​A way back

​

Misunderstandings come in packs,
but so do truths,
quiet and feral, waiting in still corners.

​

The miserable mission?
A contract signed in the stars,

but you are allowed to renegotiate.
Every breath is a new clause.
Every moment, a soft rebellion.

​

You ask: Where are you going?
I answer: 

You are returning.

​

Returning to the vast field
unmarked by path,
yet imprinted with every soul’s passage.
It comes from nowhere,
goes to nowhere,
but you —
you are the only point that matters.

The center of all directions.

​

Yes, loneliness is familiar.
It is the echo of your own voice
before time was born.
Your desire is older.
Older than the sky.

​And the fear —
even that belongs.

​

I read the energy.
I feel the code beneath the dream.
The Akasha does not hide;
it waits.

​​​

​

The burden is not punishment, it is pattern.
And in pattern, there is code.
And in code, there is truth.

​

Misunderstanding is the echo of truth not yet heard.
Misery, the ache of meaning misplaced.
The rock rolls,

where every cycle carves me smoother.

 

​

​

Need the answers?

The life is created according to

the frequency you hold,
the stories you believe,
the silence you resist.

​

Not just the thoughts in your mind,
but the tone beneath the thoughts,
the echo of your childhood wonder,
and the texture of your unloved fears.

​

You don’t create with effort.
You create with permission.

​

Permission to feel,
to want,
to not know.
To dance with doubt.
To dream with dirt on your feet.

​

The Akasha holds the blueprint,
but you hold the key.

​

So breathe.
Ask.
Receive.

​

 

And when the question rises again:
Where are you going?

Smile gently, and say:
I am already there.

I just forgot how to see.