A luminous, myth-inspired poem honouring Arianrhod, this piece explores cycles, sovereignty, and the quiet power of becoming. Through imagery of stars, tides, and the turning silver wheel, it reflects on transformation, self-possession, and the truth that feeling lost is often the beginning of returning to yourself.

This piece is a lyrical, reverent portrayal of Aphrodite as more than a simple symbol of romance. The poem reframes her as a living force of desire, beauty, and self-worth, expanding her meaning beyond traditional mythology into something intimate and modern.

Rather than focusing on dramatic mythological events, the description of her emergence from the sea becomes a quiet, almost sacred moment. The imagery leans into softness and transformation — the world subtly shifting in her presence, as if beauty itself has memory and responds to her return.

The tone is both sensual and introspective, blending external imagery (waves, flowers, light) with internal emotional landscapes. Aphrodite is presented not just as a goddess people worship, but as an energy people experience — in longing, in joy, in self-love, and in the courage to feel deeply.

At its core, the piece explores the idea that love is not passive or decorative, but powerful and active. Aphrodite becomes a symbol of permission: to desire, to appreciate beauty, and to believe in one’s own worth. The closing lines reinforce this by suggesting she is never gone — she is continually “reborn” in human connection, tenderness, and vulnerability.

It’s less a retelling of myth, and more an invocation — like calling her presence into the modern heart.

There is a quiet kind of power in choosing curiosity over certainty. Not the loud, performative kind that insists on being right, but the softer strength that leans in, listens, and asks, why? It is in that space, between what you know and what you are willing to question, that something begins to shift.

To live open-minded is not to drift without anchors, but to recognise that your beliefs are not cages, they are doorways. And every conversation, every challenge, every moment of discomfort is a hand reaching for the handle, inviting you to step through.

She stands at the quiet centre of light—hands cupped around something that is not just power, but creation itself.

This image is a remembering.

A remembering of a time when women were not asked to shrink, soften, or explain their existence. When the feminine was not something to be controlled, but something revered. She is not reaching for power—she is holding it, steady and luminous, as though it has always belonged to her.

There is softness here, yes. Gold-threaded, radiant, alive. But it is not fragile. It is the kind of softness that survives centuries. The kind that rebuilds itself again and again, no matter how many times it has been silenced.

She does not ask to be seen.
She does not ask to be chosen.

She is the axis around which everything turns.

This piece sits somewhere between mythology and modernity—where ancient goddess energy meets the present moment. It speaks to the quiet shift happening now, where women are reclaiming not only their voices, but their desire, their bodies, their presence at the centre of their own stories.

Not the muse.
Not the object.
Not the afterthought.

The origin.

Friday the 13th has long been wrapped in superstition and fear, but its roots tell a different story. Once connected to lunar cycles, feminine wisdom, and sacred ritual, this day carried deep meaning before those traditions were pushed aside. This post explores the forgotten history of Friday the 13th and offers a gentle personal ritual to reconnect with intuition, rest, and inner power. It is an invitation to step away from inherited fear and return to the quiet strength of the divine feminine.