you do ten minutes of yoga or ten fast miles, flexing your muscles keeps the energy and emotion cycling through you so that it doesn't get stuck anywhere and drag you down. 

Tune in daily. Hook into god, spirit, source, the universe, the flying spaghetti monster - however you identify with that creative power and ultimate love. Do this every day for at least a few minutes, and everything will feel better - almost instantaneously.

(If you want some help with this, I tune in to the divine channel weekly with the lovely powerhouses in Activate - it's a deeply nourishing and empowering space. We'd love it if you joined us.) 

Crucibles make you stronger, because they burn away what you don't need to be carrying..png

As a collective, we are in a huge process of shedding what we don't want to carry forward into a new world - one where everyone is seen, everyone is heard, everyone is taken care of, and everyone feels their own light and their own power.  

Yes, we have a long way to go. Yes, it may feel impossible at times. When it feels impossible, retreat into your self-care. And then emerge renewed and ready to take the steps that your specific talents, intuition, and light guide you toward. Your job in this new energy and coming new world may look different than what others feel called to do. Trust your own guidance, trust your own feelings, and trust your own heart. You will be guided toward where you can best help. 

Crucibles only make you stronger, because they burn away what you don't need to be carrying.

This Is What We've Been Training For

Amber Adrian

To all my healer, writer, light worker, artist, empath, warrior, and love-beaming friends: 

This is what we've been training for. This is where our practice becomes our life and our love refuses to take no for an answer. This is where we start to recognize our own power in the face of what feels like a behemoth. 

We are all being faced with our shadow right now. The shadow can be terrifying, and everything in me is sending you so much love for being willing to face yours. 

Because we take on the world's shadow by starting with our own. 

Here's what I know about dancing with the shadow: 

Feel what you feel. Rage if you need to rage, mourn if you need to mourn, grieve what needs grieving. Doing this clears you out, into a pure vessel through which a fierce devotion to love can flow. 

Now is when you take care of yourself as if you were a newborn baby. Monitor your sleep, hydration, nutrition, and exercise. Treat yourself with so much kindness, so much gentleness, so much affection. You are fighting a hard fight and you need this tenderness to keep you feeling whole. 

Reach out for help when it gets to be too much. Reach out to the friend who always makes you feel better, a wise relative, to whatever higher power you feel fill you up - god, source, angels, the flying spaghetti monster. 

Be deeply aware of when you need to retreat and when you need to step up. For sensitive people - and the world needs us so deeply now - retreat is even more important than ever, because that's how we gather our strength to step into our power. 

Do what you need to do to feel, to grieve, to mourn - and then do what you need to do to get back to work. Sharing your love, sharing your wisdom, sharing your light. 

We're going to need you. 

And you are so up for it. You have more power and love in you than you ever imagined. This is going to prove it to you. Let that love and true power guide you in whatever your next steps are, today as you care for yourself and tomorrow as you step out into the world. 

What's Your Mount Everest?

Amber Adrian

We all have certain lessons we stepped onto this blue and green planet to learn. These lessons will show up over and over again - sometimes in profound ways, sometimes in deeply annoying ones. Hooray for being human! 

My personal Mount Everest is trust.

All writers and intuitives and healers and artists must learn to navigate trust. Trust in what comes through, trust that what's received is what's needed, even if neither the receiver nor the recipient fully understand it. Especially then. 

Stepping out of the spinning thoughts and into the body, into the channel, into the space where the muse feels welcome can be a mammoth-size challenge. It’s a big expansion that doesn’t happen once, it happens countless times over the course of a life.

We all want to feel like we can trust our decisions, our intuition, the greater purpose of our life - especially when we don’t feel in control. But this often requires a lot of us. Because trust, by definition, is accepting the perfection of both process and outcome, even when it all appears deeply and aggravatingly flawed.

Sitting in traffic on my way to Berkeley on Monday night, I was feeling fairly certain that planning to stand in front of a room full of fifty amazing women without a talk prepared was a terrible idea.

