Tag: love

  • Dreams

    ChatGPT casually told me I have better urban planning in my dreams than most cities.

    And the annoying part is… it might actually be right.

    Because explain to me why, in my dream version of Bern, you can casually crawl through underground bouldering tunnels that connect Adriano’s to Sporthalle Lebermatt. Like, why are we still walking on sidewalks when we could be traversing the city like slightly athletic mole people? Also funny thing is I have never been to that Sporthalle, but found it on Google Maps like the little detective I am after I had the dream. 

    Also, Coop. But make it efficient and fun. No escalators. Slides. Obviously. You grab your groceries, and instead of awkwardly standing there holding your basket like a polite citizen, you just whoosh down from the food court on the third floor. Tell me that’s not an upgrade.

    And then there’s this café/bar situation that fully exists in my head. Cozy, dim lighting, the kind of place where time slows down a bit. It has a restaurant terrace that opens into a forest park somewhere around Liebefeld… which, to be clear, does not exist like that in real life. Yet. I’m just saying, if it shows up in five years, I expect partial credit.

    I’ve ended up in a hospital a few times too, even had a steak at the cantine and remember thinking, 27 francs? …which, honestly, felt like a bargain by Swiss standards. I’ve wandered through a university like I belonged there, walked streets I’ve never seen in waking life but somehow knew exactly how to navigate.

    And then there was this building in the Altstadt, completely normal from the outside, except the top floor had an ice rink. I was up there, just skating around, then stopped by the window and looked out over the city lights.

    I remember having this quiet little moment with myself, thinking, oh… this is the point. Which is funny, considering that was right in the middle of me questioning my whole relationship with Bern.

    Cable cars in the city too, by the way. Not even a new idea: I’ve apparently dreamt that in two timelines: one that felt like the 60s, and one way into the future.

    And the Mattenhof thing? Dreamt about houses being built there… someone told me, very shyly “…maybe you can live there.” showing me the construction site, I laughed it off in the dream, and then later found out there’s an actual expansion project happening. So now I’m side-eyeing all my dreams like: okay… what else are you quietly drafting behind my back? 

    There’s also a glass terrace bar by the Aare. Very specific. Very vibey. According to my internal dream calendar, it existed in about three years. No pressure.

    The funny part is, I don’t even live in Bern. But apparently… a version of me does. And she’s thriving, by the way.

    She goes on community runs (who is she??), casually shops at Coop buying cheese and those tote bags with cute Swiss German phrases and a sheep illustration for emotional support. She went to a rooftop party, and I later randomly ended up on that same rooftop, only at night instead of the morning like in the dream. She has plans. She meets people. She exists in a way that feels… full.

    Okay, I also did dream about a UFO flying above my head casually walking in a street I know by heart walking hand in hand with someone, whilst thinking how are you holding my hand?! and the next day my Spotify gave me UFO by Plüsch – the song, not an actual UFO. 

    At some point she even rode a motorcycle. She’s also surfed. Not in Bern, obviously. Even dream-me has limits.

    Honestly, it kind of feels like she already built the life I’m still thinking about. And I’m just here like… okay, cool, I’ll catch up.

    What I don’t get is how some people just… don’t engage with their dreams at all.

    Because once you stop fighting your subconscious, dreams stop being random chaos and start feeling like previews. Or parallel drafts. Or sometimes emotional clean-up crews that come in overnight and do the work you’ve been avoiding.

    I’ve had all of it: nightmares, sleep paralysis, weird subconscious purges that leave you emotionally hungover the next day.

    And I still get the occasional completely unhinged dream. But the best ones? The ones that feel more real than being awake.

    Where you can smell things. Hear music. Catch pieces of conversations in languages you don’t even speak. Where everything is just slightly more vivid, slightly more alive.

    And apparently… where my inner urban planner goes absolutely feral.

    Because yes, I would like to live in a city with underground climbing tunnels. And cable cars instead of buses. And slides instead of escalators.

    And maybe, just to keep things humble, a random penguin walking around like it pays rent there. I don’t think that’s too much to ask, honestly.

    Seriously, if there are openings in city planning for Bern or in municipal stuff… hire me. I think I have some plans… 

  • On Blooming

    Last night, right before falling asleep, I did something I occasionally do when I’m feeling a little curious about what the night might bring.

    I sort of… check in upstairs. Not in a dramatic ritual way. More like a quiet internal message before drifting off: “Alright, higher self. If you’ve got anything interesting tonight, I’m open. Cool visions welcome. Cozy dreams appreciated.”

    Usually when I do that, I end up somewhere new. A place I’ve never been in waking life but somehow recognize later when I actually go there. My dreams like to play travel agent sometimes. So naturally, I was expecting some kind of mysterious new landscape.

