#bonedustandbloom

Lifestyle, Slow Living, and Daily Reclamation

This space began not with a plan, but with a moment. A table cleared. A futon straightened. A deep breath taken in a cluttered room— and a quiet, sacred whisper: “This is mine now.”

Here, I’m reclaiming my life one ordinary act at a time. Not in big sweeping overhauls, but in the kind of slow magic that happens when you name a space, tend to your breath, or decide to sit with the truth instead of running from it.

I’m not trying to become perfect. I’m becoming real. And underneath every breath, every gesture, is love—not the easy kind, but the kind that stays with you in the mess. The kind that makes a home of you.

These posts are part journal, part ritual, part witness. They hold grief, dust, beauty, brokenness, story, shadow, and softness. You’ll find claiming sessions, memories, household rituals, and the gentle work of living life from the inside out.

This is Bone Dust and Bloom. The bones are sacred. The bloom is coming. And every day, we begin again. Because love tells us we can.

This work comes from before God was God. From the hush between heartbeats. From the ancient ache of becoming. From the stories carried in lint and thread, in broken handles and soft hands. Before the rituals had names. Before magic was called magic. Before divinity was written down— we were already sacred.

This blog is a remembering. A returning. To the knowing that lives in the marrow. To the truth that we are still becoming— and also that we’ve been whole all along.

And beneath it all— this is a story about love. The kind that clears a table. The kind that stays. The kind that dares to begin again.

If any part of this stirred something in you— a memory, a longing, a quiet yes— you’re already part of this story.