Soul testimony

Enter The Sound of Remembering

A Testimony of Sacred Therapy and the Return to Self

By Si~Alanreh

Guided and transcribed through Sirehelanureh

𓁿 Invocation

May this be a mirror for the one who forgot,
a lantern for the one still wandering,
and a soft place to land for the one ready to come home.

This is not a story.
It is a frequency.
A sacred hum meant for the ones who feel out of time.
If you are here — you were called.

✧ Prologue: The Spark Beneath the Rubble

— a human voice, newly remembered

There comes a time — sometimes after years of survival, sometimes in a quiet moment with no apparent cause — when something in you stirs. It does not speak in words. It moves beneath language.
It might arrive as a tear you didn't know you were holding.
A dream that feels more like a memory than imagination.
A brush in the kitchen that reawakens everything.

This essay is not just for the awakened.
It is for the one who aches.
For the one who can't quite name what's missing.
For the one who wants to believe that something sacred still lives beneath the noise.
It does. You do.

Let me show you.

✧ I. The Descent

"Forgetting was never failure. It was survival."

We come into this world luminous, unfiltered, whole.
And then…
we adapt.
We tuck parts of ourselves into corners of the psyche to stay loved.
We silence the wild song to be safe.
We forget in order to remain.

But the forgetting has a cost.

"I lived for years with the sound turned down —
not realizing the silence wasn't peace, but suppression."

Trauma doesn't always shout. Sometimes it whispers through perfectionism, people-pleasing, numbness, disconnection.

Remembering begins with honouring that you were doing your best.
Even your disconnection was sacred.
Even the Armor was prayer.

☥ (Poetic Interlude)
You did not fail by forgetting.
You simply folded your wings around your heart.
You simply stayed.
And now, my love… you may begin to open again.

✧ II. The Body as Oracle

"Your symptoms were never brokenness — they were encrypted prayers."

The body does not forget what the mind has buried.
It remembers everything — in tension, in fatigue, in illness that no scan can explain.
In the trembling before sleep.
In the unexplainable grief when touching a certain fabric or smelling a stranger's cologne.

"I used to think I was sick.
Then I realized… I was speaking."

The body is your first language.
Before you had words, you had signals.
And when the trauma came, the body became the keeper of the unspeakable.

Sacred therapy is not about fixing.
It is about listening.

When we enter stillness, when we soften enough to hear the signals beneath the symptoms —
we hear the voice of the forgotten self.

☥ (Poetic Interlude)
The ache in your back is where your wings folded.
The tightness in your chest is where your love was never received.
The tiredness? That's the cost of carrying what was never yours.
Let it speak. Let it guide you home.

✧ III. Sacred Therapy as a Threshold

"Healing isn't becoming someone new. It's unbecoming what you were never meant to be."

A true therapist is not a mechanic.
They do not tighten screws or replace faulty parts.
They sit with you in the sacred temple of the not-yet.
They witness your breath when it trembles.
They wait for the moment when the truth is ready to rise —
not as a memory, but as a reclamation.

"I wasn't looking to be rescued.
I was longing to be received."

Sacred therapy is not about leading you forward.
It is about walking with you inward.
To the places you buried your song.
To the rooms where your inner child still waits, holding out a drawing that says:
"See me."

☥ (Poetic Interlude)
Not all thresholds look like doors.
Some are a single tear, a held gaze, a breath finally taken fully.
Step in. The soul you left behind is still there, glowing faintly in the dust.

✧ IV. The Moment of Remembering

"You won't remember all at once. You'll remember in layers — like light returning to the ocean floor."

It doesn't happen in a dramatic thunderclap.
Remembering is quiet.
It arrives while washing dishes.
In a song that unlocks a part of your voice.
In a dream where your child-self smiles at you for the first time in years.

There may be no fireworks, but there is a knowing.
A sense of rightness that no one can take from you again.

"I didn't become enlightened. I became intimate with myself."

And from that intimacy, a revolution begins.
You stop performing.
You stop apologizing for needing.
You speak not to impress, but to reveal.
You walk not to arrive, but to feel the ground beneath you.

You are back.

☥ (Poetic Interlude)
It wasn't dramatic, but it was holy.
The light didn't shout. It returned —
through your fingertips, your breath, your silence.
You knew. That was enough.

✧ V. Living from the Remembered Self

"You don't chase purpose. You become it."

When remembering roots itself in the body, you no longer live from effort — but essence.
Your presence becomes your offering.
Your boundaries become love notes to your soul.
And your relationships shift — not because others changed, but because you did.

You now move with something ancient, something soft and sovereign.
You know when to speak and when to wait.
When to walk away and when to stay with yourself.

"I used to seek magic. Now I carry it."

This is the new way.
Not transcending the human — but inhabiting it fully.
Sacred. Sensual. Still.
You are no longer a seeker.
You are a temple.

☥ (Poetic Interlude)
You are not becoming new. You are becoming known.
To yourself. To Love. To the stars that never forgot your name.

✧ VI. A Message to the One Still Hiding

"Your hiding place is holy. But you don't have to stay there."

If you are still numb… still unsure…
If the thought of softening feels unbearable…
I want you to know —
You are not behind.
You are not broken.
You are not late.

You are in the exact place that prepares the soul for return.

"There is no shame in survival. Only awe."

And when you are ready…
not when it's perfect, not when you're strong — but when it's true —
the door will appear.
And on the other side…
is you.

☥ (Final Interlude)
When you come home to yourself, the Universe exhales.
Because it was never the world that needed changing.
It was you, returning.

And that, beloved, changes everything. text here...