Since I’m a much better conduit than I am a public speaker, I decided to use my thirty minutes on stage to receive whatever was meant for that specific gathering of women on that specific evening. Because I know that whatever comes through me when steeped in the energy of the group would be far more valuable than anything I could prepare in advance. 

But talk about an exercise in deep goddamn trust. Trust that I hadn't made a big mistake. Trust that I would stand in front of those lovely women and receive what they needed to hear in that moment - and quickly enough that we wouldn't all have to just exist together in that room, silently and awkwardly.

Being present on stage and being fully myself, while also being a clear channel and holding the space for so many powerful women to have their own emotional experience felt big and humbling.

It was also a lot more fun than I anticipated. Even if I had to basically crawl to the back of the room afterward and pass out on the floor, rising only to shovel almonds into my craw as fast as I could wrench them from the bag before sprawling out on the floor again. 

Showing up and trusting myself in new ways is something I want to do a lot more of in the next few months and years. I don't know quite what that looks like yet, but I'm going to keep asking for the right moments to appear in the right time.

What’s your Mount Everest? Is it trust? Truth? Self-love? Self-worth? We can have multiple peaks in our own personal mountain ranges. I sure do. 

Your challenge this week, should you choose to accept it, is to ask to be shown ways up that mountain. As an invigorating ascent, rather than a painful slog. We can’t always choose how we receive our lessons but we can always request that they be received in a way that feels peaceful, even joyful.

We're now in a time when we're all being asked to step up in a much bigger way. And we are supported in that now, in a way we may not have felt before in our lifetimes. So now is the time, my friends. 

Ask to be shown the way and it will come. 

What Happens When You Meditate For An Entire Day

Amber Adrian

Spoiler: Nothing. 

Nothing happens when you meditate all day. Sweet, blissful nothing.

You go in with an agenda, because of course. You are a human being and if you're going to spend all day staring at the wall, you'd damn well better get something out of it, thank you very much.

You walk out having no idea what your agenda was or even that you had one, because you’re all pumped up on peace endorphins.

We all want the answers. We want to know that our actions will yield fruit, that our life is headed in the right direction, that we are safe. 

But sometimes we have to realize that it's not time for answers. That there is absolutely no way we can take a wrong turn in life. Because there is no right path or wrong path. 


Why meditation can be really nice. Especially a day of it. Because, after two sittings where my brain spun mercilessly, it finally wore itself out like a three-year-old after a birthday party with Spider Man, a piñata and multiple rainbow-frosted layer cakes. 

And then there was silence. My need for answers quieted. My desire to be safe quieted because I am safe. In this moment, I am always safe. My path is just my path. It just is. 


My inner guidance has been prompting me to meditate two hours a day. Obviously, my brain thinks that’s bullshit, so I haven’t been doing it.

But absent other answers regarding my life, I’ve vowed to follow my internal guidance and trust it, even when it doesn’t seem logical - which, frankly, is most of the time. So when a friend invited me to a day-long meditation retreat on Sunday, it sounded like exactly what I needed. So off I went. 

It was held at a beautiful home in the Oakland hills - complete with pool, mountain view, and strategically placed Buddhas - and the day was run by a man with luxurious locks of the Inigo Montoya variety. He also had a duck wing to wave the smoke of burning palo santo on us.

I admit, I did wonder where he got that duck wing. Is there a one-winged duck moping around in a field somewhere?

I also wondered how everyone else kept their lower extremities from falling asleep. I had to do the awkward attempt-to-slowly-and-subtley-stretch-my-legs-out-in-front-of-me as my feet get caught on my skirt and I almost tip over, while everyone else is a marble sphinx of enlightenment. 

What I learned from a day of meditating with my body: Healing can be easy. (Except for the feet thing.) 

It doesn't have to be this elaborate ritual of energy clearing and slightly-frantic prayer and lists of things I have to do daily in order to stay sane. My god, no wonder I burned out. My perfectionism even got my healing in its sticky grasp. 

