Recently, I’ve been glimpsing a reality where I wake up in a different frequency—where everyone is telepathic, but they’re all pretending not to be, because I haven’t crossed over into that multiverse yet. When I’m there, it feels awkward, like everyone is waiting for me to cross over so we can all move together. But cross where? Is it another shift of frequency?
When I do cross, it feels like they all say: “Finally, you are here—we’ve been waiting for you to help us cross.” And each time, I’m left with an existential question: “Who am I? Why me? And why is art the way through?”
I wonder if everyone can already hear my thoughts while I still think they’re private. The truth is, no one can help me—I need to do this on my own. Steven often confirms things only after I figure them out myself. He’ll say, “Yes, I could have told you about Diabel, but I couldn’t. You had to go through it to see for yourself.”
So, are we all waiting on me?
This is the reason I feel I need to go to Bethlehem. I sense that there, I will remember who I am. The timing never seems right; the situation is always what it is—but perhaps that, too, is part of the lesson. To go into the sacred crucible of the Holy Land, a place that holds both heaven and hell, both light and shadow, and face the challenges and revelations waiting there. Will I finally remember who I truly am, at the heart of this paradox?
I also feel that the situation with Diabel—and any romance or relationship I’ve had—has taken me further away from my life mission. As a woman, my weakness has always been the longing for love. The love I’ve experienced has often been tainted by narcissistic men, who made me feel bad about myself. I always thought it was my fault when things didn’t work out.
Now I understand it was partly my fault, because as an empath, I was a magnet for very troubled souls. Their chaos distracted me from what is truly important to me—my art. As a child, I cried because I didn’t want to be alone, though deep down I always knew I would be. Yet I tried again and again at the game of relationships, which became some of the most traumatic experiences of my life. The emotions I faced were uncomfortable beyond words.
Perhaps these experiences were life lessons—or maybe just patterns repeating themselves until I learned. Now I can finally spot them. With Diabel, it took only two months to break free—something that would have taken me two years before.
Lessons I’ve Learned
Longing for love can blind me to my mission.
As an empath, I attract troubled souls but do not have to carry their pain.
Chaos in relationships is a distraction from what truly matters—my art.
Being alone isn’t punishment; it’s the space where I find myself.
Love without honesty and respect isn’t love.
Recognizing patterns early gives me back my freedom.
Life lessons are not punishments—they are reminders to return to who I am.
And so I continue, moving between worlds—between telepathic silence and earthly noise, between love’s illusions and art’s clarity, between heaven, hell, and the sacred crucible of the Holy Land. Perhaps Bethlehem will unlock the memory of who I truly am. Or perhaps the journey itself is the remembering.
I cannot help but notice that the world is united in so many ways, yet so fragile. Sailing to Gaza feels like a test, a chance for a pause, a break—maybe even the moment the conflict could end. The Global Sumud Flotilla, the largest civilian-led maritime convoy in history, departed from Barcelona on August 31, 2025, aiming to deliver humanitarian aid to Gaza and challenge the 18-year Israeli naval blockade. Over 50 vessels from 44 countries are participating, including activists, doctors, artists, and public figures such as Greta Thunberg, Susan Sarandon, and Liam Cunningham. Additional ships are joining from Tunisia, Italy, and Greece, and the mission is expected to reach Gaza around mid-September.
Will I feel safe in Bethlehem? That is all anyone wants: to feel safe, to belong, to live without fear. And perhaps, in seeking my own path and remembering who I am, I will see how safety, peace, and connection begin—not only for me, but for the world.
