Everything You Need for Bungee Jumping

I've always felt I was destined for greatness. On multiple occasions during my childhood, I had the mysterious dream of an enigmatic spiraling staircase made of stone in a castle, much like the ones you'd see in period dramas with whimsical knights and princesses. And as my curiosity grew, I took one step after another, anticipation filling my lungs as the peak drew closer. But as I took the last step and reached for the door, I'd always wake up.

I still wonder what hides behind that mysterious door, just as I wonder what hides behind the illusion of my reality—the fights, complicated family relationships, and the separation from my children and their father—what does it all mean, and where does that lead me?

I've always felt there's more to this life, more to this world, and I've come this far. I've gotten to the point where, if someone entered my reality, I don't question what material gain they have to offer; it's more about the wisdom I can learn from them about myself.

I didn't ask God for money, wealth, or the love of my life; I asked Him for wisdom and freedom, freedom from the prison I was born into and the sight to see beyond my two eyes. To finally see what's hiding behind that door. To open the gates of heaven, flooding light into the world, igniting our shadows, washing away our sorrows.

It's not things or people we want, even though we become attached and believe we can't live without physical riches and people in our lives, but it's the energy we want—the energy of wealth, love, and our loved ones.

Energy doesn't die, and when we leave our homes and our loved ones behind, we find people who harbour the same energy. You can never leave the people in your reality; they are a part of you, inside of you; they are you—your ego. Like an impromptu travelling film set, they follow you around, allowing you to see visions, pointing, and guiding you to where transformation lies.

Their energy travels with you wherever you go. And once we get sucked into believing our reality is real, we get stuck, attached and stagnant in our spiritual growth.

We don't have much time left, the human evolution is upon us. It's time to make haste, to wake up and remember who we truly are, sons and daughters of a mighty King, the great source powering the world.

Sometimes I get so lost in my trivial pursuits—subtracting my worth when I count the last change in my purse. Looking for approval in all the wrong places, feeling like an imposter when I try to write, but can't manage to scribble a coherent paragraph without tripping over my words. I long for the days when the flow was as natural as Christmas snow—I forgot who I truly am. That my worth is found on the inside that I'm all things in its infinite nature.

I need nothing, I am whole, pure and made out of love. I'd go so far as to second-guess my work and allow a machine to help me do what only humans can—channel raw emotions into words, stories bleeding from the heart, healing coming from the soul and tears that forge growth.

Everyone has shortcomings; I am no exception. I often find myself doubting my abilities. I have insecurities. Sometimes I lack confidence, and there's often someone doing better than what I could muster at my best. But God has given us a unique perspective. It's as beautiful as a flower blooming in the desert.

What I see with my eyes can never be duplicated by another, it's the fingerprint of my soul. It's an identity registered in heaven, brought to earth to serve the world.

Writing helps to ease the pain; it helps me breathe a little easier, and the sleep comes quicker. When darkness falls, all goes silent and the voices in my head are at their loudest. Old wounds I thought were buried resurface, as I procrastinate facing my demons head-on. I'm well aware of how ungrounded I am, I'm stuck in my head, high in the cloud and unwilling to come down. I spend my days sleeping. The nights light up with popcorn, movies and cigarette smoke; I'm no better than the average alcohol drinking their troubles away. My relapse is on the inside, silent, hidden just like what's behind that door.

What I do know is that I carry heavy karma that's generational; I'm in the disconnection phase, leaving all things behind, including my children and family. But it turns out you cannot idolize God and divorce humanity. Spiritually, I'm living what I went through physically 10 years ago: the death of my first child, followed by excruciating grief and depression. This time it's not a physical child, but it's a piece of my work I channelled and nurtured, as a mother would. But I have the same "could have, would have, should have" thought. I regret it, and I blame myself for not handling things differently, the energy felt off and I didn't stop.

I don't know what the future holds, and I no longer plan for it. My thoughts reflect back and leave me reeling in discomfort from head to toe. Maybe that's the way it ought to be—uncertain. There's a crucial component missing at the moment though: an exquisite feeling called vulnerability.

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This story is published in The Quiet Chapter — a home for thoughtful fiction, personal essays, poetry, and voices that choose depth over noise. If stories that linger with you are the ones you love most, you're already one of us. We hope you'll stay for the next chapter. 🌿