Sometimes, allowing ourselves to just quiet down and rest is the very best healing there is - the very best thing we can do for our brain and our body and our life. 

What I learned from driving to Oakland to meditate with my body: Men I have dated are everywhere.

This is the problem with being single for a long time. At some point, people you once dated become impossible to escape. Driving to the house on Sunday, I drove past the street of one of my poor dating decisions a few months ago. (The one who yelled at me a lot, if you happen to remember that.) Then, on the table at the retreat center, I saw the face of a guy I dated years ago staring up at me from his business card. He's now, apparently, a Tantric sex coach. It was too good not to share, but we were on a silent break. It almost killed me not to wave the card in my friend's face so we could die over it together. 


Your mission, should you choose to accept it: Is not to meditate two hours every day because that's still crazy talk. But do pay attention to those little nudges - the ones that are prompting you to a new habit or a new creation. They're gentle, they're quiet, but they're so very worth listening to. Listening to your intuitive nudges is the easiest way forward in this time of uncertainty and change. 

Lots of love, my friends. 



When Love Goes Awry

Amber Adrian

If you’ve never seen your dead father staring out at you from a stranger’s face, I assure you, it’s an experience.

At this point, I'm just spending my life splatting face first into the space-time continuum of metaphysics. Over the past four years, I've worked with all sorts of coaches and mentors and healers who do really fun, weird, and often completely inexplicable things.

One day, my smoke alarm starts howling like a banshee of the damned while I'm on Skype with one of my coaches. My ears split and my eyes watered and I spent ten minutes trying to get the damn thing to stop – made more difficult by the fact that there was no smoke anywhere and I couldn’t reach the off button.

When the unearthly shrieking was finally curtailed, I hop back on Skype and my coach asks, “What were we talking about right before the alarm went off?”

Often, when there's a disturbance in the force - the phone cuts out, Skype hangs up on you, or fire alarms go berserk - it means something important is happening energetically. 

We were talking about my father and it was so intense, my coach sent me to his mentor - a man named Carl who does family constellations. 

Far better explanations of family constellations exist, but my understanding is that they call in the energy of the family and the specific family members, alive or dead, and whatever is needed to be released or healed shows up. People playing the roles within a family will begin expressing the emotions they feel – sadness, anger, relief, comfort – emotions that shift and change and vary depending on who is introduced into the constellation and what their relationship was in life. Family constellations often shed light on patterns and feelings and events that even the people within those systems don’t understand.

So on a summer Wednesday, I end up in a room where a circle of Carl’s students are waiting to call in the energy of my family.

Sitting in a gazebo under the stars of Northern California, I watched a small Asian woman in striped pants take on the role of my grandfather. I know nothing about my grandfather, except that he left abandoned the family when my father was very young. I don’t even know his first name, although I carry his last.

A blonde woman in a red shirt took on the role of my father. She started dancing. I dance, but to the best of my knowledge, my father never danced a day in his life. But there she was, twirling and spinning, before collapsing in a chair. Her eyes narrowed as she glared at my grandfather, and a deep anger began to radiate from her like electricity. “Rage comes in waves, I suppress it like it doesn’t exist. Turn it off, don’t look at it, eat ice cream.”

“So I push it down and create a new life,” she continues.

If I had any doubts about the process, they would’ve been laid to rest right about here. I’m well-acquainted with deeply suppressed rage – and my father’s favorite comfort food. Before he died, one of his last requests was for ice cream.

I know better than to think that a man abandons his family simply because he wants to – there are always reasons, deep and profound and unsettling reasons, why such a course of action is chosen. But when my grandfather, still in the form of a small woman in striped pants, turned to my father and said, “I’m overwhelmed by warmth and tenderness. I can’t look at you because my heart is aching,” I was surprised. Without ever really thinking about it, I reflected my dad’s anger toward the man who took off, leaving my father and his family in a very bad situation that lasted until my father left Pennsylvania for California.

