Following the Whisper

The small bridge on our land. Sometimes clarity arrives at quiet crossroads.

 

Sometimes clarity arrives quietly. 

Not as a dramatic revelation, but as a subtle moment when the path ahead begins to make sense.

Places like this small bridge on our property often remind me of that. A crossing point between directions, where a pause naturally invites reflection about which way to go next.

Years ago, I asked for that kind of clarity.

Not for an easy path, and not for a life without obstacles. I simply asked to know what should come next.

At the time, I was standing at a crossroads in my life. Something needed to change, career, direction, perhaps even identity, but I hesitated. The signs were there: challenges to mind and body, and a growing sense that the path I was on no longer fit. Still, I stalled, uncertain of what the right step might be.

So I prayed for the path to become clear.

Not long after, change arrived with unmistakable force.

A serious car accident altered the course of my life in an instant. The months that followed were filled with pain, major life changes, and eventually the realization that my previous career path had come to an abrupt end. Suddenly, the question of “what next?” was no longer theoretical.

The path had indeed become clear.

Focus on healing.

Traditional medicine helped address the immediate injuries, but deeper layers of healing took longer. During those years I explored many different approaches, some conventional, some well outside my previous comfort zone. At the same time, I faced a practical reality: the career I had built was no longer physically sustainable.

For the first time in my life, I allowed myself to follow what I felt drawn toward rather than what seemed sensible on paper.

I began paying attention to small clues. Quiet nudges. Subtle hints about where my curiosity and energy wanted to go. Bit by bit, those whispers led me into unexpected places: expressive arts training, eco-psychology, and a deeper exploration of the relationship between creativity and healing.

It was during one of those trainings that something surprising happened.

One afternoon, in a windowless basement studio, our instructor gave the class an unusual assignment:

What would your soul look like if it were a painting?

The exercise was meant to explore grief through expressive art. The instructions were simple, paint it, then wipe the canvas clean and begin again.

Except I couldn’t do it.

The painting that emerged felt complete in a way I couldn’t explain, and wiping it away felt wrong. After a brief conversation with the instructor about the grief process and my previous experience working in funeral services, I was allowed to leave it as it was.

During the class critique, my classmates responded with surprising tenderness.

“I could sit and look at that forever.”
“How peaceful.”
“I’d buy that.”

Their comments were kind, but something about them didn’t quite match what I saw in the painting. Curious, I later asked my family what they saw.

Their answers were very different.

“A fire coming over the mountain.”
“Gorilla-face mountain!”
“A dragonfly.”

Fire. Change. Transformation.

The painting eventually became known as Soul on Fire, though at the time it was simply an honest attempt to put something wordless onto paper.

Soul On Fire by Sherri Phibbs

Looking back now, I see that this period of my life marked a turning point.

The accident had forced me to stop. But what followed taught me something more important: how to listen.

Not just to external advice or expectations, but to quieter signals, those small inner recognitions that appear when we allow ourselves to pay attention.

Sometimes they arrive as curiosity.
Sometimes as intuition.
Sometimes simply as a gentle sense of being drawn in a particular direction.

They are rarely loud.

But when we learn to notice them, they can guide us toward places we might never have planned, yet somehow needed to go.

Years later, when I reflect on that prayer for clarity, I smile a little.

The path did become clear.

Just not in the way I expected.

Sometimes the guidance we ask for arrives not as a carefully laid plan, but as a whisper at the edge of awareness, an invitation to take the next small step and see where it leads.

And sometimes, the most important thing we can do is simply follow.

- Sherri

 

The Gentle Wild Journal explores the meeting place between perception, nature, creativity, and meaningful lived experience.

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At The Gentle Wild, many of our gatherings explore this quiet practice of listening, not as a technique, but as a way of paying attention to lived experience.

If you are interested in small, thoughtful gatherings exploring meaningful conversation and nature-based reflection, you can learn more about upcoming events at The Gentle Wild.