05/05/2025
https://www.facebook.com/share/p/1CFZoNTnuy/
There comes a time in every journey when the heart, worn thin by the weight of silent battles, begins to ache not just from pain, but from the yearning to become. It is in this tender space—between the breaking and the becoming—that something ancient stirs. Not loud, not forceful, but steady. A whisper, a warmth. And slowly, without needing permission, the soul begins to unfold. Not all at once, but petal by petal, memory by memory, truth by truth. This is the blossoming of the soul: a sacred transformation born not from perfection, but from courage—the kind that chooses light even while standing in shadow. It does not bloom to impress or to be seen. It blossoms because it must. Because deep within, it remembers the sun, even when the sky has long been grey. And in that quiet rising, it becomes—whole, wild, radiant. A testament to all that heals in time, and all that was never truly lost.
~ Spirit of a Hippie
~ Art by IllusNation_Nakata
