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“Diary of an Artist’s Soul” – e-book

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
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  Powered by From the Diary of a Highly Sensitive Child is a gentle and intimate invitation into the hidden world of a child who feels life more deeply than most. Told entirely in the child’s own voice, the book opens her heart wide, where tears become a language, dreams turn into maps of secret places, and silence transforms into a safe refuge. Each page feels raw and tender, offering readers a rare glimpse into the delicate balance of sensitivity, imagination, and hope. When the world finally quiets at night, the child leans into her diary to share her truths. She writes about the booming voices of adults who forget how loud they sound, about classrooms that overwhelm her with constant noise, and about the ache she feels when Mom and Dad argue. She confesses her fears, her loneliness, her dreams, and her deep desire to be understood. Yet alongside these tender confessions live sparks of wonder. She introduces her secret friends—angels...
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Разплащане ЗА книга

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
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https://tinyurl.com/j8477z5j   https://www.paypal.com/ncp/payment/3MCU4LYLSXTYG                Powered by
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The Strategy of Softness - Thawing the Freeze Response Amidst the Global Winter

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  December 5th. Afternoon. The afternoon stretches out slowly, gray and heavy, as if time itself has lost the desire to move forward, stalled in some intermediate zone of twilight and expectation. The light in the room is scarce, muted, and in this half-shadow, I sit and look at my hands. They are here, before me, physically present, yet I feel them strangely alien, as if the blood has retreated from them, afraid to reach the periphery of my being. They are cold. Not just superficially chilled, but deeply, bone-chillingly cold, as if they carry the memory of a long winter that is not a season, but a state of mind. My whole body is encased in an invisible embrace of ice, in a tormenting, paralytic state of 'not having.' Until now, I thought I was simply exhausted, that I had surrendered in the face of a difficult daily life. But today, in the heavy silence of this afternoon, as the street noise fades behind the windowpane, I grasped the cruel, yet liberating, truth about what ...
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The Sanctuary of Presence - A Diary of Self-Integration

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  I write this in the hour of the late afternoon, when the light begins to lose its sharp edge and transforms into a soft, enveloping blanket, inviting me into that unique state of consciousness that stands on the threshold between day and night, between logic and intuition. This is the time of my inner alchemy. In this sacred interlude, the words I once searched for externally begin to flow from within, but no longer as foreign labels; they emerge as the authentic experience of my own essence . I feel my identity rearrange itself—not through striving, but through a quiet yet unwavering affirmation of the truth I carry in my cells. This is the moment of profound integration, where the fragmented parts of my "self"—those that feared and those that dreamed—merge into one whole, radiant presence. I understand that being true to oneself is not merely a moral choice, but an ontological necessity, a state of blessed existence , where love is not an emotion directed outward, but the...
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The Anatomy of Stillness - A Confession of Ego and Grace

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  November 3rd. The night is thick and impenetrable, and the silence in the room feels not like an absence of sound, but like the presence of something ancient and waiting . Before me, illuminated only by the flickering light of the night lamp, lies my own soul, opened on pages that I fear and long to look at simultaneously. I breathe, I pause, I write. The words that are born now do not merely describe the human experience; they unpick it, layer by layer, until only the raw truth remains, vibrating and alive beneath the strata of our defenses. I write this with the feeling of a quiet, internal tremor. I always thought that resentment was armor —the shield that protected me from the world that misunderstood me, from the people who failed to appreciate me. But as I delve into the depths of this realization, I understand that what I have been carrying is not armor, but a shackle. Resentment is the sediment of the soul , the bitter residue of what we expected but did not receive. Psyc...
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The Point Attempting to Become a Wave - Diary of a Transition

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  Today is the day when silence weighs more than words , yet also the day when words attempt to find a form for something that is, by nature, formless. I sit before the blank page, or rather, before the inner landscape, spilled out to infinity , and I feel the border between myself and the world melting like wax. This is that state—so familiar and yet always new—when the human personality becomes only a small, filtering door to the Infinite . You open it not by will, but as if by some deep, archetypal necessity. Perhaps it is a pain that has become too large to fit within the confines of the "I"; perhaps it is a curiosity that has reached the point of spiritual hunger ; or simply an inner need for authenticity that demands you be dissolved so that you may be gathered again. And suddenly, without warning, you find yourself outside yourself , unfolded into a multi-dimensional space where categories—"I," "You," "World"—lose their palpable, rationa...
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Mountain Tranquility - A Diary of Self-Discovery and Ascendancy