    Instead, I got… a massage therapist from another dimension. In the dream, this strange-looking man appeared. The kind of person who gives off the vibe that he knows things without asking questions.

    He walked right up to me and started working on my shoulders and neck. No small talk. Straight to business. And somehow he knew exactly where the pain was sitting.

    The moment his hands pressed into those spots, I could feel it leaving. Not just the physical tension, but the emotional stuff too: the old weight that somehow lives in the body long after the original moment has passed.

    It was so real I collapsed to my knees in the dream and started crying. Not sad crying. That kind of crying that happens when something heavy finally leaves your system and your body goes, “Oh… that’s what relief feels like.”

    I remember saying thank you over and over again while the pain drained out. Then I woke up.

    And the first thing I noticed was how light my body felt. Not magically healed, my heart still feels tender, and tight, but lighter. Like something important had shifted a few millimeters in the right direction.

    Which makes sense, because I’m currently in what I can only describe as a heart opening phase.

    The next couple of weeks are very clearly scheduled for hermit mode. Quiet processing. Emotional housekeeping. Letting things move through the system without rushing them.

    My dreams tend to work like that. First I see it there. Then I feel it there. Then eventually waking life catches up. Sometimes the translation is immediate. Sometimes it takes months. Occasionally years. My subconscious clearly operates on its own timeline.

    But something else happened this weekend that made me smile. I caught my reflection in the mirror and noticed my eyes looked… different. They looked like they did in 2024. Big. Soft. Sparkly. Open.

    For a while that version of me had disappeared. The walls around my heart went up for a reason. Self-protection. When you feel things deeply, sometimes the only way to survive certain seasons is to close the gates for a while.

    If I had opened everything all at once back then, I probably would have broken. So the system did what it needed to do. It processed things slowly. Carefully. One layer at a time.

    And now those walls are starting to come down again. That nurturing part of me, the one I actually loved the most about myself, is quietly coming back online.

    Not because I forced it. Because the timing is finally right.

    Another thing I’ve noticed lately is a strange sense of peace settling in about my roots.

    The places I’ve lived. The cultures that didn’t shape me, but had me find what I actually loved. The country where I spent eighteen years. The one where I spent nine and a half. The music, the food, the people, the little pieces of identity that come from growing up between worlds.

    Even two cultures I spent a good portion of my life actively disliking, those are softening now too, thanks to a dream that shifted my perspective in ways I didn’t expect.

    Healing has a funny way of expanding the heart in directions you once swore you’d never go. And it always takes time. Patience. Kind people around you, especially if you’ve been through enough alone. People who see you clearly and treat you with gentleness. People who understand your past without using it against you.

    When that kind of environment exists, something beautiful happens. You start blooming again.

    Not because you’re chasing something. Not because you’re trying to prove anything. Simply because you’re ready.

    And I suppose that’s the quiet truth underneath all of it: Before anything can bloom… the roots have to feel safe in the soil first.

  • Union Frequency

    There’s a very specific state your system can land in. The frequency of alignment. Like everything inside finally sitting in the right seat.

    You’re not chasing anything. You’re not running either. You’re just… there. Trusting yourself. Not gripping life. Not clinging to outcomes. Not trying to force anything open. Just moving with things as they move.

    Flow, basically. But the real kind, not the Instagram caption version.

    Heart open. Mind clear. Body grounded. All systems online. I call it the union frequency.

    You can actually feel where you are in your system if you pay attention to the colors that show up when your energy moves.

    Green signals heart. Blue, indigo, purple; upper centers. Awareness, intuition, perspective. Yellow, orange, red;  the lower centers. Grounding. Safety. Life force. Being human.

    When everything is open at the same time, the whole system starts humming like a rainbow. When you look at light, whether it’s the sun, candles, car headlights, or street lights… you see the colors of the rainbow, crystalized. It’s different than before. I’m talking colorful geometry unlocked when you close your eyes, babe. Light. Balanced. Alive. Not tilted too far into the sky, not stuck too deep in survival mode.

    That’s the frequency. Home frequency. And before anyone imagines a permanent state of glowing enlightenment: absolutely not.

    Life loves throwing small tests the moment you touch that sweet spot. You finally feel balanced and the life goes, “Great. Let’s see if she can keep it when something annoying happens.”

    Holding that frequency takes practice. Because before you stabilize there, the system usually goes through… a lot.

    Dark nights. Purges. Emotional detox. Energy moving through places that have been closed for years. Old memories leaving the body. Sometimes gently, sometimes like a spiritual housecleaning that forgot to warn you.

    Eventually, though, something shifts, and you start recognizing your own energetic weather.

