To the untrained mind, the roadblocks in our lives appear to be just that—obstacles to go around, petty annoyances that dampen our day. As we grow in awareness, we come to view these challenges as growth opportunities, little tests we've arranged to see how we're doing on our path to self-mastery. Often, as I approach another graduation in consciousness, I find myself facing a series of such tests that can feel like midterms and finals rolled into one.

Non-resistance and non-blaming have been huge lessons for me. The saying goes, "What you resist, persists" and I've been the Queen of Resistance! It's a crown I wore with a certain defensive pride — until I began to be bored senseless by the energy it took to fight what others adapted to easily. Resistance kept me in survival mode, running on adrenaline. This may have served me well as a child, when I needed to protect myself from being emotionally pushed around. Yet I knew it was high time to release this ally, to allow it to morph into its close cousin, persistence.

Persistence turns the stickiness that keeps me trapped into suction cups that help me climb: the column of light to the world stage, the ladder of faith to step fully into my role as a planetary change agent, wedding old skills and acquired knowledge in the alchemical fire. This is how we forge true gold, also known as wisdom.

Persistence, when predicated on faith, is resistance in a higher octave. That's the beauty of alchemy: nothing need ever die, only transmute. Energy can neither be created nor destroyed; it just changes form.

This is what the discovery process looked like for me at first, as I integrated my "dark night of the soul" training with everyday experience. The knowing cooked in me. Then I was presented with an opportunity to apply my new understanding.

On a beautiful Saturday morning, I received a wonderful massage, something I'd been promising myself for ages. The practitioner was nurturing and talented. One of the last movements she tried with me, however, surprised us both. My right shoulder held on as she attempted to turn me on my side, and while it felt awkward, there was no pain. We agreed that it seemed to be an area in which I stored a lot of old tension, and we chuckled about my resistance to letting it go.

That night I drove two hours to attend a fantastic multimedia event, danced joyously to evocative drum rhythms, and later fell into deep slumber.

Sunday morning, I woke to more pain than I'd experienced in years. My neck, shoulder, entire right side felt frozen in an old motif — and I noticed it affected my digestion, how my body looked and felt, and my emotional state. The pain subsided as the day wore on, to a dull ache by Monday, but I was not a happy camper.

I called my chiropractor, Rebecca, and scheduled a session for that afternoon. She practices a holistic art that transcends chiropractic: a blend of light touch (Network Spinal Analysis), craniosacral, Polarity therapy, and a few other modalities, all of which combine under her skillful hands to help her clients release old patterns and grow beyond who they've been.

Rebecca is a true healer. She works with me outdoors, because she understands, from the dramatic difference in my breathing patterns and in the results we co-create, that my shifts are far greater outside her building, which has a chemical odor that causes my body to contract. We usually take her spare massage table down to the unoccupied office at the end of the row of storefronts in the mini-mall where she works.

On Monday, however, her landlord was showing that empty space to potential renters. He immediately said, "We can't have a massage going on while I'm trying to rent the space," or something like that. Rebecca tried to explain that it wasn't massage, but I was unperturbed. I said, "Well, perhaps we ought to just skip it then." David suggested we go to the grassy area behind the parking lot, and, though it was awkward to set up the table on the uneven, damp grass, we did so.

She kept wondering aloud what he could have meant by another inexplicable comment he'd made, and I found myself in the amusing position of defending him.

It all made perfect sense to me: his job is to rent and manage the building. It is strange to have someone practicing bodywork out on the sidewalk when everyone else is in their offices, regardless of the reason. I could absolutely see the situation from David's perspective, and although part of my brain was afraid we'd have to go back inside, my high Self just kept sending David light and affirming that the situation was working out for the good of all concerned.

As we completed our session and walked toward her office, David was driving away, cellphone to his ear. He stopped his red Mazda coupe and shouted out the window, "Rebecca, you can work out there now." We thanked him, and as I wrote her a check, I suddenly understood that it had been a test for me, and I'd passed with flying colors. I said out loud, "Thank you, Spirit!" I could see the "A" hanging in the air, and I laughed and thanked David's spirit for his participation.

I explained to Rebecca that two years earlier, I'd had a flat tire and had failed that test miserably. I'd taken out my frustration on the tow truck driver who came to put on the spare. I told Rebecca that when I realized what was happening, I said in horror to the man from whose house I’d phoned, "It's a test, isn't it, and I'm not doing very well." He said, "No, you're not." I went outside to make amends, but it was too late. The tow truck man had completed his assignment and driven off in a huff.

I was so pleased to have learned this lesson. David was a reclaiming for my earlier fiasco. Then Tuesday arrived.

The pain, which had been on my right side (masculine/aggressive energy, old protective holding patterns) oscillated. It was now on my left. A subtle shift, but I was aware of it. The left side is the feminine, receptivity, flow.

I had about an hour to run a series of errands; I was in high gear. I stopped at the high-touch car wash, where the attendant takes the car through and you wait on the receiving end. The man wiping down the exterior signaled me to come over, and indicated my front left tire. It was no longer round, but very flat. He said it had probably been losing air for a while, and the car wash completed the job.

My instinctive reaction? "It wasn't this way when I drove in; I think the car wash did it!" He stiffened. "Well, I can get the manager." Something was stirring in me. I calmed down. I said, "No, I'll just call Triple A. Or — wait a second. Could you change the flat for me?" The man agreed to put on my spare, popped the trunk, and as I sat down on the bench to wait, watching his movements, the situation clarified completely.

In my head, I heard a line from an old Emmylou Harris song, Boulder to Birmingham: "…Comin' down to wash me clean." Yesterday I'd been in my glory. Victory feels like that. Could I sustain my new learning in the face of the next challenge? It was an instant replay from two years before. This was my opportunity to do the scenario with the Triple A tow truck driver differently. A lesson is repeated until learned.

I walked over and apologized. "I tend to let little things upset me. I'm sure the tire could have gone flat in lots of ways." The man asked helpfully if I lived around construction (my neighbors had been remodeling), saying that, even though there didn't appear to be a nail stuck in the tire, I might have punctured it on something. He also recommended a mechanic at a shop where he used to work. I tipped him for going "above and beyond the call," and saw my grade. It was a C/B, meaning it had started out as a C, but I'd gotten extra credit when I changed my attitude.

At Firestone, the mechanic said there was no hole, and the flat was due to a pinched valve stem, probably from the car wash rails. I was momentarily angry, then realized that that was the whole point: it wasn't about how the tire became flat, but about how I'd handle the test.

There are no holes in the Divine Feminine. The holes in our lives are our blame, anger, and righteous resistance to Truth. When we allow ourselves to be receptively guided, we're always washed clean.

Copyright © 2006-2012 by Amara Rose. All rights reserved.

Author's Bio: 

Amara Rose is a Feminine Frequency Accelerator and metaphysical "midwife" for our global rebirth. As a life coach, speaker, workshop facilitator and writer, she guides others to create spiritually successful change. She is the author of the inspirational CD What You Need To Know Now: A Road Map for Personal Transformation, and a contributor to many health, business and new thought publications. Learn more at Amara may be reached at, or 800-862-0157 in the USA.