Today, you get your learner’s permit and your dad has you drive home. By the time you arrive, you’re shaking like a leaf and yearning to do it again. A taste of that kind of freedom has you wanting more.

You’ve been starving for a couple of years now, measuring your success in the number of visible bones. The pain is gnawing, but you’ve grown accustomed to it. You are grateful that it has robbed you of the energy to feel your pain, which you cannot pinpoint the epicenter of. So you wander, hungry and hellbent, until you find the next thing that makes you feel something, and if that something is too much to handle, you’ll etch it into your skin with a sharp blade until the outside matches the inside. 

You’ll fall under the control of a boy you think you love, and rather than the harbingers of care and safety they should be, his hands will be weapons. He will take from you, even though you feel you’ve nothing left to be taken. He’ll prey on your weakness and then exacerbate it. 

You’re fifteen going on twenty-five. You’re tired already. You were born with an awareness that led to premature weariness, and with little to no knowledge of how to use the gifts that were given to you during your struggle to come into creation, your malnourished bones creak under the weight of your small but heavy world. Six long years you waited, sixty-three failed vessels until finally the sixty-fourth took and you bloomed. 

And my, how you’ve continued to bloom.

Today, ten years later, twenty-five feels much different than you thought it would. The weariness is still there, but a deep and reverent appreciation for that weariness is seeded alongside it, stoking the flames of gratitude and wonder and awe. You’ve done the work to find that epicenter of pain and look it in its gaping maw. You tamed the beast and made her beautiful; it’s no longer you against her or you against the world, but you with your shadow with the world working in concert to maximize your human experience on this planet in this timeline. I know you don’t believe me, but your essence chose this story because She knew you’d unfold it stunningly. And it is still unfolding as you bloom, bloom, bloom.

You will experience a return to Self. You will uncover and nurture your harmonious inner compass and let it guide you through the many trials you have yet to come. You will remember your first wound and all that came after and they will fall into place like a burnt autumn mosaic, riotous in color and emotion. Your feverish summers will give way to crisp, sleepy falls, and you’ll thrive in the death of things no longer in service to you as the winter lays you down to sleep and spring reanimates those parts you seeded to bloom, bloom, bloom. You will give yourself over to natural rhythms and learn to trust your intuition, the highest reason of all. You will come into your magic and use it to incandescently alter your world. 

Everything you dreamed of being, you will become. You will find that comfortable and consuming love you dreamed of. You will have the resiliency of reinforced steel balanced by a soft and warm heart. You will learn to time travel and speak with the dead and understand people with a single glance. You will realize what is truly important in life and gain the selective wisdom to reject what keeps us trapped in the lower dimensions. You will assist in raising the collective vibration of the entire planet, one miraculous moving part in a network of souls racing to save a world wrought with its own peril. Life is so much more than you think it is right now. It’s so much more than anyone thinks. You’ll uncover the secrets that are not actually secrets at all, but Universal Truths disguised as misled dogma and doctrine. 

You will bloom, bloom, bloom.

You have to keep moving so we can get to where we are now. Even when you are beaten and bloody, nails cracking as you drag yourself forward, you have to keep moving. Through pain there is alchemy, and you are on track to become one of the most profound alchemists the world has yet seen. Please, keep moving. Keep blooming. 

You’ve got at least ten years to go. 

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