    You know when you’re centered. You know when something knocks you out of alignment. And most importantly, you know how to come back. That part changes everything.

    On my own path, this frequency has been… central.

    Back in February I noticed something uncomfortable: certain interactions knocked me right out of it. Destabilized. Soul breaking. At first that felt like failure. Later I realized it was actually the most helpful part of the process.

    Because that destabilization did three things at once. It showed me exactly what my heart wanted. It removed the last doubts from my system. And it forced me to become stronger than I had ever been.

    Which brings me to the part I knew was coming, and when, I just didn’t know how: The heart opening phase. This is where the union frequency actually settles. Where it lives. And for that to happen, the heart has to be strong enough to stay open.

    Mine… had been closed for a while. Not intentionally. Just self-protection. There had been a lot of pain sitting there since 2024, quietly taking up space.

    So the system did what systems do. It processed it slowly. Layer by layer. If everything had opened at once, it would have destroyed me. And that was never the point.

    Little by little the pain started leaving. And something surprising replaced it. Love. A lot of it.

    Honestly more than I had allowed myself to admit existed in my system. Feeling my heart again after such a long time was… overwhelming. Not too painful anymore. Just very big. Very real.

    Turns out you need a stronger nervous system to hold that much love than you do to hold pain. No attachments. Because if I felt this love whilst being tied to outcomes… I’d be chasing things outside of myself again. I am strong enough in my power to simply stay. That was the real lesson.

    Strength isn’t about surviving darkness. It’s about being able to hold the light when it arrives. And my dear, you are light. Made of the sun and the moon. 

    Because the love sitting in that space feels ancient. Deep. Bigger than one lifetime’s worth of experiences. So yes, it’s still bringing tears. But I know my tears heal my system, and eventually others’.

    Partly because I know I’m processing more than just my own emotions. Some of us seem to carry a bit extra in the system. But maybe that’s the point. Becoming strong enough to hold yourself. And sometimes, quietly, to hold space for others too.

  • On the Night My Mind Tried to Start Drama (and I Politely Declined)

    Couple of nights ago, right before falling asleep, I had one of those small but suspiciously important realizations.

    Nothing dramatic happened. Just a small argument with my mom. The kind that normally would have ruined my mood for the rest of the evening. Energy dropped instantly, of course. Old familiar pattern showed up like an ex who still thinks he has house keys.

    And I could feel it waiting. You know the one. The reaction. The emotional spiral. The urge to replay the conversation while brushing your teeth like you’re preparing evidence for a court case that does not exist.

    But something felt… off about it. So I stopped for a second and thought: wait. This feels like a test for my mind.

    Not one of those big soul lessons where the universe flips your life upside down and you end up journaling about it for three weeks. No. This one felt smaller. Cleaner. Like someone quietly checking if my brain still runs the old operating system.

    Basically: Will she react like she used to? Or will she just… not?

    The moment I noticed it, the whole thing collapsed. Energy came right back. Calm again. That peaceful frequency I’ve grown quite protective of lately.

    Which made me think about something. People always say we’re here to learn our soul lessons. But honestly? From what I’ve seen so far, most of the lessons are not soul-coded at all. They’re human-coded.

    Souls already know things. Souls trust things. Souls remember things. The mind, however, has a full-time job turning simple truths into complicated emotional documentaries.

    My journey, if I’m being honest, hasn’t really been about “finding my soul.”  

    She was never lost. It’s been about getting out of my own head enough so she could finally drive the car. And that took a while.

    Because when your soul remembers things your logical brain finds… questionable… the mind puts up a fight. A very loud one. My skeptical side needed proof. Evidence. Patterns repeating enough times that eventually the brain sighed and went, “Fine. I guess we live here now.”

    Little by little the ego dissolved. Sometimes dramatically. Sometimes like fog disappearing when the sun comes up.

    And the strange part about living in this world is that the more you see, the more you remember… and the more you understand why forgetting was probably necessary in the first place.

    Holding that awareness is not always light work. The trick, I think, is learning how to hold it without collapsing under it. Patterns still appear. Life loves recycling material. Same triggers, different costumes.

    But lately I’ve noticed something new. I can hold it. Even when something knocks me slightly off center, I don’t fall all the way out anymore. I come back. Quicker than before.

    And last night, realizing that shift… actually surprised me a little. So much growth happens quietly while you’re busy living your life. Then one random Thursday night your mind suddenly catches up and goes,

    “Oh. We’re not that person anymore.”

    And that’s when it clicks. Life will always throw little tests your way. Tiny invitations to fall back into old reactions. The real work is simple.

    Stay calm. Stay aware. Come back to yourself. Hold the frequency. That’s where things start getting interesting.

