31/12/2025
Every New Year’s Eve, before the strike of midnight,
I return to stillness.
I cleanse the space — with incense or palo santo —
not just the room around me,
but the energy I have carried through the year.
I cleanse my crystals,
honouring the support, protection, and grounding they have offered me,
thanking them for holding space through every lesson and every becoming.
I say a prayer.
A quiet conversation with the universe.
A moment of humility, trust, and surrender.
Then I take my pen and write —
what the year has taught me,
what I am deeply grateful for,
and what I am now ready to release.
I write my intentions clearly and honestly,
knowing that being specific is an act of self-respect,
and that clarity is a form of devotion.
I take a photo of my list — a gentle promise to myself,
a future reminder of how far I’ve come
and how consciously I chose my path.
I read my intentions aloud,
allowing my voice to anchor them into reality,
affirming them with presence, belief, and trust.
And then, I burn the paper.
Not in destruction, but in offering.
As if the smoke knows the way —
rising, carrying my words,
delivering them to the universe with grace and intention.
Because I believe this deeply:
the universe does not always give us what we want,
but it always gives us what we need for our growth,
what is best for us,
even when it arrives as a lesson instead of a blessing.
I meet the new year lighter.
More grateful.
More aligned.
Trusting that what unfolds is always guiding me
closer to my highest good.
