December arrives like an old soul
knocking softly on my door—
not asking to enter,
But reminding me I have survived
Every month that tried to break me
and outgrown every season that thought
I’d stay small.
I love this time of year—
not for its endings,
But for the way it crowns me.
There is something sacred
about a month that gathers you becoming
in its palms
and blesses you simply for making it here.
As the year exhales,
I feel the ancestors humming in my bones—
a low, steady vibration,
like chakras clicking into alignment,
one luminous sphere at a time.
Root steady.
Sacral flowing.
Solar plexus burning gold.
Heart wide and unashamed.
Throat fluent in truth.
Third eye clear as prophecy.
Crown open to the infinite.
This is the season where nothing is unaligned
can follow me forward.
The doors that needed closing
close boldly, firmly,
with the sound of a lesson completing itself.
And I do not chase what leaves.
I do not mourn what was never meant to stay.
I simply bow
and let the universe escort it out.
Because December—
in all its finality, in all its shine—
is where my blessings gather
like an overflow of light
seeking a vessel bold enough to hold them.
And I, finally, I
am that vessel.
This month, deposits are abundant
into my mind,
into my body,
into my soul,
into my spirit—
not in trickles,
but in torrents.
Blessings that flood,
miracles that multiply,
favor that refuses to be subtle.
And to anything or anyone
who could not walk with me
into this next divine rise,
I offer peace—
not pettiness,
not bitterness,
not shadowed words.
Just peace.
A quiet, gentle letting go
as I step into the brilliance
that was always waiting for me.
Because I shine differently now.
Bright, overwhelming,
undeniable.
The kind of shine
That is not for comparison
but for confirmation—
confirmation that I am aligned,
protected,
chosen,
and divinely timed.
So here’s to December—
the month that crowns the survivor,
anoints the healer,
and elevates the one
who kept walking even when the road
devoured their certainty.
Here’s to endings that bless,
to beginnings disguised as closure,
to abundance that does not apologize.
And here’s to me—
rising into my own sacred season
with conviction, clarity,
and a radiance that cannot be dimmed.
Copyright © Sherley Delia 2025 | All rights reserved.
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