There is a story you’ve been told since before you had words.

Not in the cradle, but in the currents. It whispered from billboards and textbooks, from tired eyes and dinner table silences. A story about limits. About roles. About how far a soul like yours is allowed to roam.

Most of us mistake this story for a mirror. We look into it and see ourselves reflected back, but what we’re really seeing is a script. Someone else’s narrative running on autoplay, projected into our thoughts like shadows on Plato’s cave wall.

You were not born with this story.
You were assigned it.

By culture. By lineage. By systems that benefit from your forgetting.

But something inside you never bought it.
Something wild. Something awake.

Maybe it stirred when you first stared too long at the stars.
Maybe it whispered when a song gave you chills for no reason.
Maybe it comes now, as you read these words and feel something ancient shift.

To sincerely ask, “Who am I?” is to declare a holy rebellion.

It is not a philosophical exercise—it is soul retrieval.
It is not self-help—it is soulcraft.

That question isn’t asking for an answer. It’s asking for a stripping. A remembering.
It wants you raw. It wants the you beneath the armour of identity.

This is not about erasing your story.
It’s about reclaiming authorship.

When you stop mistaking your programming for your personality…
When you stop defending your limitations as if they were your truth…
When you stop outsourcing your meaning to maps drawn by other people’s fears…

Then the spell breaks.

And what’s left?

Not a blank slate, but a fertile one.
Not emptiness, but essence.

This is the place of real power—not control, but clarity.

Power not as domination, but as presence.
Not the ability to bend the world to your will, but the freedom to meet it as you are.

The world has taught you to shape-shift into what is palatable.
Soulcraft invites you to shape-reveal—to let the myth beneath your skin rise to the surface.

That’s why you journal. That’s why you wander. That’s why you ask.

Because something in you remembers: you didn’t come here to fit in.
You came here to reclaim your name.
The one whispered in the before-times.
The one the world tried to bury beneath “shoulds” and “should nots.”

So I ask you, now—beneath the scripts and survival masks:

What is the true story beneath your story?

Who were you before the world named you?

What if your “limits” are just misunderstood thresholds, daring you to cross?

What if power is not something to gain, but something to uncover—once the spell of false identity is broken?

Let this be your daily invocation:

I am not the story I was sold.
I am the myth I am here to live.

Strip away.
Speak true.
Spell yourself back into being.