Ahead of the Frontier—Again | Sacred Feminine Embodiment & Ancestral Wisdom

mindyarbuckle
21 hours ago
5 min read

Sometimes the path doesn’t feel lonely because you’re doing it wrong—it feels lonely because you’re early.

Lately, I’ve been feeling the presence of my ancestors in a new way. Not as distant figures from the past, but as a living lineage of people who stepped into the unknown before there were maps, systems, or guarantees.

My great-great-great grandparents stood at the edge of a physical frontier once. New land. New risks. New ways of living. They didn’t know how it would all turn out—only that they were called forward.

Today, something landed in my body with deep clarity. Not as a new realization, but as a remembering that finally clicked into place.

As I wrote about honoring the mud of my own lotus journey—about my ancestors, about being at the forefront of something before it’s widely understood—I felt the love and support of those who came before me.

And something clarified in my body with surprising gentleness.

Lakshmi didn’t arrive in that moment. She’s been with me for decades.

What shifted was recognition.

Sacred Feminine Embodiment as a Living Frontier

Suddenly, the throughline became undeniable. The pattern, the devotion, the perseverance, the longing for wholeness—it all resolved into a single truth:

The sacred feminine is my frontier.

I’ve been walking this edge my whole life.

My grandfather—standing at the edge of a different frontier. — Standing at the edge of a different frontier.

The Frontier I Built—and the One I Had to Leave

For a long time, I believed my yoga studio was the modern expression of this ancestral pattern.

I was on the frontier again—just in a different way.

I opened the first yoga studio in my area. Not just a place to move and sweat, but a space that honored yoga as a path of wholeness—body, breath, mind, spirit. It was ahead of its time. And it was hard.

I struggled.

I made just enough.

I persevered.

I learned how to survive.

At the time, it felt noble. Familiar, even. Like I was honoring something ancient in my bones—working hard for something meaningful, enduring because that’s what my people had always done.

And in many ways, I was honoring them.

A dramatic sky filled with deep orange clouds, framed by dark tree branches, capturing a moment of intensity and transition in nature. — Transitions carried on sky and breath.

That chapter mattered. It taught me resilience, devotion, and the skills to keep going when things are uncertain.

But there was also a limitation hidden inside that pattern—one I couldn’t see at the time.

I was chasing something that mirrored my own unspoken belief:

That worth is proven through effort
That leadership requires sacrifice
That struggle is the price of belonging
That my value needed to be validated through performance

I didn’t yet know how to let life support me more fully.

I didn’t yet know how to receive without earning.

I didn’t yet know that being on the frontier didn’t have to mean being depleted.

So I stayed longer than I needed to.

I learned the skills of resilience, grit, efficiency, and devotion—skills I still value deeply.

And eventually, I realized:

This chapter had given me what it could.

The sacred feminine was present—but she was confined. The container was too small for what wanted to live through me.

The frontier was calling again—but this time, not toward another structure to hold up through effort.

It was calling me inward.

Toward embodiment.

Toward sustainability.

Toward leadership that didn’t require constant proving.

When the Body Knows Before the Mind Does

That’s when, six years ago, I moved to the mountains.

At the time, I didn’t have language for it. I only knew my body needed more space. More quiet. More truth.

Looking back now, I can see it clearly:

She needed room to breathe.

I wasn’t seeking Lakshmi.

I wasn’t chasing abundance or recognition.

I was creating the conditions where authentic embodiment could finally happen.

And once she was fully awake in my body, hiding her became impossible.

Truly impossible.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that suppressing this part of myself now would feel like suffocation—physically, emotionally, spiritually. The sacred feminine doesn’t negotiate when she’s embodied. She doesn’t fit back into tight boxes or polite roles.

What changed wasn’t visibility.

It was belonging.

I went from feeling like I was planted in the wrong soil to finally knowing: I belong right here.

Even if very few others see it yet.

I’m no longer trying to fix the outer world like my ancestors—or my younger self. I’m helping humans from the inside out: restoring worth, embodiment, nervous system safety, and feminine wisdom so that harmony between the sacred feminine and masculine becomes possible.

This is frontier work.

Not flashy.

Not fast.

Often invisible.

But it’s real.

The Inner Frontier

My realization today stopped me in my tracks:

I’m doing the same thing as my ancestors.

Not by farming land.

Not by chasing fortune.

Not by searching for an easier life.

I’m cultivating inner terrain.

I’m pioneering consciousness.

I’m tending the soil of worth, embodiment, and feminine wisdom where others will eventually build homes.

While the world is focused on fixing systems, structures, and symptoms, I feel called to help humans from the inside out—to tend nervous systems, restore worth, and bring embodiment, presence, and feminine wisdom back into daily life.

That work isn’t always visible.

It’s not always rewarded quickly.

And sometimes, it can feel discouraging.

But it feels true.

This inner frontier is not only ancestral wisdom lived — it’s embodied leadership unfolding.

I’m not here because it’s trendy.

I’m here because this is where I belong.

Just imagine if my ancestors could see what their frontier became—the cities, the technologies, the ways of life that unfolded because someone was willing to go first.

A wide winter landscape with snow covering an open field, bare trees lining the horizon, and bright sunlight shining in a clear blue sky, creating a sense of spaciousness, stillness, and calm. — Where belonging feels like weather and light.

I wonder what this inner frontier will look like years from now—when embodiment, emotional literacy, and spiritual maturity are no longer fringe ideas, but foundations.

I may not see all of it in my lifetime.

And that’s okay.

Frontier work rarely comes with instant recognition. It comes with devotion, courage, and a willingness to walk ahead—even when the path feels invisible.

If you’ve ever felt like you were ahead of your time…

Like you’re carrying something ancient and future-facing at once…

Like you’re walking a path that doesn’t have many footprints…

If you’ve ever wondered why you don’t quite fit where you’re planted…