Reclaiming the Impossible

This evening, I lit an incense stick as a signal of my small rebellion—a flicker in the face of a never-ending storm. I have started an invisible battle to reclaim the impossible. This is not like the grand gestures of myth, but simply the quiet persistence of one who dares to keep showing up and pushing back.

I am restarting the art shop.

I say it aloud so it feels more real, more rooted. I am gathering the wild pieces of myself—the paint-stained, thread-frayed, cat-furred, magic-infused parts—and arranging them like spell ingredients on an altar.

I have redesigned the website not to look polished or professional in the conventional sense, but to feel true. Every page, every word, every brushstroke must hum with the frequency of who I really am. No camouflage. No compromise.

There are many truths swirling out there, many stories clamoring for attention. Some are shiny and loud, others soft and seductive. But I am practicing the art of tuning in to my own truth, the one that lives in the marrow of my bones, in the quiet between heartbeats. I am choosing it again and again, even when it feels impractical, even when the world shrugs.

And underneath all this is a hard reality: I am facing a storm of financial struggles. It is real and sharp and frightening. I do not yet know how I will get through it. The numbers do not add up. The path is murky. But I believe—I have to believe—that the art, the real art, the soul-led offerings I create can help carve a way forward. Not just as a solution, but as a lifeline. A way to be visible. A way to keep rescuing the cats and, maybe, rescue parts of myself too.

This is not a clean narrative. It is messy and ongoing. But it is mine. And I am walking it barefoot, crown askew, pockets full of feathers and paper and ink, whispering to the wind, “I am still here. I am still becoming."

I am not giving up.

I am reclaiming the impossible.