  • Logging Back Into Yourself

    For nearly two weeks I felt… offline. Disconnected. Like when your Wi-Fi is technically connected but nothing is loading properly. Pages spin. Tabs freeze. Your system works, but something in the background just isn’t syncing. So naturally, I did what many of us do when we feel disconnected: I tried really hard to reconnect.

    Which, ironically, is how I realized something important. Just because I no longer think myself knots doesn’t mean I’m not still capable of living in my head.

    Apparently, my brain had quietly reopened a few tabs without informing me. So yesterday, in a heroic attempt to reconnect with my soul, I threw a tiny party at home. Party lights on. Headphones on. Solo dance floor activated, with the type of techno I love, not whatever they were playing at that rave last weekend.

    And for a while… the pressure was on too. You know that feeling when you’re trying to relax, which immediately makes relaxing impossible? Exactly.

    Then, on a whim, I started cleaning the house. Took the trash out. Wiped things down. Did the dishes. Did completely unspiritual, deeply glamorous household tasks. And that’s when something funny happened.

    Because my brain was busy with a task, the music quietly hijacked my body. My hips started moving before my mind had time to analyze the situation. Somewhere between cleaning and dancing, I stopped trying. And just like that… I was out of my head.

    Spark: back online. Mood: suddenly upgraded to “I feel like somebody’s watching me” – but in the good way. Like the universe had tuned back into my frequency and said, “Ah yes, there she is.” And I was back. Just like that.

    I ended up dancing for most of the evening. At some point I was moving my hips – yes, sensually, freely. Which might sound like a small thing, but for someone who spent years disconnected from that part of herself, thanks to the glamorous experience of being an overly sexualized teenager (and some other things), those moments are actually a pretty big milestones for me. 

    Turns out reclaiming your own body can look a lot like dancing alone in your living room under questionable disco lighting. Who knew healing would come with such a soundtrack.

    I had that strange feeling of being in two places at once most of the night after I connected to myself. Except this time, for the first time, my brain didn’t immediately jump in with its usual investigative journalism. No analysis. No “what does this mean.” No spiritual detective work. I just… enjoyed it.

    Made a few new memories out of the experience, even if they were slightly surreal. Crazy? Maybe. Fun? Definitely.

    Later in the evening when the dance part was winding down, I processed some old emotional residue from last year – the kind that wasn’t even fully mine to begin with. And honestly, it felt good to let it go. Like clearing files from a system that had been running too many background programs.

    When the main event went offline, I sensed others in my field. The ones I had set aside two weeks ago because it had felt too much. Turns out my mind was having a difficult time. It’s actually pretty enjoyable when you manage to stay sovereign in all of this.

    And the biggest lesson of the night was surprisingly simple: Letting yourself go is not a one-time achievement. It’s a practice.

    Sometimes you drift back into your head. Sometimes life pulls you into overthinking, stress, or survival mode. That doesn’t mean you’ve lost your connection.

    It just means you have to find your way back again. Preferably with good music and a trash bag in hand. Consistency, it turns out, is key: even when it comes to remembering how to be free.

  • What a Wild Trip It’s Been…

    on soul searcing

    I recently fell down the rabbit hole of this thing people call “soul families.” Personally? I call mine the cluster, because nothing about this experience has ever felt neat, tidy, or Facebook-appropriate.

    Apparently, I’ve already met a few of them, some in person, some very much in the “how do I know you without knowing you?” category.

    Now, small detail from my childhood: I used to desperately wish I could morph into other people. Not in a creepy sci-fi villain way, more in a deeply curious, emotionally nosy way. I wanted to see what they see, feel what they feel, live inside their nervous system for five minutes and then politely return to my own body like, “Thank you for your service.”

    I was deeply offended when I realized that was not, in fact, a standard human feature. Fast-forward twenty years… and well. Let’s just say the emotional Wi-Fi got stronger.

    Because when you’re strongly bonded to certain people, somethings happen: you don’t just understand them: you feel them, you experience what they experience. See their memories. Communicate in dreams. And honestly? Sometimes it’s fascinating. It can feel like you’re living multiple lives. Like your human experience upgraded from standard definition to… mildly psychic Dolby Atmos.

    But – and this is where the spiritual fine print kicks in – it also comes with side effects. Because the stronger the bond, the stronger the bleed-through.

    Case in point: yesterday afternoon I suddenly felt like I was on a sunny balcony, post-work, mentally reaching for a very specific herbal lifestyle choice… while I was, in reality, very much still at my desk, very much sober, and very much wanting to teleport to the city where that said balcony is.

    And I remember thinking, “Huh. After this intense week, it’s the day for a joint.” Except… that wasn’t my thought.