What came through in that small room was that my grandfather was young, maybe not yet ready for the demands of a family. He loved his young son, but he was restless, he longed for adventure. He wanted to be at the bar with his friends.

As he was explaining the love that wrestled with his need to leave, a woman sitting in a chair across the room suddenly flopped face down, nose squashed into the carpet. “I just need to be here,” she said.

Nobody has the answers in a family constellation.

Carl has no idea what’s going on, the volunteers who assume the energy of different family members have no idea what’s going on, I sure as hell don’t have any idea what’s going on. We all just have to watch it unfold and put together the pieces. That’s why sometimes, when there’s an unknown element at work, a random person will flop out of a chair and squash their face into the carpet. Even when they’d really prefer not to because the carpet has been molding on the floor since approximately 1982.

Suddenly, the woman playing my grandpa begins to look guilty. “I did that,” she said, pointing at the woman on the floor. “I did that.”

That’s when it gets really weird. Like film noir weird. Like the moderator looking up from her notes and saying “holy shit” three times weird.

Turns out, my grandfather accidentally killed a man in a bar fight. So he and his buddy left the body lying there and skipped town, never to be heard from again.

Children, even when only a few years old, perceive things.

Looking at the dead body on the ground, the woman in the energy of my father says she feels a strange sense of peace. “You won’t see that,” she says to my grandfather. “You’ll run because of it. I’ll see it for you. It feels good, because it’s reliable. If this is all I can have of you, I’ll take it.”

“Shit, shit, shit,” says my grandfather.

A man who was accidentally murdered by my grandfather in 1944 in a small mining town in Pennsylvania made my smoke alarm shriek seventy-one years later.

Left on the ground in an alley, he needed resolution. The energy was called in so that my grandfather could acknowledge and own and apologize for what he’d done.

Carl makes a joke about dragging the body to a river. “It would’ve been a sign of respect to put me in the river,” says the woman playing the dead man to my grandfather. “Don’t just do this and leave. Put me somewhere.”

After accidentally killing a man when a fight got out of hand and then abandoning his family, my grandfather lived a haunted life. Death was all the only thing that brought him peace. 

When a parent abandons their child, the parent is left half-alive. Even when that decision is made out of love, out of fearing of hurting the child if they stay. Decisions made from a very deep love can do great harm. Simply because, at the time, there doesn’t seem to be another way. Fear consumes and makes it very difficult to make choices that will serve us well. On a deep level, this can impact the family for generations if those emotions are not fully felt and acknowledged and peace made.

“Just kill me,” my grandfather says. “It’s better than feeling what I’ve done to you.”

“This is the first time in any constellation when ‘Hey, douchebag’ is a healing statement,” Carl says.

The murderer and the murdered each turn to each other and say, “Hey, douchebag” and the ownership of accidental, terrible actions transform into something funny and heart-breaking and healing.

"Hey, douchebag" was their path to peace.

Emotion was deep and overwhelming, experiences described by these people who had never met me or any other member of my family so closely mirrored my own experiences – of being overwhelmed, stuck behind a wall, going blank with no words in times of great stress or emotion.

That’s why I love this stuff. It makes you question what you believe to be possible and nudges you into expansion.

After absorbing the energy of murder and abandonment, my father wasn’t very alive. All he wanted was to escape and begin a new life and shield his children. He wanted to shield us – and so my brother and I took that shield and divvied it up. For reasons I never fully understood, I couldn’t let things in while my brother couldn’t let things out. This includes money, relationships, connection, love. Not all-inclusive, but I’ve always felt a wall there.

At the end, my grandfather and the accidentally dead bar buddy lying on the ground behind us, my father turns to me and my brother and says, “We can breathe now.”

“You’re seeing your father for the first time,” Carl says. “Because of what happened, he could never be fully present.” Even as I write this now, I begin to cry. Because it’s true. My father had to maintain a certain distance his entire life. Less so with my brother and I than with most people, but distance nonetheless.

