PatiencePassions

  Today, I write with a heavy heart. It’s been one of those days that crack you open from the inside out — the kind that make you question everything, the kind that force you to face yourself with no escape route. I hit a stumbling block I didn’t see coming. One minute I was walking steady, the next I was flat on the floor, staring at the ceiling of my own doubts. My mind spirals with questions: What am I going to do? How do I move through this? What if this is the end? The panic feels sharp, but at the same time, there’s a strange calm beneath it all. It’s unsettling — like my soul knows something my body hasn’t caught up to yet. Maybe I’ve shifted. Maybe the old paradigm is truly dying, crumbling at my feet, and I can no longer force myself to live by its rules. Maybe this is the system casting me out, showing me that there’s no more room for me in the life I’ve outgrown. And isn’t it funny how it happens? Right when you’re on the brink of something greater — when success is wit...

Yesterday, I hit my lowest of lows. Eclipse energy came swinging, and it landed right on me. Earlier this week I shared a dream about failure — about how fear can block us from reaching our full potential. Well, that dream didn’t just stay a dream. It showed up in my reality. I was on the cusp of breaking through an old pattern that has been draining me for years. I could almost taste the victory. Then, in a moment of weakness, I slipped. Just like that, I fell back into what I thought I’d already left behind. I was disgusted with myself. Disappointed. Frustrated. It felt like every single thing I touched that day turned into another disappointment. My energy was gone. I tried to shake it off, but nothing worked. But even in that dark space, I remembered the dream. In the dream, I failed the test. I asked the teacher when I could rewrite, and she said, “ Anytime .” That was the spark I needed. The reminder that failure isn’t the end. You can always try again. This time, stronger. This ...

  There was a young man named Njabulo. His name meant happiness . And indeed, when he was a boy, happiness seemed to pour out of him like sunlight through an open window. He was adored by his grandparents, spoiled with the kind of love reserved for the last born. He was a strange mix—wild, curious, bubbly, a little crazy—an explosion of energy that couldn’t be contained. He loved wrestling so much that he would tackle siblings, friends, anyone in sight, just for the thrill of it. But that same energy, misunderstood by some, earned him rejection. His siblings resented the attention he got. The neighborhood kids teased him for being “weird.” Slowly, the joy he radiated began to dim under the weight of being unwanted. As Njabulo entered his teens, he sought acceptance in the shadows of bad habits. Drinking. Smoking. Skipping school. Trouble became his second skin. His grandparents tried interventions, his parents worried, teachers scolded—but nothing reached him. And slowly, something...

  I had a dream recently that shook me to the core. In it, I had failed a test. Not once, but over and over. Each time, I thought I had nailed it, only to be slapped with another “fail.” The frustration, the shock, the agony—it all felt too real. I woke up in dread, clutching my phone, desperately searching for what this dream could mean. In the dream, I even asked the teacher when I could rewrite the test. Her response? “Anytime.” That gave me relief. She handed me a paper full of answers, but the strange thing was—the answers were almost impossible to see. Hidden, blurred, hard to find. At first, I thought maybe I had missed something in my waking life. So I prayed: “God, open my eyes, open my heart. Show me the answers clearly .” But nothing dramatic happened. Then I remembered—God’s answers are usually hidden in plain sight. The real question is, do we have the patience and faith to see them? That’s when it hit me: maybe the dream wasn’t about a test at all. Maybe it was about...

  Have you ever been so in love it drives you absolutely insane? Not psycho-insane, but the kind of crazy where the feeling consumes you whole — where you don’t know where to place it, where to put it, what to even do with it. It sneaks up on you, catches you off guard, and then slams into you like a wave you never saw coming. It takes you under. It overwhelms. This isn’t just love. It’s something else — cosmic, magnetic, relentless. A force that refuses to be ignored. It plays with you, stretches you, tears you open, and then floods you with warmth so intoxicating that you swear nothing in this world could ever compare. And yet… it’s hard. So damn hard. The push and pull of it. The longing. That ache in your chest that won’t let up. The way your body just wants to be close to theirs, to feel their arms around you, to breathe them in. You can’t stop thinking about them — no matter how much you try, no matter how many times you tell yourself to get a grip. Then the doubts creep in. ...

You ever notice how peace feels louder when certain people aren’t around? Like your body can finally breathe, your chest expands, and your soul whispers: “ Yeah, this is it—this is freedom.” That’s me right now. Days before the eclipse, my energy feels lighter, not because I suddenly became a zen master, but because some people are simply… absent. And honestly? That says everything I needed to know. I’ve known these energies for a long time—the kind of people who walk in and suddenly you feel like you’re suffocating. That’s been my reality. I prayed constantly: “ God, pull me out of this hellhole . Rescue me from the pits .” And now? I feel peace. Actual peace. And I don’t want to let it go. I want more. I want to live without unnecessary stress, without being repulsed, annoyed, or dragged into other people’s noise. I want to be free. Free to move intuitively, not impulsively. Free to make decisions because my spirit said yes—not because society is yelling at me with a ticking clock in...

Every year, like clockwork, the cosmos decides: “ Sweetheart, sit your ass down .” I call it integration season —that awkward limbo where your body becomes the project manager and issues a mandatory “Do Not Disturb” notice. It’s wild, because just when I think I’m about to slay every idea in my brain, boom. My body throws a plot twist: Fever, flu, random fatigue. No creative juice, nada. Suddenly, even brushing my teeth feels like a side quest from hell. It’s like the universe is whispering, “ You’ve been running on fire, darling, but the tank is on E. Chill before you combust.” And honestly? I get it now. This year, I’m not fighting it. I don’t want to flirt with burnout or end up bedridden just because I refused to sit still. So, I’m letting the eclipse season work its magic while I rest, sip tea, and do the bare minimum. Do I want to journal, meditate, exercise, and be the ultimate enlightened sunflower? Not really. I just want to exist , maybe stare at the wall dramatically, and re...