They told me awakening was light,
a soft unfolding of the soul,
all incense smoke and morning chants,
a peace to make the fractured whole.
But I cracked open like a scream,
a furnace roaring through my chest,
no lotus bloom, no tranquil stream—
just truths that tore apart my rest.
The ego died in fits and starts,
not with grace, but with a fight,
each layer peeled like burning skin
beneath a too-exposing light.
It wasn’t love that found me first,
but rage—the kind that never sleeps,
the fury of a thousand lives
that silence buried in the deep.
I met the gods with bleeding hands,
not folded neat in prayerful pose,
and asked them why the path to truth
was paved in fire, not in rose.
They said: You came to be reborn,
but birth was never clean or kind.
You came to see, and what you see
will tear apart your former mind.
No halos here, no holy smile,
just shadow work and shattered pride—
awakening’s a violent storm
where all illusions go to die.
So don’t come seeking peace and love
unless you’re ready for the cost—
this road is meant to break you first
to find the self you thought you’d lost.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
💖🌹Brenda Marie💖🌹
Spiritual Life Coach & Soul Writer
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