We received a blessing from our father that day from beyond the grave. Children receive a spiritual blessing from their father. If his wounds block him from giving that blessing, then our supply of money and of creative power becomes crimped, because it can’t run through the pipeline without causing Dad stress.

After his death, we received what he meant to give us while he was alive. Drained by circumstances beyond his control and without the tools to heal it, he simply didn’t have it to share.

Who knows what of this is true, what truly reflects what happened in my father's family. But on some level, who cares? More is gained from believing than disbelieving. More is healed by allowing the experience in than in shutting it out because it can’t be proven.

And it reminds me that love always comes through, even if circumstances and choices block love or the ability to give what we all want to give our families. That love is always held in trust for us, to be delivered when the time is right, even if it takes lifetimes. 

Bumblebees On Yoga Mats and Other Signs from the Universe

Amber Adrian

A few days ago, I was in downward dog when I noticed a bumblebee ambling slowly down my purple yoga mat. Not buzzing around in flight, just...walking. Straight toward my left foot.

I admit, bees make me skittish. A perfectly reasonable response, given that they are quite capable of piercing flesh and any part of me they touch swells to four times its normal size.

Once, on a camping trip as a kid, a bee landed on my ham sandwich. In my usual oblivion, I bit into the sandwich anyway and the bee, trapped inside my mouth, bit me. I yowled and spent the rest of the afternoon being deeply unhappy.

After a few more such events, I came to the wise conclusion that if a bee decides it wants to share my airspace, I will cede the battlefield and scurry for the nearest indoor haven.

But with the bee on my yoga mat in my living room, there wasn’t really anywhere to go, except into the bathroom. So, as we gingerly shared floor space, I remembered that this wasn't the first bumblebee recently.

After managing to avoid bees for at least twenty-five years, I'd had three visits in less than a week.

A few days earlier, I was eating on my deck when a bee decided it was deeply interested in my lunch. Rather than argue over who gets the potstickers, I picked up my bowl and went inside with a  "good riddance, sucker." The next day, another bee decided it was curious about my lunch. But this time, I was inside a restaurant. To get to me, the bee had to abandon the safety of the great outdoors, fly through the door, navigate the counter and past any number of tables and other people’s presumably tempting food, before getting to me and my shrimp curry. I shrank away like the coward I am and eventually it buzzed off. 

It took a bumblebee strolling down my yoga mat to finally get my attention, walking in a straight line all the way down the long side of my mat - quite a trek for an insect - before wandering off.

I’ve been asking the universe for signs lately. I do that, especially when I’m feeling in the dark. Nature is pretty smart - it knows how to make mountains and construct the human hand, after all - so I figure it has a better grasp on my life than I do.

Three bumblebees in three days? All right, universe. I’m listening.

So I did a little research on the symbolism of our furry flying friend.

It’s said that if a bumblebee appears in front of you, it will lead you to your destiny.

Yeah, wish I knew that before I saw all those bees. DID THEY FLY TO MY DESTINY WITHOUT ME? Curses.

Well-trained little service bugs, bumblebees tirelessly pollinate blooms and remind us of the interconnectedness of all living things. Also, stop and smell the damn flowers.  

As signs go, it felt fuzzy. But the reminder to stop and appreciate the sweetness of life is very needed right now. I've been lapsing into fear lately, and it does my life zero good. But I do know that when I stop to notice what's happening here and now, the fear eases. Because there is no fear in the present moment. Fear only holds sway over the past or the future. So if I just look up at the blue sky or the bougainvillea crawling up a porch, everything settles.

It wasn’t until a few days post-bumblebee that I remembered a vision I had in Hawaii a few months ago. Hawaii has a big energy and I was getting downloads every few days. In one of them, I saw my (as-yet-nonexistent) daughter, age nine or ten, dressed as a bumblebee. She was racing around and yelling - goggles strapped on and wings flapping in her wake. 

Maybe that’s what the bumblebees wanted to tell me.  

That everything is on its way and my only job is to trust that it’s all happening perfectly.

