A Return To The Walls

It wasn’t a room I stepped into today.

It was the walls themselves.

The architecture of me.

I lit candles.

Stretched into stillness.

Moved with Earth in my ears and breath in my belly.

I cried. I hugged. I remembered.

And from my root to my throat, I cleared the path.

Back to her. Back to me.

Who is Fairy Isabelle?

She’s the conscious version.

The aligned one.

The gracious, proud, focused one.

She’s the above-person.

Not above others - above noise, distortion, forgetting.

She is a frequency I become when I listen.

And today… I listened.

I remembered that nothing needs to be proven to be sacred.

That tears and pleasure are not opposites.

That being still isn’t the opposite of being strong.

That my sensitivity is a kind of power.

And that this home I live in - isn’t just shared with others.

It’s made of me.

The walls. The light. The silence between songs.

I don’t want to perform her.

I want to embody her.

And I don’t need anyone else to name it.

I know when I’m her.

I feel it in my spine.

So I write this for me.

And maybe for you, if you’ve been forgetting.

You don’t need to return to a version of yourself.

You need to undress what isn’t you anymore.

And then…

let your own walls speak.