Twenty three is all I’ve ever known. It was the oldest age I was able to picture when I was younger. I am now entering a new territory. Nothing about my life is what I thought it would be, but I only ever thought up to age twenty three. 

My old expectations do not reach here. So the grudges of past selves and resentments of dead end paths can stay back with twenty three. 

I am officially twenty four. 

The number of Jupiter has caused a panic these past two months. I do not do well with the unknown. I’m not prepared, I don’t have a plan. But the unknown is now facing me in the eye, and I’m stepping out of the grave. 

This is my modern manifesto. 

I have been chosen by the winds to feel grief in this lifetime. I have lost myself many times, I have lost the other half of me, I have lost my sanity, and I have lost my dreams. 

But I have also been pushed deeper than I’ve ever gone. I’ve seen the deep blues of the ocean and understood the layers to a humans soul. 

And I’m finally believing again. Sometimes in God, but mostly in me. The faith in one requires faith in the other. 

The curious daydreams of a child are my prayer, and the ancient wisdom of femininity is my communion.  Like water to wine, my pain will become the story. 

And if I’m the author, then I must respect what I create. 

I hold reverence for myself and my thoughts. No longer am I the reluctant hero, fearful of the 8th step of my journey. I will battle the enemy of resignation for the tortured romantic and the hopeless preacher — for my caged freedom and abandoned dreams. 

I’m taking suffrage of my life. The ballot belongs to me, I govern where my energy goes and enforce abundance. 

And therefore I will live with sacred movement, magical creation, and voluntary participation. 

My emotions move without blockage, freeing the mind from a burning heart. My intuition knows where to be, staying and going when its time. I decide that a life of change and intensity is better than a life of stagnancy and triviality. 

My writing comes directly from my soul. The holy spirit makes me vulnerable at night, mother earth grounds me in the morning. I take inspiration from both. I connect the dots of the world and notice the sparkle in every corner. The church choir of other heavy souls are the angels I surround myself with, characters who I understand. 

Loneliness subsides when you awake from a coma. Permission is granted through my determination. Luck seems possible, manifesting feels believable. I accept the open road, and chase the yellow-hued memories.

And when none of those things touch my fears, I do it for the tortured romantic. For the girl who was rarely ever wrong and believed I could do anything. I was once her strength, and now she is mine. Perhaps by being able to free myself, I’ll be able to free her. 

I believe my desires are sacred. I explore the greatness of my soul and love the toughness of my ribs. I’m craving the compass north and the natural wonders on the way. I believe in the life I’ve always dreamed of, and trust my competency to follow them. I want to have faith in my art and devotion to the purpose of it all. 

I’ve rediscovered myself, and here I’ll stay. 

Amen.