What Must Be Remembered

Sometimes I sit in stillness and ask myself,
“What must be remembered?”

It’s a question I return to again and again—an anchor, a ritual, a way back to my essential self.
The part of me that doesn’t speak in language.
The part that speaks in sensation.

Intuition doesn’t shout. It rushes in briefly—an impulse, a knowing, a wave of truth moving through the body.
Then the mind rushes to translate. It wants to name and label, to weigh the pros and cons, to decide if we’re going to trust that inner voice or override it.

So I sit still and practice listening. I ask, “What must be remembered?”
And I wait.

Often, I reach for one of my card decks—beautiful, tactile tools that help me bridge the invisible with the visible. They give my hands something to hold, my eyes something to focus on, my ears a rhythm to hear. They help me translate subtle truths into something my thinking mind can hold without needing to dominate.

The cards aren’t magical on their own. But in relationship—with breath, with intention, with the body—they become a guide.

I used to pull cards with very specific questions in mind.
What should I do about this situation?
How do I get what I want?
How do I let go of what I don’t?

But over time, those kinds of questions started to feel too noisy. Too much mind.

As deep embodiment became more and more central to my work, I realized my rituals needed to evolve. I had to quiet the part of me that was always seeking answers—and instead begin to seek remembrance. Which is why now, I simply ask:

What must be remembered?

And every time, in some form or another, I am reminded:

That I am on a journey.
That there are places I have been, a texture to where I am now, and a longing pulling me forward.
That a seed was planted long ago—and in that moment, everything that could be already existed.

My only task is to tend to that seed with presence.
To remember that how I show up matters more than where I’m headed.
That time doesn’t move in a straight line, but in spirals—circling back again and again, always inviting me to begin anew.

I am reminded that I am not alone.
That support surrounds me—seen and unseen.
That the universe is not only abundant but ever-changing, and when I move in service to others, I align myself with its flow.

I am reminded that I don’t just belong—
I am belonging.

That my dreams are real.
That they are worthy of being nurtured, believed in, and spoken aloud.

And above all, I am asked to remember who I am:
I am in need of healing.
I am healed.
I am healer.