Reflections

Last night I slept out in nature.
No service. No noise. Just stars above and trees shifting in the wind.

I didn’t realise how much my body needed the pause until morning.
There’s a different kind of rest out there. The sort that settles you without asking.

We spend so much time trying to unwind indoors.
Screens. Lamps. Tasks that never quite end.
But real quiet asks for nothing. It just resets you.

Sleep under an open sky and your whole system remembers how to breathe.

When I was a kid I showed my dad a magic trick with a gold coin. I made it vanish.
The wild part is it never came back. Not in my hands at least.

Yet for years I’ve found gold coins in the strangest places.
Footpaths. Car parks. Random pockets.
Like the trick kept echoing long after the moment passed.

Maybe some things don’t disappear.
They just choose new ways to return.

I’ve been asking the universe to show me Yellow-tailed black cockatoos.
For weeks the sky stayed quiet.

Then they started appearing. One. Then a pair. Then a whole shadow crossing overhead.

There’s a patience to this kind of thing.
You ask. You stay open. You let time do its work.

Most signals don’t arrive on command. They show up when you’ve slowed down enough to notice.

A notebook full of ideas looks impressive. Pages of plans. Circles and arrows.
But nothing in your life shifts until something in your day does.

Knowing what to do feels satisfying. It tricks you into thinking you’ve already begun.
But knowledge is only the doorway. The work lives on the other side.

Every leap starts with a step you actually take.
Energy follows action.

Some people arrive like dawn.
No fanfare. No hurry.
Air settles. Shoulders loosen.

It isn’t the smile. It’s the steadiness.
Warmth held without needing to be seen.
Calm that gives others room to breathe.

They don’t pull focus. They create space.
They don’t push. They allow.
Light that lands gently and stays.

Lists get shorter. Lives get smaller.
Chats at the cafe. A neighbour on the footpath.
Each one trimmed to make room for the next tick.

When pace leads, people fade into scenery.
Small talk stays small. Stories never surface.
The day is efficient and oddly empty.

Make trade-offs on purpose.
Leave a beat after hello. Ask one more question.
Let a real moment outrank the next notification.

Choose the person, not the ping.

It’s wild how often frustration comes from things we decided mattered.
A task that once felt inspiring becomes a chore.
A goal set months ago starts feeling heavier than it’s worth.

What began as a choice can turn into a rule without anyone noticing.
Self-made deadlines.
Self-made pressure.
Self-made urgency.

But priorities aren’t permanent.
They can be rewritten any time.
Dropped. Softened. Replaced with something that fits better now.

What if the tension isn’t failure but an old priority trying to move out of the way?

Two hands point at the sky.
A quiet wish for the clouds to move.

Not long later they do.
The sun slips through for a breath.

Maybe it’s coincidence.
Maybe it’s the universe winking back.

Some things don’t need answers.
Just a moment of stillness to be felt.

Waiting for a coffee at my cafe.
A mother impatient with her server, walked up and grabbed her bowl of chips.

Their table all took a bite and were met with a burnt mouth.

How often do we do that?
Rush the moment.
Skip the wait.

Some pain doesn’t come from the task.
It’s from not letting it cool.

While moving out I caught my hand on a box and split the skin right across my heart line.
The blood settled into the grooves of my palm in a perfect little star.
Sharp. Bright. Impossible to ignore.

Two days earlier I’d asked the cards what I needed to hear.
I pulled The Star.
A card that arrives after the dust has settled.
The one that says the worst of the storm is behind you.
You’re meant to slow down. Breathe. Reconnect.
Let your own inner compass switch back on.

So I’m standing there with my life half packed, feeling stretched thin, and my hand is literally marking me with the same symbol.
A star on the heart line.
Hope sewn straight into the body.