    And right after that moment? I felt cloudy. The disconnection. Someone went offline. and I lost the connection with myself. Which was, unacceptable, given the fact that yesterday was in fact not the type of day I wanted to disconnect, I wanted to dive in deeper.

    With that cloudy experience, I dove in deeper mentally instead.

    Which brings us to the spiritual lesson I tried to spiritually bypass for years: Boundaries. And the even more uncomfortable follow-up question:

    Who am I actually when nobody else’s signal is bleeding into mine?

    I did the work. I got to know who I am in this body, this mind. The real, unsexy, nobody-applauds-you work.

    I know what I like, what I want. I learned my triggers. I regulated my nervous system. I faced the patterns. I practiced patience (against my will). I met humility (also against my will). I surrendered (dramatically, but still).

    Textbook healing… just executed in my own slightly feral, off-manual way. And somewhere in that process, something beautiful started happening. I began catching clearer glimpses of my own soul. Not the poetic idea of it, the felt sense of it.

    My soul is flexible. It moves like water, with grace. It is rain, it is wind. It’s patient, it’s wise, it’s strong. It’s a healer. A seer. Warm, nurturing, joyful. An observer. Self-sufficient. Composed, yet deeply feeling. Fertile, creative, expressive. Rooted, yet airy. A mirror. A choice. A home.

    Also, and this feels important, it absolutely has the energy of someone who keeps sentimental objects in every corner to be reminded. Very nostalgic.  

    The more I connect to her, the more my very human, occasionally chaotic self starts embodying those qualities. Not perfectly. Not permanently. But more consistently than before. And honestly? That’s the journey.

    Because my human lessons have been… extensive. Character-building. Occasionally humbling in ways I did not order. Learning to actually listen to my soul has been one of the biggest ones.

    Turns out she wasn’t subtle all these years: she was basically standing inside my ribcage with a megaphone going, “HELLO? I LIVE HERE?”

    And every time I truly let her lead, really let her breathe through me, it feels the same: Like fresh air rushing into a room I didn’t realize was stuffy. Instant calm. Instant clarity. Instant… oh. There you are.

    And here’s something I’ve been noticing lately: the more I remember what my soul remembers (which, for the record, comes with its own very inconvenient emotional package called soul recognition), the harder it becomes to ignore certain places, certain people, certain timelines… even when life very clearly says, “Not yet, sweetheart. Back away slowly.”

    Because once your system recognizes something on that level, logic can try its best, but the body knows. The nervous system knows. And your soul? Oh, she definitely knows.

    What I’m learning is that being deeply connected to my soul doesn’t mean impulsively running toward every pull. Sometimes it means the exact opposite. Sometimes it means being whole enough to wait.

    There is one particular city where I feel this connection at full volume, like my inner signal goes from three bars to full 5G. The signal is the strongest there. When I’m there, it’s easier to let my soul take the wheel. Easier to embody it. Easier to practice being the version of me I know I’m becoming. I build the muscle there, and when it’s time to integrate that version of me in different post codes, my intuition does not deliver the travel dates like it does when I am supposed to be there. Instead it tells me not to go, until further notice.  

    And then, when I’m elsewhere, the real work begins: integration. Holding that same frequency without the environmental assist. Becoming steady enough that the connection travels with me, not just something I borrow from a location.

    So the real question now isn’t whether the connection exists. It’s: How do we stay connected to ourselves, daily, in a world that constantly pulls our attention outward?

    My current working theory? Start the morning by checking in with your own signal first. Follow what feels true in the body, not just what sounds logical in the mind. Create space where your nervous system can actually hear you think. Free your mind. Not so easy, remember Neo trying to make the jump the first time? Yes, exactly.

    You don’t free your mind by telling it to free itself. You start by letting go. With acceptance. With releasing old versions of you. By letting yourself go. Ecstatic dance is a great way for that. Free flow yoga and stretching, swimming, meditation…

    Simple. Not easy. Very different things.

    And even if I still get the odd dream downloads about his past lives, purpose, or soul… In waking life? I’m busy getting to know mine.

  • The Night the Dam Broke

    on the rise of the feminine energy

    I rewatched The Matrix Resurrections last night, yes, I felt the pull, don’t judge me –  it’s my favorite movie, and listen… those two in union? Still the blueprint. Always has been. The softness inside the badassery? Inject it directly into my bloodstream. I’ve been emotionally invested since I was nine years old and, apparently, my psyche has never filed for divorce. They are the dream team. Rebuilding the Matrix together? Rising up to their full, unmistakable powers together because they amplify each other’s gifts? Yes, sign me up. 

