Man, last week was a train wreck. I’m not gonna lie. I was supposed to be wrapping up this big personal project—something I’ve been chipping away at for six months now—and everything I touched just turned to dust. The computer froze, I spilled coffee all over the notes, and my energy level was absolutely zero. I was sitting out on the back deck around 11 PM, trying to just breathe and shake off the frustration, feeling like I was ready to just trash the whole six months of work and start selling junk mail for a living. I was that defeated.
I tilted my head back, not even trying to look at anything, just staring into the black sky. And then it happened. Right above the old maple tree in the neighbor’s yard, this thing just streaked across. Not a slow blink, not a plane, but a sharp, white-hot line that was there and then BAM, gone. A falling star. A meteor. It was so fast, I almost doubted I saw it, but the suddenness of it jolted me right out of the funk I was sitting in.
I didn’t move for about five full minutes. I just processed the image. Usually, I’d just say, “Cool,” and forget it. But this time, given the absolute spiral I was in about my project, the timing felt… aggressive. It felt like the universe threw a rock at my window to get my attention. So, I decided right then and there, I wasn’t going to let this be just a “cool sight.” I was going to turn it into a proper practice session and figure out what the spiritual meaning was, not from some five-second Google snippet, but from my gut and my journals.
The Immediate Field Report: Capturing the Energy
This is where the real work started. I jumped up and went straight inside, grabbing my old field journal—the one with the leather cover and smudged ink. I didn’t reach for the laptop. That’s rule number one: cut the digital noise when something pure hits you.
The first thing I wrote down was the basics:
- Time: 11:17 PM exactly. I checked the watch right away.
- Direction: North-East, cutting down towards the horizon.
- Feeling: Sudden, sharp, a metallic taste in my mouth, and an instant lift of the heavy feeling in my chest.
Then, I went back out to the deck, sat in the exact same chair, and closed my eyes. This is the step most people skip. You gotta re-enter the moment. I replayed the streak behind my eyelids. I focused on the sharp, fast energy of it. What I realized wasn’t a word or a concept, but a feeling of massive, uncompromising speed. Everything was moving, fast. My project was stuck, but the universe was screaming that change is always happening, and it’s always violent and brief.
The Deep Dive: Shifting the Stuck Energy
For the next hour, I dug through three reference books—the ones that are borderline mystical, not pop psychology junk. They all had the same general theme: meteors mean sudden change, destiny appearing out of nowhere, and the fast destruction of old junk. That was fine, but I needed the personal connection. What was my junk that needed destroying?
I pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. On the left, I listed everything that felt stuck (the project, a lingering doubt about an old friend, the constant distraction of little things). On the right, I wrote the feeling of the meteor: fast, decisive, burning up. The practice here was to mentally connect the two lists.
I did a quick five-minute visualization. I imagined my entire ‘stuck’ list—the frustration, the bad mood, the spilled coffee—getting pulled into that streak of light and burning up on entry. I physically exhaled hard when I felt the image was complete. It’s hard to describe, but when I opened my eyes, the tension in my shoulders was just… gone. The whole process took maybe 90 minutes from the time I saw the streak to the time I closed the journal and went to bed.
The Realization and The Aftermath
The true spiritual meaning of that meteor, for me, wasn’t about luck or a wish. It was about radical severance. I woke up the next morning, grabbed my laptop, and deleted the entire section of the code that had been causing me grief for three weeks. The one I was agonizing over. The one I thought was essential. I didn’t try to fix it. I just nuked it, just like that meteor burned up the sky.
What happened next was stunning. By destroying that bottleneck, I forced myself to find a completely new, faster solution that I had been too stressed and tunnel-visioned to see before. The whole thing unlocked. The project isn’t just back on track; it’s moving at a speed I haven’t seen since the first month.
The lesson I pulled from this practice is that a falling star isn’t a cue to make a wish. It’s a literal demonstration that the things that need to leave your life—the stuck habits, the stalled projects, the bad feelings—will go fast, but only if you let them burn up. Don’t try to fix the dead weight; just watch it streak away and accept the rapid change it brings. That tiny moment in the sky kicked me in the pants and saved my six months of work. So yeah, next time you see one? Don’t just watch. Get out your journal and get to work.
