your frequency finds me before your words your gaze knows my name before being told touch me, because you feel the way my breathe changes, when I say nothing at all speak in silences with me, in songs only our bodies understand you are the fire that burns away my pretending and demands I become my own symphony, no part left silent, no note untrue, every cell trembling, to the pulse that is you ~ play me, until all of me is song
There are these moments - often quiet at first - when something inside of us stirs.
An ache.
A hum.
A discontent. It doesn’t scream, but it whispers through your bones and it asks quietly wether there should be more. There could be more.
Not because anything is broken, but rather because something feels missing. And in this exploration I am not ignoring the possibility that the very feeling of missing is the pulse that makes us feel alive to begin with.
What is resonance?
Music. Music between two beings.
A frequency that doesn’t ask for constant translation.
The feeling of being deeply met, not so much in conversation maybe (thought that too feels powerful) but in presence.
It ripples through each vertebrae like
“I feel you”
“I feel WITH you”
“Tell me more. And also, I already know”
Resonance is not agreeance. More so it is a shared rhythm of curiosity, soul attunement and emotional transparency.
When laughter feels like worship. When silence feels like prayer.
When the space between two bodies feels like home.
What then is mirroring?
Mirroring is the sacred reflection of your truth back to you - with little distortion.
It’s when someone holds up a soft, steady mirror and says:
“Yes. That’s you. All of you. I see you. Keep going.”
The human animal craves this. Not because we are incomplete, but because we are relational. Mirroring isn’t slipping into codependence. It’s resonant witnessing.
The ache for more
Sometimes we may settle for stillness that is not peaceful, but numbing. We might be in relationship. A home. A familiar rhythm. Still, something in us quietly hungers. Not just for novelty. For mirrored aliveness.
The hunger says “Where are the soul deep conversations?”, “Why do I feel more myself in someone else’s presence?”, “Why do I close my eyes during sex?”.
These hunger sounds don’t mean you are broken. They are signs that you are awake.
So many of us (women) carry a shadow around resonance. The quiet voice that says “You are too idealistic”, “You are romanticizing”, “You want too much”, “Just be grateful for what you have”.
Can we meet this gently? Alchemize it? (journals out!)
What do I believe deep resonance will save me from?
What am I afraid of if I never find it again?
What would it mean about me or my choices if it’s missing in my relationship?
Is there a part of me that equates magic with love and routine with dullness?
Where am I still filtering myself to be safe or palatable?
Ask yourself these questions not to condemn, but to liberate parts of you that want it all.
I want soul-tingly magic. And also.
There is a younger part - romantic, raw, breathless - who wants soul-tingly resonance. She wants messages that read like poems. Skin that remembers. Longing that melts timelines. She is not wrong.
There is another part, wiser, more grounded, maternal - who wants peace. Harmony. Steady mornings. Someone to take the trash out. Dinner on the stove.
And the soul goes on and on “Why can’t it be both?”
I sense that somewhere along the line we were told we must choose. Magic or maturity. Safety or eros. Dream or duty.
Now I am here. A reclamation of the both/and.
Not asking for fantasy. Asking to be fully met.
A woman who doesn’t shrink to fit.
A mother and a mystic.
A poet and a homemaker.
Wild. Loyal, but not caged. Lit from within.
How can you create this in your current relationship?
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