I rose later than I’d planned, or than I desired, if I’m being honest. You know those days when you set intentions, sketch a rhythm, even imagine the energy you want to feel by bedtime, and then it slips? That was today.

Lately, I’ve been exploring the caverns of my psyche, unintentionally in the conscious sense, but undeniably led by the undercurrent of my soul. There were questions lodged in my spirit that no spreadsheet, no sermon, no well-meaning friend could resolve.

I don’t know who needs to hear this. Maybe it’s a reminder for me. But crumbs? We’re not receiving that. Not in this timeline. Not in this frequency. Not in this version of you…

For years, I didn’t allow myself the chance to explore different texts, traditions, or ways of thinking. Not because I was forbidden, but because critical thinking felt like betrayal, like I was abandoning the only belief system that had once offered me comfort and “salvation.” As I read The Great Cosmic Mother by Monica Sjöö and Barbara Mor, I approached the literature with a tender heart and an open mind.