The Currents of the Soul: Soaring the Thermals or Sinking in the Vortex
There is a striking duality to my inner life right now, defined by two completely different currents.
When I am aligned, grounded, and connected to the divine, life feels weightless. It is exactly like an eagle soaring on thermals of purpose over a mountain ridge. I don’t have to fight or flap my wings frantically to move forward. Instead, I just spread my arms, trust the unseen pull, and let my core values lift me into a higher perspective. In those moments of positive action, I feel elevated, energized, and deeply at peace. The horizon expands, and everything becomes clear.
But the opposite current is just as real, operating with a completely different physics.
When I disconnect, it begins as a subtle, near-invisible pull, drawing me slowly yet relentlessly inward. It doesn't arrive with a loud warning; instead, it is a quiet, magnetic drag beneath the surface of my awareness. It feels exactly like the character in Ernest Hemingway’s The Sun Also Rises describing how he went bankrupt: "Gradually and then suddenly." For days, it is just a gradual drifting—a tiny compromise here, a moment of numbing out there, a slight turning away from the light. It feels harmless until the precise moment the current tightens. Suddenly, the slow drift becomes a violent, dark whirlpool in the river. The momentum takes over, the vortex spins me in circles, and it threatens to suck me down into the heavy depths before I even realize I’ve lost my footing. I am learning that my daily practice is simply catching that gradual pull before the sudden descent takes over.
To catch it in time, I must pay closer attention to my early warning signs. For me, the drift begins with subtle internal shifts: a creeping cynicism in my thoughts, a heavy reluctance to do my morning reflection, or a quiet desire to isolate myself from the people I love. It is the feeling of being "busy" but entirely disconnected from my depth. To break this magnetic drag before it accelerates, I need to take immediate, proactive action. The moment I spot the drift, I must pause and change my physical state—stepping outside to look at the sky, breathing deeply, or writing out what is draining me. I need to deliberately re-engage my core habits: serving someone else, practicing gratitude, or offering a silent prayer of surrender. By doing this, I allow myself to be ready and vulnerable to the updraft of calling, breaking the inward momentum of the vortex and positioning myself back where the air is moving upward.
Does this duality resonate with your own journey? If you find yourself drifting, what intentional steps can you take today to disrupt that negative draw and allow yourself to be carried upward by a deeper, unseen wind?