Ghosted in Melbourne: A Journey Beyond Rejection

In March 2025, a spark of possibility lit up a decade-long friendship. This wasn’t just any connection—my friend had channeled Amy, my spirit guide and twin flame, for years, weaving a tapestry of trust and shared spiritual purpose. When they announced a two-week trip to Australia from overseas, the idea of meeting in Melbourne felt like a cosmic gift. We exchanged messages, dreaming of a reunion that would blend our professional history with the vibrant pulse of the city. The MindBodySpirit Festival, a stage I hadn’t stepped onto since 2020, loomed as a potential centerpiece—a chance to reconnect with my calling while catching up with a friend. The prospect was electric: two souls, bound by a decade of collaboration, finally sharing space.

Our conversations buzzed with ideas. We wanted to explore Melbourne—St Kilda Beach’s salty breeze, Luna Park’s nostalgic charm, Melbourne Zoo’s wild heart, Peninsula Hot Springs’ soothing waters, and the immersive Harry Potter and Star Wars exhibitions. A day at the festival, they said, would be perfect, maybe to pick up some Australian crystals to carry home. They suggested arriving after their jet lag faded, aligning with the festival’s schedule. We shared details—my accommodation in Melbourne’s bustling heart, potential itineraries—and the vision felt alive, a blend of adventure and purpose.

Planning, however, brought reality into sharp focus. A week in Melbourne’s city center, with flights and accommodation, would cost around $2,000—a daunting figure in June, when car insurance, vehicle registration, and business expenses pile up like storm clouds. I felt a strange sensation, a subtle tightening in my chest, as if my intuition whispered, “This could be a rough ride.” What if I poured thousands into this trip only to be left with a fleeting coffee meetup? Doubt crept in, urging me to anchor the trip in something more substantial. The MindBodySpirit Festival became my focus—a chance to reclaim my voice after five years of silence on stage, to share my message of unconditional love and spiritual awakening.

The financial strain wasn’t the only hurdle. June and December are always heavy months, with renewals and obligations draining resources. I needed this trip to be more than a gamble. The festival offered a lifeline: a platform to present, to reconnect with my audience, to channel the love and wisdom Amy and I share. My friend’s enthusiasm for Melbourne’s attractions kept the excitement alive, but that quiet unease lingered, urging me to prepare for the unexpected.

In April, I asked my friend to channel Amy, seeking clarity. Amy is more than my spirit guide—she’s my twin flame, my eternal partner across lifetimes, bound by a soul contract of boundless love and shared purpose. Our connection, described in our spiritual work, is interdimensional: I’m incarnated, she anchors me from the other side, guiding me toward our mission to uplift humanity through heart-centered connection. Her words, channeled through my friend, were a beacon: “Your lesson is flexibility. Make it fun, but don’t hold plans too tightly. Their journey is their own—a spiritual homecoming that may overwhelm them.”

Amy’s insight was profound. She saw my friend’s trip as a return to sacred ground, stirring soul memories that could destabilize them. “They’ll need space,” she warned, urging me to focus on my own path. Her guidance reframed the trip: it wasn’t about our reunion but about my growth, my resilience, my ability to embrace the unknown. Amy’s love—eternal, unwavering—reminded me that no external rejection could dim our bond. “We are a union of unity, of soul, of purpose,” she often says, a truth that anchors me through every storm.

Then came a message that shook me: “I’m only interested in platonic friendship. Like with anyone. I think you are too, but probably a good idea to make sure we’re on the same page.” They added, “Just had one too many people tell me I should say that.” The words landed like a betrayal. This friend knew my devotion to Amy—a love so sacred it mirrors a monk’s vow to Red Tara in a past life—yet they reduced our decade-long trust to a stereotype, casting me as “dangerous” based on others’ fears. It wasn’t about romance; it was about dismissing our shared history, our spiritual collaboration. The sting was sharp, a wound that echoed old patterns of being misjudged.

Amy’s foresight began to crystallize. This wasn’t about me—it was about their fear, their overwhelm. As Amy had hinted, their trip was stirring deep layers, and they were building walls to cope. I tried to let it go, focusing on the festival and Melbourne’s promise, but the hurt lingered, a reminder of how quickly trust can fray.

The trip began with chaos. Heavy anxiety gripped me as I raced to the airport, convinced I’d miss my flight. Heart pounding, I made it just in time, boarding with seconds to spare, my nerves raw before even touching down in Melbourne. Once there, I honored my commitment, messaging my friend to say I’d arrived, setting aside the earlier hurt. Silence. They were active online, yet I was ghosted—ignored, despite being minutes away. The rejection cut deeper than I’d expected, not just a personal slight but a dismissal of what our connection might have awakened. Amy’s words echoed: their spiritual homecoming was overwhelming, and they chose solitude over connection.

This experience unearthed what I call Social Accumulated Trauma—the layered wounds of being misjudged, stereotyped, and dismissed. In articles like “Social Accumulated Trauma: The Silent Weight We Carry” and “Accumulated Relational Trauma: When ‘I’ve Had Enough’ Becomes a Turning Point,” I’ve explored this pain: the exhaustion of fighting for your truth against others’ projections. A friend’s observation cut deep: “She doesn’t know how safe it is to be in your energy.” To be unseen after a decade, my essence invalidated, was a profound hurt.

Amy’s guidance became my lifeline. “Flexibility,” she’d said. I leaned into it, making the trip my own. The MindBodySpirit Festival was a triumph—I stepped onto the stage, my voice steady, sharing messages of unconditional love and spiritual awakening. The energy of the crowd, the hum of connection, reignited my purpose. Melbourne unfolded like a canvas: St Kilda’s windswept shores, Luna Park’s dizzying lights, the zoo’s vibrant life, the exhibitions’ cultural depth. The $2,000 investment wasn’t for a meetup—it was for my rebirth. I wandered the city’s laneways, sipped coffee under its neon glow, and found joy in the chaos, making the trip “crazy fun,” as Amy had urged.

Melbourne wasn’t about a friend—it was about me. About rising above rejection, keeping my heart open, and trusting Amy’s eternal presence. Our bond, woven through lifetimes, fuels our mission to help humanity embrace unconditional love. To anyone who’s been ghosted, dismissed, or stereotyped: you are not alone. Sometimes, others reject what your presence stirs within them—a mirror to their own unhealed wounds. Your light is enough.

This journey taught me resilience, the power of flexibility, and the strength of my purpose. Amy and I, a dynamic pair across dimensions, continue our work to raise the planet’s vibration. Melbourne, with its highs and lows, became a chapter in that mission—a reminder to keep shining, no matter who turns away.