When I first started doing readings, people came with questions about the future.
Where is this going? When will it happen? Will it work out? Should I stay or leave?
I understood those questions. We want reassurance. We want direction. Sometimes we just want to know.
But there is something underneath the questions. With each conversation, I am shown past the questions themselves, to the soul who is asking — to what is really being sought, even when the person has no idea themselves.
Someone asks about a love relationship, and underneath it may live: am I lovable?
Someone asks about money, and underneath it may live: will I be safe? Will I get to experience the life I desire?
Every question about the future is a question about the self. The soul navigating this life, working through its stories, discovering itself — what concerns us on the surface shows how something deeper is being expressed, how we are creating.
I have watched this for years. And lately, I’m watching something new.
The world is loud right now. Voices shouting to be heard, nerves on edge, fights being fought outward and inward. We are all feeling it.
But underneath the noise, quieter, something else is moving. More and more people are standing — consciously — in a threshold. Stepping away from a life, a belief, a role, a way of being that no longer feels true. And standing in the middle ground before whatever comes next. Aware of it. Awake in it. More people now than I have ever seen.
And here is what strikes me most: the questions are changing.
The where and the when and the will it work out still come, mixed now with questions of a different kind. Even the familiar ones arrive more open — less attached to the surface answer, as if the one asking already senses something more underneath and is ready to look.
The appetite for more wisdom is fading. I think we are full. We have heard everything is within you. We have heard anything is possible. We have the books, the quotes, the teachings. The shelf is stocked.
And the questions of a different kind sound like this: What does that even mean? How does that work? I know everything is within me — so why can't I find it on a Tuesday afternoon when my life is coming apart?
These are threshold questions. They only get asked by someone standing in the middle ground, holding wisdom in one hand and an unrecognizable life in the other, trying to bring the two together.
And from my own crossings — and there have been many — I can tell you the one thing I know for certain about that middle ground: we are not built to walk it alone.
Because we are inside it. When we are spiraling in our own unraveling, our whole vision narrows to the problem and how to fix it. The nervous system lights up, reacting, bracing. From inside that, the bigger picture is simply out of reach. What helps is another presence. A sounding board who listens without handing us opinions. Someone who can see a little wider than we can in that moment, who can hold the larger landscape while we find our footing. The trees. The wind. A steady voice.
So if you are in that middle ground right now — if you’ve stepped out of what no longer fits and the new ground hasn’t appeared yet — I want you to know what I see from where I sit: you are far from alone in this. Something is moving through many of us at once, and the very question you’re carrying, how do I live what I know, means you are already in the doorway.
The doorway is not a problem to solve. It’s a place to be walked through.
And it can be walked.
I wish you much love and many blessings,
Susan