29/11/2025
Sweden Shamanic Healing.
Grief has a way of reshaping the landscape of a life. Loss, loneliness, the quiet ache of longing—
they gather in the body when they have nowhere else to go. For me, they settled deep in my abdomen, a heaviness I tried to carry in silence.
But sorrow held too long will eventually rise,
and mine did—suddenly, fiercely— in the form of a medical emergency that left me shaken and without answers. No pathology, no explanation, only the truth that my body had begun to speak the pain my heart had withheld.
This all unfolded after I travelled from the bottom of the world to the top of it, following an instinct I couldn’t quite name but trusted completely. And so I would find the rare coincidence of meeting the shamanic healer, waiting.
She welcomed me with quiet recognition,
a presence that asked nothing of me except honesty and breath.
We sat together for hours in spiritual companionship, time dissolving into something softer, something my loneliness had been longing for.
In those moments, the spirit of feather appeared
light, gentle, guiding. A soft brush against my shoulder, whispering that even in sorrow there is tenderness,that even in loneliness there is company. The ceremonial ritual unfolded like a conversation between the parts of me that hurt
and the parts that still believed in healing.
I wasn’t told to be strong or to understand everything at once. I was invited to release—
to make space where grief had been tightening its grip for too long.
And somewhere within that sacred exchange,
a bond formed between us. Not only healer and seeker, but two human beings meeting in truth.
Our shared experience created a friendship—
unexpected, steady, enduring— one that continues to keep us in contact across continents and through the shifting seasons of our lives.
In that quiet, I felt the turning point.
A soft threshold opening inside me, leading toward a space I had felt but never fully entered. A place beyond the ache, beyond the clinging, a place I can only call sorrowless.
Not empty, not detached— but free. Spacious.
A clearing within me where grief no longer commands my breath.
After I left, I wasn’t completely healed,
but I had begun to move—gently, honestly—
into that sorrowless place.
I breathe differently now,
walk differently, hold myself differently.
And wherever I travel, I carry feather spirit with me as a reminder: that healing can span oceans,
that friendship can form in a single destined moment, and that even in the deepest loneliness, I am capable of stepping—slowly and steadily— into the quiet freedom of sorrowlessness.
In gratitude to my Spirit Friend.
