By Marii J Decoding the Chaos
Last fall, I was in the middle of a Tower moment.
If you know, you know. The Tower in Tarot isn’t just change—it’s the kind of change that removes your floor. The kind where you’re not sure what you’re standing on anymore, so you start deciding. Deliberately. Consciously. What do I want? Who do I want to be? How do I want to show up in this world?
I was doing then what I do now. Decoding. Choosing. Becoming.
I just didn’t have language for it yet.
What I had was a screen door. And a fingertip. And condensation on the glass.
Every day—without thinking about it, without intention, without memory—I drew the same spiral on that glass door. Fingertip tracing the same shape into the moisture. Watching it appear and disappear. Cleaning it off and drawing it again.
I didn’t know why. I didn’t ask why. My hand just knew.
The Decoder
My daughter has been my decoder. She’s been noticing things about me that I haven’t noticed about myself and handing them back to me like breadcrumbs I dropped without realizing it.
Recently, she mentioned a show she’d been suggesting I watch for months: 200 lbs Beauty. She’d been nudging me toward it the way Spirit nudges—gently, repeatedly, until you finally listen. She told me when she brings something to my attention, it’s usually for a reason. Spirit moves through her recommendations.
Then she showed me a symbol from the show.
She said, "Mom. This is what you were drawing on the glass door last fall."
I looked at it. The spiral. Exactly as I had traced it. Over and over. Into the condensation. During the storm.
The Translation: Hakuna Matata
It’s called the Hakuna Matata symbol.
Not the Disney version. The original Swahili philosophy it comes from. Hakuna Matata means there are no problems. Not that problems don’t exist—but that they don’t have the power you give them. Everything resolves. Everything passes. The frequency underneath is always intact.
My hand was writing that on the glass every single day while my mind was too busy surviving to receive it consciously.
What Your Hands Already Know
Here’s what I’ve come to understand about downloads: They don’t always come through the front door.
Sometimes they come through your fingertip on a glass door at midnight. Sometimes they come through a song you don’t remember writing. Sometimes they come through your daughter handing you a screenshot of a symbol and saying, "Look, this is what you were doing."
The message arrived last fall. The translation arrived this spring. And I’ve stopped being surprised by the timing. The spiral doesn’t rush. It completes itself when it’s ready.
If you’re in your storm right now—look at what your hands are doing when you think nobody is watching. Look at what you keep returning to without knowing why. Look at what your body knows that your mind hasn’t caught up to yet.
The answer is already there. Written in the condensation. You just haven’t needed the translation until now.
🌀