Float, My Love...

On surrender, serendipity, and letting the river carry you

As I land in Salta, Argentina, after two weeks in Miami revisiting, reconnecting, remembering, I’ve had a few quiet hours on a plane to really feel into my bones and share this with you.

A week ago, on Valentine’s Day of all days, I ran into my ex-boyfriend from 19 years ago.

We saw each other from across the street and the world paused for a second.

You know those moments where time bends? That.

We both had the biggest, goofiest smiles on our faces. No awkwardness. Just recognition. A heartfelt hug that felt sincere and charged and wildly alive.

It was magical. Serendipitous. Sweet.

That hug led to spending the night together. A beautiful, intimate, loving night. The kind that feels wrapped in light.

And then, just as naturally as it arrived, it was time to let it go.

Not analyze it.
Not build a future around it.
Not try to recreate it.
Not grip it and whisper, wait, come back.

Just love it for what it was.

And surrender.

That experience cracked something open in me. It reminded me how often we ruin beautiful moments by needing them to become something else. By needing clarity. By needing permanence. By needing things to be different than how they are.

And it got me thinking.

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There are moments in life for doing.
Moments for stillness and simply being.
And then there are the in-between hallways. The slipping, sliding, treading water, coasting spaces. The seasons when the river of life quietly takes the paddle from your hands and whispers, float.

This is one of those thresholds.

You may be feeling it too.

Conversations overlap. Ideas blur at the edges. Nothing quite sticks. You move from one moment to the next in a kind of sacred daze. Not confused. Not lost. Just walking through the old and the new at the same time.

It feels like standing in a doorway with one foot in yesterday and one foot in tomorrow, while the house quietly rearranges itself around you.

When this happens, the greatest gift we can give ourselves is space.

Space to feel.
Space to not know.
Space to let life reorganize without demanding immediate answers.

In Letting Go: The Pathway of Surrender, which I genuinely adore, David R. Hawkins explains that surrender is not giving up. It is giving over. It is the release of resistance.

And here is the part that really lands for me lately.

Surrender is letting a feeling rise without trying to fix it.
It is allowing joy without clinging.
It is allowing sadness without dramatizing.
It is experiencing love without demanding it define your future.

It is letting something be exactly what it is.

When you grip the riverbank, your whole body tenses. Your jaw tightens. Your nervous system goes into overdrive. It is exhausting. Truly.

When you float, something magical happens. The river carries you.

Maybe this season is asking us to practice detachment.

Not coldness.
Not indifference.
But sacred detachment.

The kind where you can say, that was beautiful, without needing to possess it.
The kind where you can say, this hurts, without needing it to change immediately.
The kind where you can sit in uncertainty without forcing a conclusion.

For a few years now I’ve called this time of year washing machine season. As the Sun moves through Pisces, the final sign of the zodiac, everything gets one last rinse before the ignition of Aries.

Pisces dissolves edges. It softens definitions. It blends endings into beginnings. It is the cosmic ocean at the end of a long journey. Nothing is sharply outlined here. Everything is permeable.

One moment you feel dreamy and delicious. The next, overstimulated. Deeply emotional and strangely detached at the same time. As if you are both inside your life and watching it from above.

It can feel like being in a spiritual washing machine. Not drowning. Just tumbling. Old identities loosening. Expectations thinning. The ego wanting a five-step plan while the soul just wants to drift.

And here’s the truth.

You cannot force Aries fire before Pisces water has finished cleansing you.

Seeds do not sprout in clenched fists.

Destiny is not a fixed dock. It is a horizon that keeps expanding. Moving goal posts. Cosmic improv.

You may think you are heading one way, only to feel the current gently turn you somewhere else. Plans shift. Desires evolve. Old lovers reappear on Valentine’s Day. Life winks at you.

This is not chaos.

This is choreography.

Instead of trying to organize the entire future, what if we focused on regulating our nervous systems?

Relax the jaw.
Soften the belly.
Unclench the hands.

Notice where you are gripping an outcome. A person. A timeline. A specific version of how something must unfold.

Then soften the heart.
Open the mind.
And gently open the hand.

Surrender does not mean passivity. It means participation without attachment.

You show up.
You love fully.
You feel everything.
And then you let it move through.

In esoteric astrology, Pisces is associated with karmic completion and thinning veils. Synchronicities increase. Dreams become vivid. Nature feels louder if you are willing to listen.

Put your ear to a tree trunk.
Stand barefoot on the earth.
Ask the Cosmos for support in a softer way.

Not make this happen.
But show me.
Guide me.
Help me trust.

Trees do not force their budding. Rivers do not apologize for curving. The cosmos moves in spirals.

Maybe this is your spiral moment.

Floating is not laziness. It is trust in action. It is allowing wonder. Allowing daydreaming. Allowing sacred unproductivity. It is swimming when you can, resting when you must, and not panicking when the current spins you for a while.

That night with my ex was a perfect teacher.

It was love.
It was real.
It was alive.

And it was complete.

The art was not in having it.
The art was in releasing it.

Maybe that is the practice right now. Letting life be what it is. Letting moments arrive and depart. Letting yourself not know what comes next.

You will arrive. Even though arrival keeps changing.

Every ending is a disguised shoreline. Every dissolution prepares a new beginning. The river knows where it is going, even when you cannot see around the bend.

And if you are honest, you do too.

So for now, float.

Allow the messy.
Allow the unknown.
Allow the beauty without gripping it.

Feel it fully.

And when it passes, let it pass.

That is the art.

Into the Bones,

Marianna