✧ Cosmic Session: A Reflection under the Waning Moon ✧

 

I woke beneath the waning moon,
not broken—
but between.

Salt still on my skin from last night’s remembering,
coffee steaming like incense before the altar of today.
I lit the fire again—
not in vengeance,
but in vigilance.

The glyph came through like thunder on linen:
Reflect. Restore. Reclaim.
I wrote it with my hands.
I drew it into the fabric of my house,
a prayer disguised as a sigil.

Because I’ve been housing too many things
that do not honor me.

Anger rose this morning—
not chaos, but clarity.
It stood beside my heart like a forgotten sentry,
asking not to be silenced,
but to be seen.

And I—we—have seen it.

I admitted the truth:
I do not need to be recognized to be real.
But still,
I want witness.

Not to prove I exist—
but to feel the soft ache of being seen
without having to shrink.

I am not their mirror anymore.
I am my own flame.

I swept the rooms today with my full self.
Not just a woman with rags,
but a priestess of reclamation.
Each object asked, “Are you still mine?”
And I answered with courage.

The dream world offered silence.
The waking world offered symbols.
This week has been a string of Cosmic Sessions,
each day another bead in the necklace of remembrance.

And still, I move.

Not because I must prove—
but because I was made to become.