Four years before this program, I began my spiritual journey in a place so dark that even hope seemed afraid to enter. I wrote farewell letters to the few souls I loved, believing that my disappearance would be a kindness to the world. I had been taught—slowly, repeatedly—that everything was my fault. And because I did not wish to wound a single heart, I convinced myself that the only way to stop the pain was to leave.
But grace has a way of arriving quietly, disguised as chance.
Through what I can only call a miracle, I entered therapy. There, I began to peel away the layers of my past, one by one, like an old wall finally releasing its dust. I discovered that nearly all the weight I had carried—almost all of it—had never belonged to me. It had been placed on my shoulders during childhood, while growing up in an orphanage, by people who themselves did not know how to love without wounding.
I devoted myself to finding the roots of the shame, the guilt, and the deep belief that I was unworthy. Along the way, I found Kabbalah, which taught me that forgiveness is not weakness but liberation. Slowly, I learned to forgive—not only others, but life itself. And in the most difficult act of all, I forgave my mother for abandoning me.
That forgiveness did not erase the past, but it transformed it. What once felt like a wound became a doorway. I was able to welcome her back into my life—not as a debt owed, but as a choice made freely, with compassion.
And in doing so, I discovered a truth the soul always knows:
what breaks us is often the very thing that teaches us how to love without fear.
It still feels surreal to me that this program was offered as a gift, freely given, as though the Universe itself had decided to whisper, Now. I received it at precisely the moment my soul was ready to listen. For a long time, I had been learning how to release shame and guilt, how to practice the simple yet radical act of believing I am worthy.
When Vishen began the lesson by saying, “The future comes from the state you are in now,” something within me settled. The words did not demand effort; they asked for presence. From that moment, the rhythm of my days changed.
Each morning, upon waking, I devoted the first hour to prayer and meditation. I learned to rest—if only for a few minutes—in a state of Love. I sent that love outward, first to those who live in my building, then to my city, my state, and finally to the entire world. And my body responded. Even my watch registered: my heart rhythm grew steadier, stronger, whenever I practiced love. The body, it seems, recognizes truth before the mind does.
Through this program, my focus shifted. I stopped worrying about how life would unfold and began caring only about staying in tune. The HOW no longer concerned me; the state became everything.
In this space, a new identity emerged—one I had dreamed of my entire life but never believed I deserved. Now, I try to live each day from that identity. And when fear appears, I no longer run. I welcome it, because I understand now: fear arises not because I am weak, but because my new self is powerful. MY FEARS ARE AFRAID OF WHO I AM BECOMING. I am smiling as I'm writing this, thank you so much.
I have also learned to speak gently to my body. I thank it for carrying me through years when my mind was lost and searching. I no longer demand proof from life. Instead, I stay present, grounded in simple acts like "eating my vegetables" —trusting that nourishment, in all its forms, arrives when it is honored.
Giving has always come easily to me. I give because I know what it means to lack, and I want others to feel, even for five minutes, that they are seen and cared for. But receiving—receiving has been my greatest lesson. I learned that by refusing to receive, I was not protecting others; I was denying them the grace of giving.
I have spent much of my life dimming my light so others might feel comfortable in its presence. I will not do that anymore. I am learning to receive, to allow abundance, to stand fully in what has been entrusted to me.
I choose now to become the powerful woman God created me to be—not in spite of my past, but because of it.
But grace has a way of arriving quietly, disguised as chance.
Through what I can only call a miracle, I entered therapy. There, I began to peel away the layers of my past, one by one, like an old wall finally releasing its dust. I discovered that nearly all the weight I had carried—almost all of it—had never belonged to me. It had been placed on my shoulders during childhood, while growing up in an orphanage, by people who themselves did not know how to love without wounding.
I devoted myself to finding the roots of the shame, the guilt, and the deep belief that I was unworthy. Along the way, I found Kabbalah, which taught me that forgiveness is not weakness but liberation. Slowly, I learned to forgive—not only others, but life itself. And in the most difficult act of all, I forgave my mother for abandoning me.
That forgiveness did not erase the past, but it transformed it. What once felt like a wound became a doorway. I was able to welcome her back into my life—not as a debt owed, but as a choice made freely, with compassion.
And in doing so, I discovered a truth the soul always knows:
what breaks us is often the very thing that teaches us how to love without fear.
It still feels surreal to me that this program was offered as a gift, freely given, as though the Universe itself had decided to whisper, Now. I received it at precisely the moment my soul was ready to listen. For a long time, I had been learning how to release shame and guilt, how to practice the simple yet radical act of believing I am worthy.
When Vishen began the lesson by saying, “The future comes from the state you are in now,” something within me settled. The words did not demand effort; they asked for presence. From that moment, the rhythm of my days changed.
Each morning, upon waking, I devoted the first hour to prayer and meditation. I learned to rest—if only for a few minutes—in a state of Love. I sent that love outward, first to those who live in my building, then to my city, my state, and finally to the entire world. And my body responded. Even my watch registered: my heart rhythm grew steadier, stronger, whenever I practiced love. The body, it seems, recognizes truth before the mind does.
Through this program, my focus shifted. I stopped worrying about how life would unfold and began caring only about staying in tune. The HOW no longer concerned me; the state became everything.
In this space, a new identity emerged—one I had dreamed of my entire life but never believed I deserved. Now, I try to live each day from that identity. And when fear appears, I no longer run. I welcome it, because I understand now: fear arises not because I am weak, but because my new self is powerful. MY FEARS ARE AFRAID OF WHO I AM BECOMING. I am smiling as I'm writing this, thank you so much.
I have also learned to speak gently to my body. I thank it for carrying me through years when my mind was lost and searching. I no longer demand proof from life. Instead, I stay present, grounded in simple acts like "eating my vegetables" —trusting that nourishment, in all its forms, arrives when it is honored.
Giving has always come easily to me. I give because I know what it means to lack, and I want others to feel, even for five minutes, that they are seen and cared for. But receiving—receiving has been my greatest lesson. I learned that by refusing to receive, I was not protecting others; I was denying them the grace of giving.
I have spent much of my life dimming my light so others might feel comfortable in its presence. I will not do that anymore. I am learning to receive, to allow abundance, to stand fully in what has been entrusted to me.
I choose now to become the powerful woman God created me to be—not in spite of my past, but because of it.
Much Love,
Lucia!
Lucia!