Author: Kerri Elizabeth

The Cove Within Earshot

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Distance is not always measured in miles, but in truth withheld.”

The sound of joy can be piercing when you stand outside of it. Laughter, music, the hum of boats, and it all carries across the water as if it belonged to me, too. But sound has a way of reminding us of what we are not part of.

It is a strange ache, to be so close and yet so far. A hundred feet. A breath of distance. And yet, it might as well have been a hundred miles. Because distance is never only about space. Sometimes it is about what is withheld, the belonging that is denied, the truth that is hidden, the words that never come.

I noticed how my body responded. My chest tightened, my breath grew shallow, as if the noise itself had weight. For a moment, I wanted to disappear into that pain. To quiet it by numbing it. That impulse startled me, not because it was powerful, but because it was new. The thought that not existing, even just for a while, might feel easier than existing with the ache.

But healing asks something different of us. It asks us to stay. To notice what rises, to feel it in the body, and to choose not to vanish. So I walked. I wrote. I lit candles and let salt water hold me. I chose presence, even when presence hurt. And in choosing presence, I found a kind of strength I did not know I had, the courage to sit with what is unbearable without trying to erase myself.

We all face these moments. Maybe not with sound across the water, but with the reminder of where we are not welcomed, of who has turned away, of what no longer includes us. The details may differ, but the ache is the same. The question is not how to erase it, but how to live through it, and in living through it, discover that we are stronger than the silence that excludes us.

In that, what was found, was a new silence that resonated peace, rather than questions or pain, a resilience that screamed, “I’m here, I’m you”.

~Kerri Elizabeth ~

What do we do when the noise around us becomes louder than the peace within us? Do we disappear into it, or do we rise above it and let it sharpen our awareness instead?

The Edge of Return

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 

“Once a path is crossed, there is no going back the same.”

The weeks have built like storm layers. First, the whispers, faint but insistent, pressing through the silence until the air itself trembled. Then came the shadows, lengthening across the floor, teaching that stillness is rarely still. Behind each step, a veil, a mask, another curtain drawn back to reveal yet another. Nothing is ever only what it seems.

Smoke drifted next, curling in places where no flame could be seen, carrying its warning and its lure. A door followed, breathing in the stillness, daring someone to open it or wait for it to open itself. And when ears leaned closer, even the walls betrayed their silence, exhaling a hollow breath that carried more memory than any voice could hold.

Now, here at the cliff’s edge, the journey gathers itself. Every whisper, every shiver, every veil, every trace of smoke, every hollow breath presses forward until the ground no longer feels certain. This is where endings and beginnings blur into one.

And the question rises: is the force that follows a who, lurking behind the veil? A where, waiting beyond the smoke? A when, buried in the silence, biding its time until the door swings wide? Or is it only the raw truth of an emotion, held too long, now demanding to be felt?

The cliff gives no answer. It only waits, patient and unmoving, daring the next step.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
When the ground falls away, is it the body that falls, or the emotions that held on too tight to the silence that was never still? Is it the silence that shatters, or the heart that finally speaks? The answers continue to linger just beyond reach. Week Four is next to arrive.

The Hollow Breath

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

 

“Walls remember even when we forget.”

There is a breath behind the wall,
steady,
unforgiving.

It doesn’t belong to anyone you can see,
but it belongs here,
and it remembers.

The air bends with it,
timbers strain against it,
like the house itself
is carrying secrets too heavy for its beams.

A hollow breath is not empty,
it is filled with what was never spoken,
pressed tight,
compressed into the bones of the room.

You lean closer,
and realize it isn’t just breath.
It is waiting.
It is watching.
It is daring you to hear it fully.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

Do you hear it, the breath behind the door? What if it’s closer than you thought? Is the door a person or place?

The Hollow Door

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth


 “Every door that closes keeps something in, or out.”

The door looked ordinary at first glance. Solid wood and a handle worn with use and a hinge that sung when touched. But not all doors are what they seem. This one breathed. Not in the way lungs fill with air, but in the way walls sometimes exhale when a house remembers too much.

It stood half-open, an invitation or a warning, no one could tell. The silence behind it was heavier than silence should be, weighted as if holding something alive. The choice hovered in the air: step forward and face it, or turn away and never know.

What lies behind such a door is never random. Sometimes it’s memory, sometimes it’s reckoning. But always, it is something waiting to be seen. Healing may come from opening, so may truth and courage.

And so the door holds its place, daring someone to cross the threshold.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
What if the door opens itself? What then pours into the room, and who will be left standing when it does?

A Smoke Screen

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

Where you see smoke, is only a warning , where you see fire holds the answers.

Smoke doesn’t rise without reason.
It clings,
and crawls along the edges of the air,
and with every breath a warning.

You can pretend it isn’t there,
but your lungs will remind you.
You can deny the fire,
but your eyes will sting with its presence.

Smoke is never innocent.
It is memory of something burning,
or the promise that it soon will.

Sometimes what smolders is anger.
Sometimes sadness,
Sometimes it’s the deception,
that was forced too long into silence,
finally breaking into sparks.

And when it clears,
all that’s left is the trace of
the ashes that say:
you will never unknow this.

There is where the work begins.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


Is smoke a warning, or a lure? Perhaps the fire it hides has only just begun to burn.

The Second Veil

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Complexity wears more than one mask.”

It’s easy to believe that once the veil is lifted, the story is done. The mask removed, the lie exposed, the end. But the truth is crueler, more complex. One veil rarely hides alone. Pull it back and another waits, patient, layered, almost mocking in its persistence.

Every revelation comes with its own sting. Relief mixes with dread: relief that one falsehood has been seen, dread that it might not be the last. The dance is endless. Shadows step forward, only to retreat behind new curtains.

