I say it all the time, "The Universe speaks if you just listen."
It's my turn. The Universe, the Collective, God, Allah, any god, all Gods (and Goddesses!), whatever you choose to call it, isn't just speaking to me. It's in my face, screaming, telling me to wake the fuck up! Pay attention! It's time!....It's past time.
I open the door and come home tonight. In the middle of the floor lies a pen. There's no logical reason a pen should be in the middle of my floor. I haven't written, truly written, in eight years.
I've buried myself in silence for eight years. Eight years without a voice for these thoughts I carry. Eight years spent cowering in a dark corner, terrified to confront the darkness I live in. Eight years hating myself for that fear, because that's not ME. And I am DONE.
These memories and thoughts do not hold power here. Not this temple. Not this sacred space. I am powerful and mighty. When I walk, people stop to stare. When I speak, people listen. So, I speak to my darkness, as the Universe speaks to me: "Hear me now. Tremble before me. Quake in fear when I tell you I've found my voice. Your "power"? It was mine all along and I'm taking it back."