Bliss in the Midst of Loss
A story of grief, presence, and the light that’s always available.
Why do we bond so much over struggle?
Have you ever asked yourself this question?
We bond over struggle because, on some level, it feels safer. Most of us were raised in environments where pain, stress, and complaint were the common language.
If I say, “I’m exhausted” or “life is so hard right now”—others nod, they understand, they mirror back.
Struggle becomes a currency of belonging.
Our nervous systems were trained to scan for danger, to be hyper-aware of what’s wrong. Sharing what’s hard feels natural, almost primal—it reassures us that we’re not alone in the fight for survival.
Those are patterns of survivorship that may have served you until now. But if you are attracted to the Sacred Business conversation, you’re likely feeling the pull to something greater—to stop being shaped by the environment around you and start holding your own frequency steady.
Too often, we let the collective mood absorb us. We hesitate to feel differently than the majority, fearing we will be harshly judged, misunderstood, or even resented.
So we dim our light, not out of malice, but out of a deep fear of separation: “Better to belong in misery than be isolated in joy.”
And here is where we often make some confusion. We think: “If you’re hurting, I must hurt too, otherwise I’m abandoning you.”
But true compassion is not joining the wound—it is holding a vision of wholeness when another cannot. It is seeing and honoring someone’s suffering, while staying rooted in love, in light, in possibility. Compassion feels your pain without being consumed by it, and from that space it offers true support.
Instead, unconsciously—out of protection or the need to fit in—we match the low vibration and suffering around us.
I had a profound experience years ago when I lost two dear friends to cancer.
They were both in their early 40s, and it was the first time I had witnessed so much physical suffering up close. It was hard beyond words, but it also gave me one of the most beautiful revelations of my life.
One of them was in a palliative care center for a couple of months before she died. I visited weekly. At the time, I was in the early stages of my energy healing work, and I did everything I could to support her. I took her for walks, brought her to the sunlight, spoke with her about a bright future, and gave her energy sessions. Everything in me wanted her body to heal and live.
The day before she passed, I was sitting by her side, holding her hand. Her body was so thin, her skin pale, her face aged decades in only months. Still, I asked if she wanted to go outside.
That day, she said no.
She slowly sat up, looked at me with quiet strength, and whispered in my ear: “I am well.”
Even now, I can feel the truth of that moment. It wasn’t her body speaking—it was her soul. I knew it instantly. She was beyond the illness, beyond the decay. She was whole. And I was given the gift of seeing her that way.
The next day, she died. And yet, I could feel her presence stronger than ever. She had invited me into the wholeness of her being—free, luminous, beyond the suffering body.
At her funeral, while my heart missed her, my body was overflowing with a profound sense of bliss and peace. Months later, when my other dear friend passed, I felt the same.
Both funerals were filled with the energy of wrongness: “They were too young.” But in my body, there was no wrongness—only wholeness.
It was not easy. My mind kept questioning how I could feel joy when everyone else was in grief. But I chose not to fight my own experience. I stayed seated, breathing deeply into my belly, allowing the light to pour through me.
I felt both grief and bliss at once—loss in the human sense, and profound connection in the soul sense.
From them, I received a priceless gift: to experience death not as wrongness or avoidance, but as part of the joy of being alive. I learned that sadness and grief do not exclude the light of divine bliss.
The light is always on, even when the world says it shouldn’t be.
My lesson, which I am still far from having fully mastered, is this: I can always choose my bliss, my joy—even in the presence of others who choose otherwise. And I don’t need to dim my light to feel accepted.
And this is not just about funerals or loss. It is about how we live, how we work, how we create. If I can hold light in the middle of grief, I can also hold it when others doubt me, when the world complains, when business culture says “it has to be hard.”
This is where Sacred Business begins. The path is not about bypassing struggle or making everything “positive.” It is about feeling the full spectrum of human emotions while remembering that the light within is always available—at choice.
From that place, we create not from fear or survival, but from joy, love, bliss, and oneness with the universe.
Sacred businesses are often seeded in times of struggle—but they take root in light. What makes them sacred is not the hardship itself, but the choice to create from joy, from love, from a vision of wholeness that refuses to be dimmed.
With Love,
Carolina
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Great piece, Carolina. Your piece invited me into the experience of that apparent-but-not-necessary contradiction between meeting the pain of the circumstance, while staying connected to the wholeness, the light, the self-beyond-self.
As your friend told you, the day before she died,
"I Am Well"
As you said, "She had invited me into the wholeness of her being—free, luminous, beyond the suffering body."
Wow. What a gift.
Thank you