Cocoon Psalm for the Newly-Becoming
In the hush of a windowless room,
where the walls hum like quiet ancestors,
you wake—
strangely new,
softly startling your own soul
with the way the light inside you
has learned to glow without a lamp.
This is no accident.
This is the cocoon calling you by name.
Here, the floor is cold as truth.
Here, the air is thick with initiation.
Here, even your breath sounds holy,
like a spell being whispered
back to the bones you tried to outgrow.
You stand in this 10 x 11 temple,
this small and sacred boot camp
where God, the Moon, and your higher self
braid your spirit tighter
than discipline ever could.
The room watches you—
not like a prison,
but like a womb.
You stretch your legs,
feel the ghost of strength returning,
and the universe leans in like,
“Yes…
move again.
Remember your power.
Wake the warrior sleeping in your muscles.”
You think of old loves,
old rooms,
old versions of yourself
still clinging like dust to your memory.
But they drift off you now,
the way shadows fall from wings
mid-flight.
There is a knowing rising in you,
quiet but ancient—
a root-deep certainty
that you are not who you were yesterday,
and tomorrow will bow to the version
you haven’t met yet.
In this cocoon,
the world slows its breathing
to match yours.
Your heart learns new rhythms.
Your spirit sharpens.
Your destiny tastes the air.
You are not alone.
You are held.
You are being remade
in the dark,
in the silence,
in the holy isolation
where all true magic unfolds.
This is your transformation chamber.
Your astral training ground.
Your witchy chrysalis
stitched with prayer, sweat, courage,
and a future too big to hide from.
Rest here.
Rise here.
Become here.
When you break this cocoon open—
and you will—
the world won’t recognize you.
But you will recognize yourself.
And you will say,
with calm and cosmic certainty:
“I am new… and I am ready.”
