Tijax is the energy of the obsidian blade—a sacred instrument of healing and transformation that cuts through illusion, bringing clarity and release from what no longer serves. This nawal embodies both the warrior and the healer, wielding the power to illuminate hidden truths, remove negativity, and restore balance with precision and grace. The number 5 brings focus, effort, and discipline, inviting us to align our work with our core vision and purpose, moving from our center with intention. Together, 5 Tijax calls us to put focused effort into our healing journey, whether physical, emotional, or spiritual, and to courageously cut away the patterns, beliefs, and attachments that block our growth. This is a day to wield discernment with compassion, to speak truth without harshness, and to let go with both strength and sensitivity. By honoring this energy, we transform suffering into wisdom and create space for renewal and authentic power to emerge.
Yesterday, on the final day of guiding a woman through her personal retreat, she handed me a letter that cut straight to my heart. “You are the best version of yourself already,” she wrote..
For months—since my mental health crisis last year, since depression and anxiety pulled me under—I’d been carrying an unconscious belief that my breakdown had somehow disqualified me from this work. That spiritual teachers were supposed to be unshakable, not fragile or falling apart at the seams. The obsidian blade of Tijax is both delicate and sharp, a double-edged sword with an X-factor that cuts both ways. I see now that my fragility and my strength are the same gift, forged in the same fire.
The energy of 5 Tijax asks us to put focused effort into our healing, and this week I did exactly that, though not in the way I expected. I thought I was there to serve her, to hold space with the compassion and presence I’ve cultivated through years of practice. And I did. During our forest bathing session, after an easy hike to a tranquil pine forest near the retreat center, we settled into meditation and self-reflective writing. There, surrounded by whispering pines, we shared our stories: the tender, messy truth of who we are beneath the roles we play.
“You were there for me, not pushing me in any direction,” she wrote. This is what it means to hold space: to listen, to be open, to adapt and adjust based on the other person’s needs rather than my own agenda. The discipline required to simply be present (to not fix, force, or fill the silence with my own words) is its own kind of focused effort. It’s the work of the number 5 in the sacred Mayan calendar: aligning action with core vision, moving from the center rather than scrambling at the edges.
Here’s what surprised me: in holding space for her transformation, I was also being held. Helping and serving others is always healing in so many ways. As she released what no longer served her, I felt my own last vestiges of self-doubt dissolving. The challenges I faced didn’t make me less worthy, they made me more resilient, more compassionate, more real.
“You are like a soft, beautiful flower,” she wrote. Tijax, the obsidian blade, seems anything but soft. Yet perhaps that’s the teaching: that gentleness can hold sharp truth, that presence can cut through illusion without wounding, that a flower can be fierce in its blooming.
I’m inviting in more mindfulness, truth, love, and balance. I’m letting go of irritation, worry, stress, and overthinking. This soul sister reminded me of my power as a teacher and guide, and I’m ready to embrace confidence and release the small-mindedness that kept me doubting.
My heart feels full. The blade has done its work. And I am whole, not in spite of my breaking but because of it.
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