25/05/2025
Be True.
To the trembling that starts in your stomach and rises to your throat.
To the not-knowing, the needing, the moments when you whisper,
“I can’t do this alone.”
Be true to the fire that flares -
that righteous, untamed spark that shouts when your boundaries are breached.
And to the softness that follows
when the body curls inwards and the tears finally arrive,
not as weakness, but as wisdom being released through water.
Be True.
To the scattered pieces of your becoming.
You have not always been whole.
You have not always been wise.
You have loved poorly. You have walked away too soon.
You have stayed too long. You have broken things.
And you have built them again and again, with bruised hands and a heart that still beats hope into mornings.
That matters.
Be true to the glorious disasters.
To the days you dropped every ball and forgot your own name.
And to the nights you stayed anyway -
when no one was watching, when it didn’t earn applause, when it was just you and the work of holding yourself
together… again.
Be True.
Because here we are.
Mortal, muddling, magical, having this strange and exquisite experience of being human.
We are not gods.
Not untouchable.
Not immune to the ache of time.
We get grey and saggy and silly and slow.
We say the wrong thing.
We take the wrong turn.
We spill the milk and the secrets and the dreams we swore we’d protect.
Still… here we are.
Learning.
Failing.
Reaching for the light.
So, dear one,
Pause.
Lay down the heaviness of needing to get it right.
Loosen the laces on perfection.
It’s not about letting yourself go -
it’s about letting yourself BE!
The tired version.
The curious version.
The one that doesn’t sparkle today but still dares to speak.
Be True.
To the Self beneath the show.
To the quiet beauty that blooms in the background when nobody is looking.
To the you that craves rest,
that finds sanctuary not in productivity,
but in presence.
Be True.
Because the world will always ask for more.
More polish, more hustle, more proof.
But your soul?
That eternal part of you.
It asks only for your presence.
Not your performance.
Let your Self grow back.
Wild and fragrant, like herbs in forgotten soil.
Let your taste for real life return:
the tang of laughter, the salt of tears,
the bittersweet honesty of just being here.
Be True.
Not perfect.
Not pleasing.
Not always polished or poised.
But present.
Open.
Alive.
Let us walk together - this twisted, holy road - with dirty hands and open hearts,
knowing that sacred things are often messy.
That healing isn’t a straight line.
That growth sometimes looks like grief,
like stumbling, like surrender.
And in the end…
when all the trying falls away, we’ll meet ourselves again.
Not at the finish line, not at the top of some mountain of achievement, but in the soft, surprising beauty of simply being…
Right Here.
Right Now.
Exactly as we are.
I see you.
Art ~ Felicia Bade
Just Be