Praise & Worship

“Pleasure is found first in anticipation, later in memory.” - Anais Nin

Some days my praise is quiet. So quiet it almost feels like nothing…until I sit with it long enough to hear it.

It’s in the soft clink of my waist beads, barely kissing against my skin when I move. Not loud. Not performative. Just there. Like breath.

I don’t rush it.

I don’t force it to sound like anything holy.

I just let it be what it is.

And somehow…

it becomes everything.

The sound…

it reminds me of honey slipping from my fingers—

slow, sticky, intentional.

It doesn’t ask for permission to fall.

It just… lets go.

I think that’s where I’ve been—

learning how to let go.

Of who I thought I had to be.

Of what worship was supposed to look like.

Of the idea that it had to be loud to be real.

Because right here, in this body…

in this softness I used to run from…

I’m finding something sacred.

And it’s uncomfortable to admit,

but it’s true—

I am the spell. Not in some perfect, mystical way…but in the way my life keeps unfolding even when I don’t have the words for it.

I am the altar. This body that has carried grief, joy, motherhood, loss…and still stands. Still holds. Still makes space.

I am the offering. Not polished. Not finished. Just open…on the days I have the strength to be.

I AM the manifestation. Not someday. Not later. Now. Even in the parts of me that are still healing. Even in the parts of me I’m still learning to love.

So, when my waist beads move, when they whisper instead of shout, I don’t ignore it anymore.

I listen.

Because that sound—that small, steady rhythm—is proof that I’m still here. Still becoming. Still returning to myself.

And maybe…that’s been the praise all along.

I am the spell

I am the altar

I am the offering

I AM the manifestation

-KJKT