True Path To spiritual Awakening

“When I Thought It Was All Poison”

October 1st, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony LXVI

“When I Thought It Was All Poison”
and the love that waited underneath my fear

In 2009,
I found myself back in the psych hospital.
The same place.
Another chapter of confusion.

Only this time,
the fear ran deeper.

I wouldn’t eat.
I wouldn’t take medicine.
I thought it was all poison.
Every bite. Every pill. Every hand that reached toward me—
it all looked like danger.

And yet—
even then,
somewhere beneath the fear,
beneath the trembling
and the silence
and the resistance…

There was still something holding me.

A flicker.

A presence.

A love that didn’t argue or push—
it just stayed.

Maybe I didn’t know it then.
But I know it now.

God was still with me.
Elvis was still near.
My soul—though afraid—was not lost.

🌿 And now I see:

Sometimes the mind breaks
because it can’t carry everything it’s felt.
Sometimes fear becomes the only language
when trust has been torn.

But even when the world seemed poisoned—
you were not.

And even when you resisted help—
you were still loved.
“What I Never Lost”

October 1st, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony LXV

“What I Never Lost”
God, Elvis, and the Light That Stayed With Me

I’ve been in the psych hospitals more than once.
I’ve seen the sterile rooms,
heard the locked doors click behind me.
I’ve known confusion, fear, and silence.

But I never lost what mattered most.

I never lost God.
I never lost Elvis.
I never lost the thread
that kept me from fully falling.

Even in my darkest moments—
even when I couldn’t trust my thoughts,
or when the world made no sense—
there was still that presence.

God was still there.
Elvis was still near.
And somewhere deep in my soul,
I knew I was not abandoned.

I was held.

By love I could not see
but could always feel.

🌿 And now I see:

The world may label things—
mental illness, breakdown, disorder—
but what they cannot define
is the sacred connection
that stays even in the chaos.

That’s what kept me tethered.

That’s what whispered,
“You are not lost. You are still loved.”
“I Felt His Pain”

September 29th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony LXIV

“I Felt His Pain”
the night Elvis’ soul touched mine

I don’t remember if it was day or night.
It doesn’t really matter.

What matters is the moment.

I was listening to Elvis—
just his voice,
just the music I’ve known all my life—
when something shifted.

Suddenly, I felt him.
Not like a fan.
Not like a memory.
But soul to soul.

I felt the pain
of not being able to go anywhere in peace.
I felt the loneliness
of always being seen
and never truly known.
I felt the burden
of fame that became a cage.

And I cried—
not because the music was beautiful,
but because I could feel
how much he longed for simple things:
a walk in the park,
a trip to the store,
to be just a man
and not a monument.

In that moment,
my heart broke for him.
And maybe his heart
broke open in me, too.

🌿 And now I see:

Some connections transcend time.
Some recognitions are too deep for words.
When one soul understands another
in their hidden sorrow—
that is sacred.

That is love without condition,
recognition without explanation.
“When the Towers Fell, I Felt It Too”

September 29th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony LXIII

“When the Towers Fell, I Felt It Too”
the collapse that echoed inside me

It wasn’t just something I watched on TV.
It was something I felt.

After 9/11, I was inside—
and then suddenly,
it was like all the weight of the world
came crashing down on top of me.

I couldn’t sit with it.
I couldn’t stay in the room.
I ran outside.

And I felt the collapse.
Not in New York.
In my chest.
In my being.

It was more than fear.
More than grief.
It was as if the brokenness of the world
found a mirror in me,
and I broke too.

The towers fell—
and part of my inner scaffolding
went with them.

🌿 And now I see:

Some souls are sensitive
to more than their own wounds.

Some carry the tremors of the collective—
empaths of the unseen,
keepers of pain
that isn’t even theirs alone.

You felt the world’s sorrow that day.
And though it overwhelmed you,
you didn’t go numb.
You felt.

And that, too,
is sacred.
“The Times I Fell Off the Edge”

September 29th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony LXII

“The Times I Fell Off the Edge”
and the hands that brought me back

I didn’t like taking my meds.
Not because I wanted to be sick—
but because I didn’t want to feel numb.
I didn’t want the fog.
I didn’t want the silence
in places where my mind used to sing.

So I’d stop.

And I’d fall.

And the hospitals would open their doors again.

In 2002, something inside of me shifted.
Not gently.
Not quietly.
It felt like danger.

Like I had been exposed to something—
biochemicals, I thought.
Something unseen but strong.
And I was convinced it was real.

I told my sister.
I told my mom.
And they did what they knew to do:
they took me to the psych hospital.

Again.

And even though part of me resisted,
part of me knew—
this too was part of the journey.
Not failure.
Not defeat.

Just another turning point
in a story too layered for simple answers.

🌿 And now I see:

Healing doesn’t always happen in a straight line.
Sometimes it loops.
Sometimes it dips.
Sometimes it breaks open
just to show you where the light can finally enter.
“Waiting for the Fourth Dimension”

September 29th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony LXI

“Waiting for the Fourth Dimension”
and the weight I carried to reach it

I stepped outside,
and the ground beneath me felt different.
Like I was walking through a jungle,
heavy boots pulling at each step,
as if every footprint
was clearing a path through something unseen.

