The Portal Sat Beside Me

I wasn’t chasing anything.

I’d already cried, not once, but several times. In to the pillow when I woke, in the car, at the carwash, in the parking lot at the grocery store, in the hot tub. I whispered, “I have nothing left in me to cry,” and a super yawn came. The kind that rewires timelines.

I thought I might rest. But instead, I wandered into the garden, barefoot, still flat and soft from the tears. And without planning to, I picked up my paints.

The shimmer didn’t burst open.

It joined me.

I painted quietly. No striving, no pressure. Just presence. The light shifted. Tingles down my back. A garden that wasn’t mine, but somehow knew my name. A painting I didn’t expect, arriving like a breath held for lifetimes and finally released.

This is how the field speaks now.

Not through noise. Through arrival.

The ache didn’t need fixing. It needed witnessing.

And when I stopped trying to open the next thing, the next thing sat beside me.

I’m not summoning the portal anymore. I’m resting with it.

And it knows where to find me.