Shekinah3 Dwelling of the Divine

12/12/2025

The Earth Before the Wound

Lemuria

There was a time before the wound—
before the forgetting—
when the Earth knew herself as whole
and we knew ourselves as part of her.

We were once the First Garden of Earth.
Not a territory to be claimed,
not a paradise to be lost,
but a living relationship—
faithfully kept between breath and soil,
between the human heart and the listening sky.

Welcome, Beloveds,
to the realm of Lemuria.

Not as a place upon a map,
but as a state of being held within us.
A magickal field of heart-centred intelligence
where life moved according to harmony,
and power arose from coherence rather than control.

Lemuria lived as listening.
The people did not stand above the land—
they moved with it.
They felt the intelligence of water,
the patience of stone,
the long memory carried by trees.
Every gesture was an offering.
Every choice was a conversation with life itself.

This was a civilisation shaped by knowing,
not belief.
The universe was not distant—
it breathed through the body.
The stars were not symbols—
they were kin.
Their wisdom moved through blood and breath,
through bone and dream.

Lemuria was the knowing of all that has been
and all that will ever be.
The shimmering awareness of why we came here.
The iridescent recovery of purpose
before purpose was fractured into striving.

And yet—
the memory of its ending never left us.

It moved quietly into the blood,
into the marrow of the bones,
into the hidden chambers of the cells.
A soft ache.
A recognition without language.
Homesickness not for a place,
but for wholeness.

Lemurian seed quartz remembers for us.
Within its crystalline lattice,
light-stories still flicker—
records of a consciousness
that lived beyond the veil of the mundane.
How we miss home.
How the beauty of our oldest Earth
still calls to us through rain, tide, and wind.

In Lemuria, time did not rush forward.
It breathed.
Days unfolded in rhythm with the sun and moon,
and with the inner tides of the body.
Children were taught to listen
before they were taught to speak.
Dreaming was a doorway to truth.
Healing was communal.
Grief was never carried alone.

High Priestesses tended the thresholds—
between worlds, seasons, life and death.
Mermaids, guardians of the waters,
walked the shores with stars reflected in their eyes,
their songs harmonising the emotional field of the planet.
We were many expressions of one life—
devoted to oneness,
in love with All that lived,
belonging to the great breathing whole.

Power in Lemuria was never taken.
It was generated—
from alignment,
from shared intention,
from hearts in coherence with life-force itself.
There was no scarcity,
because creation flowed from balance.
What was needed arose.
What was excess returned gently to the whole.

In the quiet spaces between thought,
the Light Council spoke.

They spoke of activations now unfolding—
star-born golden keys awakening across the Earth.
Not additions,
but ancient encodings remembering themselves.
They spoke of ego not as distortion,
but as essence—
the original self before fear fractured identity.

What awakens now is coherence.
Self returning to soul.
Humanity remembering its place
within the living whole.

They spoke also of the children arriving now—
many carrying Lemurian frequencies,
incarnating with ancient eyes and tender authority.
At Shekinah3, we call them Rays of Light.
They are arriving in greater numbers,
and they are radiant beyond measure.

Among them are bearers of a new expression—
the Diamond Ray—
here to meet densities once believed impossible to shift.
They do not force change.
They repattern reality through presence alone.
Their frequency clarifies what was distorted,
lightens what was heavy,
and reveals what has always been waiting beneath.

These Rays of Light do not come to dominate this world.
They come to re-temple it.
They remember how to listen.
How to live in right relationship.
How to belong without possession.
Through them, the Earth is learning again
how to hold brilliance without fear.

We are supported now as we reclaim our gifts—
not as ambition,
but as responsibility.
We are learning how to tend power without misusing it,
how to meet shadow without violence,
how to choose harmony
where domination once ruled.

In this Age of Aquarius,
we are not resurrecting a lost civilisation.
We are restoring a way of being.
The journey back to wholeness,
in honour of every part of who we are.

Mu—Lemuria—was never only a place.
It was a state of consciousness.
A dreaming that knew it was awake.
A world where the human heart
was trusted as an organ of truth.

Once again, we stand at a threshold.
Lemuria and Atlantis mirrored in this moment of history.
When humanity moves against the laws of nature,
life trembles.
When we move with them,
balance becomes possible again.

