Initiation

Kerry Jehanne-Guadalupe

Some initiations unfold naturally with time, such as the transition from childhood to adulthood. They appear on the horizon, visible and expected, allowing us to prepare. Others arrive less predictably. Life presents what seem like unexpected opportunities for transformation—moments that invite us into deeper insight, expanded awareness, and the next chapter of our becoming.

Often, these moments are not random. Beneath conscious awareness, there may have been a longing for growth that called the sacred and the transcendent into motion, arranging circumstances that stretch us toward greater wholeness. While our Higher Self may orchestrate such initiations, to our human self, it can feel as though we have stumbled into experiences that challenge our beliefs, disrupt our identity, or unsettle our sense of who we are.

I think of initiations as part of our journeys toward wholeness. The word itself carries layered meaning: the act of beginning and the process of being introduced to someone or into a group. The action of beginning can include stepping into deeper alignment with truth, claiming a fuller expression of power, voice, freedom, or spiritual connection. To be introduced suggests something even more expansive—an initiation not into a small group, but a remembering of our place within the larger whole.

When initiation is part of our path toward wholeness, what might be waiting for us as we embark upon our journey are any parts of ourselves that are not in alignment with the version of ourselves that lies on the other side of the threshold. Crossing a threshold may require meeting doubt, confronting unprocessed pain, or examining beliefs that once protected us but now constrain us. 

These journeys—both inward and upward—may entail examining and integrating the outermost edges of our consciousness. It might even entail facing parts of ourselves that wish to remain as is, parts that might try to convince us that where we are heading, we should not go. Such passages can often push us beyond our comfort zones, fostering resilience and self-discovery while being backbreaking, heartbreaking, and ego-breaking all in one. 

Such can be the path of initiation. 

At these junctures, we may find ourselves dancing between the desire to experience something new and the pull to stay in old conditions; between the allure of new experiences and the comfort of familiar routines. Embracing change may require confronting the aspects of ourselves that resist growth and prefer to remain untransformed. 

Parts of us may resist assistance in moving forward while being determined to find ways to sustain what no longer serves us; parts that want to figure out how to make what is not working any longer somehow still work. This struggle may be influenced by fear, a sense of lack of safety and certainty in the new. 

Yet resistance itself can serve as a guiding light, directing us toward a profound breakthrough. As we step into our power, subconscious beliefs may arise that it is not safe to be powerful. As we move toward being seen, hidden fears about visibility may arise. In this way, initiation becomes an opportunity to redefine safety by bringing into awareness the subconscious strategies once designed to protect us.

Initiations are rarely stable and orderly places to navigate. Any confusion and uncertainty about who we will be on the other side of the threshold we are facing can be medicine, disorienting as it is. When we are confident enough to be uncertain, to be undone, old aspects of us can be dismantled. Uncertainty can unravel us in such a good way. This rocky ground can be the place of deconstruction and emergence, a place where the inner power we access to cross the threshold is the very power that will become our new norm on the other side. 

For example, a belief such as “I am not creative” may have formed from early experiences that discouraged expression. An initiation can dismantle that belief, allowing a new self-understanding to emerge. On the other side of the threshold, creativity may no longer feel inaccessible but embodied—opening unforeseen opportunities and enriching life in unexpected ways.

This is part of the beauty of initiation: it reveals uncharted territories of consciousness and invites dormant aspects of the soul to come forward. Each initiation often carries both an undoing and an emergence, guiding us closer to the wholeness we have been seeking all along.

Approaching and Retreating 

We may approach and retreat from a threshold many times over the course of our lives, building the capacity to descend a little deeper and rise a little higher each time. This rhythm of advance and withdrawal is not failure; it is a kind of inner strengthening. The “muscle-building” that occurs through approaching and retreating is often necessary—especially when a threshold poses fundamental questions, such as whether we are willing to release who we believed ourselves to be in order to discover who we truly are. Hence, we may approach and retreat from a threshold crossing until we are ready to let go of specific constructions of self. 

The mind–body complex is designed to survive within third-dimensional reality. It is strong, adaptive, and often deeply resistant to anything that threatens its sense of continuity. In this way, it can be allergic to thresholds that challenge its familiar identity. While our Higher Self may feel drawn toward a threshold, our human self may fiercely resist, as it views any form of ego death as literal danger. Thus, the dance of approach and retreat unfolds.

Although exposure to larger existential truths can begin to soften our attachments, the most significant transformation rarely comes from external information alone. From my perspective, the real erosion of limiting structures happens internally. It arises from within, when something deeper begins to question what once felt immovable.

This approach–retreat dynamic can feel like an inner battle, as if opposing forces are at play. Old consciousness may be startled—or even suspicious—of emerging awareness. Even when new consciousness is rooted in connection, unity, and vitality, it can collide with long-held beliefs about who we are and what is possible for us. While our Higher Self may beckon us forward, our human self may attempt to pull us back toward familiar ground.

Initiations often involve the gradual undoing of personality—of egoic identity—to make room for Presence, or essence. In this sense, they are deeply cleansing. As we prepare to cross into a new chapter, aspects of ourselves that cannot accompany us must be released. And while we may retreat from a threshold multiple times, each return to familiar identity tends to carry less tenacity. The personality’s grip loosens, no longer able to defend its version of reality with the same certainty.

There may be parts of us that doubt our capacity to cross a threshold at all. We may watch stories of profound transformation—on screen or in the lives of others—and quietly believe, That happens for them, but not for me. Examining such beliefs can initiate a softening. At times, surrender emerges not through effort, but through exhaustion—when we are simply too tired to continue sustaining beliefs and behaviors that no longer work. What once supported us may begin to suffocate us, and the resulting fatigue can break us open in a necessary and life-giving way.

