PatiencePassions

I have been reflecting deeply on the patterns in my life and the quiet messages that seem to come through my dreams. I have always been an intuitive person. I dream often, and those dreams feel layered. Some seem like reflections of my subconscious, replaying emotions and experiences. Others feel different, almost prophetic, as if they are reaching toward the future. But what if we have misunderstood what these dreams truly are? We often label certain dreams as prophetic, as though they are fixed previews of what will happen. But life itself teaches us something different. Life is not set in stone. The future is not a rigid script waiting to unfold. It is something fluid, something shaped continuously by what we choose in the present. This is where the idea of possibility becomes powerful. Take a simple but heavy example. You dream about someone dying. In the dream, you do not necessarily see the moment itself, but you carry a knowing. When you wake up, fear takes over. You begin to wo...

  There comes a moment in life where you look around and realize you are standing inside a reality that does not belong to you. You did not build it. You did not choose it. And yet somehow, you are the one living in it. It feels like being trapped in a prison you did not create, serving a sentence for a crime you did not commit. The walls are not made of steel, but of circumstances, loyalty, history, and love. And the hardest part is that the door has been open all along. Sometimes the prison belongs to someone you care about. Someone who once moved through life carelessly, believing their actions would never circle back. But life has a way of remembering. What is done does not disappear. It waits. And when it returns, it does not come quietly. Now they are facing the weight of their past. The consequences. The unraveling. And somehow, you are standing in the middle of it, picking up pieces that were never yours to carry. You begin to ask yourself questions that have no easy answer...

  There are parts of me I have kept hidden for a long time. Not because they are shameful, but because I am afraid of what happens when people see them. The moment certain truths leave my mouth, the atmosphere changes. The laughter fades. The room grows quiet. Suddenly people are not talking to me the same way anymore. They begin looking at me with that expression I have come to recognize too well. Pity. So I learned to keep certain things to myself. For example, I rarely mention that I am an orphan. My parents died when I was very young. Even writing that sentence feels strange, because it is such a heavy truth to casually place in conversation. When people are laughing, telling stories, enjoying the moment, I hesitate to bring it up. I do not want to be the person who changes the mood. I do not want to become the moment when the energy in the room shifts. Growing up was not easy either. There are things I endured that most people cannot imagine. Dark things. Difficult things. The...

Today I found myself deep in thought again. To be honest, I usually am. My mind tends to wander into questions most people pass by without noticing. Something pulled me toward the The Emerald Tablets of Thoth the Atlantean, specifically the chapter about the Key of Time . It speaks about time not as a straight line, but as something circular. Cycles. Loops. Patterns that repeat themselves until something changes. That idea stayed with me long after I finished reading. Because when you look closely at life, it starts to feel true. Our past has a strange way of shaping our future. Childhood experiences, the things we witness growing up, the wounds we carry without even realizing it. They settle somewhere deep within us and quietly influence the decisions we make later on. You often hear people say, “I will never repeat the mistakes my parents made.” On the surface, that sounds like a powerful promise. A vow to do better. A vow to be different. But sometimes that vow becomes something h...

I am writing this with tears in my eyes. A few days ago I found out that the woman who helped raise me has passed away. When someone dies it is usually just sad. But this feels layered. It feels complicated. It feels heavy and tender at the same time. After my mom died, she became my mother in so many ways. I used to go to her house all the time. If I was hungry, I knew I could knock on her door and she would feed me. I can still see us sitting around the table at dinner time, praying before we ate, surrounded by her grandchildren. Those moments live inside me. They always will. She did not have much. But somehow there was always enough. Enough food. Enough space. Enough love. When my dad died too, my whole world felt unstable. I was just a child who had lost both parents. She stepped in and gave me structure when everything else had fallen apart. She opened her home to me. She fought for me in ways I cannot even explain. That is why what happened later hurt the way it did. Years passe...

  Standing before this blank page, I come to You, Lord, with open hands. Forward I go. Not looking back to carry what has already fallen from me. Not reaching behind to gather what You have already taken away. Forward is my answer. Forward is my obedience. Forward is my becoming. It has been what it has been. The hurt had its season. The pain spoke its lessons. Even the shadows that drained me revealed what I must never hold again. Today, I release it all. Every weight that was not mine to carry, I lay it down. Every word that tried to break me, I return to silence. Every intention sent to harm me, I release back into Your justice. Cleanse me, Lord. Let no bitterness take root in me. Let no anger make a home in my spirit. Burn away all that does not belong to the truth of who I am in You. I choose myself. I choose the life You are calling me into. I choose peace over chaos, wholeness over wounds, light over everything that tried to dim me. I will not shrink to survive anymore. I wi...