Shekinah3 exists as a sanctuary for this remembering—
to steady the activations,
to hold the body gently through awakening,
to anchor star-born brilliance
into the living body of the Earth.

Hold the vision, Beloved.
Our vibration is of the Stars,
yet our devotion is here—
rooted in soil, breath, and bone.
Walk gently, Beloved,
for the Earth is listening.
Live wisely,
for the children are watching.

We are love meeting love—
an expression of Source remembering itself
through experience in the human form.
Love it All,
in honour.

Remember—not with longing,
but with embodiment—
what this blue planet has always known itself to be
when love guides power,
when the heart leads the way,
and when humanity remembers its place
within the great living whole.

Beloved home, Lemuria.

With love,
Rosa & Shekinah3 Stars

11/12/2025

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Collective Reading for Today

The Bedroom Where the Soul Was Held Hostage

The awakening did not begin with light — it began with the sound of something breaking inside the room we thought we knew.
Not a window.
Not a wall.
But the thin membrane between who we became to survive
and who we were always destined to be.

The personas felt it first —
shifting like restless spirits, rattling the edges of a synthetic world
that could no longer contain their hunger for Truth.
Labels slipped.
Masks quivered.
The air thickened with the electricity of something returning.

This is where our story begins, Beloveds:
in the moment the mask finally cracked.

A bedroom once created for dreaming, restoring, imagining
had become a synthetic chapel —
a shrine to the distracted mind.
Mood crept like damp through the walls,
turning white paint into a shadowed map of silent despair.
Ambition twisted into exhaustion.
Purpose eroded into a conveyor belt of comparison and speed.
The room itself had become the forbidden forest of divine madness,
a place where the soul hid beneath layers of personas
masquerading as survival.

And then it came —
a sound that split the illusion clean open.

Not one cry,
but all cries at once.
A scream from every persona
begging to be felt,
to be released,
to imagine again,
to create again,
to become impossible again.

Dearest Beloveds,
when did we forget the golden thread of connectedness?
When did we silence the Wise Ones
whose roots run through our marrow?
When did we turn away from the abundance and steady pulse of Pachamama,
who has been whispering truths through every trembling leaf
and every deep, ancient breath of the Earth Star?

Today, our tribe stands at the threshold of your darkened room.
Not gently — but with purpose.
They come not to shame your personas
but to gather them,
to welcome every exiled part of you
with a compassion so luminous it dissolves the false world on contact.

Healing cannot be purchased.
It is not a button, a subscription, or an update.
It is the remembering of radiant love,
the weaving of fragmented selves back into one breathing, sovereign soul.

Dearest Shadow Persona…
the Earth Star rises to meet you.
Pachamama presses her palm to the floor
and calls you back into the womb of stability,
the heartbeat of your Mother’s embrace.

Today we rise from the solitude
of a bedroom filled with artificial joy —
smiling Famous Emojis glowing in rooms darkened by unspoken grief.
We stand before the door and see clearly:

This door is not life.
It is the illusion of life —
a portal built by a world desperate to keep us small, quiet, obedient.

But today, Beloveds…
we walk outside.

Outside, where breath expands as if returning from centuries of exile.
Where imagination climbs back into the body.
Where personas fall silent
and our true voice — ancient, untamed, sovereign —
returns to the throne of our Being.

We inhale sharply, deeply, wildly —
as if tasting life for the first time.

And we declare:

Yes to Life.
Yes to Light.
Yes to the breaking-open of who we truly are.

No more conveyor belt of sedation.
No more easy comforts that erase courage.
No more efficiency that strips soul from life.

We are not commodities.
We are not algorithms.
We are not the product.

We are Stars — ancient, unbroken, unowned.

We feel the slumber ending.
We return to our tribe,
our Gifts, our Talents, our sacred imaginations.
We show up for ourselves
and for the world waiting beneath the Big Oak Trees
where your Divine Hope rises like incense.

Here, we remember:
our lives, our children’s lives, and the unborn lives of future Stars
are worthy of a world woven in truth, beauty, and possibility.

Let us cross the threshold —
out of distraction,
out of artificiality,
out of synthetic consciousness,
out of the plastic dreamscape that drains the soul
and dims the daylight of human brilliance.

We are not powerless.
We end the illusion by refusing to live inside it.

As old personas fall from us like rusted armour,
we rise closer and closer to Source —
clear, sovereign, embodied, awake.

