Linda Shekinah Fischer Facebook ad: “<3 Becoming Real”

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<3 Becoming Real There have been many chapters in this life where the search for aliveness took different forms. Some were loud and glittering. Others were quieter, filled with books, symbols, prayer, and long explorations of the invisible architecture of life. Looking back, they were not as different as they once appeared. When a person feels lost, something inside begins to reach. The reaching can look like many things. For some it is nightlife, music, parties, the electricity of being surrounded by people and sensation. For others it is spiritual study, sacred language, esoteric traditions, beautiful rituals, clothing that reflects devotion to unseen worlds. One path is labeled indulgent. The other is labeled spiritual. Yet both can sometimes serve the same purpose. Both can soothe the ache of not yet feeling fully at home inside oneself. There were years when dancing late into the night felt like freedom. Music moving through the body, laughter echoing through rooms full of strangers who briefly became companions in the rhythm of being alive. Those moments were not false. They carried their own vitality. But eventually the deeper questions of the heart begin to whisper. The noise can no longer fill the quiet spaces. So, the path turned. Nightclubs gradually gave way to books. Sacred teachings replaced the rush of nightlife. Astrology, cosmology, consciousness, ancient wisdom traditions, the study of energy and spirit, the inner world became more compelling than the outer spectacle. Even clothing began to reflect the search. Language changed. The identity of the seeker quietly formed. But life, with its patient intelligence, eventually reveals deeper layers. Even the spiritual path can become another form of anesthesia if it is used as decoration rather than embodiment. One can surround oneself with symbols of awakening and remain slightly distant from the rawness of being human. That realization comes gently, often through humility. The question shifts. Not What am I studying? Not How awakened do I appear? But something more honest. What am I avoiding feeling? That question opens a doorway. Underneath the identities, the dancer, the seeker, the healer, the mystic, their lives a simpler longing. The longing to feel connected. To feel loved. To feel that one’s life is not being performed but truly lived. Life then begins offering opportunities for this realness to emerge. Heartbreak is one of them. Heartbreak dissolves the fantasies we sometimes place upon other people. It reveals where we hoped someone else could carry our unfinished places. When that illusion falls away, something deeper becomes possible. Love matures. It becomes less about possession and more about appreciation for another human being walking beside us for however long life allows. Grief is another doorway. Grief strips away performance. It does not care about spiritual language or philosophical explanations. It simply opens the heart. The person who allows grief to move through them often becomes more compassionate, more patient with life’s complexity, more able to sit beside another person’s pain without needing to fix it. Loneliness can also become a teacher. Without distraction, the self eventually meets itself. At first that meeting can feel uncomfortable, even stark. But over time something unexpected happens. The self becomes less of a stranger. One begins to discover that companionship with life itself is possible. This is where the journey toward becoming real begins to deepen. Realness is not something that can be performed. It is not a costume. It is not a collection of symbols, language, or practices designed to signal awakening. Realness is lived experience. It grows through living honestly, through making mistakes, through loving people imperfectly, through being humbled by life again and again. It comes from staying present long enough for wisdom to move from the mind into the bones. Anyone can adopt the outer appearance of spirituality. Anyone can speak beautiful language about healing and consciousness. But real transformation is quieter. It shows up in how a person treats others. In how they respond when life does not go their way. In their ability to remain kind when they are hurting. Realness cannot be worn. It can only be lived. It begins to appear in small ways. Speaking truth in conversations where once there would have been pleasing. Allowing sadness without turning it into philosophy. Choosing nourishment over stimulation. Letting life be simple without feeling diminished. Something beautiful happens when the need to maintain identities relaxes. Energy returns to the body. Humor returns. Presence deepens. One becomes less interested in appearing extraordinary and more interested in being authentic. Life becomes inhabitable. Then another realization appears. When life becomes messy, and it always does, the answer is rarely more control or more perfection. The answer is more love. Not sentimental love. Not spiritualized love that floats above the human experience. Real love. The kind that recognizes the word human carries the sound hu, the breath of life moving through imperfect beings. To be real is to accept the hu-man in each of us. Every person carries contradictions. We are wise and foolish, brave and frightened, generous and defensive, evolving and unfinished. Real love allows space for this complexity. It softens judgment and replaces it with curiosity. When love is present, something shifts. People relax. Laughter returns. Conversations become honest. Imperfection no longer feels dangerous. Safety grows in the spaces between people who are willing to do their inner work and still laugh at the strange adventure of being alive. Those relationships are rare and precious. They are built not on performance but on sincerity. With those who live this way, joy and healing often appear together. The conversations deepen. The laughter becomes richer. Even silence feels nourishing. One begins to realize that the sacred does not live only in ceremonies or teachings. It lives in how we treat one another. There is a passage from The Velveteen Rabbit that speaks to this beautifully: “Real isn't how you are made,” said the Skin Horse. “It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time… then you become Real.” Realness does not come from perfection. It comes from being loved and from learning how to love. Looking back across the many seasons of this life, the dancing, the searching, the studying, the heartbreaks, the healing, none of it feels wasted now. Each chapter carried its own lessons. Each experience helped remove another layer of performance. The wandering had its purpose. Because eventually the path leads somewhere very simple. Not to a perfected identity. Not to a spiritual costume. But to a human heart that has learned how to remain open. And when that happens, life no longer needs to be anesthetized or decorated to feel meaningful. It simply needs to be lived. Fully. Tenderly. With humility, laughter, and a deep love for the mysterious adventure of being hu-man. My invitation is simple: join me here. In the magic of love that is unconditional, messy, beautiful, mysterious, imperfect. The place where youth and wisdom live side by side. The place where we finally allow life to be real. <3