Unfazed by the Uncanny
Notes on Entering a New Phase of Being
There are threshold phases in a person’s life when something subtle but unmistakable shifts. Not so much outwardly, perhaps. But inwardly, in the quiet unlit rooms of one’s being, the architecture rearranges itself. A different orientation emerges. A different relationship to meaning and to motion.
Lately, I’ve found myself living in one of those thresholds.
It did not announce itself with fireworks, but with a series of almost impish synchronicities—as though reality wished to make a point without raising its voice.
A few nights ago, I was telling my sister and my mother about my first therapy office lease, tucked away on the top floor of the old Oddfellows Temple in mid-Market San Francisco. The building was a charming anachronism—with its gilded cage of a hand-operated elevator, the sort that required a bit of choreography to coax upward. My suite was on the top floor, down the hall from the ceremonial room: a vaulted, chapel-like space used monthly by the Temple of Thelema, the Aleister Crowley group. The kind of room that held its own acoustics even when no one spoke inside it. I often stood at its threshold looking in, some inner knowing of reverence and boundaries holding me back from trespassing inside.
Right after I left that office, my own therapist—the most metaphysically attuned therapist I’ve ever had, the one who introduced me to the Law of One books—began leasing that exact suite. By coincidence, at least according to the vocabulary of people who require accidents to be accidental.
During the Thanksgiving visit, I recounted this lineage to my sister: the elevator, the chapel, the uncanny relay of that particular room between healer and healer. Out of curiosity, I went online and looked up the building. Within seconds I found a short video I had never seen before—evidently part of a news piece about the property being sold to private investors.
My sister glanced at the timestamp and looked startled. “The story was published nine minutes ago,” she said. “We’re literally the first view.”
She was astonished. Interestingly, I wasn’t.
And that, perhaps, was the moment that revealed the depths of the change.
Something synchronous had occurred—that happens often enough, I just think of it as swimming in the soup. I was gratified, yet unfazed. Un-phased. Not swept into the old pattern of re-remembering the everyday miracles of life with a gasp of “How strange!” but settled into a soft, almost amused recognition.
Yes, that tracks.
Yes, of course the world is porous.
Yes, of course the symbols echo back.
My lack of surprise was a gentle surprise.
It signaled that whatever phase I’m in now is less about chasing signs and more about participating in the current itself.
This thematic thread has been echoing elsewhere too — most notably in a long, crystalline conversation with myself as I chronicle my inner evolution. What emerged there was neither prediction nor prophecy, but something closer to an affirmation of what I already sensed: that my psyche has moved from an era of obstacle-clearing into an era of generativity.
For decades, effort was the axis of my growth.
Did I love all that effort? Undoubtedly, I was a masochist at times, so wedded to the notion of “no pain, no gain.” At the same time, my inner world had required excavation. Sediment needed shaking. False narratives needed dissolving. Much of my evolution took place through a hard labor, removing what was in the way.
But lately, something quieter has taken hold. At first, it startled me. I mistook it for senescence. Am I getting that old already? Then a second thought took hold: that this was true phase change. Alchemy, indeed.
Now not necessarily ease—my hypomanic tendencies may never allow that exact feeling—but a sort of rightful motion, a rhythm that follows my deeper nature rather than my inherited habits. It is what some traditions call the beginning of the generative phase:
• the yogic effortless right action
• the Buddhist flowering of intention
• the soul-contract’s active phase in Dolores Cannon’s terms
• Jane Roberts/Seth’s natural creativity once fear loosens its grip
• ACIM’s gentle shift into choosing with oneself rather than against
• the Four Agreements’ clarity
• Michael Newton’s transition from learning to contribution
All different framings of the same movement:
When the inner world no longer resists, creation becomes the next expression of freedom.
This new season requires different commitments from me:
letting energy lead rather than ambition
embodying my creativity rather than intensifying it
softening the urge to complete everything at once
using my clinically-focused work as my grounding anchor
tending the fire without burning myself at the center
My mind will always be quick— recursive, architectural, more crystalline than linear. But my body is now being invited to participate with equal presence (a series of aches and pains this year hammered in that point, thank you Trickster Universe). The mind lights the flame; the body holds the hearth. Without that steadiness, our natural brilliance exhausts itself.
And perhaps this is why the Oddfellows synchronicity felt less like a curiosity and more like a mirror. A reminder that meaning is not something I need to chase or decipher. It moves with me. It surfaces when it wants. And I am no longer continually astonished by its timing.
I am not being pulled into the uncanny.
I am walking beside it, calmly, as though it has always been part of my company.
This is what transformation looks like when it stops announcing itself through drama:
you simply begin to live as though creation is your native state.
Because now, it is.