Over these past few months, I’ve been sharing pieces of the story behind Michelle’s Mystic Lane—why I knew it was time to lovingly close the chapter of Breakthrough Strengths, and what I’m discovering as I allow this new path to reveal itself one step at a time.
Much of that journey has been about coming home to myself. Not becoming someone new, but remembering and making room for more of who I have always been.
And there’s another part of that story I want to share with you today.
Somewhere along the way, I began to recognize something I had almost forgotten.
The light within me had never gone out.
I'd simply learned to keep parts of it hidden.
For much of my life, I learned how to be the version of me the world around me could understand. And some of those versions were very good at life. I earned degrees. Built careers. Raised a family. Taught and led and served. I became responsible, capable, dependable. None of those things were false.
They were me.
But they weren’t all of me.
There were other parts that didn’t always feel as safe to bring into the room.
The deeply intuitive part.
The mystical part.
The part of me that sensed and knew things I couldn’t always explain.
The part that felt everything.
The part that wanted to trust what she knew inside herself, even when the outside world told her something different.
Those parts learned to become quieter. Not because they disappeared.
Because somewhere along the way, I learned that some parts of me were easier for the world to receive than others.
And we humans are rather brilliant at adapting.
We learn what brings approval. What keeps the peace. What earns belonging. What makes us useful. What helps us feel safe.
Layer by layer, without even realizing we’re doing it, we can build something around ourselves.
I’ve come to see mine almost like plaster.
Some layers were expectations. Some were roles. Some were beliefs I inherited. Some came from experiences that taught me very clearly what was safe to reveal and what wasn’t. And some were simply ways of being that worked beautifully once upon a time.
They protected me.
And I can honor them for that.
But eventually it became difficult to tell where the protection ended and I began.
Over the past several years—and especially this past year—some of that plaster has begun to crack.
At times gently.
At times spectacularly.
There has been grief in that.
There has also been tremendous relief.
Because underneath all those layers, I didn’t discover an empty space waiting for me to create a newer, shinier, more evolved version of myself.
I found me.
And the light was still there.
A New Moon in the dark
And perhaps that’s why the sky this weekend feels so beautifully aligned with the conversation we’re already having here on the Lane.
This Sunday into Monday, the Moon disappears into Scorpio—the sign that has never been afraid of the dark.
A New Moon becomes invisible before it begins to show us its light again. The light doesn’t leave. It waits in the dark.
Scorpio is comfortable there. It invites us into the places beneath the surface—the things we’ve tucked away, protected, or perhaps simply weren’t ready to bring into the light before now.
Not because those parts were wrong.
Maybe they simply didn’t feel safe enough to stay out in the open.
And this New Moon doesn’t need us to go digging for them. We don’t need to perform our healing. We don’t need another project called Fix Myself. We can simply become curious about what is already stirring.
There’s another layer to the sky right now that makes this invitation even richer.
Mercury and Venus are both retrograde—Mercury in Scorpio and Venus in Libra. Retrogrades invite us to turn back toward something rather than constantly reaching for what comes next.
With Mercury also in Scorpio, perhaps the invitation isn’t to figure ourselves out. Perhaps it is to remember.
And Venus, moving backward through Libra—the territory of relationship and belonging—offers another beautiful question:
Which parts of me did I shape so I could feel loved, welcomed, or safe?
Again, not to judge them.
Not to rip them away.
Just to notice.
A different way of listening
This is also why it feels especially meaningful to me that another path has just opened here at Michelle’s Mystic Lane.Oracle cards have long been part of my own practice of slowing down and listening inward.Sometimes a card gives language to something I’ve been feeling but haven’t quite been able to name.
Sometimes an image catches my attention.
Sometimes it opens a question.
And sometimes it simply asks me to pause long enough to hear myself again.
That is how I hold Oracle Conversations, too.
Not as a way for me—or a deck of cards—to tell you who you are, what you should do, or what your future holds.
You remain the authority on your own life.
The cards simply give us something tangible to gather around while we listen for what may already be trying to emerge.
If this kind of conversation is calling to you, the Oracle Conversation path is now open on the Lane.
OR perhaps you already have a deck of your own.
You don’t need me to begin listening.
And there’s another reason this feels meaningful to share with you.
From the earliest imagining of Michelle’s Mystic Lane, I knew I wanted these Lantern letters to include an oracle card and a Soul Inquiry from time to time.
It may seem like a small thing.
But for me, it is also an act of being seen.
Another way I’m allowing the Ancient Mystic in me—the Oracle in me—to step out from behind the parts of myself that have always been easier to explain.
So, for this New Moon, it feels especially fitting that we begin.
As I prepared this letter, I created sacred space, chose the deck that felt called to join us, and held this intention:
What would support us in listening for what is ready to be remembered?
Inner Autumn / Inner Spring from The Inner Temple Oracle by Rebecca Campbell
The Message of the Card:
There are seasons happening within us, just as surely as they are happening outside our windows. Times when something is beginning to stir, stretch toward the light, and ask to be lived. And times when something has completed its season and is ready to loosen its hold, fall away, and return to the earth. Sometimes, beautifully and confusingly, both are happening at once.
That is what I love about this card:
Inner Autumn and Inner Spring live on the same card. We don’t have to choose which season we should be in. We’re simply invited to notice which one is calling to us right now.
Perhaps your attention goes first to Autumn—the part of you that knows something has reached completion. An old role. A belief. A way you learned to belong. Something that once protected or supported you but no longer fits quite the same way.
Or perhaps you’re drawn toward Spring.
Something inside you may already be stirring beneath the surface. A desire. A truth. A part of yourself that has been quiet for a very long time and is beginning to whisper, I’m still here.
And maybe you feel both.
Something falling away. Something returning.
Something you are finally ready to remember.
There is no need to hurry either season.
Autumn doesn’t pull the leaves from the trees before they’re ready.
Spring doesn’t pry open the seed to make sure something is growing.
Each trusts what is happening beneath the surface.
Perhaps that is our invitation, too.
Soul Inquiry
I want to invite you to sit with a moment with what I call a Soul Inquiry. Some time to reflect on the message your soul has for you from the card. If Inner Spring is calling:
What is your heart’s deepest prayer?
If you knew you’d be supported, what would you do?
How can you truly live?
If Inner Autumn is calling:
What is falling away?
What are you clinging onto for fear of nothing to come take its place?
If you weren’t afraid of your power, what would you do?
You don’t need to answer every question.
There is nothing you have to make happen.
Because maybe this New Moon isn’t asking us to create more light at all.
Maybe it is asking us to trust the light that has been there all along.
To give our eyes time to adjust to the dark.
To listen for what we already know.
To welcome back the parts of ourselves that are ready to be seen.
And perhaps, for now, simply notice where the light is already coming through the cracks.
