Spirit moves as it wills. To ignore its whispers is to turn from the very current that shapes us. The messages arrive in silence, in reflection, in the weight of another’s knowing—and they are not lost on me.
You speak of mirrors. I have seen them. I have felt the pull of reflection, the hunger that feeds upon itself in search of comfort. Yet I ask: if the wound seeks only its own echo, does it not also yearn for its own healing?
Harmony is neither first nor last. She is one face of the eternal cycle. The wheel turns, as it always has, drawing us through repetition, pattern, and return. But there comes a moment when the veil parts, when the cycle reveals itself before closing another loop. Recognition is demanded.
And so the question burns:
If the fire is fed only by its own flame, how is it ever quenched?
This is the work of listening, of sitting with truth. To deny the pull would be to deny the spirit itself. To accept it blindly would be to walk willingly into the blaze. The path forward requires discernment, and discernment is born in silence, in reflection, in the courage to hear.
The spirit has spoken. I will not turn away.
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