7/4/2024 0 Comments Larissa and CopperTwo weeks after a soul retrieval session with Apothic Energy, Larissa experienced a life-threatening moment while paddle boarding with her dog, Copper. Larissa wrote down the details of the event and sent them to me, believing the occurrence was "deeply connected" to the work we are doing together. Below, please find her healing story.
Let me tell you the story of my birthday—a day that tested my spirit and revealed a strength I didn’t know I had. It’s deeply connected to the work we’ve been doing together, almost as if the universe conspired to teach me a lesson I was ready to learn. I decided to celebrate by camping at Lemolo Lake, a place known for its tranquil beauty and crystal-clear waters. The morning was perfect. Around 10:30 AM, the lake was so calm and serene, like a glass sheet reflecting the sky. I could see the lakebed as if it were just beneath the surface. Copper, my loyal dog, was securely fastened in his life vest. We set off on my paddleboard, gliding out about 40 or 50 feet from the shore. I cast my fishing line and let the stillness of the water and the gentle morning sun envelop me. It felt like a dream—everything was just right. But as they say, tranquility can be deceptive. After about twenty minutes of blissful fishing, a sudden, ferocious wind began to howl across the lake. The transformation was startling. One moment, everything was calm and idyllic; the next, I was in a battle against nature. The water churned with whitecaps, and the peaceful lake I had set out on was now a tempest. The wind was pushing me farther from shore, and panic started to grip me. I quickly began to pack up my fishing gear, but I had already drifted far beyond my comfort zone. The realization hit me hard: I didn’t have my life vest on, and I was much farther out than I had planned to be. Fear surged through me as I attempted to paddle back towards camp. The wind was relentless, and it was clear that I wasn’t going to make any headway. Each stroke seemed futile as I was blown in the opposite direction, farther and farther from safety. The wind had its own plans, pushing me towards the other side of the lake—away from the camp, away from any help. I tried to calm my rising panic, thinking I could at least reach a fork in the middle of the lake, where I might find some shelter. But the lake stretched on endlessly before me, and the wind’s force was unyielding. I paddled harder than I ever had in my life, but it felt like battling a monstrous, invisible foe. The wind gusted at 30 mph, and the waves grew larger and more menacing, threatening to topple me and Copper into the cold water. I couldn’t risk standing, so I stayed seated, my legs going numb from the strain. I pushed forward with all my might, every muscle in my body burning, until I reached a small island. Relief washed over me for a moment—until I realized there was nowhere to dock. The island’s shore was lined with fallen trees and steep cliffs, and the waves were pushing us dangerously close to them. I knew I couldn’t stay there. With nowhere to secure the board and the waves growing ever more threatening, I had to make a choice: attempt one final, desperate push across the open water or risk being smashed against the rocks. I gathered every ounce of strength and resolve I had left. This was it—the moment where I had to confront my fear head-on. I set my sights on the distant shore and paddled with all the power I could muster. As I fought my way through the waves, the enormity of my situation struck me. I was alone on a vast, angry lake, and the realization hit me hard. If I didn’t succeed in this last attempt, I might not make it back. There was no one to rescue me, no safety net. It was just me, my board, and Copper, pitted against the ferocity of nature. The thought was terrifying, but it also ignited a fierce determination. I had to make it back—I had to survive. When I finally reached shallow water, my relief was overwhelming. I stumbled to tie my board to a fallen tree and collapsed onto the shore. My hands were trembling so violently that I could barely secure my paddle. I sat there for what felt like an eternity, holding Copper close, trying to calm the storm inside me. The wind still howled around us, and the realization that I had left my phone behind added to my distress. What was supposed to be a short fishing trip had turned into a battle for survival, and I knew my family would be frantic with worry by now. Looking out over the churning water, I saw no one. Not a single boat or person. The lake was vast and empty, and a chilling thought settled in my mind: "Nobody is going to save you. You will fight, or you will not make it." The voice in my head was relentless, echoing my deepest fears. In that moment of despair, a tiny white jumping spider appeared on my arm. It was an odd sight in the middle of this turmoil—a delicate, beautiful creature amid the chaos. I spoke to her, telling her she was the prettiest spider I’d ever seen and wishing I could take her back with me. Somehow, her presence calmed me. I couldn’t afford to break down. There was no time for tears, only action. I gently placed the spider on the shore and steeled myself for the next challenge. My only option was to stay close to the shoreline, moving slowly and methodically. If I got too tired or flipped over, at least I could reach land quickly. This time, I knelt on the board to give myself more power and stability. The wind was still strong, but every inch forward felt like a victory. It wasn’t just adrenaline—it was a deep, primal force driving me on. I started to believe in my ability to overcome this, to trust in my strength and resolve. I knew my body would protect me, that I had what it took to make it back. The journey was grueling. My muscles screamed in protest with each stroke, and sometimes the wind was so fierce that all I could do was dig my paddle into the water to prevent being blown backward. But I kept going, driven by a newfound sense of determination. Eventually, I reached another stretch of open water that I had to cross to stay on course towards camp. I looked at Copper and said, "Hold on, boy, this is gonna be a rough one." Then, I threw myself into paddling with everything I had left. I didn’t stop to breathe or rest. I just kept pushing forward, each stroke a defiance against the storm. As I looked up, I realized I had almost crossed the expanse. I was moving faster than I ever had, slicing through the wind and waves. A wild exhilaration took over, and I found myself laughing, shouting with joy and triumph. "Yes! This is it! This is what I live for!" Finally, I saw my sister in a small fishing boat, her face a mix of confusion and relief. I waved and shouted, "Whohoo!" I didn’t care that she had been searching for me for hours in the storm. I was determined to reach shore on my own terms. When I finally did, my legs gave way under me. I collapsed onto the sand, utterly spent but profoundly changed. I lay there, a different person than the one who had set out that morning. I had been tested in a way I never imagined, forced to rely entirely on my judgment, strength, and will. It was a profound, transformative experience. I realized that I had found a deep respect and love for myself—my mind, which stayed calm under pressure, and my body, which carried me through when I thought I had nothing left. As I reflected on the day, I thought of the white jumping spider, remembering how you said the spirits would send me a sign when I needed them most. That encounter, coupled with the strength I discovered within myself, was the sign I had been waiting for. It was a gift, a reminder that I am capable of facing any challenge, no matter how daunting. And it’s a lesson I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
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