Summer Solstice Week: A Torch Remembered

There are moments when something in you quietly changes and you know you’ll never be the same again. For me, that moment came this weekend, in the soft unfolding of Solstice. It didn’t shout. It didn’t rush. It arrived like truth does: slow, sacred, and undeniable.

Friday night, we gathered for breathwork. We breathed, released, and reclaimed together. But it was what happened after that stays with me most: We sat. We shared. We remembered each other. There was a fire in the room, old and warm. The kind of fire that doesn’t burn you. The kind that calls you home.

We could’ve talked for hours. We nearly did. Because we weren’t just processing a class. We were witnessing a frequency returning.

I didn’t have words for it then. But I do now.

Sunday night, I began researching the Rainbow Warrior prophecy, not just a quote or a secondhand summary, but its deeper origins and meaning. As I read through interpretations rooted in Cree and Hopi wisdom, something in me stirred. Not in a grand or egoic way, but in a quiet, almost cellular recognition. It felt like finding language for something I’ve carried inside me all along. And that feeling has not quieted since.

The prophecy speaks of a time when the planet is suffering… When water runs poisoned, forests fall silent, and people forget the sacred. And in that moment, a new tribe will rise.

A tribe of many colors. Many lands. Many faiths. Bound not by heritage, but by remembrance.

They will be called the Warriors of the Rainbow.

And they will rebuild. They will protect. They will remember the ways. They will heal the Earth and each other.

As I read, I cried.

Not out of sadness, but recognition. Not because I wanted it to be true, but because something in me already knew it was.

All my life, I’ve felt a pull I couldn’t name. A sense that I was here to lead something not yet built. To carry something ancient into something new. And I think this is it. This prophecy didn’t inform me. It didn’t inspire me. It claimed me.

This is the call I’ve felt since I was a child. This is the knowing that flickers behind my ribcage when I walk the land. This is the reason I’ve been gathering pieces my whole life: People, places, practices, prayers.

This is the torch.

This weekend, I let it rise. On Friday, I was with the forming tribe. On Saturday, I honored Gaia. On Sunday, I softened into quiet. And on Monday, I remembered.

I remembered why I’m here.

Not to fight. But to guide. Not to fix. But to rebuild, reverently. Not to lead with force. But to light a lantern for those who’ve always known…We’re meant for more.

But with this clarity came weight. This realization wasn’t only awe-inspiring, it was humbling. It asked me to pause. To go inward. To be sure I carried it not with ego, but with grace.

So I turned to my calming space. To my breath. To my cards. I asked, in full surrender:

“Is this real?
Am I truly meant to lead this?
And if so… how do I carry something this sacred well?”

What came through wasn’t just answers, it was remembrance. The messages were gentle, but powerful. They spoke of alignment, of timing, of legacy. They reminded me that I’m not here to rush. I’m here to grow something deep, true, and long-lasting. That my presence is a message. That my joy is not extra…it’s essential. That this isn’t about doing it all, it’s about co-creating with Spirit.

The cards confirmed what my soul already knew but needed to feel mirrored:

Yes, the Rainbow Warriors are rising.
Yes, I am one of them.
And yes, I am being asked to lead… but with reverence, not force. With rhythm, not rigidity. With lightness, not pressure.

I am not walking this path alone. I never was. And I will carry this torch the only way I know how, With wonder. With devotion. With joy.

This letter isn’t just a reflection. It’s an offering to anyone who’s felt the same quiet call.

If you’ve always sensed you were here to be part of something sacred…
If your dreams feel ancient, and your grief feels collective…
If you’re just now realizing you’ve spent your life preparing for this moment…

You are not alone.

The Rainbow Warriors are real. And we are rising.

One Solstice at a time.
One breath at a time.
One remembrance at a time.

With all my heart,
Kelley