Today I was reminded of something my angels have been whispering, Not in words, but in the way something stirs inside me, like light threading its way through.
The highest level of consciousness isn’t about running faster, building higher, or hustling for what’s already yours. It’s about waking up from the illusion of a heavy, fixed world and realizing you’re standing in a field of living breath. Matter is only music slowed down. Life is not a wall but a veil, and you are the awareness behind it.
When you know this, you stop wrestling with the river. You stop gripping at what’s flowing toward you. You see that every moment is soft clay, waiting for the press of your inner being, your thoughts, your frequency to shape it.
I almost jumped today. I almost threw myself into action because that’s what we’re trained to do when fear knocks: move, push, scramble, or fix. But as night fell, a quiet gathered around me, like wings folding close. My angels stood at the edge of my thoughts, not as figures but as a stillness so deep it felt like I was being held.
“Be still,” they whispered. “Hold your frequency. The intelligent universe already knows what you need.”
It’s like standing on a shore at dawn, the tide breathing in and out. You don’t have to command it. You don’t have to dive into the surf to prove you’re worthy. You simply open your palms to the horizon and the tide finds you.
This isn’t passivity. It’s not surrender in the way the world defines it. It’s the higher ground, the quiet space where your inner knowing becomes louder than your fear. It’s holding your frequency like a steady note in a choir of stars, trusting the harmony to rise around you. To “hold your frequency” means to stay steady (at peace) in how you feel inside, no matter what’s happening around you.
I don’t chase my dreams. I’ve learned that dreams are alive, winged things, and when I stop running after them, they circle back to me. They arrive like migrating birds with their own seasons, their own maps, carrying the people and moments I could never have plotted. My dreams respond to the calm I hold, to the song my soul is singing.
And so today, I’m waiting, but not in despair. I’m waiting the way the earth waits for spring. I’m waiting as someone who knows the invisible field is alive and listening. I’m waiting as someone who knows my angels are working in the spaces I cannot see, arranging threads of light into patterns of my becoming.
Being still is not nothing. Being still is becoming the center. It’s sitting on the throne of your own soul and knowing the universe will bow to the frequency you keep.
If you don’t know me yet, one thing you’ll quickly notice is that I love weaving affirmations into song. For me, it’s not just about words it’s about embodying the feeling behind them. That’s exactly what I set out to do with this piece I wrote, called Frequency.
This song was also inspired by a recent connection with someone I deeply respect, an icon whose work has touched many lives. I want to take a moment to say thank you. You might not have known you were the inspiration, but now you do.
This song is about stillness, presence, and learning to trust the flow of life. It’s a reminder that you don’t have to force or control, you just have to hold your own frequency and let transformation and guidance unfold around you.
That’s why I opened with the line “matter is only music slowed down.” To me, that means everything we see and touch isn’t as heavy or solid as it looks, it’s vibration. Music is vibration we can hear. Matter is vibration we can touch. When you see it that way, the world itself is a kind of song, stretched out into form. Even the hardest things carry a hidden rhythm and resonance.
The drum beats in this track are important, too. They act like the pulse of life itself, grounding the meditative lyrics in a rhythm you can feel in your body. They make the song breathe, connecting the spiritual imagery to something physical and alive.The beats echo the tide and the heartbeat, turning awareness into something you can actually feel and move with.
That’s the balance I wanted to capture here in this song was stillness and motion, silence and rhythm. Because even in quiet reflection, life has a pulse. Even in waiting, there is music.
