I offered a piece of my heart,and it was enough.It has always been enough. Not everyone will knowhow to hold what I give.Some will turn away,carrying their own quiet storms. I let them go gently,like leaves falling from my hands. I call my warmth back to me —a soft golden tiderising in my chest.I rest […]
You’re showing up, you’re tending,and still—something feels flat,like the current isn’t flowing the way it usually does.Sometimes, presence doesn’t bring immediate joy—it just brings what is.And sometimes what’s here is a kind of fog…No drama not even despair. Just… dull.But this, too, is part of the cyclea kind of quiet integration that feels like nothing
She was fasting for truthwhile they were splashing in the river on Sunday mornings.She was memorizing scripture all day while they were licking honey off their fingers,sticky with life. She guarded the sacred scrolls,wrote doctrines on silence,burned incense at dawnwhile someone down the hillwas laughing so hardthey snorted tea through their nose. She bowed in
You are like the Earth. A sacred, sentient groundwhere anything—shame, fear, overindulgence, ancestral weight—can fall into youand be compostedinto richness, warmth, wisdom, and life. Not by trying to fix,but by allowing everything to land. Just as the forest floor welcomes every leaf,every death,every dropping—and slowly, softly, turns it allinto nourishment—so can you. You don’t have
There was once a little girl who wore tattered clothes and carried a hunger deeper than her belly.She lived at the edge of a great city, in the shadow of things she believed she could never have.Each afternoon, she wandered down the hill to the big stone house with the golden windows. Inside that house
Before Earth ever existed, there was a Spirit. It wasn’t male or female. It didn’t have a name. It was simply curious, playful, and free. It could be anywhere, everywhere, all at once. It liked to create little adventures, even pretend limitations, just for fun—like playing hide-and-seek in the stars. One day, this Spirit had
She sat, aglow, not to rule— but to receive what once crouched in the corners, too strange to soothe. A creature climbed into her lap, not with menace, but with a quiet, trembling truth: “You cannot bypass me. I exist. I am real.” It was her pain— the one she used to exile, the ache
Once upon a time, in a land ruled by Polite Smiles and Tightly Folded Hands, there lived a woman who had given everything. She had given her time to tasks she didn’t believe in.She had given her beauty to rooms that never truly saw her.She had given her voice to keep the peace.And most of
When I reach to fill the void,my body meets me with a voice—low, certain, not unkind. “Not like that,” she says.“No more covering me.No more mistaking numbness for peace.No more pretending to feed what you won’t feel.” She does not scold.She does not shame.She stands in her fireand waits for my truth. So now—when that
There was a time I thought healing meantevicting all the parts of methat didn’t fit the light. The angry one.The ashamed one.The lonely, aching, too-much, not-enough,over-sensitive, under-loved ones. I kept trying to send them away.Hide them.Fix them.Spiritualize them. But they never left.They waited — not to be corrected,but to be welcomed. And now…I have opened
