Tag: Wisdom

I’ve been walking with my higher self so long I didn’t even know she had such a name. Folks talk about meeting her through meditation or some fancy ceremony. Me? I just listen. Darlin, we’re talking about your soul. She’s the voice that hums when the world goes still—the knowing that shows me which cabinet…

There are moments at the edge of life where the air itself holds its breath. I stood in that hush, listening to a heart beat its very last note. Not a grand sound—just a soft, steady punctuation at the end of a long sentence. Afterward, a lightness filled the room. Not the fluorescent kind. Something…

Never have the words white privilege rung more true than the day I saw helicopters circle a Black neighborhood and drop agents on Brown backs. All this, seen from a video tucked deep into a social media post. They were tearing families apart, but not mine. My grandchildren were safe in school, my door unknocked.…

Come close now, and listen. I’ll tell you a secret about the world. You are a bowl of water walking on two legs. More than half of you is river and tide. Your heart beats like waves, your bones hold hidden springs, your blood flows like a creek that never stops. And every tear, every…

I do the small holy things.I taste my bread like it’s the whole world, slow and grateful. I tuck a memory in a tin, a seed in a packet, a story for a grandbaby — tiny treasures that make a thousand tomorrows kinder. I watch the moon, mend the broken, hum at the window, and…

I started nursing school believing nursing was holistic—that if you tended the body, you’d be taught to hold the heart and spirit, too. But most of what I found was assembly-line medicine: blood pressure here, pills there, but no time for listening. It wasn’t until I landed in hospice that I saw what I thought…

Granny sat rocking, apron still dusted in flour, eyes fixed on the ridge where sparks flickered against the dark.“Funny thing about light,” she said, “you can see it from a dozen porches, and it still shines the same. Some’ll call it Christ, some’ll call it Goddess, some’ll call it Moon or Science. Doesn’t matter. The…

I came from a placewhere safety broke too early.The glass didn’t just crack—it shattered.And yet, from the shards,light bent,and colors poured. Science names it trauma.I call itthe making of rainbow prismsfrom broken glass. That kind of woundsharpens a body.Teaches you to noticeevery flicker,every silence.Science calls it hypervigilance.I call it intuition. They say trauma heightens interoception—the…

People think strength means stompin’ boots,a voice that rattles windows,a look that makes folks shrink back.They call hardness power—like steel’s the only thingthat can hold a world together. But that ain’t how I see it. I’ve lived enough to know differently.I’ve sharpened my tongue before,used it like a blade—and I’ve watched the cuts it left…