My phone is one of my most sacred magical tools. But it didn’t used to be
For years, I had an imbalanced relationship with it—seeking connection from wounds, craving affirmation of my pain, my words, my worth. When I wasn’t seen or understood, I took it as proof that I didn’t exist.
It was like trudging through mud, rubbing it into open wounds, and then wondering why I was festering, why I began to rot.
A black mirror is a powerful tool.
It can shape reality or distort it.
It can be a vessel for creation or a trap that corrodes you from within.
There is only one way to hold it safely:
from a place of rooted, embodied wholeness. Otherwise, it consumes more than it reflects.
But now, I approach it with reverence.
I understand it can be sacred if that is my intention when I pick it up, when I look into it.
Not to be seen, but to see.