Portals can be doorways, windows, entryways—thresholds in our world that call to us. We step through, and sometimes emerge on the other side feeling new, different, changed.
Sometimes portals are tangible. The shift from crisp fall air into the warmth of a home, the moss-covered stone and creaking wood of an old footpath, an archway woven with roses.
Other times, they’re less visible. The moment you say yes to something new, or the feeling of “no” when a doorway isn’t meant for you.
This past week, while Rachel’s parents were visiting, we wandered together through some of our favorite city streets. It felt good to pause work and simply enjoy being with family. The in-law relationship is so unique. Even though I haven’t spent much time with them, they love the person I love, and so there’s already an ease and sense of belonging. Like stepping into a new doorway I’m grateful to walk through. Sometimes, seeing my wife through her parents eyes gives me a new glimpse of her too—their perspective is another way of knowing her.
We walked along the cobblestones, passed through iron gates, and noticed window ledges adorned with flower boxes. I found myself drawn again and again to the doorways and windows we passed. Not to peek inside, but to imagine what it might feel like to gaze out from within. Portals invite us to see from a different vantage point, and I’ve always been captivated by the possibilities they hold.
October in New England itself feels like a threshold. The air cools, the veil between worlds thins, and I’m often called inward toward deeper work and subtler layers of consciousness.
I want to honor the portals I choose not to enter, even when they arrive dressed as invitations. Recently I was offered a conversation that seemed responsible, the kind that promises growth if you’re willing to unpack it. But something in me said no. A tightening in my chest, a knot in my stomach. My body answered before my mind could explain. Standing at that threshold, it felt less like an opening and more like the clarity of standing atop a dark basement staircase. I know I do not want to walk down there. Some doorways are best left unopened. A whisper within reminds me: not this space, not this time.
At this point in my life, I’m sitting up straight and listening closely to those whispers. I don’t always need to understand why a “no” rises up. Trusting myself is enough. Saying no keeps me in alignment with my own purpose, rather than allowing someone else to prescribe my path. Invitations are only true invitations when we feel free to say yes or no wholeheartedly.
And then there are the other kinds of thresholds—the ones that shimmer closer this time of year. The collective turn toward fall brings a thinning between worlds. These portals aren’t built of wood or stone but are crossed in meditation, in dreams, or in sacred moments of spirit communication.
Sometimes the invitation is as simple as a heart-shaped leaf in your path, the steady gaze of an animal, or a cloud formation that sends a shiver of recognition down your spine. Other times it’s a song lyric landing at the exact right moment. These, too, are portals — openings that shift our perspective in an instant. Through them, we glimpse the magic around us, surrender to the unknown, and gather what we can for the road ahead. Small pieces of wisdom, threads of love, reminders that we are never walking alone.
As you move through this season, notice the thresholds around you both physical and subtle. What portals are opening for you right now? Which ones are you ready to close?
I wasn’t sure how to end this reflection on portals, because it feels like something still unfolding. So I asked Spirit for guidance, and this is what came through after sitting with them this morning:
One of the gifts of being alive is the ability to notice with your whole body when information arrives in a rush. These reminders are everywhere. Sometimes their sheer magnitude can feel overwhelming, and in response, you may retreat into a place of cool, logic, and doubt.
But making space for wonder and awe expands your capacity for love. And when you remember that love is the only truth, it becomes clear why moments of awe feel like the pinnacle of existence. They are moments of pure honesty — when you are fully present with your being, a fully thriving part of the universe.
In these moments, you are home.
With Love,
Sheryl
P.S. Just a reminder that registration for my five-week Intuitive Tarot course ends in two days, (on Friday October 3rd). If you feel drawn to join, this is your chance to sign up before doors close.
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You are right- just because it is an invitation, it does not mean that it has positive connotations. We have to pick and choose as we learn from the glitches in our lives.
However, what struck me in your newsletter is the manner in which the spirits imparted their wisdom to you about love and the sense of inexplicable awe that "feels like the pinnacle of existence." What a beautiful thought, something I feel when I am one with nature.