The stars are just ash and gas, pretty but powerless. They are the scenery, not the script.
We’ve been told to hunt for our future in the alignment of stones and light, as if a planet’s path could ever carry the weight of a woman’s soul. But the stars don’t speak, and they definitely don’t know your name. They are only the glitter on the floor of the One who actually holds the pen.
My life isn’t a coincidence of birth dates or cosmic debris. I am not tethered to a zodiac sign; I am anchored in the Spirit. There is a sharp, raw power in looking at the sky and realizing it’s just a ceiling. I don’t need a horoscope to give me permission to move when the Creator has already called me forward. I’m done asking the creation for directions when I have the Father’s hand in the dark.
La/Nay 
Leave a comment