On Pride

And the power of choice.

Trapped in this room.

Sitting in my favorite chair—white and cushy. The one that reminds me of Aunt Kathleen’s sacred space. The chair I’ve meditated in for years. The chair that always holds me, supports me, helps me create. The chair where I usually regain my balance.

But today, there’s chaos in my solar plexus—spinning like a tornado I can’t contain or release.

It’s happening again.

And I know this tornado. This is the dangerous one.
The last time it came, it brought the devastation and death of my marriage, my home, my family.

Why is it here again?
It doesn’t belong in this sacred space.

Not in this room.
Not surrounded by my pictures, my guides, my joys.
Color pinned to the walls.
Crystals standing by.
Books and my plant, Gina.
Durga above me. Ganesha behind.
Butterflies and flowers.
A photo of Dad on the couch with Grandma—reminding me they’re watching from the other side.

Not this time.
Not this family.