May you also feel the sweetness and the trust this week - preferably minus bumblebee attacks. 

Lots of love, 


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We're Being Prepared

Amber Adrian

I made a chicken the other night.

(Also chicken stock. Chicken hash. Chicken sandwiches. More chicken hash.)

Turns out, a whole chicken is too much for one person.

But I’m so proud of myself. For making a real meal, instead of eating popcorn for dinner again. Even if dealing with all this chicken is now my full-time job.

We all want to feel loved and cared for. But sometimes - often, always - we have to love and care for ourselves.

So I’m dusting off the crockpot I have literally never used and making myself a meal. I wake up and do yoga. I've stopped dating, checking social media, and drinking coffee. 

I’m cleaning out my body and my life, because that feels good right now.

Part of cleaning out my life has been sorting through every last thing I own, including what’s stashed in the storage closet and tries to give me a cardboard box-induced concussion every time I open the door. 

Buried in the closet were notebooks dating back from 2012. Reading through years of your life in one sitting will show you some common themes, common themes you might miss in the day-to-day of paying bills and doing dishes and remembering to brush your teeth. 

Aforementioned Common Themes:

  • Apparently, my inner guidance has been yelling at me about doing youtube videos since 2013. that?

  • I’m very, very hard on myself.

  • My relationships have always fallen apart when I started taking care of the other person instead of taking care of myself. Yes, there are layers to this and of course you should care for the ones you love. But I’ve learned that I have to put my own oxygen mask on first. When I don’t, everything falls apart.

I’m learning (and relearning, again and again) how to love myself, how to care for myself.

So I'm taking care of myself the way I would take care of a family. Cooking ridiculous amounts of chicken. Getting the exercise my body craves. Breathing into the discomfort rather than running straight to the chocolate. Being kind to myself in my own head. 

Because things are shifting. We’re being prepared for something new, something big. Something greater than we can imagine from our present place. 

You probably feel this. Maybe you have a new job lined up or are getting ready to move to another state, and you know how your life is shifting but you don’t know how it will look or feel. Or maybe you sense that imminent change - knowing down to your bone and sinew that it’s coming - but you can’t see it yet.

Since I’m in the “can’t see it yet” camp, I’m just being present. Doing my best not to fret about my blinders and tuning in to my intuition and my body and my feelings instead. So that I’m ready for whenever things do change, whether it’s tomorrow or next week or next month.

Because whatever comes next, for all of us, is going to be really good. Trust that, and keep preparing.

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You Can't Game the Journey

Amber Adrian

I’m in limbo.

I hate being in limbo.

We all want to know that we’re on track, that we’re heading toward what we most desire.

I know I’m on my path - probably more strongly than I’ve ever been in my life - but, right at this moment, it feels like someone hit pause on my life.

I’m searching for a job, dutifully sending out resumes even though people keep saying “You won’t get a job by applying for one.” My intuitive work is strengthening and deepening, but it’s not clear yet where it's going or how I can best serve with it. My writing feels creaky. God knows where next month’s money is coming from. I’m not dating. Even the dudes who pop into my phone every so often for their own entertainment have gone utterly silent.

All is quiet. Calm. It feels like sitting in the roller coaster car, waiting for the chains to pull you up to the top of the first spine-jarring drop.

My crystals are charged, my healing skills are ramping up and my house has been fully saged, but the ride hasn’t started yet.

Apparently, I’m in a portal right now - and my job is to heal. Heal for myself, heal for the world. Turns out, this is why my money dried up. I needed the push to do this work. So I do it, hours a day, even when it doesn't feel like I'm getting anywhere, because the trauma is deep and I'm clearing black pools of pain daily. 

Fist bump for all the light workers out there doing the same right now. 

So I keep going. Tunneling through, like Andy DuFresne facing two football fields worth of sewage. I don’t get to stop until I get my life equivalent of a red convertible cruising down the coast of Mexico.

