The Volcanic GPS of the Heart: How to Recognize Life’s Sacred Intersections

Freed Israeli hostages Sasha Troufanov (right) and Sapir Cohen (left) pose for a photo with Tyger Kahn (center) after returning home from 498 days in captivity.

There are moments. Not years. Not chapters. Not even days. Moments. Where your entire life splits into before and after. You don’t always know it when it’s happening—at least not with your mind. But your soul? Your soul knows.

Maybe it starts with a whisper. A strange ache in the center of your chest. A nudge to go somewhere, call someone, pray something. A feeling so out of place and so out of time that it drags you out of logic and straight into the unknown. It’s not rational. It’s not convenient. But it’s real.

And here’s the wild part—what if those moments aren’t just random accidents? What if they’re soul contracts activating? A future version of you reaching back across timelines, across tears, across dimensions, to whisper: “This is it. Don’t look away.”

I’ve lived it.

I was broken. Body, soul, life—shattered. Cancer. A destroyed leg. Chaos burning through every part of my world. And then I watched a woman—Saphir—speak about Psalm 27. A woman who had survived a Hamas dungeon, radiating a light that defied all odds. Something in me said, “Do what she did.” So I did.

I prayed. Not pretty. Not poetic. Raw, real, broken prayer from the pit. I didn’t know how it would help, but I knew I had to. And somehow, somewhere between the repetition and the wreckage, I started to walk again. Slowly. Miraculously. I came out of that wheelchair not just because my bones healed—but because my alignment shifted.

See, real prayer doesn’t beg. It transforms. It’s not about the words—it’s about the will. The vibration. The intention. The yes.

And just when I thought it was all coincidence, I met Sapir. In the flesh. Alongside Sasha Troufanov—another survivor. We locked eyes. And something passed between us. Like a memory I hadn’t made yet. Like we were meeting again, not for the first time, but for the remembered time. That’s how soul contracts feel. Like déjà vu wrapped in destiny.

After a moment akin to a volcanic eruption in your heart, you may ask: Did this really happen? Did I imagine this sensation that crosses time zones? Or the feeling I experienced when I shook hands and gazed into this person's eyes, knowing that multiple futures were about to be shaped?

I remember recently preparing for a meeting with someone new. I made a physical note to acknowledge that my life was intersecting with a pivotal moment of destiny.

It happened again later. After meeting Sasha,  a voice told me to go check on my mother. I listened. I didn’t rationalize. I moved. I found her unconscious and saved her life. If I had ignored that moment—if I had told myself I was just being emotional—I might have missed everything.

So here’s what I know: when you feel that strange, holy ache in your chest—that pull toward someone, something, somewhere—you have to move. Don’t wait for clarity. It won’t come wrapped in logic. It’ll come wrapped in fire. It’ll come wrapped in surrender.

Too many people miss their moment because they’re busy trying to make sense of it. But you don’t need sense. You need yes. You need faith like breath, like thunder, like blood. You need to stop praying for signs and start becoming one.

I don’t care how spiritual you are. If you aren’t brave, you’ll stay stuck. The divine doesn’t coddle. It calls. Loud. Quiet. Subtle. Explosive. But always direct. And if you hesitate too long, the door will close and you’ll call it fate.

But here’s the truth most people can’t handle: you know. You already know what this moment is. You feel it in your body. You hear it in your dreams. You taste it in your heartbreak. That ache? That pulse in your chest? That’s not fear. That’s your timeline bending. That’s your future self screaming across universes: “This one. Don’t miss this one.”

So when it comes—when the prayer becomes power, when the ache becomes action, when the soul says yes even as the mind says run—you move. You leap. You say yes to the wild, to the whisper, to the absolutely unreasonable knowing that this is the doorway you were born to walk through.

It won’t be logical. But it will be true.

And truth? Truth is the only thing that never leads you wrong.

You want miracles? Then stop second-guessing the divine intersections and walk through them like you belong there. Because you do.

You already said yes before you ever got here.

Now act like it.