Hello my loves.
Happy Monday.
Here's a devotion for today or any day of the week.
I want to invite you now to find a soft place to land.
Tuck your earphones in.
Unravel the body,
Unfurl the hands,
The fingers,
The toes.
Anchoring your breath in a space where your attention is undivided.
Here's your heart check for today.
When the world tries to make you forget your own breath,
Remember this.
You are your own holy ground.
I know the air has been thick lately.
Wars on screens and not just the political ones.
Whispers of collapse.
Personal aches that don't politely pause just because the headlines demand your tears too.
Some of you have been moving through your own private apocalypse long before the rest of the world caught up.
I want you to know that I see you and I feel you.
And we're not going to pretend a bubble bath will fix this ache.
But tending to the body,
Your own temple,
Your own true real estate will steady the parts of you that want to run away,
Scream or go numb.
So here's what I want to invite you to do this week.
First,
You're going to name it to cradle it.
Write down exactly what is alive in you.
Rage,
Fear,
Weariness,
The temptation to shut down completely.
Don't dress it up.
Don't spiritual bypass.
Just the raw,
Honest word for the flavor of your grief.
Next,
You're going to bring water to it.
There is a devotional project and offering that I published years ago called Just Add Water.
And it has always been my secret medicine.
In the form of ritual baths,
Herbal stains,
A clearing shower,
Standing on a small bed of sea salt.
Priorities where you breathe into your cup and activate what you're getting ready to ingest in your body.
All of these things that wash the spirit when life refuses to let you leave it all behind.
This is how you just add water.
The next thing I want to invite you to do is to call in your village.
Turn your phone into an altar.
It is not a sounding board for an apocalypse.
Text one soul you love.
Pray for another.
Let yourself be inconveniently human with someone who can hold your wild and tender at the same time.
We will not heal in isolation.
Not this time.
The next thing I want to invite you to do is to take your place in the long line of survivors.
You were never built fragile.
Your people's blood testifies to that.
When the world spins hard,
Please have a seat.
Brew your roots.
Speak your ancestors' names or your angels or those that support you in the seen and unseen realms.
And trust that what they have endured flows as resilience in you too.
I trust you with this reminder,
My love.
Chaos will visit,
But your nervous system is still yours to tend.
And there is no greater rebellion than staying alive,
Awake,
And well.
Just add water.
Call your power back.
Every day.
As many times as necessary.
You are loved.
You are held.
You are essential.
You are needed.
You are nourished and nurtured.
Always.
In all the ways.
