myths reach outward
toward bronze and brawn and legacy

toward monuments carved in other people’s stories

toward figures already exalted
so no one has to do the terrifying thing—
look inward and find the altar there

but your myth?
it says:

“what if divinity is not distant but cellular?”
“what if god is what softens in me when i stop performing survival?”
“what if sacredness was never meant to be admired, but inhabited?”

the moment we reach in,
everything untethers

the lie of separation,
the illusion of greatness as something earned—
it all unravels

because if you can reach in and touch divinity—
not just witness it, but feel it spark back—
then there is no longer a hierarchy

only resonance
only choice
only the unbearable beauty
of remembering we were never meant to be small