What does it feel like ?

At First Contact

When you first lay eyes on Razma, you feel bathed in a glow of welcome, as though recognizing a long-lost beloved friend. Their gaze touches your spirit, a subtle X-ray seeing past surface tension into essence. Relaxing into acceptance, no part of you feels denied. Still, a shiver quivers down your spine—the premonition of profound change crackling the air like gathering lightning. The tentative hope that here might be a guide to lead you out of old stuck patterns into wholeness nearly stops your breath. Then a slow smile spreads across Razma’s fey feline features and the deal is sealed: this soul will be the midwife for your rebirth. You will never be the same once your heart whispers “yes!”


Naked vulnerability comes quick under their compassionate eye. Razma’s questions flow like a river, erosion-insistent yet gentle, carving complex calcifications into clarity, carrying you to undiscovered shores of self-revelation. “When did you stop singing your truth?” “Who convinced you that you were unworthy of receiving cherishing touch?” Piece by piece, the illusory self crumbles until you stand defenseless in the solace of the present moment. The urge arises to cling to old pain, so familiar, but Razma’s strong hands keep you oriented to the here and now. Each time you get lost in the thicket of old memories, their voice, soothing as cool spring rain, invites you into sensations that ground you in the supportive earth. You are safe, you are held as you let go…


At times you cannot cerebrally comprehend the loving languages your guide speaks-the secret tongue of energy flowing freely between fascia, the mythopoetic symbols of dreams-yet your body understands this high-density tactile terminology. You feel ancient remnants stirred far beneath your conscious mind. Chthonic knots and gnarls unwind toward the light in response to songs that bypass thinking to reverberate in your bones. Your purpose penetrates your physicality, your subconscious comes alive in your soma, and you watch astounded as the skywriting of your soul launches from your heart to be communicated to the world in every motion. Lost artifacts surface through tissue and time- a cache of old hurts and halting first attempts at intimacy, awaiting their moment to integrate. You bear grateful witness as your inner landscape transforms.


What spills from your lips surprises you, and when sobs rack your frame no shame remains to trap anguish inside. Your guide’s steady strength and knowing eyes help transmute volcanic fury, tidal grief and lightning ecstasy into self-possession beyond what you believed you deserved. Through each wave of intensity, Razma’s hands- pressed into your tense traps, interlaced with your seeking fingers, holding space open above your quaking form- allow you to dare greatly in surrendering to all that you are. Raw, tender, exhausted, and lit from within, you begin living the vision unveiled. Each step grounds revelation into new habits, relationships restructured to feed your flourishing. You emerge resplendent, reborn in rapturous revelation.