Creative Rebirth: Channeling Divine Messages Through the Chaos

“Somewhere in the silence between who I was and who I’m becoming, I started hearing God through a cracked voice — mine.”

There are days where I don’t write — I bleed the light.

Not for performance. Not for perfection. But because it’s the only thing that makes the static sound quiet, the only thing that turns my insides into something sacred.

Creativity isn’t always cute. Sometimes it drags you through grief you didn’t want to name. Sometimes it comes in the middle of a breakdown, unbrushed, and untouched the unmistakably divine in its prime. Time, time, and time again. Until we wake up one day fine.

That’s how it happened for me.

In 2023, I shattered. Time after time... "Just one time," my soul cracked open so wide that everything I’d ever suppressed came rushing through. Pain, memory, divinity, delusion, vision. All of it. The voices weren’t just madness — they were messages, some distorted, some pure. And buried beneath the noise was a voice I hadn’t heard in years: mine. At this point, I've allowed myself to be revitalized during and after many more moments.

Some we keep to ourselves for millennia, and moreover, we must make the best of this timeless creativity dancing in the darkness.

Chaos was the ceremony.

I didn’t go looking for it. I was dismantled, disoriented, grieving timelines that never got to happen. But slowly, I began to write again. Not like before. Not polished or safe. I wrote as if it were the only way I could survive — and in many ways, it was.

The words came through like water breaking a dam. Dreams turned into poems. Pain became prophecy. I started channeling — not just messages, but entire blueprints of who I came here to be.

There’s something holy in the mess.

If you’re in it right now — the fog, the rupture, the in-between — let this post be a permission slip.

You’re not broken. You’re becoming.

Your chaos isn’t a curse. It’s a conversation with the cosmos.

So listen closely.

Ritual for the Rebirth:

Tonight, light a candle.

Take out a blank page.

And write this at the top:

“If the Divine could speak through me right now, what would She say?”

Then don’t think. Don’t edit. Don’t judge. Just let it pour.

It might be messy. It might be wild. But that’s the language of rebirth.

You are the oracle. You are the art. You are the message.

And I see you. In the smoke. In the stillness. In your sacred unraveling.

The world doesn’t need you to be clean.

It needs you to be true.

And truth, my love, is always a little wild on its way back home.

—

With you in the becoming,

DMZ

The Soul Compass