Grace in the Shadows: A Spiritual Rebirth from Darkness

A premonitory dream, motherhood, and the journey from darkness to light, guided by faith, awareness, and love.

A dream, a daughter, and an impending rebirth from the depths of shadow.

Many years ago in Argentina, I dreamed of an underground dungeon. It was not just any dungeon but a crack in the earth, a dark hollow where the walls seemed to devour everything. It wasn’t very deep, but it was vast. There were many of us there—living shadows, disjointed bodies writhing in desperation to escape. Everything was brown, opaque, as if life had been drained from every being that was trying to climb and flee, even if it meant dragging itself in futile attempts due to a lack of vitality and presence.

I was there too. But my skin still had color, my body still retained its human form. And although I was in a state of desolation and fear, I felt a deep compassion for everything and everyone, even for myself—something that was not usual for me. Suddenly, I perceived the light from the opening more intensely, and a warm and loving presence, like that of a father who never abandons his child, enveloped me on every level. Before I could understand it, I was lifted above everyone there, suspended in the air, as if gravity had yielded to grace. I felt the air shift, the weight of despair fade, and in an instant, I was floating up a spiral stone staircase, ascending swiftly.

I was no longer observing myself from the outside. I was the one rising, light as the wind, ethereal as a sigh. The darkness was left behind, and suddenly, I found myself at the top of a lighthouse.

The white curtains danced with the breeze. The cold and firm stone supported my presence in that solitary yet immensely luminous space. I breathed. I felt safe. For the first time in a long while, the certainty that everything was all right enveloped me like an embrace.

I stood by the window for a moment, gazing at the sun. Then I turned around, and there it was—a cradle. I knew it was a girl, that she was my daughter, even though I couldn’t see her. It wasn’t necessary. I knew that it had been her—her existence, her essence—that had lifted me. It was her arrival that had tipped the balance in favor of the light. Her mere presence, her very being, had been the lighthouse that guided me toward a new horizon. And I knew it because the love and peace I felt were so immense, and at the same time, I was determined and certain that it would always be this way—for her, for me, for everything that exists.

The dream ended there, but I never forgot it. That dream would later reveal itself as a vision of spiritual rebirth from darkness—one that took root in the depths of fear, but reached for the light.

The next day, I told Juan, the father of a very dear friend. Juan had opened the doors of his home to me so that I could stay for a while between travels. I had taken my first trip to California a few months before and needed support and containment to process the radical shift in my perception of life. Juan was older than me, and his kind soul listened attentively whenever I needed to share something, so I had no hesitation in telling him about it. He was a tarot reader and explained some things about the dream’s symbolism. Although there were many luminous aspects, he seemed a little concerned—attentive, I would say. I felt that we both saw it more as a premonition than as a past life or something irrelevant. And honestly, I also felt a little uneasy… or alert.

A few years later, in Mexico, I became pregnant with Vida, my daughter. She was not planned, but she was invited—though that is another chapter. And a year and a half later, in 2020, the entire world fell into a collective dungeon, forcing humanity to confront its own abyss of uncertainty and fear. I descended with it. Just like in the dream, I saw distorted faces both inside and outside of me, I felt the collective despair, I experienced panic, the terror of disempowerment, and memories of physical and psychological torture.

But something inside me remembered. Something inexplicable to me at the time, something I now call faith, being, consciousness—it knew that there was still a way out. And with each breath, each meditation, each moment when Vida slept against my chest and her warmth reminded me of the light, my determination for peace grew stronger and stronger. And I realized that finding or building, becoming conscious or creating, are two sides of the same coin, and that is how the staircase to God, to wholeness, was designed within me.

It was not an immediate ascent. I did not float as I had in the dream, not in seconds. But little by little, the gravity of fear lost its grip, and lightness began to take its place. I understood that the cradle in my dream not only represented my daughter but also the version of myself that was being born alongside her. Her presence was the compass, the certainty, the elevation that anchored me in the belief that something else was possible.

Today, looking back from the future, it is clear that this dream was not just a fleeting vision but a premonition of a journey to come—and that this pit, however terrifying it seemed, was not just a dungeon but also a womb. There, every soul had the possibility of being reborn in life if it was their time to do so. It was not merely a prison; it was a threshold.

This dream foretold not only my path but also the choice we all have—to remain trapped in the labyrinth of fear and contraction or to remember that, at any moment, we can surrender to grace and accept the benevolent hand of the light.

The mind will try to return to where it is most accustomed to residing. Redirecting and creating a new focus and inner state was a conscious decision, frustrating and painful at times, but today I can say that it is no longer filled with suffering or struggle. And I wish for all of us the path of least resistance, once and for all, forever.

Peace and ease,

Lu