And yet, the journey into the world—the simple act of it becoming available—has not been as seamless as one might expect.
I found myself moving through waves of frustration, old patterns of control, care, and responsibility rising to the surface… and alongside them, something quieter… something that simply watches, waits, and reminds me to soften.
I’ve been guided to write about the delay in my book, The Eight Keys, becoming available across the worldwide marketplaces where books are sold… so here I am.
It’s all so very interesting to me.
At first, my left-brain ego was swayed between my old Enrica—the one with the corporate operational leader hat, concerned with attention to detail—and the frustration around systems that feel like they could be more aligned, perhaps with just a bit more care. And of course, this opened the door to memories of how much I actually did care.
Care for my teams, care for guests, care about creating experiences that felt seamless and thoughtful. And yes, the realization that I was overcompensating and over-adapting came to the forefront as well.
Then another aspect of my left-brain ego showed up—the loud, overly organized voice.
The part of me that feels frustrated when things take time… that can feel unseen, underappreciated, and vulnerable in ways that are not always easy to process. And beneath that, a deeper layer of hurt—one that is touched when I perceive a lack of care or compassion, whether on a global scale or in the smallest everyday moments.
Care and compassion… truly.
I also recognize the many moments when I, too, may not have met others in the ways they needed, recognizing that we all move within our own perspectives of life, our own timing, our own unique expression.
Still… there is a part of me that would stand in the streets with a giant banner, alternating the words care, compassion, and self-care.
Because it is through self-care that I am able to hear the softer, truer voice of the heart. The part of me that observes all of this… in awe and wonder. The part that waits patiently for me to pause, holds my hand, and gently says: Doesn’t it make sense that the very structures we cannot currently avoid—like global book distribution systems—might experience friction just as a book about harmony and inner stillness is being released? It makes sense, doesn’t it?
And so, some softness arrived. Less tension in my neck and shoulders. A bit more depth in my sleep. More time spent looking out the window, watching the powerful winds speak with trees.
Don’t get me wrong…it’s still frustrating and so rude! Ha... a natural, very human experience. But, at the same time, I know this beautiful little book will find its way.
It is, after all, a matter of data going through screens, and maybe someone has to push a few more buttons; I honestly don’t know. But it will happen. Things are aligning in their own way.
And so, here I am. Sharing, as I love to do, the inner landscapes… and the mythic way in which I perceive the world—through symbols, through subtle messages, through a cosmos that speaks in such clever ways.
There is, at times, a sense of resistance to the emergence of higher frequencies into our shared fields. And yet… those frequencies are already here.
Any perceived delay does not stop what is already in motion. At most, it just pauses the visible expression of something that is already flowing. So, it feels like an attempt that cannot truly succeed.
It invites reflection across all our systems and structures that try to prevent brightness, peace, natural cycles, rhythms and healing, and the expansion of the heart-mind.
All I can do is remain present with what is... all of it. To enjoy the words and the energies of the work... as I open the pages and begin reading once again for the first time. To share with those who resonate. To continue emanating care and compassion, regardless.
I share all of this because it’s important to honor and truly find a place of love toward all aspects of ourselves. I love those aspects of myself that feel feisty at times. The parts that want to push against what feels misaligned or neglectful. The parts that long to be free from all forms of restriction—even algorithms and systems. All of it, in its complexity and intensity, needs to be felt and heard.
My body felt some of this friction even before my head-brain understood. Days before the publication date, there was a kind of physical discomfort I couldn’t fully explain.
Birthing pains, some say. Anticipation, nervousness, exposure, sure... I would call it calibration pains... but the stronger signal was, prepare for impact, you’re not going to like it all, and it’s all ok as it is. What matters is that those who receive The Eight Keys will feel what is meant for them… in their own time.
And so, I take deep breaths and feel it all.
Holding both the tenderness and the truth of this process.
Holding the book… and everything that came with it.
With this, I encourage you all to walk through each day more fully, more courageously, more accepting, more caring and compassionate...toward yourself first, of course.
