Before you came here, you said yes. Not to the comfort. Not to the clarity. But to the forgetting.

You agreed to fall asleep—so waking up would mean something. You didn’t mess up. You didn’t get lost. You kept your part of the deal.

The Soul’s Vow to Forget Forgetting wasn’t a mistake. It was sacred design. Because remembering what you never forgot—without ever forgetting it—wouldn’t crack you open. It wouldn’t humble you. It wouldn’t change you. It would just be information. And information doesn’t save anyone. But remembrance? Remembrance resurrects.

Somewhere along the line, spirituality became a performance.

We started treating every intense experience like a badge of honor.
Every panic attack got rebranded as a breakthrough.
Every overstimulated nervous system was a "download."
Every trauma spiral became a "kundalini surge."
And if it wasn’t big, loud, dramatic, or Instagram-worthy—it was dismissed.

We’ve been conditioned to believe that if we don’t have visions, shakes, signs, or sudden awakenings, we’re not evolving.
But the truth is: most of the real work happens in silence.

I let the experience teach me something deeper than plumbing or policy.

I saw how quickly we can go from empowered to entangled when we think our job is to fix instead of witness. And simply solidly stand your ground in the truth.
I saw the old pattern — the one that says if I can just make sense of it all, I can stay safe.

But I don’t need to fix the story.
I don’t need to be the one who understands it better than anyone else.
I don’t need to stay in the room once the lesson has landed.