The Moment I Stopped Curating God

Tonight with Melissa, something subtle and monumental shifted inside me.

It wasn’t dramatic.
It wasn’t explosive.
It wasn’t a breakthrough in the way I used to recognize breakthroughs.

It was quieter than that.
Truer than that.

It was the moment I realized I am no longer trying to curate someone’s spiritual path — even unconsciously — and I am no longer afraid of God speaking through me in forms I didn’t choose.

This is a different kind of maturity.
The kind that arrives not with fireworks, but with the soft weight of truth landing in the body.

The Mind Was Quiet — Not Gone, Just Uninterested

For the first time in a long time, my mind wasn’t crawling around the edges of the session trying to manage, scan, interpret, or fix.

There was no:

• “Is she okay?”

• “Should I do something?”

• “Is this enough?”

Just presence.
Just breath.
Just a grounded, steady field that didn’t need anything to happen.

I wasn’t in her.
I wasn’t adjusting her process.
I wasn’t trying to “facilitate.”

I was simply holding — without interference.

And her body responded to that.
She dropped deeper because I wasn’t pulling her anywhere.

This is the kind of guiding I prayed for.

When the Song Came On, an Old Wound Knocked

At the end, I shuffled my playlist — the way I always do — trusting that whatever comes through is exactly what the field needs.

The first song was about allowance, which made perfect sense.

But the second song…
“Turn Your Eyes to Jesus.”

Immediately, I felt the old imprint flicker inside me — that contraction around religious language, the memory of dogma, the fear of coercive spirituality, the part of me that once felt trapped by someone else’s interpretation of God.

For a split second, I felt that familiar recoil.

But then I noticed it.
And I didn’t go with it.

I breathed.
I stayed open.
I let the moment be what it was instead of what my past thought it meant.

I Realized: It Wasn’t About Religion — It Was About Return

The field was showing her something.

Not doctrine.
Not dogma.
Not ideology.

Orientation.
Devotion.
Heart.

Jesus, in that moment, wasn’t a religion.
He was a symbol of coming back to the center — the inner altar — the remembrance of something larger holding her.

And I softened into that.

The song wasn’t trying to convert anyone.
It was trying to hold her.

And I trusted it.

A Fear Rose: “What If She Has an Extreme Moment?”

This is where I could feel the remnants of my old protector:

“What if she spirals into an extreme religious experience? What if she gets lost in something external?”

But then a deeper knowing rose:

I am not here to prevent someone’s awakening.
I am not here to manage their relationship with God.
I am not here to shape the form their devotion takes.

My job is clean and simple:

Help people access their inner world —
not decide what they do once they get there.

That truth left my system soft, trusting, unguarded.

I Remembered Why I’m Here

My work — in every form — always leads people back to God.

Not my God.
Not my language.
Not the symbols my path uses.
Not the cosmology I understand.

Just God.
Just Source.
Just the inner knowing of something larger, true, and alive inside them.

How someone names that is not my business.

How someone orients to it is not mine to control.

Tonight, I didn’t interfere with the field’s intelligence.

I didn’t try to sanitize or translate it.

I let it come through in whatever form her soul needed.

And that’s when I realized:

I am no longer afraid of God speaking through me in ways I don’t choose.

This is a new architecture.
A new alignment.
A new kind of sovereignty.

The kind that trusts not only myself, but the God I am in service to.