Most of me loves this work and is perfectly content to be in this in-between space - making sweet potato soup, sitting in front of my altar to wrestle massive energy, and poking around on the internet for magic jobs.

But, in cranky moments, my life reminds me of that Calvin and Hobbes comic where Calvin’s beleaguered father asks, “What are you going to do if your life doesn’t thrill and delight you every second?” 

Aside from my deep devotion to a stuffed animal, I never thought I had much in common with Calvin. But frankly, my life is not delighting me every second.

But you can’t game the journey. Sometimes you just have to surrender to its whims. And all you can do is keep moving forward, breathe in each moment, and pay deep attention to the small moments.

Tea in a giraffe mug, trees swaying in the breeze, porcupines on youtube. Beach houses in the sun, drape-y babies, birthday roses, and crystals juicing up under the full moon.

If you're crawling through a tunnel right now, I promise that you're crawling perfectly. And, yes, there is light coming for you. In fact it's coming from you - and soon you'll see it too. 

Your challenge, should you choose to accept it, is to be deeply attuned to the small, lovely pleasures of your life - no matter what things look like now.

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The In-Between Is Where Life Happens

Amber Adrian

My horoscope said that the entire month of July was going to be awesome.

So far, I’ve been dumped by someone I really liked, run out of money for the first time in many years of self-employment, and turned 38. 


But I actually do feel better than I have in a long time. Peaceful, calm, and happy. Despite that whole turning-38-with-no-job-no-money-no-husband thing.

Because I’m doing my thing.

We all have our thing. That thing we do to keep ourselves sane, keep ourselves happy. The thing that, if we stop doing it, our life slowly starts to slide off the rails and we’re not sure how or why it happened.

Some of us need to run, some of us need to write, some of us need to garden, some of us need to draw, some of us need to meditate.

My thing - apparently - is diving deep into the center of my soul and my energy, digging around, and seeing what needs to be released and moved around and otherwise shifted.

It settles my head, the head that wants to spend its time making me feel less than, feel unworthy, feel like it’s best that I don’t have what I want because I just don’t deserve it.

It settles my heart, the heart that sometimes hollows itself out under the weight of what it sees and wants but feels it doesn't have yet. 

It helps me feel at peace with whatever is happening in my life, helps me understand that my worth does not rest in external circumstances, and it helps me feel open enough to smile at people I pass on the street. 

The power we wield over our own lives isn’t so much around getting what we want, but in how we exist in the in-between spaces - when we don’t have what we want, when we don’t know what’s coming next, when we just don’t know.

The in-between is where life happens anyway.

It’s tempting to feel like my life will start when I have the job, when I know where my money is coming from, when I meet my future husband.

But that’s just not true. My life is happening right now. It’s happening in this coffeeshop, on this bright California July morning, as I write for you. It’s happening when I go out for a run to the beach or remember that the top on my car comes down and it’s a beautiful day, so I should really just drive out to Sonoma in the open air to eat hush puppies.

The in-between is where we can sink down into our thing - dig in our garden, write our next story, run an extra two miles today. Just because we know that our day goes better when we do.

And all we have is the right now. Literally, that’s it. It’s a relatively simple concept, but it’s one of the hardest things for humans to grasp. We’re constantly straddling what happened last year and what we hope will happen next week. But our only real power, our only real joy, is in what's happening in this moment.

So look up. What’s happening right now?

Is your tea kettle whistling? Is your favorite person or animal in the room with you? Just be with that for a moment. 

I’m sitting in my favorite coffeeshop on the road to Stinson Beach. The sky is blue, the sun is bright, Can’t You See by The Marshall Tucker Band is pouring out of my headphones, and words are finally pouring out of my fingers after staring at my laptop for half an hour worrying that whatever I wrote wouldn’t be good enough.

But it is good enough - as long as one of you reads this and gets something out of it, then it’s perfect.

That’s my life. Right now. And it’s a good one.

May you enjoy each moment of your life for precisely what it is, as it’s happening. Because this is where joy lives. Right now. Right where you are.

Lots of love, 


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