My god isn’t a god.

My god is the power and energy that surrounds us and molds to the strength of our will.

It does not judge me. It does not threaten me with punishment for being human. It does not ask me to shrink, obey, or silence the instinct that lives in my bones.

It responds.

It moves when I move.
It opens when I open.
It sharpens when I choose.

I have felt it in the moment before stepping into open air, when fear and freedom stand beside each other and wait to see which one I will feed.

I have felt it in the quiet presence of animals who see through masks and speak only in truth. In Galaxy’s eyes. In Dove’s breath. In the stillness that asks nothing from me except honesty.

It lives in grief. In survival. In becoming.

It is not separate from me.

It is the current that runs beneath everything, the unseen thread between intention and reality.

It does not need temples.
It does not need names.

It needs only awareness.

Because it has always been there, waiting for me to remember that I not small. I am not powerless. I am not something meant to be shaped by fear.

I am something that shapes.

And when I stand beneath the night sky, and the wind moves like it recognizes me, I understand…

I was never asking for guidance.

I was remembering my own power.