I respect

Trauma survivors long to be seen and validated.
They carry not only their own pain, but also a fierce passion to raise awareness—
to protect others from experiencing the same silent suffering.

Through painting, drawing, and writing,
we give voice to what lives deep in the soul.
These creative acts become sacred vessels—
ways to express, to alchemise memories and emotions,
and ultimately, to heal.

I respect - A wake up call for a sleeping world

“This is a call.”
Not to the mind, but to the soul.
A prayer whispered through lifetimes.
A reckoning for those who harm.
A hymn for those who carry light in their hands.

For the wounded, for the watchers,
for the weavers of worlds—
This is for you.

And to the ones asleep—
Wake up.

I respect—and bow before—the searchers and the travelers,
the time travelers, soul voyagers through lifetimes.

I kneel with humility
before the ones who have suffered pain
inflicted by those meant to protect them.

I bow to the ones who endure abuse
because there is no door,
no choice but to survive.

I respect the people who craft magic with their hands—
peasants, woodworkers,
curanderas, healers,
white witches reincarnated,
blessing this Earth once more.

I respect the writers and musicians,
the painters, the sculptors—
those who see life not as others paint it,
but as it truly is:
raw, cracked, and luminous.

I honour the ancient souls
working across time and space,
coming here,
to awaken humanity from the matrix.

So—
wake up.

Yes, you,
the one who harms the child standing before you.

Wake up,
you who sell your soul for money,
only to find your soul has left you.
You are building your own destruction.

Wake up,
you business owners,
you managers who belittle,
who bully the ones too afraid to raise their voices.

Wake up,
you politicians—soulless,
peddling pain, blind to its cost.
You who chant justice with empty hearts.

Wake up,
you religious leaders
who cannot link words to heart,
scripture to spirit.

Whatever you do—
comes back
oh yes it does
With vengeance.
Through your lineage.
Through your innocent ones—
your wife, your brother, your sister,
your child, grandchild, tribe.

With every cruel act,
you call down a terrible curse
on yourself and those you claim to love.

This is but one life of many.

Wake up.
Repair what you’ve broken.
Ask forgiveness—from Nature,
from the children, the people,
from Earth itself.

Apologize to the soil.
To the air.
To the water.

Wake up.

“To the ones who remember—keep remembering.”
To the ones who feel alone—you’re not.
To the ones in pain—your voice matters.

You are not broken.
You are coming back.

And to the ones still asleep:

May this be the moment you awaken.

Until next time, be well!

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