At the threshold, we are often asked to discover something that appears new within ourselves—an untapped reservoir of power, creativity, or capacity. Yet this “newness” may be something long present, waiting to be recognized and activated. It becomes the fuel required to depart from the old and step into the new.

No one can make this crossing for us. Others may walk with us to the edge, offering companionship, witness, and support, but the threshold itself remains solitary. As Ram Dass said, we can walk each other home—yet no one can carry us across the threshold of discovering our inner light, accessing deeper truth, or embodying our personal power.

This does not negate the power of collective change, nor the reality that humanity itself is moving through a shared threshold of transformation. Rather, it acknowledges that collective evolution unfolds through countless individual journeys. Each person is crossing their own inner threshold, and it is through these singular acts of courage and awakening that the collective shift becomes possible.

Dark Night of the Soul

Initiations are often a time when human consciousness shifts—sometimes suddenly, sometimes gradually—expanding how we perceive ourselves and the nature of reality. Yet, however luminous the destination may be, the beginning of an initiation often feels like a descent into darkness. What we experience as increased darkness may not be something newly created, but rather what has long existed at the edges of awareness: the unlit regions of consciousness or the return of what we have cast into shadow.

This darkness is not barren. It is generative—like a dark womb that nourishes life or soil that holds a seed until it is ready to germinate. Through inner shadow work, new expressions of self are formed. As initiates, we may feel as though we are undergoing a symbolic death and rebirth.

Death, in this sense, is an expansion of consciousness. 

Expansion often begins as we integrate shadowed aspects of ourselves—old wounds, suppressed emotions, or habitual patterns of behavior. When resistance is strong, this integration may occur through many small deaths, each one dissolving a layer of defense. Over time, the death process allows what was once fragmented to be reintegrated, creating the conditions for genuine expansion. In this way, our personal hells may be the very terrain we must traverse to reach our inner heavens.

I believe there is a holiness in moving through our own hellish landscapes—in healing trauma, processing grief, and entering the darker regions of consciousness. It is in going to hell and back, in descending into suffering and transforming it, in facing the parts of ourselves we fear most, that liberation becomes possible. This intensely demanding shadow work can open us to expansions of being we could not access otherwise.

Darkness is also a place of protection. It is where frightened parts of ourselves retreat, along with aspects we are not yet ready to face. There is intelligence—even compassion—in this concealment. We encounter what we are prepared to meet, and we bring things into the light only when it is safe to do so. At times, it is too much for us to feel, or it is not even safe for us to feel, because we have to deal with the intensity of a given moment or span of time. 

To bury parts of ourselves, then, is not always denial. Often, it is an act of survival. Yet over time, we may forget what we have buried. We adapt to living without those parts, eventually perceiving them as foreign or dangerous. Meanwhile, these lost aspects of self continue to seek reunion. They are often frightened, just as we may be frightened of them.

The pieces we have placed in the dark seek us; they seek the part of us that remained in the light. When we receive them with care, something profound occurs: the heart softens, and wholeness deepens.

While we may instinctively shy away from confronting our darker aspects, true completeness lies in embracing them. So, while we may actively avoid the dark, we seek it; if we seek wholeness, we seek what we left in the dark. It's paradoxical - we avoid darkness yet yearn for wholeness, which can only be achieved by integrating what we've kept hidden in the shadows.

Bringing darkness into wholeness is among the most sacred work we can undertake. Within the shadow lives an intelligence and mystery that invites our attention—not to conquer it, but to listen. When we meet the shadow with presence and curiosity, it reveals its wisdom and becomes an ally in our return to wholeness.

The Illusion of No Escape

In times of inner balance and relative ease, we may perceive darker tendencies—such as jealousy, resentment, or spite—as choices we can consciously decline. We recognize our capacity to choose kindness, patience, or generosity instead. However, when we're engulfed in difficult times, it can seem as though we're trapped in the darkness indefinitely, as though there is no path back to the light. In moments of brightness, darkness can seem like a conscious decision we're capable of avoiding. Conversely, when immersed in darkness, accessing the light can feel impossibly distant. In these moments, an illusion can arise—the belief that there is no escape.

Some may feel that they will never escape/transcend if they venture into their shadow. Yet, the darkness doesn't imprison us. It's the darkness, our unconsciousness, that can liberate us, connecting us to our inner power and potential. What seems to block our passage may actually contain the very energy needed to cross a threshold. The material we fear may be the fuel required for transformation.

One could argue that when we get the slightest hint that the illusion of no escape from the darkness is not true, a glimmer of light begins to shine. Yet if we refuse to look honestly at the parts of ourselves that unconsciously cover that light—plastering over it with old beliefs, defenses, or unresolved wounds—we remain convinced the illusion is real. At times, it is our own shadow that sustains the sense of entrapment. The key out of the darkness may be hidden in the very plaster we are holding.

This plaster—our shadow, our unconscious patterns, our unhealed wounds—often contains untapped wisdom. When engaged consciously, it can become the propulsion that carries us across a threshold. There is profound alchemy in learning how to dance with our shadow: to know it, feel it, and integrate it rather than resist it. This does not deny the agony that emotional pain and entrenched beliefs can bring. It simply honors our human capacity for integration, resilience, and change.

It makes sense that we sometimes must pass through darkness to truly know the light. We exist in duality, move within the essence of every contradiction, experience separation and unity. We forget, then recollect. Darkness is not only part of our dualistic experience but a useful one. When approached with presence, it becomes a crucible in which false structures fall away, revealing what is needed for the next initiation.

As we near a threshold, we can reconnect with the vital force that animates our desire to live fully. In crossing, we often find ourselves more attuned to our radiant essence, our inner power amplified. From this vantage point, we embrace the mystery of this elevated stage of existence, radiating with greater intensity until we're prepared for the next phase of growth.