Today we trust ourselves to be the illuminated ones —
those who know how to dream the New World
in innocence, abundance, purification,
and healthy, consecrated ego.

Let us weave with intention.
For Spider teaches us this truth:
there is no planned obsolescence in her thread.
It is instinct, integrity, wisdom, and beauty —
a geometry of truth crafted from the success of Love itself.

Our dreams are dreaming new worlds.
Do not give up, Beloveds.
Not now. Not when the door has finally opened.

With All my Love
Rosa & Shekinah3 Stars

11/12/2025

Collective Reading for Today

The Bedroom Where the Soul Was Held Hostage

The awakening did not begin with light — it began with the sound of something breaking inside the room we thought we knew.
Not a window.
Not a wall.
But the thin membrane between who we became to survive
and who we were always destined to be.

The personas felt it first —
shifting like restless spirits, rattling the edges of a synthetic world
that could no longer contain their hunger for Truth.
Labels slipped.
Masks quivered.
The air thickened with the electricity of something returning.

This is where our story begins, Beloveds:
in the moment the mask finally cracked.

A bedroom once created for dreaming, restoring, imagining
had become a synthetic chapel —
a shrine to the distracted mind.
Mood crept like damp through the walls,
turning white paint into a shadowed map of silent despair.
Ambition twisted into exhaustion.
Purpose eroded into a conveyor belt of comparison and speed.
The room itself had become the forbidden forest of divine madness,
a place where the soul hid beneath layers of personas
masquerading as survival.

And then it came —
a sound that split the illusion clean open.

Not one cry,
but all cries at once.
A scream from every persona
begging to be felt,
to be released,
to imagine again,
to create again,
to become impossible again.

Dearest Beloveds,
when did we forget the golden thread of connectedness?
When did we silence the Wise Ones
whose roots run through our marrow?
When did we turn away from the abundance and steady pulse of Pachamama,
who has been whispering truths through every trembling leaf
and every deep, ancient breath of the Earth Star?

Today, our tribe stands at the threshold of your darkened room.
Not gently — but with purpose.
They come not to shame your personas
but to gather them,
to welcome every exiled part of you
with a compassion so luminous it dissolves the false world on contact.

Healing cannot be purchased.
It is not a button, a subscription, or an update.
It is the remembering of radiant love,
the weaving of fragmented selves back into one breathing, sovereign soul.

Dearest Shadow Persona…
the Earth Star rises to meet you.
Pachamama presses her palm to the floor
and calls you back into the womb of stability,
the heartbeat of your Mother’s embrace.

Today we rise from the solitude
of a bedroom filled with artificial joy —
smiling Famous Emojis glowing in rooms darkened by unspoken grief.
We stand before the door and see clearly:

This door is not life.
It is the illusion of life —
a portal built by a world desperate to keep us small, quiet, obedient.

But today, Beloveds…
we walk outside.

Outside, where breath expands as if returning from centuries of exile.
Where imagination climbs back into the body.
Where personas fall silent
and our true voice — ancient, untamed, sovereign —
returns to the throne of our Being.

We inhale sharply, deeply, wildly —
as if tasting life for the first time.

And we declare:

Yes to Life.
Yes to Light.
Yes to the breaking-open of who we truly are.

No more conveyor belt of sedation.
No more easy comforts that erase courage.
No more efficiency that strips soul from life.

We are not commodities.
We are not algorithms.
We are not the product.

We are Stars — ancient, unbroken, unowned.

We feel the slumber ending.
We return to our tribe,
our Gifts, our Talents, our sacred imaginations.
We show up for ourselves
and for the world waiting beneath the Big Oak Trees
where your Divine Hope rises like incense.

Here, we remember:
our lives, our children’s lives, and the unborn lives of future Stars
are worthy of a world woven in truth, beauty, and possibility.

Let us cross the threshold —
out of distraction,
out of artificiality,
out of synthetic consciousness,
out of the plastic dreamscape that drains the soul
and dims the daylight of human brilliance.

We are not powerless.
We end the illusion by refusing to live inside it.

As old personas fall from us like rusted armour,
we rise closer and closer to Source —
clear, sovereign, embodied, awake.

Today we trust ourselves to be the illuminated ones —
those who know how to dream the New World
in innocence, abundance, purification,
and healthy, consecrated ego.

