a sacred place to be
on the present moment, transcribing with clarity, and the reclamation of the soul
Jazz transported me to a calm, serene, timeless state. Each note drifted through my soul, touching the nooks and crannies, reintroducing softness and ease to my being. It became a portal home for me — a space that ushered me into the present moment where nothing and no one matter. Just the here and now.
I hadn’t handwritten unfiltered pages in a while. The practice once felt burdensome. Typing, on the other hand, offers me a sacred rhythm — a spaciousness where thoughts emerge, evolve, and expand. It’s not simply a convenience; it’s communion. I found that the transcription of intentional prose requires something deeper than I anticipated: philosophical clarity, unclouded intention, a willingness to linger and listen, to modify, and rephrase. These skills I once misunderstood as signs of failure. I believed revision meant inadequacy. That I wasn’t enough the first time.
But now, I understand how editing is devotion. Choosing to refine my words is an act of respect for myself, my thoughts, and my future readers. It is the tender art of maturity, of giving weight to my inner world.
And, so this is the exquisiteness of becoming the woman I once longed to be — the one who sits with herself and says, yes, you are worth the time. Yes, your voice deserves to be heard, shaped, and honored.
She is here now. Steadily evolving.
I’ve reclaimed my rhythm, my voice, my destiny, my focus, my femininity, and my financial abundance. I am an active steward of their eternal unfolding — not from urgency, but from reverence. It’s growth that is not meant to be rushed, but nurtured and tended to with patience and care. To reclaim these aspects of myself was a return to something more: a return to purity. To a core untainted and indisputable.
The return was not met by shame or fear, but by courage, love, and truth. It’s from that place that I refined my language, my gifts, and my philosophies — not through striving or hustle. But through slowness, awareness, and a commitment to wholeness. Without the residue of the past. Without fear of the future. Without the fear of being fully seen and known.
The return revealed itself in slower risings. In gentle stretching. In the sacred pause of layering my skin with oil. It was explored through musings on topics, themes, and experiences of life that evoked memories and emotions within me. It supplied my spirit, soul, and body with what it needed. It meant being deeply seated in the present moment and dwelling there. It was found while pouring almond creamer into hot coffee. In the romance of reading a book in the candlelight. In the holiness of warm light shining on my moisturized skin.
I began to see the divine in what the world often regards as mundane.
From this frequency, wisdom became both the blueprint and the architect. From this frequency, authenticity unveiled sovereignty. From this frequency, I returned to my seat of genius — where creativity, artistry, and intellect commune.
This reclamation didn’t start today. It began when I was a child, journaling at eight years old. Unloading thoughts, as if they were being brought onto a dock after a long night at sea. Waiting to be transcribed into words and sheltered in reflection. Even then, I was in tune with my soul’s wisdom. I always knew how to come home to myself. When I look in the mirror of my inner world, when I gave language to the chambers of my soul, I became empowered to speak with excellence in the worlds beyond.
It always began at home.
So here I am — at the shore. In the headquarters of my being. Where I sit in the office of my essence and read from the library of my soul. Where I write not just to share, but to remember. To commune. To explore the affections of my heart and transcribe them into timeless musings.
In the present moment, we are unlimited. In rest, we remember our royalty. In sovereignty, we return to the garden. This is where survival ends and sovereignty begins. And it is a sacred place to be.