Healing doesn’t mean tearing them all down in one reckless rush. Healing is learning to see the veil for what it is, to acknowledge its existence without letting it choke you. To know that deception thrives in layers, and each one you face makes you less blind than before.

Still, the temptation is real: to rip them all away, to demand full truth at any cost. But truth has its own pace. And sometimes the slow unraveling is the only way to survive it.


But what if cutting the thread isn’t enough? What if another hand waits in the dark, with a another surprise before dawn?

-Kerri-Elizabeth-

The Shivers of Shadows

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“

“Stillness is rarely still.”

There is a shiver where silence settles,
not from the cold,
but from the way truth presses against the walls.

Shadows lengthen,
not because the light has shifted,
but because deception stretches farther than we thought.

A pause is never just a pause.
It is a weight.
It is the sound of something unsaid
carving a hollow behind the ribs.

Sometimes I wonder if silence is a shield
or if it is a weapon,
cutting deeper with every moment it holds back.

And yet,
in the same stillness,
a spark waits.
A reminder that even in the grip of hidden lies,
the body knows,
the spirit remembers,
and nothing stays buried forever.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-
When silence finally breaks, will it whisper, or will it roar?

Whispers Beneath the Surface

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“What lies unspoken often cuts the deepest.”

The water looked still, but stillness has a way of deceiving. Beneath the surface, a pulse stirred, faint, almost invisible, but alive enough to send ripples across the silence. It wasn’t the kind of ripple you could see in the reflection of the lake; it was the kind you feel in your skin, in the hairs at the back of your neck, in the quickening of your breath when you realize something is there.

Whispers live in places like this. They hide between the cracks of boards on a dock, in the echoes that hang in the rafters of a room, in the way shadows lean farther than they should when the moon stretches them thin. The whispers don’t announce themselves. They don’t ask permission. They linger, and sometimes they take root.

It’s strange how healing can only begin when you stop pretending the whispers aren’t there. For years, you learn to quiet them, to layer silence over silence until it becomes a wall. But silence never silences the truth; it holds it, and held truth always finds a way out.

Tonight, the hold was loud. The whispers pressed harder against the stillness, and there was no denying them. The body knows long before the mind admits it: something is stirring, and it is not done with you.

It might not even be about destruction. Sometimes the truth presses through because it’s desperate to be freed, not because it wants to tear you down, but because it is seeking freedom.

Still, the not knowing can bring its own emotional adventure.

-Kerri-Elizabeth-


What happens when silence can no longer hold what’s buried? When the surface begins to crack, will truth seep gently through, or erupt in a way no one expected?

Trusting what we can’t see

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

When you can’t see it, feel it, your heart already knows what fear and anxiety try to blur.

Sometimes things aren’t what they seem.

Not people.

Not moments.

Not choices.

Not even the silence that fills the space between them.

We live in a world where snap judgments happen faster than truth can unfold.

Where words once spoken by others can stain the image of someone they never truly knew.

Where assumptions dress themselves in certainty and walk confidently into misunderstandings.

But sometimes,

we’re asked to stand still,

to let the story reveal itself in its own timing,

to trust the unfolding even when our hearts ache for clarity.

There are moments when we want to speak, to correct the narrative,

but growth often asks us to stay quiet,

to let time become the translator between perception and truth.

We may be seen wrongly.

Misunderstood by those who weren’t present for the full picture.

Held accountable for choices not ours.

But even in the shadows of misjudgment,

our light still holds.

Our integrity doesn’t dim just because someone else refuses to see it.

Sometimes, we must live as witnesses

to our own resilience

doing our work,

living our lives,

trusting that what’s real doesn’t need convincing.

Because truth lives longer than rumor.

It breathes in the quiet,

and it rises, eventually, like the sun through fog.

Let people think what they will.

Let the unfolding take its time.

You are not here to rush understanding.

You are here to keep becoming.

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

As this week folds into stillness, the edge of tomorrow stirs with quiet anticipation. What has been hidden asks to be trusted, what has been blurred begins to clear. Week three rises like a shadowed path ahead, inviting the heart to lead where the eyes cannot yet follow.

The House on the Cliff

Posted on by Kerri Elizabeth

“Even here where the earth gives way, the heart learns to root deeper.”

It was built on what looked like stone.

Strong, unmoving, safe.

But stone can be deceiving.

Over time, it begins to whisper back to the sea,

grain by grain,

returning to what it came from.

From a distance, the house still shines.

The windows reflect the light,

the roof holds steady against the rain.

echoes of laughter,

But if you dare stand close,

you feel the tremor beneath your feet.

The earth is shifting,

the cliff surrendering its shape.

Inside those walls are memories,

arguments sharp as broken glass,

footsteps that once pressed into the floorboards

and then walked away.

The house holds them still,

but the ground does not promise to.

And yet,

love remains.

Not the kind that anchors the walls in place,

but the kind that drifts like mist,

carried by wind and tide.

Love that no longer clings to presence,

but transforms into distance,

into respect,

into silence that is still holy.

The house leans closer each day,

its weight too much for the cliff to hold.

And in the waiting,

You do not know the hour of its fall,

only that it is coming.

you learn to stand in stillness,

to send love out like a breath into the ethers,

trusting it will reach

even those who no longer sit beside you.

Because sometimes love is not received,

not returned,

not even recognized.

Sometimes love is simply released,

unbound by time,

unshaken by space,

a light traveling where it is most needed.

And so you stand,

watching the cliff crumble,

hearing the hush before the collapse.

Not afraid.

Not clinging.

Only witnessing.

Only loving.

Next week, the storm gathers again…

~Kerri-Elizabeth~

The fall has not yet come, but the silence before it is deafening. Next week, the storm gathers again…