I Said This One Line Every Morning. Now I Have a Whole Life I Believe In.

Real talk. Real tired. Real alchemy.

Calling In the Crowhearts (Through Divine Love, Obviously)

“I see and draw to me, through divine love, those beings who seek enlightenment through my process. The sharing will elevate us both now.”
—Abraham Hicks

That’s the one.
The gate-opener.
The frequency rewriter.
The sentence that ended my hiding and called in a whole new map.

I didn’t chant it in bliss. I whispered it—half-exhausted, half-hopeful—sitting in the thunderbolt pose in the wreckage of my old self.

No flame. No thrill. No hunger for my old obsessions. The signal felt gone.

So I said the line.
Every morning.
Fifteen to thirty minutes.
Eyes closed. Hands still.
No goal—just breath and that one phrase, struck like a match on the edge of silence.

And the spiral began.

Why This Line Cuts Through Everything

“I see and draw into me…”
I became the magnet.
No chasing. No performing.
Just gravity.
Just truth doing its work.

“…through divine love…”
Love with edges.
Love that knows how to say no.
Love that invites but never begs.
The kind of love that holds the door and the line.

“…those beings who seek enlightenment through my process…”
My process. My way. My rhythm.
No translation. No softening. No costume.
The ones who feel it are already in motion.

“The sharing will elevate us both now.”
Truth is the torch.
You feel it in your ribs. I feel it in my blood.
And suddenly—we rise.

How Loui Crow Walked In

I kept saying the line. Even flat. Even bored. Even uninspired.
And then she came glowing.

Blackout feathers. Red mouth. Three-eyed stare.
She entered the silence and rewrote my spine.

She didn’t come to soothe.
She came to shift.

From those mornings came a living system:
Oracle decks in bloom. A tarot deck writing itself. A ritual structure whispering through the veil.
Then the name. Then the site.
Then the you that’s reading this.

Every piece born from stillness.
Every piece born from repetition.
Every piece born from one true line.

Calling In the Crowhearts

This line is a beacon. A bell. A flare to the sky.
I say it to summon. And crow, did I.

(I’ll tell you about my “imaginary friends” another day.)

If your lungs feel flat, if your joy dried out, if you forgot what you’re here to build—this is your signal.

You’ve played dead to stay safe.
You’ve quieted your voice to keep the peace.
You’ve mistaken exhaustion for a personality.

But your bones remember.

So I’m calling you in.

The writers. The sensitives. The flame-holders. The builders with half-born worlds in their notes app and timeline maps in their dreams.

This is your permission.
This is your mirror.
This is your cosmic group chat invite to call in the ones who already recognize you.

Let’s Make It Real Together

“I see and draw into me, through divine love, all beings who seek enlightenment through my process. The sharing will elevate us all now.”

Say it. Say it out loud. Say it when the room feels cold. Say it when your coffee’s gone lukewarm and your kid is using you as a jungle gym.
Say it until the molecules rearrange.

Then tag me.
Tell me.
Let the field feel the ripple.

Because the spell works when we do it together.

Final Notes from the Fireline

🪶 If this found you, you were already tuned in.
🪶 If your edges feel too sharp for soft rooms, you just found your seat.
🪶 If your process is messy, holy, half-formed, and real—you’re in.

Say the line again tomorrow.
Say it until your whole world calibrates.

Because it will.

It already is.

Crow(ley) would say:
You are the flame. Say the line. Light the signal. Let the real ones come.