A Night of Lanterns, Lineage, and Living Light

Lately, every night feels like a portal. But this one... this one left something permanent in my bones.

We arrived just after 6:15pm. The sky was still bright, the kind of full summer light that glows golden instead of harsh. It was warm, but not too warm, and everything about the air felt kind. Open. Inviting. I had never been to a water lantern festival before. I didn’t know what I was walking into.

But as soon as we stepped onto the soft earth near the water’s edge, I felt it: the energy. The presence. The rightness of being there. There were hundreds of people, maybe more, gathering with their lanterns in hand, drawing, writing, walking softly along the lake. The sound of a guided meditation played over the speakers, a gentle invitation into stillness. My boyfriend’s son held my hand as we walked toward the edge of the water, and something about the moment, just us, just now, felt quietly sacred.

Not the loud kind of sacred. The whisper kind. The kind that asks you to slow down and notice. And I did.

People wrote all kinds of things on their lanterns, messages, names, symbols. Superman logos. Wishes. Prayers. I sat on the ground and wrote the names of my family. I added “Healing is a human right.” I wrote Thrivewell Estate. I wrote Peace. Love. Happiness. Simple things that felt truer than any grand statement. The longer we sat there, the more the night softened.

The speakers invited people to come forward and share what they had written. I didn’t expect much. But then the one woman said, “I drew a seal because I love them.”

I whipped my head around. My whole body turned toward her like it had been pulled. She had no idea, of course, but seals, and selkies, have been dancing through my life for months now. They’ve shown up in dreams, symbols, conversations. I’ve come to see them as guides. Reminders of home. Of transformation. Of return.

And then, the very next person to speak, a little girl, said, “I drew fairies because I love fairies.” Matter-of-fact. One sentence. Innocent, sacred, whole. My whole body lit up.

I don’t question moments like this anymore. Or maybe I do a little. But I feel them now. I listen to what they’re asking me to see.

One woman shared a Bible verse, and the crowd cheered. Not politely. Loudly. Fully. And I remember thinking: the world is ready. For interfaith. For bridge-building. For peace. But it’s not going to come from traditional leaders anymore. It’s up to us. Ordinary people who remember how to gather by water. Who aren’t afraid to draw fairies and speak scripture in the same breath.

And then, right as the sky shifted from light to dusk, just before the lanterns were released, my phone buzzed. My boyfriend and I were sent a post by a family member.

It was from a woman, someone I hadn’t yet met, writing in a public Northbridge Facebook group. She was the fourth great-granddaughter of Chester Whitin Lasell, the man who built the very manor that now stands at the heart of Thrivewell Estate. Her message was raw and direct: she was searching for the bronze plaque that had once stood proudly on the land, stolen months ago, never recovered. She was pleading with the community for any information, saying it deserved to come home. And she was right.

What made it even more surreal was the timing.

Just earlier that same week, I had the heavy task of revealing to the historical commission that the plaque had been stolen, something they hadn’t even known. I’d sat in that meeting with the weight of that truth pressing against my chest, feeling both sorrow and responsibility for bringing it to light.

And now, here she was. A living descendant. Speaking the very words I hadn’t been able to shake.

As I read her post, I went quiet. I must’ve drifted. My body froze in that way it does when something deeper than words hits. I didn’t even realize how still I had become until my boyfriend gently placed his hand on me and said, Look up, Kelley.

It wasn’t time to release the lanterns yet, but dusk had settled, and all around us, the lanterns were beginning to glow. The lake was lit with that soft, golden magic that only appears when the veil is thin and something sacred is near. He brought me back into the moment, into the beauty of it all. And I knew, this was part of the story now too.

I messaged her directly on the ride home. I told her who I am. What Thrivewell is becoming. I told her I would be honored to join her mission, to help restore what was lost. And most of all, to do so with respect. For the land. For her family. For Northbridge.

I don’t know what will come of it yet.
But I do know that this is not coincidence.
t’s choreography. Of the soul.

That night, I felt energy from this world and beyond it. I felt ancestors in the air. I felt the ripple of one lantern stretching into something much bigger than itself.

And I felt peace.

The kind of peace that only comes when you know you’re right where you’re supposed to be.

And then this morning, just as I sat down to let the memory settle, I heard back from her. From the descendant of Chester Whitin Lasell. And now, I find myself deep in the threads again… tracing the Lasells, the Whitins, the Ames family… and my own.

Lineage is speaking.
And things are getting interesting.

Until next time, keep listening.
Keep honoring the moments that light you up.
Keep releasing what no longer belongs, and calling home what does.

With reverence,
Kelley