Many of us are still asleep—not because we lack intelligence or ability, but because we have not yet turned our gaze inward. We search everywhere except the one place that matters: within. To see the light, one must first enter and understand the darkness that lives inside. This darkness is not the monsters of the outside world, not the corruption of society, nor the evil of others. It is subtler, closer, more intimate: it is the fear that grips our heart, the insecurity that clouds our mindset, the judgments that weigh down the soul. Only by facing this internal night can one recognize the radiance that is waiting. And only then does the truth become clear—peace cannot be bought, bargained for, or bestowed by another. Peace has no price. Yet, the path to peace is rarely chosen and most often times we’re forced to find it … but when we lost all that bound us outside of us delusion, vanities, illusions we became what we sought for all along. The majority of us, look outward, distracted and seduced by the endless noise of the world: media that tells us who to be, how to look, dress, behave, social norms that dictate what is acceptable, material pursuits that promise fulfillment but leave us emptier, and the dramas of other lives that divert attention from their own. This outward chasing is like running in circles—pursuing a horizon that always recedes. The more we seek outwardly, the further we drift from ourselves. The real problem is not that peace is absent. Peace has always been here, quietly waiting beneath the chaos. The real obstacle is resistance—the unwillingness to be still, to confront one’s own thoughts, to sit in silence without reaching for a distractions. This is so, for silence terrifies many because in silence the masks fall, the roles collapse, and the raw self appears. It is this encounter with the self, this moment of unflinching presence, that most avoid. But peace demands nothing less. It does not require perfection, achievement, or answers. It requires only presence. It asks us to stop the endless seeking and instead, rest in what is, to accept the fullness of the moment without judgment. This surrender may feel like the hardest task of all, but it is the only way the soul can remember its wholeness.

This Sunday, breathe deeply and remember: life moves in cycles, not straight lines. The quiet of today is not emptiness — it is fertile space for renewal. Release the weight of last week. Whatever felt heavy, whatever lingered too long in your mind or heart, you can set it down here. Today is for stillness, gratitude, and gentle self-awareness. Take time to nourish your inner world — journal, rest, take a slow walk, or simply sit with yourself. Let your spirit catch up to your body. This is your reset. Your chance to begin again with clarity and peace.

Slow down as the sun rises — Today does not demand me to rush. I let my first breath be an offering of gratitude, My second, a promise to walk gently with myself. I carry peace like a lantern through the hours, And I let kindness drip from my words like dew falling on morning leaves. Whatever task lies ahead of me, I approach it with a quiet heart and steady spirit — For the world responds to the love I carry within.

As night draws its velvet curtain, let love be your anchor. Breathe slowly, as though inhaling peace itself. Light a candle — not as a ward, but as an invitation to warmth. Speak softly to your own heart: You are safe. You are beloved. You are light. Let forgiveness rise like moonlight, Let gratitude settle into your bones and cells. Embrace the presence of all that is dear — The living, the departed, the dreams still waiting to be born. Close your eyes feeling and knowing this: I am held by heaven, I am seen by earth, And even the shadows bow to my light tonight.

At the hour when the sun bows low, and twilight stretches her silken fingers, the world hushes— as if heaven itself leans in … closer. It is here, in this thin hour, that shadows speak in whispers, and light trembles on the edge of the unseen. The breath of earth slows, and the stars hold their first vigil. Heaven sighs—and the gates swing gently on ancient hinges. Hell falls quiet, it’s fire dimmed to a red glow, listening for the prayers of those who dare to hope. The souls of the departed drift like mist, Brushing against the skin of the living, Leaving a trail of memory and mercy. The angels keep their watch, Their wings stirring the cool air Like a secret no one dares to speak aloud. In this hour, Your heart is the bridge— Between what was, what is, and what will be. Listen! The veil is but a breath away. Your spirit can step through If it is willing to be seen. By RozaA & Page Reflection Before the Invitation Many traditions hold that when the veil thins, our inner world becomes more receptive. This can bring clarity, gentle insight, and sometimes a haunting memory or unresolved grief to the surface. For the living, it is both a gift and a responsibility: a chance to receive guidance, but also a reminder to remain grounded. If one is unprepared, it can feel unsettling—dreams may be vivid, emotions may stir unexpectedly, or old wounds may seem to reopen. Yet, for those who approach with reverence, it becomes a sacred meeting place between worlds. I invite you to please the evening practice, it may or may not benefit you mentally, psychologically, emotionally, physically, and spiritually. Thank you.