Prose

Prose

When Blood Fails, the Heart Chooses

/ Elizabeth Locke

By Elizabeth Locke – 5/7/2025

Not all family is born screaming in a hospital room, wrapped in blankets and surnames.

Some arrive as whispers—quiet, divine interruptions. Souls you weren’t expecting, but somehow, your heart remembers them like déjà vu.

You are born into blood, yes. But blood doesn’t always raise you. Sometimes, it breaks you. Sometimes, it leaves you standing in doorways with open hands and empty echoes. Sometimes, the people meant to be your safety never learned how to be safe themselves.

And so, the universe sends others.

A woman may come along who teaches you how to mother yourself. She ties your shoe when your own mother wasn’t there. She stirs healing into pots on the stove, wipes your tears with soft words and eyes that don’t look away. She teaches you how to be gentle with your pain, and fierce with your love. She becomes the mother you needed—not by blood, but by bond.

A friend becomes a sister. You laugh until your ribs ache. You cry on her kitchen floor. You tell her the things you thought no one would ever hear. She never flinches. You feel safe in her presence, held not by touch, but by truth.

Then there’s the man—the one who enters when you are unraveling. He steadies the storm. He doesn’t promise to fix you, just to hold you through the fire. He listens. He sees past the strong mask. He offers comfort that feels holy. He becomes family—not by duty, but by choice.

And one day, you find yourself stepping into these roles for others.

You become a mother to someone aching for guidance. A sister to a woman learning to trust. A friend to someone carrying quiet grief. You become the family they didn’t get, but desperately needed. You become their steady place.

Because family is not about bloodlines.
It’s about soul lines.

It’s who shows up.
Who stays.
Who sees you, all of you, and loves you anyway.

Some people were never meant to stay forever. But others arrive exactly when you’re ready to receive love that’s real. They become the ones you celebrate with, fall apart in front of, rebuild alongside. These are the sacred ties—the invisible, unbreakable threads of chosen family.

So don’t be afraid to open your heart to the ones not bound to you by name.

They may very well be the ones who save you.

And you?
You just might be that saving grace for someone else.

The Years I Lost, The Woman I Found

/ Elizabeth Locke

By Elizabeth Locke – 5/7/2025

There are spans of time I barely recognize anymore.
Whole years swallowed by silence, by aching nights and cold pillows soaked in tears. Years spent surviving. Numb. Alone. Forgotten even by myself.

Where did they go? Those years I gave away—too trusting, too wounded, too tired to ask for more.

I lived through the storm. Not with grace, but with grit. With bruised knees and a spine that refused to break. I held tight to that quiet fire in me, repeating the words I’d tattooed onto my soul: “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

I was naïve. Starved of a mother’s warmth, shaped by pain and the long shadow of divorce. I sought love in places that didn’t know how to hold it. I made choices—some I can barely name without choking on regret. And yet, in the wreckage, miracles bloomed.

I was given four children—my heart in human form. The silver lining to every thundercloud. Without those choices, I wouldn’t know the kind of love that cracks you wide open just to pour more light in.

I walked through life half-guarded. Eyes open, heart hidden. Trust wasn’t easy—not after the damage. But God, in His mercy, still sent angels.
A handful of women who held my hand like sisters.
A mother who found me when mine was never truly there.
And another—my Mama Bear—who speaks life into my soul when I forget how to breathe.

She said to me one day, “No matter how many years were lost, make the next ones your best.”

That truth hit deep. It cracked me. I wept for the time that slipped through my fingers, for the things I never got to feel, the places I never saw.
But I only let myself grieve for a heartbeat.
Because staying there would chain me to the past—and I was finally ready to be free.

The moment I chose awareness over blame, healing over hiding, was the moment I began to truly live.
I stopped waiting to be rescued.
I became the woman I was always meant to be.

I leaned into self-love—not the cliché, but the radical act of believing I deserve joy. I faced the fear, the discomfort, the parts of me that had never seen the sun. I said yes to new beginnings, to unfamiliar places, to people who saw my light before I did.

It wasn’t easy. Growth never is.

But I had help.
I learned from souls like Sheneese Starr, who reminded me: “Get off the block.”
Take the step. Say yes. Move.

And in moving, I reclaimed myself.
Piece by piece. Day by day.

The world is wide. Vast. More beautiful than I ever allowed myself to imagine.
And what’s meant for me? It’s still mine. It was never lost—just waiting until I was ready.

I feel the rain now, and it no longer hurts. It cleanses.
I walk with a glow that comes from fire, not frost.

So to anyone counting the years they think they’ve wasted—stop.
You didn’t lose time.
You were becoming.

Forget the loss.
Feel the now.
Let your story be one of power, of rising, of choosing yourself every single day.

You deserve this life.
You deserve the glow.
So rise. And don’t look back.

Softness, Peace and the Feminine Aura

/ Elizabeth Locke


By Elizabeth Locke · April 14, 2025

The most beautiful place on earth is where a woman can fully dwell in her softness.

So often, she is carrying the weight of the world—leading, providing, fixing, holding it all together. She moves through the noise, armored in strength, operating in a masculine energy that the world demands. In time, this carves a harder exterior just to survive the cold, cruel pace of it all.

