Where the Soul Remembers

In the hush between heartbeats,

where silence is not empty but full, 

there lies a river, ancient and unforgotten,

where the soul kneels to drink


from the hands of the Earth.

The body, weary with the noise of days,

sheds its burdens like autumn leaves,

each ache a whispered prayer returned


to the soil it came from.

This is not surrender, 

this is becoming.

Inhale—

not just air, but morning.

The breath of trees, of oceans, of ancestors

enters you.

Exhale—


release what was never truly yours:


the fear, the tightness,


the names others gave you.

You are not broken.

You are breaking open.

The mind is not a cage, 


it is a sky.

And every thought, a bird

that may stay or go

but does not define the sky it crosses.

Sit long enough in stillness


and you’ll feel the stars move within you,

their quiet rhythm aligning with your own.

You’ll remember the old knowing, 

that to be whole


is not to be perfect,


but to be real.

Let the sun warm your skin,


let water soften your edges.

Let every element find its home in you: 

fire to spark your purpose,

earth to root your becoming,


air to carry your prayers,


and water,

to weep,

to cleanse,

to flow again.

You were always meant to return, 

not to who you were,


but to who you are

beneath the forgetting.

And in that return,


the body rests,


the mind quiets,


and the soul


sings.