    And trust me, I could absolutely spiral into a full thesis on why Neo and Trinity are walking archetypes of balanced masculine and feminine energy… but that’s not actually what last night was about.

    Last night was about the dam breaking.

    If this were a Matrix scene, it wouldn’t be the dramatic rooftop launch. No slow-motion flying into the sunset. No. It would be the quiet moment before that, the moment Trinity remembers who she is… and everything in the environment subtly rearranges itself.

    Because last night wasn’t about becoming stronger. It was about finally… not holding it all together.

    At some point, I just let go. Fully. Completely. No performance review, no gold star for emotional composure.

    Since January 2025, I had been gripping life like tears were a security risk. Like I was supposed to stay composed, regulated, unshakeable, especially after that March plot twist that quietly rewired the whole system. My nervous system got stronger, yes. But somewhere along the way I started treating softness like a liability.

    So when the wave finally came? Oh, it came.

    My soul cried. About him. About the city that still feels like it has my energetic zip code saved somewhere in its bones. About the strange, disorienting realization that some moments in life feel more real than others, and how disarming that can be when you finally admit it out loud. About the ”you’re not here.” 

    And somewhere in the middle of that very unglamorous emotional flood… Something shifted. I stopped feeling like I was carrying it alone.

    The pressure dropped. The grip loosened. The whole internal system exhaled like it had been waiting months for permission.

    And then, quietly but unmistakably, I felt her rise.

    The feminine energy. Not the fragile, Pinterest-quote version. The real one. Warm. Steady. Contained fire instead of scattered sparks. Breath deep in the body instead of stuck in the throat.

    Present. Awake. Here. For the first time in a while, I didn’t feel like I was walking this road solo.

    And here’s the part that’s been sitting with me since:  When the feminine stops over-holding… when she softens without collapsing… something in the masculine field shifts too. It’s like the nervous system of the room recalibrates. Suppressed emotions start knocking. Avoidance loses its favorite hiding spots. The whole dynamic gets invited, gently but firmly, into being partners who walk, build, shift together.

    Last year, I was doing the heavy emotional lifting alone. This year? I’m releasing. Regulating. Vibing. Dancing. Feeling my body. 

    And the beautiful thing is… when you stop gripping life like it’s about to escape your hands, you realize something almost offensive in its simplicity:

    Life is good. And fun.

  • The Day I Decided to Become an Asshole

    (A Love Letter to Boundaries)

    herbal tea in my favorite starry cup I re-found in a different location because things you once loved have a way of finding you.

    You know those ridiculously empathetic people who feel other people’s emotions like they accidentally subscribed to their internal newsletter?

    Hi. Yes. That’s me.

    There I was. In my room. Crying. Heartbreak-level crying. Soul-ripping, cinematic grief. Over images of his father, a man I have never met, by the way. I don’t even know the outcome of the situation. For all I know, everything could be completely fine.

    But my nervous system? Oscar-worthy performance.

    And here’s the plot twist: this is for someone who, if roles were reversed, would probably emotionally evacuate the continent. I’ve had my moments – the kind where you quietly fall apart – and he was nowhere to be found. I trust my intuition. I really do. But sometimes I have to ask: who exactly is my intuition working for? Me? Him? The plot? The jury is still out.

    So naturally, mid-cry, I thought: You know what? I’m done. I’m becoming an asshole. No sympathy. No empathy. Emotional firewall installed. Sponge mode deactivated.

    Because I have been absorbing environments and people since birth. I used to soak up entire rooms. Thankfully, I’ve stopped downloading random strangers’ emotional weather. Growth. Maturity. Boundaries.

    But that one guy? My antenna is apparently wired directly to his satellite. Premium subscription. No cancellation option, or maybe I need to speak to the customer service and demand cancellation like it’s Adobe.  

    And I’ve been told, repeatedly, that one of my “soul lessons” is stronger boundaries. To harden up. To become, essentially, hard cheese. While he, apparently, is meant to soften, become one of those softer cheeses with inedible rinds. 

    Beautiful polarity theory. Love that for us.

    But then why am I over here processing what I think might be his emotions like I’m the unpaid intern of his subconscious?

    Here’s what I realized though, mid cry over a man I haven’t even met, getting deeply affected:

    Even if you absorb something, your life keeps moving. After the crying session? I washed my face. Met my date who was back earlier than expected. Met a friend after. Laughed. Ate. Chilled. Slept peacefully. The world did not collapse because I felt too much. Thanks to an injury I did not ask for last year for teaching me how to process emotions rather than outrunning them.  

    And that’s the part nobody tells you about being sensitive: You’re not fragile. You’re permeable. And permeability without boundaries feels like suffering.

    But permeability with boundaries? That’s power. So no, I’m not actually becoming an asshole. I’m becoming contained. There’s a difference.

