Eagle Mountain, Minnesota
Hellooooo, you precious pearl,
I once sat across from a beautiful soul who was deeply wounded. As if to mask her pain, she had surrounded herself with darkness—from thieves who stole her innocence to drugs that dimmed her light.
As we sat together, I felt her soften. The edges were not as sharp. Her shell began to open, and she asked if she could sit facing away from me while we talked. Then she shared, bravely and honestly:
“I want to keep talking with you, but I just can’t bear to see your light.”
Her words moved me to my core. So attuned to her own experience. So courageous to name what was true for her.
And they shocked me. I had never considered that my light could be too much for someone to see.
I keep thinking of this precious soul as I watch what is unfolding in Minnesota. Having grown up there, with so many friends and family still rooted in that place, I feel deeply connected to what is happening—perhaps as many of you do.
I feel destabilized. I feel grief. I feel helpless.
And I also feel proud. I am witnessing so many people choosing to be the light in what feels like a very dark time.
Remembering that woman, I find myself wondering: How are people holding the light right now? Could it feel too bright for some?
My hope is that if light surrounds darkness from all angles, it has no choice but to soften… and eventually dissolve.
At the premiere of my film Cracked, these words came through me—unscripted, unplanned, as if I were simply a vessel:
Hate does not heal hate. It only propagates it.
The only thing that transforms it is love.
If we can extend compassion, even when we don’t understand, that is what heals us all.
May we continue to shine. The world needs our light.
And I am here for any of you who need a little extra love or support right now. Just reach out, and we’ll find time.
Shuck with love,
Jessica