So I’m telling a story at Wild Soul summer camp to the kids. I’m telling it well, it’s a good story, but I can see it’s a little hard for them to pay attention. I don’t really have them. I look over at Ted, and I can tell he senses it too—that I’m not all the way there.
He had introduced me as the storyteller by telling the kids—maybe a little over their heads—that I am of the Fae, and that I’m partly in this world and partly in another world. And honestly, that’s the truth. I’m happiest when I’m more in the spiritual realm than in this physical world.
When I got home, to relax, I put on the audiobook I’m into right now, Ravens of Avalon. In it, a priestess on the Isle of Avalon walks with another woman up the Tor and, partway up, senses an opening into another realm. She walks that path and finds herself in a shining realm with the queen of the fairies, and she is invited to stay. Honestly, I think that moment in the book was the whole reason why I was reading it. I haven’t felt the need to listen to it since!
I’ve always felt akin to the fairies. When I was a little girl, my mom redecorated my room and let me choose my own wallpaper. Out of all the patterns in the store, I chose one that was peach and pale green, flowers and leaves, with little delicate fairies hiding in them. I would lay on my bed and stare at those fairies for hours. My mom bought it for me even though it was one of the more expensive ones—maybe she could sense that I needed it.
And they kept showing up. People who knew nothing about that wallpaper would give me those cards with flower fairies on them.
When I was 32, I changed my name. I’d always known I had the wrong name but was waiting for the right one. In the midst of getting divorced, I knew it was time—first and last name, both mine by choice. The Mists of Avalon had been a powerful, transformative book for me, and I felt connected to Morgan La Fay. The very first thing I knew was that my last name would be Fae.
So after this day of telling stories with children, I talked with Ted about how it went. He said, “It was a great story. You told it well.” But he also noted that kids’ nervous systems these days get restless—some had been standing up, almost wandering away. I agreed. It was also very hot where we were sitting, in only partial shade.
But I told him I thought it was more than that—more like what he’d said earlier, that I’m not all the way there. He said, “Yeah. There’s something about your voice… it’s hard to listen to sometimes. Even if it’s audible and clear, energetically it’s like it’s hard to hear.”
Afterwards, I pondered that. I did some spiritual inquiry, asking: Where am I? Where do I go? What I found was that I’m only about 30%, give or take, present in this world—that’s the most I can manage. The rest of me is existing in the spiritual realm.
It makes sense that a group of children might find it hard to focus on me for a long time while I’m holding center—especially when I’m telling a story I’m experiencing in the spiritual realm, which is how I experience all stories.
I recently created an oracle deck, it’s in beta right now and I have just a few friends trying it out. I’ve been using it a ton though, to get an idea of it’s nature. When I asked my the deck, Where do I go when I’m facilitating or telling stories? it didn’t answer as directly as usual. It said, “It’s okay to do it badly at first.” And I thought—maybe it means, It’s okay to do it badly. Not “at first,” but always. Not because anything is wrong or needs fixing, but because that’s just how it is for me.
When I later did more inquiry and saw the numbers (using muscle testing)—30% here, the rest of me in the spiritual realm—it made sense. If I’m deep in listening, I might be only 20% here. If I’m in a loud place, like a bar, maybe 15%. Last summer I spent 4 days on a solo, fasting, dreaming, drumming and singing, in a beautiful mountain wildflower meadow. I was able to be a whopping 40% present in this world during that time.
It’s hard for me to be in this world. It always has been. And I bet I’m not the only one. I bet there are many people who aren’t fully here—who have part of themselves in the spiritual realm, another dimension, another reality their soul comes from, or …somewhere else.
If you’re one of those people who finds it difficult to be present in social situations, chaotic environments, or even just in the same reality as everyone else—know that it’s okay. You’re not broken. There’s nothing to fix. This world wasn’t made for you. You are here to do the best you can, to bring your gifts—and part of your gift is that you exist in other realms. That’s not just how you bring your gift; it is your gift.
If it’s hard, I’m sorry. I get it. I know. And thank you for being here.
And if you’re someone who is more fully present in this world—you probably know people like me who struggle to be here, and who are doing their best. We are this way for a reason. This is how we bring our gifts. Treasure us just the way we are. Honor our sacrifice. And if you can make it just a little easier for us to be here, we will be so grateful.