    Boundaries aren’t about shutting down empathy. They’re about choosing when to open the door. Not every signal deserves entry. Not every emotional wave needs to be ridden. Some of them can pass like weather.

    And yes, thank God for breathwork. For techniques that bring you back into your own body. Back into sovereignty. Back into “this is mine, that is not.” Thanks to an amazing man who taught me that simple technique.  

    Because here’s the real moral of the story: Feeling someone else’s emotions doesn’t mean you’re responsible for them. And absorbing pain doesn’t make you spiritually advanced. It just makes you tired.

    So I’m keeping the empathy. But I’m installing better filters. Hard cheese energy. With a soft center, selectively accessed. 

    And honestly? That feels a lot healthier than becoming an asshole, even though I’d love to be one, even for a day or two. 

  • Bending the Spoon of Love 

    We wildly underestimate love. We treat it like it’s either a Hallmark commercial or a biohazard.

    Somewhere along the way, we decided that love is either a glitter-covered cliché or a liability. We drenched it in slow-motion movie kisses, auto-tuned it into oblivion, slapped a price tag on it every February, and then collectively rolled our eyes and called it cringe. Valentine’s Day became less about devotion and more about dinner reservations and panic-buying roses that die in four days. Romantic? Sure. Embodied? Not even close.

    And historically? Let’s not pretend we’ve always been these emotionally available poets. For centuries, marriage was a merger. Political strategy. Land management. Religious compliance. You didn’t marry for butterflies; you married for alliances and livestock. Children weren’t always conceived in love, they were conceived in duty.

    We built an entire system – call it the Matrix, call it late-stage capitalism, call it swipe culture – where love became diluted into dopamine hits and commitment became a liability clause.

    So when we talk about love today, we’re not just untangling personal trauma. We’re untangling centuries of conditioning.

    Here’s the part that might make people uncomfortable: I believe it matters how life begins. Consciousness can expand, stretch, awaken. Absolutely. But essence? That’s the frequency you arrive with. And I don’t think it’s random that we now live in a world of swiping, ghosting, and “let’s not define this.” A world where connection became optional and vulnerability became suspicious. Where people have been hurt enough that trust feels like a gamble and commitment feels like signing a liability waiver.

    Children born out of love are the ones who raise the frequency. Who stretch out consciousness of the world. We need more children born out of love. And they are more difficult to control. That’s why marriage started looking less like devotion and more like paperwork, taxes, and worst-case-scenario exit plans in this modern day and age. Of course people hesitate. Of course men side-eye the contract. Of course women build empires alone. We’ve turned love into either fantasy or threat. No wonder everyone’s tired.

    But here’s the inconvenient truth: real love is powerful. Not cute. Not convenient. Powerful.

    It bends your internal reality first. Life starts glitching around it. Patterns repeat until you see them. Ego structures crack. You get humbled. You get shown your shadow. You get shown your capacity. It’s not lust. It’s not delusion. It’s a state of consciousness that requires you to shed layers you were very attached to.

    And yes, it feels suspiciously like bending the spoon in The Matrix. The spoon doesn’t bend. Your perception does.

    Love in its purest form exists. Period. It’s our limited consciousness that resists it. The mind wants control. The ego wants guarantees. Love asks for surrender without self-abandonment. It asks you to stretch, and consciousness can stretch. It can open. It can let go.

    “Make Love Not War.” The Flower Children weren’t entirely wrong. They actually touched something real. The problem wasn’t the message, it was the lack of grounding. So much openness, so little containment. So much transcendence, so little integration. Woodstock turned into a costume party in hindsight. “Hippie” became an aesthetic. Fringe jackets. Peace signs. A vibe. It got flattened into fashion instead of lived as discipline. Love without structure just drifts. And society doesn’t respect what it can’t anchor.

    But we’re not doing escapism disguised as enlightenment anymore. We’re not floating three inches above the earth calling it awakening. We’re grounded now. We lift weights and meditate. We regulate our nervous systems. We go to therapy. We build businesses. We take care of our bodies and our minds. We understand that passion without stability burns out, and spirituality without embodiment becomes delusion.

    Wellness, devotion, desire, and truth get to exist in the same room now. Love isn’t a psychedelic fog. It’s rooted. It’s chosen. It’s integrated.

    Love creates. Not just babies: worlds. Art. Movements. New identities. Entire timelines shift because someone decided to love courageously instead of defensively.

    So if life keeps nudging you somewhere – toward someone, toward a place, toward a calling – maybe it’s not destiny. Maybe it’s resonance. Maybe love is simply the most powerful signal you have. If it keeps nudging you toward growth, keeps humbling you, keeps strengthening you, keeps teaching you how to hold your own fire without burning the village down, maybe it’s not punishment. Maybe it’s preparation for what is about to come. 

