The Gift of the Incarnation

This is my Christmas 2025 meditation. These meditations don’t come to me every year—but when they do, they arrive as transmissions. They tend to surface quietly sometime during the Advent season, unannounced, fully formed. I had the grace of receiving one this year, and this is the transmission that came through.

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I was sitting quietly, reflecting on my 12th house Virgo Sun, and it struck me how much of my life has been lived in unseen labor. The twelfth house is the subconscious, the hidden realms, the places where work happens without applause or recognition. And with Virgo there, I’ve been diligent—almost instinctively so—about tending my inner world and making it so rich and beautiful.

So much of my incarnation before this point has been about inner refinement. Initiations. Awakenings. Long seasons of spiritual formation. Pouring over philosophy and theology and mysticism—not even consciously at first and definitely not deliberately, it was just what my soul was asking for. I was feeding it what it needed as I grew up, as I came of age, as I moved through family patterns, health challenges, relationships, and the environments I found myself in. Much of it happened beneath the surface.

And I’m grateful—deeply grateful—that I’m entering a new phase where what I prepared for inwardly is now being lived outwardly. My life is becoming more physically embodied. Everything that once lived mostly in my mind, in the unseen is now here. Now lived.

Knowing my astrological progressions, I knew and could feel that the initiation of the 12th house Virgo sun has kind of … ended.

And I caught myself thinking, I’m excited to experience life more physically.
And then I realized—I already am. And this era of my life is becoming just that.

Because it’s Christmas time. The last Sunday of Advent. I don’t really go to church anymore. I don’t observe Advent the way I once did. I’ve moved through the structures and trappings of organized religion. I’ve deprogrammed from certain things. And yet—I still love the beauty of collective worship. I still honor the rhythm of remembrance.

And this Christmas meditation that came through so clearly wants to be about one thing: the Gift of the Incarnation.

I thought about the beauty of physical experience—especially this past year, which has been tremendously challenging. The Year of the Snake. The year of great shedding. And I felt that. Deeply. But even in the shedding, there was beauty—because I had a body to experience it with.

To walk on the beaches of Cannes and feel the sand between my toes (also devoured every croissant I saw).
To swim in the Pacific Ocean in Los Angeles.
To hike through the land here in Sacramento and feel the sacredness of it in my body.
To sense the presence of the First Nation tribes who lived here—how much spirit and devotion they invested into this land through their bodies, their prayers, their lives.

I feel it when I feed the horses behind my house. I feel it when I walk. When the wind moves through the trees. When the mountains hold me. The Sierra Nevadas—just majesty upon majesty.

And then there were the moments of tenderness in being with those I adore. Those I love. To be held, tended to, kissed, to be recipients of their beautiful energy and the pleasure it gives. That is a gift. Truly—there is nothing abstract about that. I needed a body for that. I needed skin. Breath. Presence.

And it made me realize: the choice to incarnate is a gift.

Christmas gives us the chance to remember that.

Yeshua was already with God. He didn’t just arrive here on the scene in a manger. He was before (and is now). Already in union. And still, he chose incarnation—just as we do, again and again, however many times our souls choose to enter form, which is also the gift of reincarnation. We are one, and yet we have been many. We chose to come into density. Into this third-dimensional world—one world among many.

And yes, incarnation carries pain. It carries suffering. But it also carries beauty. Pleasure. Joy. Because to experience those things, you must take form. Beyond this world are realms without bodies—beings without form. We all come from Formless Source, from Divine Intelligence itself.

And what a gift it is that Source allows us to choose form.

With that gift comes responsibility—the responsibility of remembering who we are. The responsibility of organizing our creative power into Diamond Luminosity … light that creates. Light that transmutes suffering—not only for ourselves, but for others. The responsibility of transmuting pain into something that serves the whole.

That is what Yeshua’s life (and death, and resurrection) was meant to show us. Not that he came to be worshipped—though our reverence made sense. He was fully human. Fully divine. That instinct to behold him wasn’t wrong—it was simply human awe in the presence of something that felt outside of us, but was always meant to remind us of what lives within us.

His life was an example of holding the tension of being both human and divine. Of allowing light to move through a body. Of choosing love in density. Of choosing incarnation fully. Of experiencing the complexity of being limited to time-space, being born into a corrupt political system, in a polarizing ethnicity/lineage, and in a family with all their idiosyncrasies and drama. And still pursuing purposeful work, finding community, playing in the sun, leading others, and falling in love (yes he did). All while being a completely divine entity, fully connected to the Divine Orchestration of it all. I mean—parts of that sound like our lives too, if we chose the adventure of incarnation, which you did if you are reading this.

Whether his birth happened in December or not—whether it was Capricorn season or not—we choose this time to remember.

And though I could be floating in the ethers right now and enjoying the bliss of that, as I so often did … in this moment, I feel profoundly grateful that I chose incarnation.

Grateful for my body.
Grateful for my beauty.
Grateful for my pain.
Grateful for my love.
Grateful for my lessons.
Grateful for my remembrance.

Christmas is an invitation to celebrate the gift of being here.

The life of Yeshua teaches us that.
My life has taught me that.
And I hope our lives teach us that too.

© 2025 Lana Jackson. All Rights Reserved.