The Spinning flower

A remembrance from the soul...

When I first placed it in the soil,

the petals barely moved.

Only the outer flower turned—

bright, performative, eager.

The one the world sees.

It spun in soft winds,

a symbol of who I thought I was.

The self I offered,

the self I polished.

But the inner petals—

they stayed still.

Hidden.

Sacred.

Waiting.

Then came the storm.

The kind that strips you.

That unearths your illusions,

tests your roots,

and shakes the silence from your soul.

And when the wind returned,

strong and holy—

I noticed…

They were spinning.

Together.

The outer flower and the inner one.

Sometimes in harmony,

sometimes in contrast,

but always

in communion.

One did not silence the other.

They moved like breath—

interwoven, divine.

And I understood…

This is what integration feels like.

This is what awakening looks like—

not the disappearance of ego,

but its surrender.

Its partnership

with light.

The shadow doesn’t vanish.

It dances.

And when embraced,

it makes the light even more radiant.

What once felt like destruction

was actually

the wind I needed

to remember who I am.

Not one or the other.

But both.

Soul and skin.

Stillness and spin.

Shadow and shine.

Now,

I don’t fear the storm.

I thank it.

Because it taught me to turn,

from the center.

And now—

I spin in Spirit.

In wholeness.

In love.

Solarys