Rhythms of Consciousness Expansion

Lately, life has been showing me its rhythm of return. Vince and I just celebrated our 11-year wedding anniversary, and in that reflection I could feel how our growth has moved in spirals—cycles of learning, softening, and rediscovering what’s true. Charlie, our pup, is growing quickly too; she’s curious about everything and reminds me daily how joy lives in presence.

And in my work, I’ve been refining how I show up—revisiting old teachings, making space for what feels more aligned, and letting my practice evolve at its own pace. It feels like the same rhythm I see everywhere right now: return, revision, and renewal.

The expansion of consciousness rarely moves in straight lines. It moves like this—circling, deepening, lifting. Some days it’s a gentle unfurling, like petals opening to the morning. Other times, it’s thunder—sudden, undeniable, shaking something loose that’s been waiting for light.

Even those “sudden” awakenings usually follow long, quiet seasons of inner work. Listening. Forgetting. Remembering. What looks like a breakthrough is often the moment when roots finally surface after years of unseen growth.

In the Ageless Wisdom, there’s a term I love: the ring-pass-not. It marks the boundary of our current awareness—the edge of what we’re ready to grow beyond. Sometimes we meet it softly; other times life propels us toward it. But each time we cross that threshold, whether in a whisper or a wave, something in us remembers more of who we are.

Dr. David Hawkins wrote,

“Spiritual evolution occurs as a result of removing the obstacles to enlightenment, not by seeking enlightenment itself.”

That has proven true for me again and again. We don’t force realization; we allow it. We tend the inner garden. We soften. We listen. And when the timing aligns, something opens—often quietly, often without fanfare.

Ram Dass said,

“We’re all just walking each other home.”

And on that walk, we revisit familiar landscapes—old grief, old patterns, old fears. It can feel like regression: this again? But it’s grace disguised as repetition. We’re simply arriving at the same theme from a higher turn of the spiral, with more light, more awareness, more compassion.

Every return is an opportunity to clear a deeper root, to dissolve distortion at its source. The soul moves at the pace of wholeness, not urgency. When we try to skip ahead, life kindly guides us back to lay new foundation stones—until the structure inside us can hold the light we’re inviting in.

The Tibetan Master said,

“The disciple learns to rhythmically adjust himself to the purpose and the plan, and to cease from identification with the form.”

That rhythmic adjustment—between surrender and participation—is the true art of becoming. It’s not about chasing the light, but learning to move in right rhythm with it.

Every realization is also a beginning. Each opening invites a new way of living, a deeper embodiment of truth. When we align that way, life shimmers differently. The signs, the synchronicities, the subtle guidance—they’ve always been there. We’re just still enough to notice.

So if something familiar rises again, meet it with tenderness. You’re not back at the beginning. You’re standing higher on the spiral, seeing with new eyes.

Trust the rhythm. Trust the slow magic. You’re not late. You’re not lost. You’re becoming—exactly on time.

🌿 A Closing Reflection

As you move through this week, notice where life is bringing you full circle. Where are you being invited to see something old through new light? The spiral is patient; it never asks for perfection—only presence.

If this reflection speaks to you, I invite you to share it or leave a note about where you find yourself on the spiral right now. Your awareness ripples outward more than you know.

With love and luminous steadiness, Leena