A heart-rock kind of day, full of signs, surrender, clarity—and the question that cracked me open.
I didn’t go looking for signs. I just needed a pause — a moment to be still.
Normally, I go to this spot early in the morning, when it’s quiet and calm and no one else is around.
But on this day, I couldn’t get there until later in the afternoon.
The lot was full, voices echoed, and the water was already busy with people. I got the last parking space and sat for a moment, unsure if I should stay.
But Spirit nudged me gently: Yes. Stay.
So I did.
I walked into the water — cold, clean, alive — and plopped myself right down, as I always do.
And even though it was “loud and peoply,” somehow… the noise moved around me.
I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
And I received exactly what my soul needed — and maybe even more than I had asked for.
Not long after settling in, a young girl nearby was trying to acclimate to the cold. She said out loud, “I need to find a heart rock.”
She came near me, and I smiled. We chatted for a moment, and soon she found her rock and happily moved along.
And then — I found my first heart-shaped rock.
Soon after, a couple entered the water nearby and asked if I was just getting used to it.
I explained that the temperature never really changes — that I come here even in December and January — and that you have to walk in without hesitation.
“You can’t just stick a toe in,” I said. “You’ll never get in that way.”
They seemed intrigued and continued into the water.
Halfway through my time there, the girl’s papa entered the water and chatted with me briefly.
He told me he’s been coming to this place for over 40 years and began describing the various snakes he’s seen — water moccasins and copperheads — and how he always brings a machete just in case.
I found that fascinating.
One, because I’ve been coming to this spot for five years and have never seen a single one.
And two, because I actually find snakes to be healing symbols — though of course, I’d prefer not to meet a poisonous one up close while floating.
What struck me was that none of these encounters felt like interruptions.
They were part of the current, the flow — each person a ripple in the water around me, each interaction part of the unfolding.
Entertaining, even.
And I still received every bit of the wisdom I came for.
That’s when I noticed her — a small, very purple lavender butterfly, dancing gently in the air.
She caught my attention like a whisper from the Divine — angelic, otherworldly.
A messenger of transformation and presence.
Moments later, a multicolored dragonfly shimmered past, its turquoise wings glinting in the light.
She carried the energy of transition, of deepening into self-love and surrendering to change.
It felt like the universe was speaking, softly but clearly, inviting me inward.
I’d been circling a question in my heart:
Do I miss the man I loved… or just what he represented?
This day marked the first time I felt a pull — a deeper wave of missing him, not just the loss of the relationship, but him.The man I loved.
Lately, I’ve been in a process of deeper letting go — not only emotionally but physically, as I continue to heal from recent surgery below my belly button.
This particular day felt like a threshold — like my body and my heart were finally ready to release something that had been lingering just beneath the surface.
So I asked myself honestly:
Was I missing him, truly? Had it been the “in love” kind of love?
Or was he a warm presence — filling space where I longed for connection, comfort, and intimacy?
This reflection wasn’t about blame or regret.
It was part of my healing — a way to clear any energetic residue, to bring language and feeling to the patterns I’ve known and the ones I no longer choose.
And by doing that, I get clearer.
Clearer in what’s real, what’s worth holding, and what I want to say yes to when love shows up again.
This is the kind of inner work I guide my clients through — moving from surface-level awareness to the deeper layers of truth that live in the body and soul.
Because healing isn’t just about feeling better — it’s about learning to feel fully.
To move from discomfort… to awareness… to wild joy.
To stop living in the pain, the numbness, the toleration — and come alive again.
That’s when I heard it:
“Listen to your heart… when he’s calling for you.”
Just that one line from the song — and something dropped into place.
It wasn’t about a fantasy. It was truth.
It was love. Deep, whole, honest love.
And as soon as I felt that, I looked down — and there it was:
Another heart-shaped rock.
Earlier, when I first entered the water, I had found one too. That first one had whispered:
“This is where you’re meant to be today. Let it heal you.”
I stayed for over an hour. Sitting in the water. Letting my body rest, my thoughts wander, my voice hum and sing old songs.
And near the end of my time, I spoke a wish aloud for my son:
That if Georgia Tech is where he’s meant to be, may he receive a full ride — tuition, books, food, housing, everything.
I asked for the path to be clear and aligned.
And then?
A third heart-shaped rock appeared.
No camera. No proof needed.
Just presence.
The phlox in bloom on the way out were the final soft “yes.”
And when I looked at the time —
4:44 PM.
An echo of alignment.
Foundation.
Divine guidance.
And still, it wasn’t over.
Coming down the Road, a flash caught my eye — it felt like something wanted me to look up, to stay aware.
A few bends later, a doe stepped gently across the road. I paused for her — and because I did, I saw her newborn just behind her.
Wobbly-legged, barely dry.
A soul freshly born into the world.
A few seconds later, another deer crossed in front of me. This one paused and locked eyes with me — that kind of gaze that goes straight to the heart.
I reached for my phone, wanting to capture it…
But a car came from the opposite direction and startled her off.
The moment passed.
But the message stayed:
Some moments aren’t meant to be captured — they’re meant to be lived.
And when you live them fully,
they live inside you forever.
I come to this place again and again.
Not just for the water. Not just for the rocks or butterflies or even the quiet.
But because every time I’m here, something in me opens — softens — listens more closely.
And I always leave with more than I came for.
Over the years, I’ve come here with questions about love and loss.
I’ve come here carrying grief, confusion, physical pain, and uncertainty about work, health, and finances.
And each time — whether I was ready to release or just beginning to ask — I was met with something sacred.
This place reflects me back to myself.
It brings clarity when I’m foggy.
Peace when I’m scattered.
And the next breadcrumb when I’m unsure where to step.
Today reminded me:
Healing isn’t linear. But it’s always available.
If you’re willing to walk in — not just dip a toe — the current will carry you somewhere new.
And more often than not, somewhere truer.
The opportunity always asks:
Are you open to receive?
Receive the healing.
The wisdom.
The questions.
The discomfort.
And all the yumminess that comes with it.
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