Confessions of a libra

Credit: Here

22.05.25

I was born reading the air, an introduction to elemental forces.

Using my will to experiment with scrying.

Trees were the first to hear me. The first to play with me.

It felt like I was in my own world, as a child.

Already fluent in vibrations, memories and sound.

Always decoding the adults around me.

I felt ancient and I felt expansive. Untethered even.

I acted like a lawless brat. My knowing made it hard to remember I was a child.

I trusted in my discernment and I trusted that I would always get home safe.

I sensed that I was protected by spiritual forces. I spoke to them, often.

I always played with the idea that I might have direct access to the divine.

Making bets with the wind, one of my earliest games.

I felt in connection with forces that blew my windchimes in gratitude and mirth.

Everything felt alive. And I was a part of that aliveness.

A feeling many are chasing as adults. I had it then, I have it now.

I always felt a zest for life. Inexplicable, ready made.

An ego far beyond my mortal years, but not overinflated.

I learnt to twist and turn to accommodate others. Always shamed for my brilliance.

Scaring the adults with unsolicited advice. Daring to stand up to men as a child.

I remember the looks in the eyes of some. Weary that I wanted to understand the world.

Weary at yet another question. But I kept on pushing. Past.

Where there is a pattern there is beauty. I am but a pattern woven within the fabric of the universe. There is magic in repetition. There is magic in repetition.

I belong where the data feels like song.