Jeri K. Tory (Conklin)

I’ve walked through many doors in this lifetime. Big doors, small doors, beautiful, architecturally built, doors . . . some have led to great experiences, some not so great. However, each “door” experience offered a lesson along the way. Tonight, the quiet reflection of my inner world led me to a powerful realization, one that resonated with a concept from Richard Bach’s timeless “Illusions: The Adventures of a Reluctant Messiah” (1989). Just as Donald Shimoda could seemingly walk through solid walls, I found myself facing an invisible barrier, not of brick and mortar, but one constructed within the very landscape of my mind. This intangible obstacle manifested as a door, a potent metaphor for the limitations I often and unknowingly build around myself. It stood as the threshold of my deepest limiting beliefs, those ingrained ‘can’ts’ and self-doubts that whisper insidious narratives, holding me captive just as surely as any physical restraint. To move forward, I understood I had to consciously choose to perceive this door not as an unyielding obstacle, but as a construct of my own mind, a perception I held onto through habit and fear. Stepping over its invisible threshold required a shift in belief, an active argument for my potential rather than a resignation to my perceived restrictions. It was a moment of recognizing that the solidity of the door, like the wall for Shimoda, was largely an illusion, its power residing solely in my acceptance of its impenetrability. By acknowledging this barrier’s mental and emotional nature and focusing my intention on the possibility of passage, I began to understand that the true key lay not in forcing my way through but in the conscious decision to no longer believe in its reality. And what was this door? Fear of failure. If I don’t try, I can’t fail . . . or, seriously, why would anyone want to buy my books? Or, standing up in front of a crowd and seeing myself turn into my Arcturian blue-skinned self and begin channeling for the audience—“that” kind of door. The one that questioned my worth to be an author, a healer, a life coach, one who touches lives with so many of my gifts, seeking to make a difference for others. And there it was before me, standing oh so tall, that invisible wall I had put up to protect me from being a failure. My friend Meghan, the Goddess Isis, Archangels Michael and Raphael, invited me to walk through it. I have had so many changes this past week (year). When I was challenged to pitch my upcoming book to an agent and take it the traditional publishing route, which it deserved, the fear of rejection letters popped up (the reason I have self-published all my other books) . . . but I talked myself through it and reminded myself of the many kind words I’ve heard today and in this journey tonight for my medical intuitive class. Yes, I’m stepping over the threshold of that invisible door, letting go of any fears or insecurities that linger after hearing so many encouraging and supportive words. My destiny stood before me, echoing a childhood yearning. It was the beckoning glint of the golden ring on the carousel, a prize I had spent countless rides dreaming of but could never quite reach from atop the rising and falling horses. That golden ring, a symbol of wishes fulfilled, had always felt tantalizingly out of reach. But now, facing this threshold, I understood: the years had passed, I had grown, and the time had come to finally mount the flying steed of my aspirations and grasp the dream that had once seemed impossible.        I must walk through, for it is this lifetime’s journey for which I am needed to share messages from the ancestors and all those gathered around. And just like every door before it, this invisible one held a profound lesson: the limitations we face are often self-imposed, and the courage to step through them opens us to the very destiny we are meant to embrace. I walked through the door, over the threshold of my fear, and into the arms of my past self, my guides, family, friends, and you, my readers and followers. May you, too, one day, walk through your invisible doors.