Alchemy in Real Time

A real-time transmission from Healing through Visions

I’m in the thick of it. The ache. The spiral. The silent scream in my chest that no one else can hear—but I feel every breath of it. This isn’t a breakdown. This is the alchemy of transmutation. The part of the journey where shadows surface, illusions burn, and everything I thought I healed starts whispering again.

But I am not afraid. I’ve walked through this fire before.

This moment is the crucible. And I am the gold.

When discomfort erupts in my body, it’s not just pain. It’s information. It’s a signal that I’ve hit a threshold—an edge where truth and identity collide. What I once clung to can’t hold me anymore. And I feel the grief of that. The fury. The sadness. The sacred mess of becoming. So I breathe. I pause. I listen.

Then I begin the work.

Transmutation isn’t escape. It’s embodiment.

It doesn’t mean I override what hurts or fake my way into love and light. It means I witness the wreckage, hold space for what rises, and remember: I am not this fear. I am not this rage. I am the vessel that transmutes it into wisdom, clarity, and wild liberation.

I do this through ritual. Through movement. Through fierce honesty. Through silence when my nervous system needs stillness, and sound when my throat chakra begs to scream. I use what I have. I call on what’s true. I remember my tools. I remember myself.

The other night, I found myself weeping—not from sadness alone, but from my body reaching its limit. The weight of work, conversations, overstimulation, and stress all came crashing through. My system said enough. And instead of pushing through, I let the tears come. I didn’t force clarity. I let the release soften what needed to be felt.

I’ve learned to recognize the moment when something inside me starts shifting. It’s not always loud, but it lands heavy. A pressure in my solar plexus. A dull ache in my sacral. A tightness in my chest that pulls my shoulders forward. Sometimes it hits as a wave of nausea so strong I have to pause and breathe through it. My system speaks in sensations before it ever gives me language.

I don’t always know what it is right away. And I’ve stopped demanding answers on command. I let the energy speak how it wants to. I let the moment open without forcing it into meaning. I listen with my whole body. I give the discomfort room to show itself.

That’s when the alchemy begins—not when I’ve figured it out, but when I meet what’s rising with presence and patience.

Here’s how I move with the energy when something deep starts to stir:

1. I feel it.

I allow the sensation to rise before it makes sense. I sit with the weight, the tightness, the pulsing wave. I don’t demand an explanation. I just let it move. Sometimes it comes as grief. Other times it’s a buzzing in my skin or a sudden urge to isolate. I welcome the feeling without forcing it to perform.

2. I listen for what’s mine.

Not everything I carry belongs to me. I slow down and gently sort through the energy. Is this mine? An echo from the past? Someone else’s fear sitting in my field? My body knows. My Spirit knows. I trust that knowing.

3. I name it—if a name comes.

I don’t chase a label. I don’t force a box. If a name rises naturally—shame, sorrow, fury—I honor it. If not, I let the energy speak in sensation, image, or sound. Naming isn’t the goal—understanding is.

4. I ritualize it.

I give the energy shape. A bath. A journal entry. A guttural hum from deep within. A dance with no choreography. I make room for Spirit to alchemize what I cannot intellectualize. This is the sacred container for release and remembrance.

5. I choose again.

After the release, I feel my field soften. Then I plant a new frequency—one that aligns with how I want to move through this life. Sometimes it’s a word. A breath. A choice to rest. A choice to rise. Either way, I return to my center, and I decide again.

6. I integrate.

I ground. I nourish. I restore. I don’t rush into performance or productivity. I seal the portal. I give myself softness and space so the transformation can root deeply. I treat myself like sacred soil—tended and treasured.

My body isn’t the enemy. She’s the compass.

And this process? It’s not a one-time passage. I may return to these steps again tomorrow, or sit in one of them for weeks. Some days I move through them with ease. Other times, I fight my way into surrender. Either way, I let the spiral teach me something new.

Not every transmutation is meant to be witnessed by the world. Some are sacred fires I tend in solitude. Some are for my journals, not my timelines. I give myself permission to keep what’s sacred, sacred.

The alchemy of transmutation isn’t linear. It’s a spiral. It’s messy. And it’s magic. Every time I choose to face myself fully, I become more whole. More free. More dangerous to the systems that fed on my silence.

I move through this because my spirit won’t let me turn away.

This is how I turn pain into potency. How I turn triggers into teachings. How I reclaim my name from the shadows that tried to bury me. I don’t just heal. I transform. I don’t just release. I rise.

I’m still in it. Not reflecting from the other side—in it. The energy’s hot, the signals are loud, and I’m sorting through every layer that rises.

There’s no polished ending to this.

Just presence. Just honesty. Just the next breath. This is alchemy in real time.

Visit Healing through Visions if you feel the pull. My work meets you where you are, not where you’re pretending to be.