From Strobe to Inner Light

In my early twenties, my life was split right down the middle.

On Saturday nights, I was in a downtown nightclub under strobe lights until the early morning hours when the club finally closed—sweaty, laughing, free, losing myself in the distraction.

A few hours later, I’d be sitting in a meditation group on Sunday morning, trying to follow my breath while the pulse of the club still hummed inside my ribs.

I never connected these two worlds. One felt wild and electric; the other felt quiet and searching. Both were real. Both were mine. And just like the years I spent running between psychology classes at CSU and the mystical teachings of my meditation group, I didn’t yet know how to cradle them both. And when we can’t hold both parts of ourselves, we start making choices from the part that feels louder, not always the still, quiet part that feels true.

Years later, when Eckhart Tolle said he once asked himself, “Am I one, or am I two?” something inside me recognized it immediately. I had lived that question long before I heard it spoken.

Life shifted, as life does. The nightclub years fell away—not because I stopped loving dance, but because motherhood rearranged everything. I became a wife, then a mother, then a homeschooler.

My nights belonged to sleeping babies instead of loud music.

My days filled with dishes, lessons, and the steady rhythm of caring for a family.

But the dancer in me didn’t disappear. She just moved differently. I danced holding my babies. I danced while folding laundry. Sometimes I danced only on the inside. Movement was still my language—it had just learned to whisper.

Around this time, something deeper began opening in me. Meditation and spiritual study became lifelines. I was having inner experiences that felt more alive than anything around me. But I still had responsibilities. I felt torn between the world inside of me and the world outside of me.

Then one morning, everything changed.

I was at the kitchen sink, washing dishes, when a presence entered my awareness with such clarity it startled me. I didn’t see it with my eyes, but with that inner sight that feels more real than anything physical. And I heard it the same way—through direct knowing, rising unmistakably from within.

“You’re going to have to think in terms of oneness to get through this.”

I stood there with my hands in warm dishwater, caught between who I had been and who I was becoming.

How do I see this in terms of oneness?

I didn’t have the full picture yet.

Slowly, I began to understand. Oneness wasn’t an idea. It was a shift in identity. It meant letting go of the old conditioned self—the one held together by fear and old habits. It meant realizing that my spiritual life and my daily responsibilities weren’t separate at all.

They were part of the same path.

It wasn’t easy. Some days I felt like I was splitting apart. When I clung to the old self, I felt unsettled and out of place—like I was trying to squeeze into a life that no longer fit. There’s a particular kind of discomfort that comes when we go against what we know deep down—an inner tug that never really leaves us alone.

And every time I slipped back, life offered a reminder:

"Come back. You’re drifting.”

Every time I listened, clarity returned.

Then something new began to unfold. The dance movement that returned wasn’t wild anymore—it was deep, quiet, and steady. There was joy in it again, but a different kind of joy. Not the rush of a crowded dance floor, but a warm, peaceful fullness that rose from the inside.

I found myself moving without thinking. My hands traced shapes in the air that I had never learned, yet they felt strangely familiar. It was as if my body remembered a language my mind had forgotten.

I finally asked, “What am I dancing?”

The answer came quietly: “Mudras.”

I barely knew the word, yet my body seemed to understand. So I followed the nudge—watching videos, learning the meanings behind the gestures, discovering how movement could be a form of prayer instead of escape.

And something inside me settled.

The dancer and the meditator stopped pulling me in different directions.

They worked together.

They were one.

And in that oneness, something relaxed in me, too.

We all have moments when the old self falls away and the new one hasn’t quite arrived.

If you’re there now, be gentle with yourself. Your own knowing is still there, even if you haven’t been listening to it lately. Clarity has a way of rising exactly when it’s needed—quietly, steadily, and often right in the middle of ordinary life.

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 About Jennifer Lasell

Jennifer Lasell is a psychic medium, spiritual life coach, and energy healer dedicated to helping people connect with their intuition and inner wisdom. Through meditation, reflection, and spirit-guided practices, she offers grounded tools and gentle guidance to support emotional and spiritual well-being.

Her work encourages people to recognize their own inner clarity and the subtle ways guidance speaks—through intuition, resonance, synchronicity, and everyday moments that quietly open the door. Jennifer creates a sense of community and belonging, inviting others to explore the unseen, trust their sensitivity, and return to the deeper knowing already within them.

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