She Kept Letting Go… Until Only Love Remained
There’s a unique kind of pain that arises when someone we admire—someone we’ve looked to for truth, light, and healing—begins to speak from fear.
When their words stir division instead of unity… When their message becomes charged with blame instead of anchored in love… When they forget the very teachings they once embodied.
What do we do with that? How do we reconcile our devotion to love with the heartbreak of watching our beloved teachers, mentors, or peers become swept into the current of political hatred, fear-based identity, or emotional reactivity?
And more importantly: How do we keep choosing love ourselves?
The Cognitive Wall: Why Minds Don’t Change
Psychologists call it cognitive dissonance—the discomfort we feel when we encounter information that contradicts what we already believe. Rather than changing our minds, we often double down.
It’s not just stubbornness. It’s a biological survival strategy to maintain coherence.
So when we present someone with new ideas—especially ones that challenge their identity, belief system, or sense of righteousness—we’re often met not with curiosity… but with resistance, defensiveness, or attack.
This is why loving in today’s world is hard. Because love invites openness. And fear clings to certainty.
The Personal Pain of Watching It Unfold
It can feel like betrayal. Like spiritual whiplash.
One moment we’re reading A Course in Miracles or discussing devotion to divine love. The next, the same voice is filled with anger, fueling fear-based narratives that divide instead of heal.
It’s confusing. It’s painful. And it can shake the foundation of our own path.
But here’s what I’m learning: This, too, is a spiritual practice. This, too, is an invitation to rise higher.
To grieve without judgment. To feel the emotion—but not feed the story. To remember that even our greatest teachers are still human… and still on their journey.
A New Devotion: Choosing Love Anyway
We can’t control how others use their platform or where they are on their path. But we can choose how we meet it.
With compassion. With discernment. With the quiet, radiant power of our own alignment.
Even when it hurts. Even when we feel alone in it.
Love is not passive. It doesn’t mean agreeing with everyone. It means refusing to become what we oppose.
A Gentle Practice for the Days It Feels Heavy:
· Pause and Notice: Where do you feel the tension—in your heart, your belly, your breath?
· Acknowledge the Grief: It’s okay to feel disappointed, sad, or even angry. You’re allowed to feel.
· Release the Story: Don’t spiral in the narrative. Let the emotion rise, be seen, and dissolve.
· Return to Devotion: Whisper your prayer, mantra, or anchor: “I am here for love. I remember who I am.”
· Choose Again: Respond from clarity. Speak if it serves. Stay silent if it protects your peace.
Final Words: A Love Letter to Those Who Stay the Course
To love when it’s easy is beautiful. To love when it’s hard is holy.
This world is aching for those who won’t be shaken by the chaos. Who keep showing up with softness. Who dare to live the teachings, not just speak them.
May we be the ones who remember. May we be the ones who walk in peace, when peace feels impossible. May we be the quiet revolution of light in a divided world.
And when the noise grows loud… Let us come home to the stillness that never left.
Let us keep choosing love. No matter what.
Author’s Note: This reflection came after a week of deep practice, heartbreak, and recommitment to the way of love. May it meet you exactly where you are and offer the same soft strength it gave me.
Whisper for the Week: Let me love through the noise. Let me listen beyond the words. Let me remember the truth—even when others forget.'
Such truth in your beautiful words. “To love when it’s hard, is holy.” And yes, to holding the lamp in the chaos. Lovely thoughts, beautifully penned.