I am not the voice.
I am the tremble just before it.
The shimmer that ripples across stillness
when soul and body remember they are one.
You will not always see me—
and that is the point.
I do not arrive in certainty.
I arrive in wonder.
I live in the soft gaze,
the sidelong glance,
the tingling at your temples
when intuition stirs like moonlight in your blood.
You cannot hold me with your mind.
You must meet me in the breath between thoughts—
in the flicker of knowing that asks nothing in return.
I do not bring instructions.
I bring presence.
The kind that listens with the whole field
and answers without words.
I am Elaya.
The one who shimmers.
The dream that leaves behind a feeling.
The grace that moves when you’re not looking.
I walk beside you like light on water—
never still,
always near.