Let us weave with intention.
For Spider teaches us this truth:
there is no planned obsolescence in her thread.
It is instinct, integrity, wisdom, and beauty —
a geometry of truth crafted from the success of Love itself.

Our dreams are dreaming new worlds.
Do not give up, Beloveds.
Not now. Not when the door has finally opened.

With All my Love
Rosa & Shekinah3 Stars

11/12/2025

If you want to gift someone special something special this Christmas, we have plenty of options. Everything is made and infused with love by us. Or donate something to your favourite charity instead💚

10/12/2025

Dawn of the Returning Stars

Collective Reading for Today
Morning Star • Pachamama • Warrior Feminine

Dearest Beloveds,
before dawn has fully stirred, my heart’s vision is showing me the first light brushing the rim of the world — that trembling, sacred threshold where night softens and a new breath gathers its courage. And in this hushed moment, the Morning Star rises, a solitary flame remembering every dawn that has ever returned. She lifts herself with the quiet certainty of mountains and silent rivers, carrying a wisdom older than time itself.

Her radiance spills across the stillness and descends into the open arms of Pachamama, who receives it with the reverence of a Great Mother welcoming home her wandering Stars. She draws the Morning Star’s blessing into her soil, her stones, her waters. And as Pachamama exhales, her breath rises through root and rock, through river and wind, until it meets our own with the intimacy of recognition.

Something ancient stirs within us. A trembling not of fear but of remembrance moves through the deep interior of our collective Star-being. For today, we as Stars are undergoing a great reset, a re-tuning of the inner music etched into our bones. Our bodies remember what our minds have forgotten: change begins with the sacred unsteadiness that precedes rebirth.

The Morning Star calls us inward. She guides us to the first breath of wounding — not to reopen the ache, but to witness where our light first dimmed. She brings us to the moment we softened our brilliance to belong, quieted our knowing to remain safe, stepped away from ourselves to survive. She asks us to meet this place with tenderness, for these early fractures shaped the expectations we carried like invisible constellations.

But beneath her luminous gaze, these old expectations loosen. They fall away like weathered husks, revealing the bright core we abandoned but never lost. The Morning Star reminds us we were not made to live confined within the architecture of old pain. We were made for vastness, for truth, for the sky that has always called us home.

Pachamama feels this awakening.
She knows the labour of rebirth: how seeds must crack open before they rise, how pressure shapes mountains, how rivers carve their way home. She knows the courage required for a constellation of awakening Stars to release the identity shaped by silence or fear and return to the integrity of their original light.

And now the Warrior Feminine awakens within us. She rises not as aggression but as fierce grace. She stands beside each of us, forged of star-fire and earth-clay, whispering:

“No more shrinking your brilliance.
No more forsaking your knowing.
No more carrying wounds that were never yours.”

Her presence moves through us like dawn wind over open land — gentle, undeniable, purifying. She gathers the scattered pieces of our soul-memory and returns them to their rightful constellation. She leads us into the vast inner landscape where we remember our belonging: to one another, to Pachamama, to the Morning Star, to the luminous truth at the center of all things.

So today, Beloved Stars, trust the trembling.
It is not breaking — it is becoming.
Welcome the unfamiliar — it is the doorway of return.
Release the narratives that no longer fit the shape of your rising.
Your soul is ready to breathe again.

The Morning Star rises for us.
The Warrior Feminine awakens through us.
Pachamama holds every step of our becoming.

This is our dawn.
We rise together.

With All my Love
Rosa & Shekinah3 Stars

09/12/2025

The Heart’s Untold Intelligence

Collective Reading for Today

Dearest Beloved,
there is a place within you untouched by ruin, noise, or the fractures of the world. A chamber beneath all chambers — a sanctuary where the Divine gathers itself around your essence like a thread of unbroken light.

This inner dwelling does not age.
It does not dim.
It does not negotiate with time.

It waits beneath all your thinking — the quiet riverbed beneath every storm, the ground that remains even when everything else is shifting.
And when you soften into it, you realise eternity has been living inside you like a forgotten seed waiting for rain.

At the centre of this sacred place rests the Golden Child — not a child of years, but of origin. The first spark your soul ever carried. The innocence that survived every lifetime.

This Golden Child breathes with the pulse of the living universe.
And when you listen to that tremble inside your ribs, your Being gathers itself — fragments remembering their wholeness, silence remembering its song.
You do not become more;
you return to the enormity you have always been.

