What does it mean to have an unwanted guest in someone's life and all they want to do is get rid of them but can't? The invisible chaos, the stranger I never asked to join, and the one who stays throughout this lifetime. It is my greatest enemy but also my greatest teacher as it's taught me that true healing begins when I decide it's time to stop pretending everything is fine. Speaking in truth will never be done in silence, as it takes several pushes and shoves to finally fight back and take back control. This unwanted stranger isn't easy to kick out as it stays in the back of my mind constantly. I don't need an angel to blind this creature, I am becoming the angel in the dead of night who shines its glorious light against this darkness.

I've been standing at this door for weeks. Not a literal door—though there's a closet I haven't opened because I shoved all my unfinished projects in there. But those life thresholds where you have to decide: Do I let this in? Do I keep this out? In Hindu tradition, dvara means door or threshold. Dvarapalas are door guardians who ask: Who gets through? What stays out? Ganesha doesn't remove every obstacle—some are protection. Durga guards fiercely. Hanuman says no even to gods when devotion requires it. This pathworking walks you to your threshold to meet your keeper and make a conscious choice about your door. Not to get it right. Just to choose with your eyes open. [Continue reading the full meditation and journal prompts...]

I've been putting off writing this one. Because who wants to meditate on decay? Who wants to spend time with the goddess whose entire job is presiding over dead things? But here's what keeps nagging at me about Nirṛti (near-REE-tee, and I'm probably butchering that): she's essential. Without her, nothing new could grow. Without decay, no transformation. My youngest is convinced our backyard compost heap is magic because we throw in garbage and somehow get soil. He's not wrong. So maybe you're in that season where nothing is growing. Or maybe something actually died—a relationship, a dream, a version of yourself you were sure you'd become. And everyone's telling you to "let go" and "move forward" as if grief has an expiration date. This pathworking walks you to the corner of the garden nobody wants to visit—where things break down, where ruins become soil, where failure becomes wealth. Fair warning: the goddess of decay doesn't do light and fluffy. But I'll be here with you.

So here is the basis of the stream. I will provide a brief summary of how and why modern medicine is pharmaceutical based instead of holistic or based from natural remedies. So we've all heard of and learned about John D. Rockefeller. I learned on history class that he was a railroad tycoon, owner of standard oil and a philanthropist. The later is a stretch. I learned just a few years back that he was the driving force behind creating modern medicine. Basically, he wasn't rich enough and wanted to find another way to make money on all this oil he had.

In my experience, glossing over the truth out of fear of confrontation does little to help someone who is spiraling downward. I have seen firsthand how silence or enabling behavior only allows harm to continue unchecked. This is echoed in many religious and philosophical teachings. The Christian Bible, for instance, urges, “Speak the truth in love” (Ephesians 4:15), emphasizing that honesty should be delivered with compassion and not with harshness. Similarly, the Jewish tradition values “tochacha,” or loving rebuke, as an obligation to help others turn away from harmful paths, but always in a manner that preserves their dignity.

Similarly, the Quran encourages, “Indeed, with hardship [will be] ease” (Quran 94:6). This simple, profound truth reminds me that struggles are not permanent. There is always a way forward, and often, in the midst of my greatest challenges, seeds of opportunity and growth are planted. These words help me frame setbacks not as endings, but as necessary steps in the journey toward something better.

Staying Focused When the World Feels Against You: Everyday Faith and Practical Wisdom Introduction There are moments in life when I feel overwhelmed, as if the world is set against me. The pressure mounts, distractions multiply, and the temptation to give in to despair or anger can be strong. In these times, finding focus and purpose becomes not just a challenge, but an act of resistance and self-preservation. I have discovered that grounding myself in everyday wisdom—especially that found in religious texts—offers clarity and strength. While not everyone shares the same faith, I believe the universal messages of resilience, hope, and compassion in these texts can guide anyone through adversity. By blending these ancient lessons with practical strategies, I strive to live a better, more focused life, even when circumstances seem insurmountable.

