Day 39 Blog
I sat in the sauna after a cold plunge, still buzzing from the shock of water, when a man said, “Bonjour ! Ça va bien ?”
My body startled; I answered automatically.
It had been a long time since someone’s energy met mine in that way, simple and human.
For a moment I wanted to reply more, to meet the moment fully—but the old habit of silence slid over me.
I held my tongue.
And the silence felt heavy.
That heaviness followed me into training.
It lived in my belly, the place where unspoken words go to wait.
I could feel the energy wanting to rise, to be sound again.
It’s strange how the body remembers what we keep trying to forget: we’re social creatures, built to resonate.
Presence attracts contact.
And when we don’t answer, the charge turns inward.
Stretching later, everything loosened.
The pain near my hip—the one that felt like it connected straight to my breath—finally spoke.
My body wasn’t just releasing tension; it was re-teaching me the language of visibility.
All those tiny receptors in skin and muscle, the eyes and the gut—they don’t just sense the world; they introduce you to it.
When they’re open, people see you without knowing why.
When you hide, the signal fades and the world glances past.
I’ve realized that I’ve spent years training invisibility.
Small breath. Quiet gaze. Muscles pulled in close.
Now I’m retraining for the opposite: conscious visibility.
The ability to step forward or fade back by choice, not fear.
It’s the same sensitivity, just tuned differently—vigilance turned into attunement.
Reading the room not to defend myself but to understand.
Sensing energy not to shrink from it but to play in it.
There’s a moment that comes when presence stabilizes.
The social rules stop feeling like fences and start feeling like background noise.
You still live among people, still follow the code that keeps harmony, but you don’t belong to it.
You move from a different compass, one that hums quietly in the belly.
That’s what sovereignty feels like—not separation, but freedom.
I’m human before cosmic, so I'll carry the Avery line into the light.
Maybe one day I’ll walk among the ordinary again, quiet, smiling, unbound by anything yet belonging everywhere.
Until then, I’ll keep breathing, training, and letting the body do what it was built to do: express life.
Presence isn’t about being noticed.
It’s about remembering you were never missing.
