You Came To Me In Dreams First

Be the Light

Some paintings don’t just come from memory —
they arrive like messages.
Carried on the wind of a dream.

I stood on a hilltop.
Wrapped in silence, held in light.
Not the blinding kind,
but a soft, golden sphere —
gentle, warm, true.

And the message was so simple, so quiet I could have missed it:

You don’t have to chase anything. You don’t have to prove, or earn, or seek. Just shine.

Like a lighthouse doesn’t wander the ocean looking for ships to save. It stands in stillness. It radiates. It trusts that its light will reach what is meant to find it.

This dream became a painting. And I didn’t even know it — not until I stepped back, brush in hand, heart wide open, and something clicked.

This is it. This is the dream.
That full moon night. That glowing stillness. That quiet revelation I couldn't name at the time.

The mountain. The light. The hush between breaths.

It was all me — the me I am when I stop shrinking, when I let the old fears fall away: too bright, too soft, too much, too wild.

It was the version of me that doesn’t need to be smaller to be safe.

The me that simply is, unfolding in her own glow.

And maybe —
this is what we’re all here to remember:

That we don’t need to chase meaning. We are the meaning. We don’t need to become someone else. We are already made of stars.

What’s meant for us knows the way.
All we have to do —

is stand still and let our light return.

from the quiet of a moonlit mountain,
where my light came home to me
— julia