What we create
leaves traces.

“No tree, it is said, can grow to heaven, unless its roots reach down to hell!”
-Carl Jung

There was a time I thought I was meant to be perfect.

Clean edges. No scars. Pure light. But the more I searched for light, the more I saw my own shadow.

And then I understood:
Perfection is the mask,
Wholeness is the face beneath it.

God doesn’t want statues. He wants hearts that have burned and still beat. He wants truth, not polish. And truth carries cracks, bruises, echoes of grief, and glimmers of joy.

I am not here to rise above my wounds. I am here to walk through them. To gather the broken pieces and call them mine. Not to be flawless… but to be whole.

And now, as I write this, my eyes bath in tears, because my soul knows it is true…

…and God is showing me that I am on the right path!

The silent giggle…

I often wonder: do we chase meaning,
or does meaning chase us in disguise?

Each time I seek answers with trembling hands and furrowed brow, the universe simply leans back and smiles, not with cruelty, but with the quiet amusement of a parent watching a child try to catch sunlight in a jar. The more I demand purpose, the more the stars blink as if holding back laughter, as if they already know that the game is not in finding meaning but in becoming it. Why do I search so desperately, when the rhythm of breath, the warmth of a touch, the dance of shadows on my wall, all whisper truths I keep overlooking?

Perhaps meaning is not a treasure to uncover, but a presence that reveals itself only when I stop chasing it.

And in those rare moments when I fall still, when I am not trying to understand but simply to be, I swear I hear the universe giggle… in silence.