HERMIT MODE

For healing, we go to Hermit mode.

To the hush.

To the stillness between seasons.

To the sacred quiet

where no one is watching

and no one needs to.

There, in the soft pause,

the heart finds its own rhythm again.

That is soul calibration.

Not a crisis,

but a returning.

Not emptiness,

but space.

I don’t vanish

I slow.

I leave the rooms filled with noise

and choose peace

as my companion.

Just a gentle knowing:

I need silence to heal,

not distractions to hold me.

So I give my nervous system

permission to rest.

Let the ache in my chest

lay down without shame.

Let the light inside me

untangle itself

in its own time.

I am not running

I am realigning.

There are no rituals.

Only long afternoons

where I read slowly,

or stare out the window

as light moves across the floor

not needing to be anywhere

but inside my breath.

Soft mornings

where I speak to no one,

but sip something warm

and touch my own skin

with quiet reverence

as if to say: we’re still here.

Evenings

where I listen to the wind

and the sound of music

more than to words,

where I light a candle

just for the beauty of flame,

and let the night arrive

without resistance.

What blooms in this silence

isn’t sadness

it is truth.

Not loneliness,

but clarity.

I don’t need to be louder.

I just need to listen

to the place inside me

that remembers how to feel

safe.

Still.

Whole.

And I will return

when the summer dies.

When the leaves begin to fall

and the light leans gold again.

I will come back to the world

not wearing armor,

but joy.

Not seeking noise,

but bringing presence.

Not desperate to be seen,

but finally at peace

with seeing myself.

Because the harm

doesn’t harden me.

It softens me.

Makes me gentler

with my own becoming.

More patient

with pain that still breathes.

More faithful

that healing can take

its own shape.

The compass

was never broken.

It only waits

for me to listen.

And now,

I walk gently toward myself.