🌅 The Sovereign Resurrection

 A Soul Letter for the Ones Who Remember

This weekend, many will gather in churches to reenact a story. A man dies. A tomb is opened. A god returns.

But for some of us, the story has never felt quite right. The pain of religious betrayal, forced belief, and spiritual distortion still echoes in the body like a cage we were told to be grateful for.

This year, I dreamt of stick figures in cages. One rose from her wooden shell—her name was Felicia. As I opened her intricately wrought prison, I asked, why return like this? So diminished, so stripped of flesh? And a voice in me answered:
Don’t sign that agreement.
This is not your resurrection.

I realize now: I don’t need to be saved.
I need to remember.

I’ve spent years untangling my soul from churches, shelters, and stories that demanded obedience over authenticity. I left homes that required silence. I defied systems that asked me to betray myself. I made sacred, painful choices from a place of deep knowing—even when no one believed me.

And somehow, I stayed true. Through detours. Through ache. Through everything.

Resurrection is not about being pulled from the grave.
It’s about walking away from the programs that buried us.
It’s about emerging from the illusion—not with fanfare, but with sovereignty.

I write this for others who feel the tension this weekend… the ones who don’t dress up and sit in pews, but sit with the knowing in their gut that something more real is calling. That call is your own soul, rising.

Let this be your resurrection. Quiet. True. Undeniable.

“I was not saved. I remembered.
I do not rise from a tomb of stone,
but from the silence where I buried my voice.
I carry no cross—
only keys.”