My Nirvana Moment

There are moments that arrive quietly, and there are moments that arrive like blooming. And on 6.27.26, mine was the latter.

It was an ordinary evening. Nothing planned, nothing prepared. I was simply in our dining area, going about being human, when something pulled me to the floor. Not a decision but a pull. My body just went down, and I sat there, and I closed my eyes, and I began to meditate without meaning to begin anything at all.

And then I felt it. My heart, my energy...blooming. Not gently either. It cracked open like a rose forcing its way through a bud it had outgrown, petal by petal, like it had been waiting years for this exact evening to finally let go.

So I let it.

Pain I had been carrying since I don't know when. Trauma I had folded so small I'd forgotten its shape. Hurt; old hurt, recent hurt, hurt I didn't even know I was still holding. It all rose up and out of me at once, like my body had simply run out of room to keep it. And in its place came something I wasn't expecting: an overflowing, almost desperate need to love. To pour compassion and understanding onto everyone even the people who hurt me. Even the memories I had been gripping so tightly, like if I let go they would disappear, when really, I was the one disappearing under their weight.

I felt all of it move through my chest, down my arms, into my hands. Until my palms were cupped around something I can only describe as a ball of energy. Warm. Alive. Mine. I lifted it up, and I sent it to the sky, and I called out — to Mary Magdalene, who knows what it is to be seen and suppressed and rise anyway; to the Immaculate Heart, who held space for me without asking me to explain myself; to Shakti, the force that was moving through me the entire time, even before I had a name for her; to Archangel Michael, standing guard so I would feel safe enough to break open; to Archangel Gabriel, already preparing my voice for everything I would need to say after this.

I want to say this gently, because it matters: Nirvana moments don't look the same for everyone. There is no checklist, no required shape, no "right" way for it to happen. Yours might be loud. Yours might be silent. Yours might happen on a dining room floor on an evening you almost spent doing something else entirely. You will simply know. Your body will know before your mind catches up. Your heart will know before you have language for it.

This was mine. And it marked the beginning: my calling as an alchemist, working through the modalities of rose, art, and music.

—

Above all, love.

Mithiuala,

Yna Mendez