Chaos with Cait

Faith is stepping into the fog, and trusting the ground to rise beneath you. Are you willing?

I have this craving, but my hunger is different than most. I ache for palms that hold the fragile. I hunger for laughter that spills over, and for kindness that is served without suspicion. I wonder each day when dinner will be served.

The horizon is endless, and so am I.

I am learning that joy doesn’t need a reason, only a little space to land. So I have accepted a new job, at emotion air traffic control.

I am half dream, and half dandelion belonging wherever the wind believes. And wherever my soul should wish.

I remember the moment, when I first saw you. The world stood still on its axis, and the air began moving in slow motion. Mesmerized I was by your souls beauty.

Letting go is an alchemy, the soft undoing of what bound you the exceptional transformation of ache into awe. Letting go is a slow transmutation in the chambers of the heart, where what once weighed heavy begins to lighten, where the old sorrows lose their sharpness, and the self you thought was broken learns again to breathe in its own brilliance.

We are borrowers of sunrise and moonlight, returning them slowly one day at a time. You must try not to forget that tomorrow is never promised And the now is all that we have.

I asked the ocean how she survives the pull of the moon. And she said, “I just let myself be moved.” “Doesn’t it hurt?” I asked her. “Sometimes,” she admitted, “but pain that teaches you to expand isn’t the same as pain that closes you.” She splashed a wave onto the shore like a sigh. “I grow each time I rise. I rest each time I fall.” Then she quietly crept toward my feet on the sand and said, “You, too, are allowed to move this steadily through your own tides.”

Every time I choose hope, the universe writes my name in brighter ink. A declaration that I am still here, that I have been here, and that I belong here.

My boundaries are not walls, they are doors, that I decide who walks through. I do not leave myself easily accessible I like to know a persons motives and intentions.

My purpose? To burn the cages they tried to build around my name. To blaze through silence, to scorch the comfort of those who tried to contain me. I am fire. they cannot hold me.

I am not negotiable. My worth is not currency. My worth is a crown, it is fire, it is law. I bend for no one, bow to nothing, and burn the hands that try to measure me. I am unclaimed, unstoppable, unbound.

Comparison is a thief that cannot enter when you guard your wonder. The thief may claw at the gates, but they do not open. until it leaves in silence, defeated unseen and unheard.

I don’t know where I’m going, but the wind still calls my name. And I choose to follow her freely.

She is not just earth, she is home, and she is holy ground. A living prayer beneath our feet. We were meant to be Earth’s stewards, not her thieves, but we traded her grace for greed and guns. Every tree here is a testament. Every river, a promise. And still, we poison the sacred with profit.

My body is an hourglass each heartbeat a grain of sand. Every moment a capsule of time, a whisper of wind in a waiting glass.

I am a shadow wearing a name that no longer fits. I drift through the days like a ghost searching for her skin, touching mirrors that never answer back. Everyone says come home, but I don’t even know where that is anymore, or if I even deserve to arrive. Some nights, I wonder if being lost is the closest thing I have to belonging.

I rise, not because I want to, but because something inside me whispers: try again. The sheets on my bed still smell like sorrow, my bones still carry yesterdays problems. But I peel my body from the couch like bark from a broken tree. My mind says hide, my chest says fight, and my legs tremble with the ache of choosing life one more time. So I brace myself. I drink water like it’s salvation. I step into daylight half afraid, half hopeful, yet all becoming. I catch my breath,

I locked the door and called it healing I named the silence safe. But in the stillness, I hear whispers of what I left behind. And I wonder Did I trade the warmth of risk for the cold comfort of loneliness?