Leaving 2025
Embracing 2026
As we leave behind 2025 and step into 2026, I feel called to share a few moments from this past year as a witnessing of what has moved, broken, and quietly resurrected.
This year has been one of the most difficult of my life. And, paradoxically, one of the most beautiful.
I lived a form of exile and a form of return. It was a year in which the ground shifted beneath what I once knew, asking me to remain faithful to love even when the familiar fell silent, and to listen for God in the spaces where answers no longer came. I witnessed that God is revealed most powerfully in the depths of sorrow, and that when every earthly solution fails, it is the Heavenly Realm that restores what cannot be touched by human hands.
2025 was the year I left my home in Madrid and moved to Andalusia, drawn by the land of Venus, by the deep Marian Devotion that breathes through the earth itself. What I thought was a physical relocation revealed itself as something much deeper: a stripping away, a simplification, an invitation into nothingness.
This year asked me to let go of excess—of identities, of expectations, of structures that had become too rigid to hold living truth. I found myself returning again and again to the simplicity of presence, to a direct and intimate communion with Alaha, Divine Mother–Father. In that space, the template of Yeshua and Mary Magdalene did not remain a teaching or a lineage, it sealed itself in my heart as a way of being.
Like Yeshua, who moved beyond the confines of severe dogma and returned again and again to nature, to the earth, to the compassionate heart, to the living God beyond rigid law, I felt called to soften anything in my life that had become too fixed, too performative, too bound by form. What remained was the mystical frequency of unity, the quiet knowing of being one with Divine Presence through the grace of surrender.
One of the great blessings of this year was signing a publishing contract with Hay House UK, a moment of profound gratitude and trust that still humbles me. Alongside this, everything I lived and discovered with my daughter, Almudena, became a sacred pilgrimage in itself—one that taught me more about love, resilience, and devotion than words could ever hold.
And through it all, one truth revealed itself with clarity and grace:
Resurrection does not happen after the dark night.
It happens within it.
The dark night is not an interruption of the path—it is the womb of transformation. When we stop resisting it, when we remain present instead of trying to escape, something luminous begins to form. The soul learns how to see in the dark. The heart learns how to trust without guarantees. And from that depth, new life quietly rises.
This year taught me that nothing is wasted. Not the grief. Not the unknowing. Not the moments when everything seemed to dissolve. All of it becomes holy ground when met with devotion.
As we enter 2026, I do so with reverence—for what has ended, for what has been born, and for what is still quietly becoming.
May we all remember that even in the darkest seasons, life is always moving toward light.
And sometimes, the most sacred resurrection is the one that happens silently, within the heart.
Thank you, 2025, for the descent into the hidden chambers of the soul.
For the fire that sealed my light.
2026… may we all rise gently, carrying what was forged in silence into the light…
AHAVA,
Ana Otero
