When the Soul Comes Closer: A Rebirth of Being Human

What if our whole journey isn’t about fixing something that’s broken, but about remembering how much of ourselves we left at the door when we learned to survive? What if the purpose of life is simply an invitation: to welcome more and more of our soul home, not someday, not in some distant heaven, but right now, in this human skin, in every cell?

There’s a quiet revolution in saying yes to that, a soft, persistent consent to be more of who you really are. For me this came as a second awakening, a rebirth of sorts, when the familiar map of life stopped making sense and a deeper thread called me to come back to myself. It wasn’t flashy. It was tender. It felt like the body remembering how to hold light.

"When we stop pretending to be other than we are, we create space for the soul to flow"

Being human is not the opposite of being spiritual. It is the sacred container for it. The mess, the laughter, the tiredness, the grief, all of it is holy. Living a human existence with authenticity is itself a spiritual practice. When we stop pretending to be other than we are, we create space for the soul to flow through: into our voice, into our choices, into the rhythm of our days.

As we welcome more soul in, something practical and subtle shifts. Our life-force rises. Decisions become truer. Boundaries become kinder. Joy arrives in smaller packages and lingers longer. We feel more ourselves, less performance, more presence. It’s almost biochemical: when the soul is invited, the nervous system relaxes and the body can carry more of the lightness and gravity of who we are.

Modalities such as breathwork, sound, energy healing and ceremony are not the destination. They are the gentle infrastructure that supports this unfolding. They help us clear space, re-tune, and remember. In my experience with Pellowah, and in other gentle practices I love, the work is always to point us back to ourselves: to give the body permission to store more of the soul’s intelligence, to restore cellular memory, to sing the body awake. But the heart of it is plain and human: to live more honestly, to be kinder to ourselves, to say yes when life asks us to be reborn in the middle of the story.

So is this what it means to say yes to being reborn midlife? I think so. Rebirth isn’t only a dramatic exit and entry. It is a series of small returns. It is choosing, again and again, to let what’s already true about us have a home here. It is saying, “I want my soul in my hands, in my voice, in my laughter and my tears.” It is learning to translate the whispers of inner knowing into the way we show up in the world. And perhaps, most of all, it is allowing ourselves to feel invited home, and to learn, gently, how to stay.

Sarah