But when she is able to turn that switch off—when she can lay it all down and step gently back into her feminine aura—that becomes her peace.

She begins to glow in the quiet light of herself.

It’s a soft, sacred space, like floating among clouds. Her mind begins to rest. The sharpness of the world fades. Her spirit dances barefoot in a meadow of stillness. Peace—the kind that sinks deep into her bones—is one of the greatest gifts a woman can receive.

In this space, she can close her eyes, smile without reason, and breathe sweetly. She is delicate. She is light. And in her softness, she becomes joyful again.

It’s like she’s taken off the hard hat and steel-toe boots. Her mind lifts. Her body relaxes. The weight of everything she carries falls away. And there she is: invincible, radiant, sensual. She reclaims the beauty of her being. She embraces every part of herself.

She delights in simple pleasures—silken lotions on bare skin, a perfume that whispers passion, her hair brushed just the way she likes it, toes painted in a color that feels like spring. Everything she wears feels like it was made for her.

Her soft mind is where the magic begins—where fear transforms into curiosity, and darkness meets the gentlest light.

This is where she becomes excited again—about life, about love, about her own power.

Because women are life-givers, it is essential for their feminine aura to flow freely. It is the source of nurturing, intuition, empathy, and deep creativity. When she moves from this place, her most radiant energy is unlocked. She becomes open, magnetic, graceful—overflowing with kindness, gratitude, and a quiet desire for the happiness of everyone around her.

A woman must be able to return to this energy naturally. Her intuition is a gift—one that senses what is unseen. She feels the room before it speaks. She knows what’s aligned and what is not. When she listens, when she follows the soft pull of that knowing, she guides herself with grace and clarity.

The more she tunes in, the more life opens for her. The things she longs for begin to arrive—not because she chased them, but because she became a soft place for them to land.

She just needs to pause. To feel. To breathe into her inner wisdom.
When she listens to that quiet voice, she meets her deepest calm.

She remembers the truth that’s always been within her:
She is soft.
She is peace.
She is the embodiment of a beautiful, powerful, feminine aura.

“There is a quiet power in a woman who embraces her softness. Her aura becomes a vibration so high; the world can’t help but feel her presence.”
— Elizabeth Locke

When energy lingers, the sacred practice of awareness

/ Elizabeth Locke

By Elizabeth Locke | April 9, 2025

“There are people who leave fingerprints on your spirit.”

We don’t always notice it at first—but energy imprints.
This piece is a poetic reflection on emotional imprinting, boundaries, and the healing power of awareness. Let it invite you into a softer way of seeing your world—and choosing what stays.

There are people who leave fingerprints on your spirit. You may not notice at first. It begins quietly—in the way your thoughts shift after a conversation, or how your body tenses when their name lights up your phone. Their energy, their patterns, their choices—without permission—begin to wrap around you like threads.

This is the silent power of imprinting.
And this is why awareness is everything.

A child watches a parent leave dishes in the sink and learns something. A teenager hears the sting of criticism and carries it like a bruise beneath the skin. Even as adults, we absorb. We inherit. We reflect. And unless we pause, unless we see—we repeat.

“Awareness is the breath between stimulus and response.”

It’s the soft but firm voice inside that says, This isn’t mine to carry.
It’s the knowing that you don’t have to open the door to every knock.
You don’t have to pick up every call—especially if the person on the other end brings more static than substance. Their energy may not belong in your sacred space. And that realization? That is liberation.

We live in a world that moves fast.
But awareness slows things down, asks you to listen—not just with your ears, but with your nervous system, your breath, your intuition. It asks, Who do I become when I am around this person? Does this space nourish me—or deplete me?

This is not about judgment. It’s about resonance.

“Protecting your spirit is not selfish. It’s sacred.”

And it begins with awareness.

When you become aware, you can course correct.
You can say no with grace.
You can choose quiet over chaos, boundaries over burnout.
You learn to self-govern—not with force, but with clarity.
And that clarity builds a life that feels more like home.

Ask yourself gently:

  • Is my awareness bringing me closer to the future I want?
  • What story am I telling myself about what I have to tolerate?
  • Who taught me that I must always say yes?

Your “Book of Law”—the practical truths you live by—should reflect not just what you’ve survived, but what you desire. Because desire, when honored through awareness, becomes design. You begin to shape your world with intention. You choose the voices you listen to, the patterns you follow, the energy you dance with.

And when you choose, you change.

Awareness stirs the mind, yes—but it also anchors the heart.
It asks better questions.
It shifts behaviors.
It turns unconscious habits into conscious decisions.
It aligns your life with your highest vibration—not someday, but now.

So, take inventory.

“The quality of your life is shaped not just by what you choose—but by what you choose to allow.”

Final Reflection:

Study your surroundings. Honor your intuition. And remember:
Everything you seek is already within you.

Awareness simply removes the fog so you can see it more clearly.

It is the light in the hallway, the soft hand on your back, the whisper that says:
You know what’s right for you. Trust it.

It all begins with awareness.