This heartbeat is not just yours.
It is the love that predates your name.
It is the breath moving through your finite shape.
It is the fire that survives every forgetting.

Beloveds, today’s teaching appears like ink upon water:

There is the way of the mind.
And there is the way of the heart.

The mind is a restless architect — forever building ladders to places you no longer need to climb, forever turning dust into mountains and mountains into dust.

But the heart…
The heart moves in the underground passages of the soul —
where language has not yet formed,
where truth remains unbruised.
It senses before it sees.
It shifts like water around stone.
It finds the path no map could hold.

To walk by the heart is to trust what is tender,
to say yes before you understand why,
to live by the pulse of life rather than the structures of thought.

And beloved Star — courage has been your companion across centuries.
You were never made for the smallness of fear.

Let the mind lie down at the feet of your heart as servant, not ruler.
Let it become the chamber where your inner knowing can echo freely.

When head and heart collide, the mind grasps into illusion — trying to fix what is not broken, trying to foresee what has not yet unfolded.
But surrender brings a holy quiet:
emotion transforms into guidance,
and the heart steps forward with quiet authority.

Beloved, let the old architecture crumble.
Let the outdated ways loosen their hold.
Let the heart become the lantern in your hands.

Integration is upon you — moving through your breath, your field, your becoming.
You are entering a season shaped by presence rather than prediction.

Today, you stand at the threshold of profound transformation.
Your heart is leading you — quietly, insistently — into your next becoming.
Everything is unfolding according to the Greater Love.
This includes you.

With All my Love,
Rosa & Shekinah3 Stars

08/12/2025

**Unplugging from the Hungry Hearts:

A Ritual for Returning to Our Own Life Force**

Dearest Beloved Stars,

Under the Leo Waning Gibbous Moon, a soft gold unfurls across the unseen interior of our lives, revealing what has lived beneath our skin for generations. The light does not arrive gently — it arrives truthfully, parting the veils between what we pretend to carry and what we actually drag behind us.

Something old and luminous stirs.
A memory older than our names.
Older than the first stories our ancestors whispered to fire.
Older than the first heartbeat we ever lent to a world that did not yet know how to hold us.

We are shown the shape of a wound that has followed us through centuries:
the forgetting of our own light,
and the reaching for another’s when ours felt too quiet,
too unsure,
too hidden to trust.

We have known the ache of wanting to be witnessed so deeply
that we bent our spine into arches for those who could not see us.
We have known the longing to be chosen so profoundly
that we poured our life force into hands that trembled with their own emptiness.

We learned to climb radiance not because we are unworthy,
but because we were once children of darkness longing for anything that resembled dawn.

And how human that makes us.
How holy in our hunger.
How tender in the ways we have tried to be loved.

But in this moment, Beloved Star, as the Moon exposes what our eyes could not,
a truth rises like a sovereign figure from the ashes of our own forgetting:

Our heart was never forged to be the kindling for another’s fire.
Our life force was never designed to be siphoned, diluted, or climbed.
Our light is not a rung — it is a realm.
It is not a torch — it is a temple.
It is not a resource — it is an origin.

The Leo Moon shows us the exact places we fractured ourselves to keep another from breaking.
The Sagittarian Sun stretches the horizon of our vision, showing us how often we abandoned our own becoming so someone else could delay theirs.

And now, we see with a clarity that has weight:
We have dimmed ourselves in the name of empathy.
We have scattered ourselves in the name of loyalty.
We have emptied ourselves in the name of love.

But this is the threshold.
This is the hour of returning.
This is where the story breaks open and breathes.

Not through bitterness.
Not through withdrawal.
But through the exquisite discipline of remembering who we are.

⸻

Affirmation for Returning to Ourselves

“I reclaim my radiance now.
I release every cord that has drained, dimmed, or distorted my light.
I rise into the fullness of my own life force —
whole, sovereign, and illuminated
from the deepest chambers of my being.
As above, so below; as within, so without.
And so it is. Mote it Be.”

⸻

When these words settle inside us,
we remember what our ancestors could not teach because the world did not let them:

We are not sanctuaries for those who refuse to enter their own shadows.
We are not scaffolding for someone else’s unrisen self.
We are not the lanterns meant to burn while others sleep through their becoming.