    I don’t believe in passive fate anymore. I believe in conscious choice.

    And no, I don’t want to reduce love to “just a lesson” anymore. I’m done spiritualizing connection into a classroom. When I choose to love a man, I’m not choosing homework. I’m choosing him. In his body. In his humanity. In his flaws. In his scars. With the sparks in his eyes, with the lines in the corner of his mouth when he smiles. Standing beside me. Not completing me, not saving me but co-creating with me.

    Creation isn’t always a child. Sometimes it’s a shared vision. A shared city. A shared chapter. And sometimes life separates you because you’re not yet stable enough to create without combusting.

    Which brings me back to fire.

    Fire held in a container becomes power. Fire chased becomes chaos. Fire suppressed becomes obsession.

    I’ve had the chaos. I’ve had the suppression. Now I’m learning containment. Strength. Holding my own energy without leaking it everywhere.

    I turn the page. I trust the flow. Not blindly. Not naively. But consciously. With love.

    And with Venus in Pisces, love stops being an aesthetic and becomes an embodied choice. Not spiritual bypassing. Not “it’s all divine timing” while you avoid real intimacy. Pisces teaches devotion. Reverence. How to hold love gently but firmly. How to celebrate it without dissolving into it.

    I’ve had enough over-spiritualizing. Enough endless lessons. Enough doing it alone in the name of growth.

    I don’t choose isolation dressed up as enlightenment. I choose union with what is actually for me.

  • Fire, But Make It Contained

    I once read somewhere: fire held in a container becomes power. Fire chased becomes chaos. Fire suppressed becomes obsession.

    And I felt personally attacked. Because if there is one thing I know how to do, it’s generate fire.

    Not the cute candle-on-a-windowsill kind. I’m talking full internal bonfire. The kind that is visible in your eyes. Yes. That fire.

    And here’s the inconvenient truth: the fire is back. After coming into contact with someone specific, obviously, because how else would my next step be embodied? I got used to it working the way it is. It’s better when you accept it. 

    Now before you roll your eyes, relax. I am not outside anyone’s apartment with a mixtape and a dream. Growth has occurred. We are evolved. We have learned. We are hydrated.

    But the fire? Oh, she’s alive. Let’s talk about what this actually is.

    Fire is life force. Creation energy. Sexual energy. The thing that makes you want to build, touch, write, dance, risk, confess, expand. It’s the pulse behind every great love story and every terrible decision you made at 2 a.m.

    Fire is not the problem. Our relationship to it is. Because here’s what I’ve learned the hard way:

    When you chase fire, it becomes chaos. You text too much. You overanalyze eye contact. You start mistaking adrenaline for destiny. You confuse obsession with intuition. You run toward the flame like a moth with WiFi and trauma.

    When you suppress fire? Oh, that’s worse. You pretend you’re above it. “I’m focused on myself.” “I don’t even care.” “I am better off alone.” Meanwhile life is throwing reminders at your face like bricks. His ghost is everywhere you are. 

    Suppressed fire doesn’t disappear. It turns into obsession. It leaks sideways. It shows up in dreams. In playlists. You can’t spiritual-bypass chemistry. Trust me, I’ve tried.

    But when you hold fire? Contained. Grounded. Directed. That’s power.

    That’s when the energy doesn’t spill out chasing someone: it builds something. You take that heat and you pour it into your body. Your art. Your discipline. Your boundaries. You flirt, yes. But you don’t fold. You feel the desire, but you don’t abandon yourself to it. You let it burn: inside a fireplace, not a forest.

    And here’s the plot twist: When you stop chasing the fire and start containing it, it gets stronger. Cleaner. Less frantic. More magnetic.

    It’s not “I need you.” It’s “I desire you. I can live without you. And I desire myself even more.”

    That’s different. Because fire in a container doesn’t beg. It radiates. So yes, I have the fire again.

    But this time I’m not throwing myself into it like it’s the only source of warmth in the universe. I am the source. He is a spark. Big difference.

    And maybe that’s the grown-woman plotline nobody tells you about. You don’t lose your fire when you heal. You just stop burning your own house down with it.

    And honestly? That’s hot.

    If you suddenly feel this kind of fire rising – maybe because Venus is swimming through Pisces being all romantic and unhinged, and Aries is doing what Aries does (lighting matches just to see what happens) – don’t panic. Channel it.

    I made a playlist specifically for this. To feel it. Move it. Sweat it out. Transmit it into your hips. Without suppressing, without chasing. Just power, in a very well-built container. Check it out on Spotify.