When the Power Went Out, I Started Seeing Things in a New Light

A personal reflection on the spiritual meaning of a power outage, unexpected pauses, and making space for a new chapter.

Recently, our entire city experienced a power outage that lasted a whole day, leaving us without electricity, internet, or running water.

I hadn’t expected a power outage to become a spiritual experience, but as I sat with what had happened, I began to wonder whether the interruption itself had something to show me.

Losing the internet was easy for me. The lack of water was inconvenient but manageable. But the heat without air conditioning? That was another story entirely.

I couldn’t even meditate comfortably. At some point, I found myself asking God,

“What am I supposed to do here? I can’t even meditate because it’s so hot!”

Then another thought came to me.

Maybe there was nothing I needed to do.

Perhaps meditation had gradually become another task, another tool for achieving something, when what I really needed was simply to be here, breathing and allowing myself to exist as I was.

It sounds obvious now, but in the middle of that heat, it wasn’t so straightforward. The experience brought me back to something I have been learning in my spiritual journey: being present with God doesn’t always require a meditation practice

Sometimes, it means being here with whatever is happening, trusting that even in uncomfortable circumstances, I can still find peace and grace with God.

When Darkness Reminded Me of the Stars

The power outage reminded me of Nyepi, Bali’s Day of Silence, when the island observes a day of stillness and darkness. It was during my time in Bali that my early starseed remembrance journey unfolded, and the memory returned during the outage.

But what made this experience particularly striking was what happened that night.

I dreamt of the Council of Light.

I cannot remember the exact details, but I remember the words repeating themselves: Council of Light. Council of Stars. Light of Council. Council of Light.

When I woke up, I was intrigued. I tried meditating on the experience, but received no specific vision or obvious message. Searching online only brought up mixed interpretations.

Yet I was less concerned with figuring out exactly who belonged to the Council than with understanding what the experience might mean for me.

So I prayed and asked the Council of Light to support me in my divine mission and deepen my journey through experience over time. I wanted to discover what this connection meant as it unfolded, without rushing to define it.

Not long afterward, a light language transmission connected with the Lyran Council arrived on its own — the kind of thing that tends to reach me once I have stopped looking for it. Its message was about slowing down, recalibrating, and allowing things to unfold.

Even when nothing is happening, everything is happening.

The darkness, the memories, the dream, and the transmission had all arrived together. I couldn’t explain the connection, but I was curious about where it might lead.

What If the Interruption Was the Point?

The more I reflected on the outage, the more I began to see it as a metaphor for a forced shutdown.

Like a computer suddenly losing power, everything came to a halt. In my own spiritual interpretation, it felt like an interruption to an old timeline.

What if the interruption wasn’t simply about stopping, but about creating space for recalibration? What if we could return to the same life without automatically returning as the same person?

When the electricity came back, the city resumed its activities. Outwardly, everything looked much the same. But I found myself wondering whether I needed to plug back into life in the same way.

Perhaps whatever needed to collapse could be allowed to collapse, rather than immediately restoring the momentum of the old timeline.

An older version of me might have been eager to get back to work, feeling I had already taken too much time off.

But what if I could revisit my plans without assuming that the person who conceived them was still the person who needed to carry them out?

Maybe I would still want the same things. Maybe my intentions would change. Maybe something else would emerge.

I didn’t need to abandon my plans. I needed room to reconsider them.

Perhaps recalibration means allowing the person I am today to decide what comes next, rather than automatically continuing where I left off yesterday.

Perhaps this experience isn’t just about what happens when life comes to a halt, but what happens when we stop rushing to get back to where we were.

Is there something in your life you’ve been pushing to make happen, or a plan you’ve been eager to return to? What might you discover if you approached it again without assuming that nothing has changed?

What if you didn’t have to return to the life you paused, but could choose how you want to move forward from here?

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