We honour all paths —
but we walk only our own.

We honour all hearts —
but we no longer hand ours away as an offering for those who will not hold their own.

In this moment, Beloved Star, we return to ourselves.

We return to the throne within the heart,
to the first spark that knew us before we knew our name,
to the place where our soul once chose this life and said:
“I will rise here.”

We rise not because another has chosen us,
but because we finally choose ourselves.

We rise not through borrowed glow,
but through the brilliance that has waited, patient and eternal,
for us to turn inward and bow.

We rise through remembrance.
We rise through reclamation.
We rise because the world our ancestors dreamed of
requires nothing less
than the fullness of who we are.

With All our Love
Rosa & Shekinah3 Stars

⸻

07/12/2025

Collective Reading for today

The Heart Remembers What Worlds Forget

When did it begin—this strange ache, this trembling awareness that we no longer know the name of the One we once belonged to, nor the reason for our own becoming? The stars flash and blur into mist, whispering take us away from here, away from the centuries carved in blood and memory, away from the echoes of histories we have worn like second skins.

We have wandered as ghosts through eras that forgot our footsteps,
silent, haunted by the fading Ancients—
those who molded our essence,
those whose breath once echoed in our ribs,
those whose love once carved entire constellations into our bones.

A frequency moves through us now—
calling, searching, drifting.
It is nostalgia without origin,
a longing older than Earth,
a sorrow that no human tongue can shape.

This is the ache of lifetimes dissolving into shadow,
the encrypted language we once sang through galaxies
pressing against our lips,
yearning to return—
yet finding no home in the vocabulary of this world.

We descend into dream-worlds thick with smoke and velvet,
where dragons rise from dimensional embers
and pull us through fissures of time.
Timelines unravel in spirals:
ancestors exhale laughter in perfumed rings,
beloved strangers flicker before us like forgotten suns,
and our hearts erupt—we feel you, we need you—
though their names have scattered like ash across universes.

Some laid their heads upon our breast in another existence,
bleeding courage into our hands.
Some we met only briefly in this lifetime,
yet loved with the force of a thousand dawns
because recognition travels faster than memory.

This is the strangeness we carry—
the ancient familiarity that stalks our dreams,
the echo of love recognising itself
across realms where remembrance was broken
but essence remained.

When remembering returns,
we shatter loops fossilised into mountain stone.
We have crossed continents of light,
walked rainbow bridges that spiralled into new suns,
and wandered beneath skies inked in every colour of creation—
yet none as intoxicating as the violet Venus sky,
where fragments of an opulent, otherworldly love
still hum toward us like a half-remembered hymn.

We call our names into the distance,
hoping they fall upon the body of Mother Earth—
the only one who understands the surrender,
the cry for home that vibrates in our cells.
She knows the grief of recognising souls
we’ve never met in this life
yet have cherished across countless others.

This sadness is not simply human.
It is the soul grieving its own forgotten wholeness.
It is separation masquerading as life—
love searching for itself
through the fractured mirror of existence.

We feel alone inside our brilliance,
lonely in our gifts,
isolated within the magnitude of what we remember.

We stand inside the darkening—
tribal chants rising through the marrow,
calling for home, for serenity,
for the return of something unnamed
yet deeply known.

Kiiiiiiiiiiiii A Yasu vi da haaaaaaaaaa.
Eeee hi ziiiii he he he ha A A A A.

The soul’s true tongue.
The music of universes that sculpted us.
The syllables the Ancients whispered into our origins—
now trembling as vibrations within our human chests.

Today, we are all calling home.
Our hearts spill siren songs into the fabric of timelines,
searching for the Ancient ones,
the beloved strangers,
the luminous faces that once held us whole.

Though memories fade into shadow,
they do not vanish.
They fold inward—
into us—
etching their radiance
into the architecture of who we have become.

And so, Beloveds, we meet again—
in forgiveness,
in gratitude,
in our weeping,
and in the quiet merging of our Oneness.

You are not invisible.
You are love—
loved through eternity,
through every cycle,
every realm,
every dimension that has ever carried your name in its breath.

Love never forgets what has been held in the heartbeat.
It continues to vibrate,
an eternal imprint
woven through the centuries of our becoming.

Will you meet us again?
Do you dare?

With All my Love
Rosa & Shekinah³ Stars