This is a short story based in the world that the video game Arc Raiders takes place in. If you are unfamiliar I have attached the lore below. ARC Raiders lore centers on humanity's struggle for survival underground after a cataclysm known as the Collapse (around 2180) devastated Earth, followed by the arrival of mysterious, advanced robots called ARC, forcing survivors into subterranean cities like Speranza (in former Italy). Raiders risk the dangerous surface to scavenge resources, battling waves of increasingly advanced ARC machines, while uncovering clues about the machines' origins—speculated to be linked to humans who escaped Earth via an "Exodus" project or an AI takeover, with the machines possibly trying to reclaim the planet.

This poem/prayer was originally written as the intro to a blog post on rantingsofasouthernmadwoman.wordpress.com.

This was originally written for a contest. The prompt was that it had to start with the line "something was moving in the dark".

What Do I Wish People Knew About Me, Before Speaking To Me? This is just something random I wrote, it was prompted by how me and my friends are drifting apart and I feel like not many people actually know me. (Also first time posting, and NOT MY WRITING PROMPT IDEA, Creds to Wonderlandington from Pinterest)

As an Italian American myself, I’ve been intrigued by him aesthetically after having met him in person more than once (I may be obsessed. He’s so beautiful and ethereal). I found him extremely pleasant once I got past his imposing, intimidating exterior. Let’s look deeper in a surgical sense in contrast to my last article discussing him more superficially.

The reaping of a god A body barely holding together Its viscera on my feathers Aren’t you glad you don’t have a Birds Eye view?

She had never laid eyes on anyone who made her heart forget its rhythm before him. It wasn’t dramatic or loud, just a quiet unraveling that began in her chest and slowly rewrote everything she thought she knew about love. He became her first in ways she didn’t yet understand, her first longing, her first softness, her first mistake. She was too young to know that some loves do not wait for courage, and too careful to realize that silence can be its own kind of goodbye. By the time she understood what he truly was to her, he was already becoming a memory. And memories, she would learn, can ache more deeply than loss itself.

This is Jamal. Just a regular brother who has some kinda funny stuff to say. This one might make you chuckle and that's all good. It's all about having a good time.

this poem is actually supposed to be about a person. I'm not going to say who, I'll just say that I had a crush on them but we couldn't be in any relationship for a number of reasons. It was like looking at a delicious cake I was unable to eat. very painful. enjoy

Molecule to Mandate: The Greatest Scam of the Ages Hello everyone. My name is Dr. Dan Mason. For those who know me, I have been writing about life, politics and science. I can't seem to find my niche. I want to talk about everything. However, I did not begin this article as a writer. I started it as a man who spent decades working inside systems that claim authority over other people’s lives. I have worn many different uniforms. I have helped enforce local, state, federal and international statutes.

She walks the desert with a lantern in her hands and a serpent at her feet. In a city that devours softness, she remains sovereign — glowing, listening, untouched. This is not a story of survival. It’s a story of remembering who you are when the world forgets.

This is a short excerpt/poem/composition that I have written during my time at home on winter break.

A mother is a child’s first blueprint for love, but when that blueprint is drafted in manipulation and coldness, it creates a legacy of trauma that splits siblings into two distinct roles: the narcissist and the empath. One child survives by becoming the taker—mastering control so they are never small again. The other survives by becoming the fixer—absorbing everyone’s pain just to keep the peace. The same fire breeds both monsters and martyrs. Behind the "perfect" public image of a charming mother often lies a quiet cruelty that teaches a child that love is a transaction and emotions are weapons. But the cycle ends when you stop trying to earn love from people who remind you of her. You are allowed to stop fixing her and start reparenting yourself, building the safe, soft stable love you were always meant to have. "The same fire breeds monsters and martyrs. You were shaped by what should have happened but didn't."