There’s a place where time dissolves.
Where the trees hum secrets and peacocks are gatekeepers of the unseen.
I went there.
I never really came back.
“I Live With Peacocks at the Edge of the World” is a breadcrumb trail back to your soul.
#writers
Uranus will be in Gemini until 2033- she said in a voice that defied the edges of sound. And although I had no idea how to make sense of it, it seemed to me in that moment that somewhere between breath and omen, language began to change.
And I knew I was meant to listen.
And in that dream I awoke, with eyes that saw what could not be seen and an awareness that shot through the sky and landed in the far reaches of the universe; where the womb of creation lulled me into the sweet sleep of forgetfulness.
@BottleBell@LiberateNz Migraine sufferer here as well. Mine have multiple causes I think, from hormonal to food sensitivities to neck tension (I get it next day after exercise that possibly strains the neck). Would appreciate a link/explanation to the qi gong exercise mentioned 🙏🏻🙏🏻
I didn’t escape the matrix by running. I escaped by remembering. The forest reminded me. The wind whispered my name.
There’s a place beyond noise, where you don’t have to become anyone.Just return.
To your soul. To your stillness.
To the world that always waited.
Each chapter is a mirror, a call to peel away the layers that never belonged. It’s about beauty, yes — but not the curated kind. The raw beauty of living in alignment, of surrendering to the wisdom of nature, of trusting the body, the stillness, the animal instinct within.
There’s a place where time dissolves.
Where the trees hum secrets and peacocks are gatekeepers of the unseen.
I went there.
I never really came back.
“I Live With Peacocks at the Edge of the World” is a breadcrumb trail back to your soul.
#writers
I didn’t know it at the time, but I was writing my way out of the Matrix — the invisible script we’ve all been handed, the roles we didn’t audition for but are stuck performing anyway.
And so the pages formed, piece by piece. A reclamation. A return.
There’s a place where lavender hums beneath olive trees,
and the sun slips between branches like a whispered secret. This land doesn’t rush.
It listens.And when I’m still enough, it speaks to me too—
not in words,but in the language of silence, scent, and shadow.