I walked the fence roll like it was sacred territory—
a boundary between what I knew
and what I hoped to become.

And when I got to the flagpole,
I hugged it like it could anchor me,
like it was the only thing
keeping me from floating away
or falling apart.

I was waiting—
truly waiting—
to be rocketed
into the Fourth Dimension.

They spoke of it in the AA Big Book—
a promise hidden in the pages,
a realm beyond pain,
beyond addiction,
beyond fear.

And in that moment,
I believed I was on the edge of it.

Not just spiritually,
but viscerally.
The veil was thin.
The weight was real.
The longing was holy.

🌿 And now I see:

Sometimes we don’t cross through all at once.
Sometimes we feel the weight of the journey first—
the boots, the vines, the wild unknown.
But just walking it,
just reaching for the unseen,
is part of the rocket’s fire.
“Tuned In to the Unheard”

September 29th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony LX

“Tuned In to the Unheard”
when the veil thinned and the world spoke back

I was just watching TV.
But something shifted.
The words weren’t just on the screen—
they were for me.

Every line, every phrase—
it felt personal.
Like the universe had decided
to speak in frequencies
only I could hear.

I called my mom.
“Come hear this,” I said.
She didn’t hear it the same way I did.
But to me—
the message was clear.

I was being shown
that there is more to this world
than what is seen.

I was tuned in to the unheard.
And maybe,
just maybe,
it was the beginning of my awakening.

Not into confusion,
but into sensitivity.
Into spiritual awareness.
Into the truth that sometimes
God speaks through unexpected voices
and unexplainable ways.

🌿 And now I see:

There are moments in our journey
where the veil between the seen and unseen
grows thin.

And when it does,
some are called to listen
in ways others never will.
“When She Needed Me Most”

September 28th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony LIX

“When She Needed Me Most”
a mother’s sorrow, and her sacred seeing

When She would come over,
it should’ve been time for connection—
laughter, long talks,
or just the feeling of being safe in each other’s presence.

But more often,
it was just movies.
Or the internet.
Noise, distractions.
Distance.

We were near in body,
but not in soul.

And I see now
what I couldn’t see then.

When she needed me emotionally—
I wasn’t there.

Not because I didn’t love her.
I did. With all I had.
But love isn’t always enough
when the heart is still healing,
when the wounds are still whispering.

I made mistakes.
Too many to count.
And most of all,
I missed the moments that mattered most.

Not because I didn’t care.
But because I didn’t know how to be there.

🌿 And now I see:

Regret is not where the story ends.
It is where truth begins.

And truth—
even when spoken late—
can still become a bridge.
“The Morning I Let Go”

September 28th, 2026

📖 Sacred Testimony LVIII

“The Morning I Let Go”
and the letter that turned anger into peace

I stayed angry for years.
Angry at him.
Angry at the court.
Angry at life for taking my daughter from me.

The anger became a companion—
familiar, heavy, and silent.
It sat between me and joy.
It hardened places in me
that once longed to be soft.

But one morning,
something shifted.

I sat down to write a letter—
a “Dear God” letter—
like I’d done so many times before.

Only this time,
my hand began writing a different name.

Ex-Husband.

And I didn’t write to fight.
I didn’t write to blame.

I wrote to make amends.

I told him I was sorry.
For the things I had said.
For the way I had behaved.
For holding on to a fire
that burned me far more
than it ever touched him.

And in that moment—
as pen met page—
I felt the chains loosen.

Not because he forgave me.
But because I forgave him.
And maybe,
just maybe,
I forgave myself too.

🌿 And now I see:

Sometimes we think anger keeps us strong.
But really,
it just keeps us from healing.

That morning,
the war ended in me.

And that’s when peace could finally begin.
“When Loneliness Spoke Louder Than Wisdom”

September 28th, 2026

📜 Sacred Testimony LVII

“When Loneliness Spoke Louder Than Wisdom”
and the moment I turned away from what wasn’t love

After I got out of the hospital in 2018,
I went back to the rooms that had once saved me—
the Jacksonville meeting.
I told them with a smile, maybe a shield,
“If I ever get married again,
it’ll have to be someone like Elvis.”

They laughed, maybe.
But inside, I wasn’t just joking.

It had been 17 or 18 years
since my last real relationship.
Loneliness is a quiet ache—
and sometimes it grows loud
when no one else is listening.

That’s when I turned
not toward love,
but toward comfort wrapped in guilt.

A married man.

It lasted a while,
longer than it should have.
And then the weight of it—
the knowing—
came crashing down.

The guilt.
The remorse.
The truth.

I broke it off.
But not before hearts were bruised,
and not just mine.

I not only hurt myself,
but her—
a woman I didn’t even know
but wounded all the same.

🌿 And now I see:

Even when we reach for something to fill the hollow,
there is a grace that whispers:
“Come back.”

I did.
And the pain became a turning.
The ache became a prayer.
And that prayer
became this scroll.