When Spirit Met Love (And They Laughed at the Rules)

Love didn’t knock—

she just barged in

wearing gold hoops, barefoot,

and smelling like palo santo with a twist of scandal.

She caught Spirit meditating

in the corner of my cracked ribcage,

humming like the ocean

and looking fine in linen.

They made eye contact.

Boom.

Alchemy.

No first date. No prenup.

Just a soul contract written in lipstick

on the bathroom mirror of my becoming.

I said,

“Wait, shouldn’t we heal first?”

Love said,

“Baby, healing is the foreplay.”

And Spirit winked.

That wink… sent my trauma packing.

I used to pray for peace

with my jaw clenched,

knees on rice,

trying to earn salvation like a damn coupon.

Now?

I light candles with my hips.

I chant in the shower.

I cry on Tuesdays just because

and call it sacred release.

Love taught me how to laugh

with my stretch marks,

how to flirt with my own reflection,

how to eat mangoes like they’re sermons.

Spirit taught me how to say no

without apologizing,

how to dance barefoot in grief,

and how to scream at God

and still feel held.

They didn’t fix me.

They found me.

In the mess.

In the magic.

In the meat of my humanity.

And told me,

“You are not hard to love—

you’re just holy.”

So now I walk like I’m a walking altar

with a side of sass.

I spill wine in moonlight and call it ritual.

I kiss my scars and call them ancestors.

I tell fear to take a number.

Because when Spirit met Love,

they didn’t whisper—

they roared.

And I remembered:

I was never too much—

they were just uninitiated.

So here I am,

cracked open,

wild-hearted,

and still laughing—

because healing?

She’s messy,

magnetic,

and kind of a flirt.

Just like me.

With love and light

Sherley Delia, M.A.

Founder, Healing Majestically Consultancy