Anyone Waiting for Their Life to Start; Go Chop Wood & Carry Water

CHOP WOOD & CARRY WATER

There’s a story I carry with me. A woman went to learn the sacred art of healing. She sought out an elder, ready for wisdom, ready to step into what she felt was already hers.

But the elder offered her no ceremonies, no teachings, no visions. Only this: Chop wood. Carry water. Day after day. No shortcuts. No revelations. Just the rhythm of the mundane.

At first, she accepted it. She believed patience and humility were part of the path. But soon, restlessness grew. She knew things. Felt things. She had already glimpsed her gift. Why delay the real work? And yet—in the repetition, in the waiting, in the discipline of not rushing—she was rediscovering herself.

I’ve felt this too. The ache to move faster. The hunger to accelerate what already feels true. To seek someone who will hand me the keys, who will unlock the next step, who will confirm what I already suspect. Sometimes that impulse comes from readiness. Other times, it's fear dressed in urgency. Fear of being behind. Fear of not doing enough. Fear of sitting too long in the unknown. And let’s be honest waiting in a world that glorifies “Faster, Better, Now” feels brutal. Hurry up and wait? What the fuck!

But still—there’s another voice, quieter, deeper, beneath the fear. It whispers: You are not behind. You are in the process. And the process is sacred.

So, I’m learning not to rush the unfolding. Not to grasp for expansion just to escape the discomfort of stillness. To trust the waiting as much as the moving. Because maybe this isn’t about reaching some shining peak of knowing. Maybe this is about being shaped by the mundane. By the rhythm (Universal Law called Law of Rhythm). By the work that roots the mystical in the body. Maybe this is the sacred. Chop wood. Carry water. And trust that when the moment comes, we’ll be ready—not because you forced it, but because we've stayed.