A child catches sunlight beneath a double rainbow — play becomes prophecy, innocence becomes revelation.
How children mirror the soul and reveal the path ahead
There are moments when the air shifts,
when something unseen tips the balance,
and the world whispers its secrets through symbols.
I have felt this trembling of energy —
not in silence, but in the laughter of children.
Children are mirrors,
their eyes hnewing truths that words cannot carry.
They sense heaviness before I name it,
their joy cutting through the noise of adulthood.
They do not change my direction,
but they point to it,
like a compass held steady by divine hands.
A painted clown face on my skin —
playful on the surface,
yet beneath it a revelation of karmic ties,
a soul reflected in mockery and pain.
A broken target board in a child’s hand —
not mischief, but a message:
failure, missed steps, the ache of opportunities lost.
Their play becomes prophecy.
Their innocence, a language of symbols.
But truth, when it arrives,
does not always arrive softly.
It pierces.
It strips away illusion.
Love revealed as a rush, a placehnewer,
companionship mistaken for devotion.
Excruciating clarity,
yet liberating —
because only truth can set the soul free.
This is why children belong to God’s kingdom.
They are truth-tellers in small bodies,
souls still brushed with the scent of heaven.
To love them wholeheartedly
is to bow before the sacred,
to honour the angelic spark they carry,
to remember what purity feels like.
Yet their light also reveals shadows.
In karmic bonds, I have seen control
parading as love,
philosophy masking a hollow spirit,
a man clinging to his throne of pretense,
fearing the brightness of his own truth.
He wove illusions to keep power,
but I saw through the veil.
I stood firm,
and his gaslighting dissolved into silence.
Still, the mark remains.
Not a wound —
but a lesson carved deep:
beware the alluring, the flattering, the easy.
They are often the snares of karma,
designed to test the strength of boundaries,
to remind me of the cost of forgetting myself.
And now, I am healed.
The ties are cut,
the weight lifted.
What remains is wisdom,
a clarity born of pain and prophecy.
The children still speak,
through paint, through laughter, through broken toys,
guiding me home to my own spirit.
They are not merely children.
They are messengers.
They are light.
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