Ever since the “Departure” of so many of my beloved otherworld companions, I’ve found myself journeying through an entire spectrum of emotion. In February, post-Vigil, I was exceedingly listless. My answer to almost every inspired idea ended in “What’s the point?”. Of course, I’d attributed this lack of motivation to the isolation and over-it-ness of the pandemic.

However, after a series of reflections from friends, I soon realized that I, Diomira, who on any given day, loves nothing more than to just process an emotional experience and move on was still grieving! But there it was.

So these days I’m going slow, still tender with sadness. It’s the kind of sadness that isn’t acute like an ocean of anguish but instead like a forest spring gently splashing up unbidden, from underneath the cover of leaves fallen over a long winter—soft but unexpected and poignant, nonetheless. It often makes its presence keenly known whenever my soul, out of habit, gently reaches out a hand and a heart, beyond the veil to the spirit layer of the forest. Because rather than meeting a familiar friend or energy reaching back, I am met with their absence instead.

And from deep within this slowed stillness, I’m silently and loudly proclaiming for all who will listen that I’ve entered retirement, or soul retirement, as a dear friend calls it. It’s a phase of rest and introspection but also of being nurtured by my own soul essence and returning to that which brings joy and feels deeply aligned, such as writing my books, hopping around in the forest, deepening into Her song and the song of my own heart as we, the forest and I, sing simultaneously to one another. It’s then I can even feel the dragons too, sometimes flying, circling, other times nestled and perched like ancient sentinels and guardians of these parts. For Gaia and her bustling magic never cease.

Yes, this is the kind of retirement where I can relish in the mystery and healing alchemy of the medicines of Gaia, collecting them and sharing them in service to friends, family, community and the world.

However, at this time of writing in spring of 2021, what I’m releasing, as part of this retirement, is teaching. I’m retiring from teaching, at least in the traditional sense. My old paradigm way of imparting knowledge by presenting ideas, revealing insights through connections in research, explaining spiritual technologies and techniques for communication; step-by-step processes; offering “classes” and “programs” with slideshow presentations and accompanying materials—this is not in resonance for me anymore.

Presently, I’m much more drawn to holding sacred space, offering containers of healing, circles of sharing, medicine, story and ceremony like the Flower Essence Moon Circle this Sunday. I’m also interested in playing and co-creating, inviting each other’s sovereignty to step forward and play and contribute.

A new story is unfolding. I can feel it. And during a trip to North Carolina this past weekend with a dear soul sister, I let it embrace and sing to me for the first time.

But I’m still going slow. Even though I can feel the Aires energy of spring urging me forward, and even though the new song of the Earth coaxes me with her golden tendrils tickling at the edges of my consciousness, still I’m giving myself permission to just go slowly. And I’m learning to be okay with that.