🌿 Soul Journal Entry: The House of Turquoise Light

Last night, I walked beside my grandmother again—not in memory, but in dreams. She had moved into a new house, wooden and worn, painted in turquoise and white. Our Sagittarian colors. It wasn’t perfect, but it was hers. The land around it pulsed with life—grass, trees, the promise of cultivation. I asked her why she left the concrete house of my childhood, the one that raised me. She smiled and said, “All this land you see—it’s mine.”

Inside, she hung blue curtains with white designs. I thought they’d overwhelm the room, but when she placed them, the space filled with whimsical blue light. It was exquisite. I felt young again. Safe.

We walked through a hallway that became a wooden elevator tube. It sucked us upward—I was afraid, but I didn’t fight it. We emerged in her room once more, and she sat by the window, showing me her view. It was breathtaking. “This is what I see every day,” she said. I smiled, holding the peace of that moment.

Then water burst from the ceiling—pressurized, clean. I worried, but she said, “I’ll fix it all little by little.” Her calm was a balm.

I gathered my courage and asked, “Grand, can my son and I move into your old concrete house? I was raised there. I would love it.” She didn’t answer because I woke up in the silence.

Her absence of words was not rejection—it was an invitation. To build, to trust, to cultivate. To remember that even broken places can be sacred. That turquoise light still lives in me.

🌿 Closing Blessing: “For the House That Lives in Memory”

May the house of your heart be held in peace.  

May the rooms of memory glow with turquoise light,  

and the windows open to beauty, even in brokenness.

May the land beneath you be sacred,  

even if it needs tending.  

May you walk it with courage,  

and cultivate joy in small, quiet ways.

May the ones you’ve loved—  

those who raised you, watched over you,  

and whispered wisdom in dreams—  

continue to guide you gently,  

not with answers, but with presence.

And may you, 

find sanctuary not only in places,  

But in your own becoming.  

In your son's and daughter's laughter,  

in your rituals,  

In the view you choose to see every day.

Amen.  🕊

So may it be.