The Sky Reminded Me Who I Am

A journey through risk, rebirth, and the stillness between the storm

Day One: The Edge

There comes a moment, quiet but undeniable, when you begin to witness your own mind. Not as the narrator. Not as the thinker. But as the one who watches.

That moment was Day One for me.

I sat with the parts of myself that had once screamed, raced, begged to fly. But now they whispered. Hesitant. Hesitating. I was a week away from returning to a place most people call dangerous, but I called home.

The sky.

An accident that didn’t ask for permission, a fall that taught me how fragile bones can be, and how ferociously the soul still fights. I didn’t plan for the silence that followed, nor the stillness that would become my greatest teacher.

In that stillness, I met myself. Not the self that climbs, leaps, or dances with the wind. But the one who breathes beneath it all. The one who had no name. Only presence.

Risk no longer felt wild. It felt sacred.

Risk as a Portal

When we speak of risk, we often imagine recklessness, jumps without parachutes, hearts thrown to the wind. But true risk is not chaos. It’s conscious surrender.

For me, risk became a quiet ritual:

• Listening to the butterflies in my stomach.

• Watching the tremble in my breath.

• Asking the mind what it feared, and still choosing presence over protection.

Risk is not about what you lose. It’s about what you’re willing to shed. Layers of illusion. Memories that grip. The soft trap of comfort disguised as safety.

Each step closer to the sky asked me to undress another belief, another fear. I became lighter. Not just in body, but in being.

The Return: 

And then, I flew.

Not just in body, but in spirit. The risk had been taken. The leap had become reality. The sky welcomed me home with no fanfare. Just air. Just breath. Just being.

What does rebirth feel like?

Not triumph. Not loud. But still.

Still like the eye of a storm. Still like the universe pausing, just to watch you awaken.

There were tears. Not for pain. Not for fear. But for the invisible dust of all I had become. They fell for the girl who once begged to heal. They fell for the soul who dared to trust again.

I was light again. Not metaphorically. Not poetically. I was light.

Rebirth as a Way of Being

This is where the psychedelic meets the spiritual. Not in visions. Not in colors. But in the dissolving of everything you thought you were.

You see, rebirth doesn’t always roar. Sometimes it arrives like particles in the air, quiet, unnoticed, until you realize you’re covered in them. Lessons. Scars. Wisdom that settled into your skin without you even noticing.

Rebirth is not a single moment. It’s the decision to live differently after the moment passes.

It’s realizing that the war you fought, against yourself, your past, your fears, has turned to dust. And that dust? It’s not your enemy. It’s your soil now. Where roots grow. Where truth lives.

The Takeaway:

If you are on your edge, your Day One, know this: You do not need to be fearless to move forward. You only need to be present enough to witness the fear and still choose to listen to the soul beneath it.

Let discomfort be your compass. Let love be your engine.

When the mind spirals and the heart doubts, ask: What am I willing to let go of so I can meet myself on the other side?

The size of your rebirth is directly connected to the size of your surrender. You don’t need to rush. Just be still enough to hear when your spirit says, “It’s time.”

And when that time comes, Don’t hesitate.

Because some of us weren’t born just to walk. We were born to fly.