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  There, where the asphalt ends and the crumbly earth begins, something more profound happens than merely crossing a geographical boundary; there, we cross the threshold of our own consciousness. At the beginning, there is always the call—not the loud, external clamor of the world demanding attention, but a quiet, subterranean vibration that Sarah, our guide in this journey, recognizes as "Awakening Amidst Peaks." This is not merely a physical ascent, but a ritualistic shedding of the social masks we have worn for so long that they have fused with our skin. When the gaze is fixed upward, toward that jagged line separating earth from sky, we are actually looking inward, towards the verticality of our own spirit. The mountain is not just a backdrop; it is a psychoanalytic space, a mirror reflecting everything we have repressed , forgotten, or refused to be. In the first steps, breathing is difficult, fragmented, as if the city air were heavy with unspoken words and anxiety. B...
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Digital depersonalization

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  The night descends upon the city not like a curtain, but like a heavy, velvety silence that swallows the contours of the familiar world, leaving only the radiance of the screens—these small, cold altars before which we bow our heads in search of something we cannot even name. In this twilight hour, when the border between day and sleep thins, I catch myself standing on the shore of a boundless digital river, gazing at my reflection; but what I see is not my face, but a fragmented projection, a hologram of an "I" that I have constructed in order to be loved, or at least noticed, in the world of incorporeal signals. Here, in this space of zeros and ones, begins my quiet, yet insistent journey toward the core of pain and hope—a journey from digital pretense to the sacred ground of authenticity. I write this with a feeling of slight dizziness, as if I have just awakened from a long, intoxicating slumber. We live in an age of unprecedented connectivity, and yet, we have never b...
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The Dot That Strives to Become a Wave

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  Wednesday evening. Or perhaps it is Thursday morning. Time has long since shed its linear constraint, dissolving into one protracted, quiet "now" that sometimes shrinks to the pulse in my temple and sometimes expands to the periphery of the galaxy. I write this because words are the only way left to delineate the shores of the ocean that is surging within me. Sometimes the human personality is merely a small, inconspicuous doorway to infinity. A fissure in the dense fabric of the everyday. You open it unconsciously—perhaps out of a pain that has grown too vast for the body, out of a curiosity bordering on madness, or from that deep, atavistic internal need to know what lies beyond. And suddenly, without warning, you find yourself outside of yourself. The Self dissolves. The boundaries of the skin become permeable, and what we call "the world" ceases to be an object of observation and becomes the subject of pure experience. In this multidimensional space, the conc...
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Am I truly ready?

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  The night is silent, as if the world is holding its breath in anticipation of something about to be born, and I sit here, in the dim light of my own thoughts, allowing a single question to ring in my mind with the insistence of a church bell: Am I truly ready? This is not a question about the logistics of life, nor about the to-do lists we rewrite every morning in an attempt to organize the chaos of existence; it is an inquiry that digs much deeper, to the very foundations of identity, where the soul meets the ego in that fragile, trembling moment of truth. Am I ready to receive the abundance, love, and fulfillment that life is patiently holding for me, or have I fallen in love with the waiting itself, with that sweet, familiar ache of longing that makes us feel alive, yet never fully present? I often think of the illusion of "someday"—that mythical space in time where we believe everything will finally align. We live in the antechamber of our own lives, convincing ourselve...
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The True Birth

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  Sometimes, in the quietest hours of the night, when the world tucks away its noisy outlines, I return to the beginning. I think of that primal act by which we enter reality. We are born physically, passing through the narrow, suffocating passage of flesh, through that first dark tunnel that knows neither words nor thoughts, only blind trust, pressure, and an irresistible, cruel direction forward. But more and more often, I think that this is only the beginning of a much longer birth. That our entire life in this physical dimension is not a state of completion, but a continuing birthing process, simply in another form. All the walls we crash into as we walk through our days. All the pains that have forced us into silence. All the wounds, resistances, contradictions, and limitations—they are not punishment, nor are they accidents. They are our ongoing labor pains. This is a spiritual passage through the narrowness of human existence. The truth that shines through the veil of the ...
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The Womb of Silence - Confessions of the Newly Human Self

By Anelly Aya Anelly Aya
  I watch the light slowly retreat from the room, leaving behind that peculiar, violet glow that heralds the night. I no longer hold a map in my hands; the map has shifted inside me, traced upon my veins and my breath. It is strange how insight arrives not with thunder, but as a quiet settling of layers, like a scalpel carefully dissecting the stratified tissue of my daily life to reveal the pulsing, sometimes bleeding core of what I truly am. This is no longer a search; it is an act of voluntary capitulation to the truth , that moment when I stopped running from my own shadow and turned to look it in the eye. And in its eyes, I saw not a monster, but an abandoned child. In a psychoanalytic sense, I realize I have lived as a stranger in my own home. I kept the rooms of my Ego tidy and clean, perfect for guests, while in the basement of the unconscious I kept my fears, my unlived desires, and that fragile feminine vulnerability which seemed to me an unforgivable weakness, locked awa...
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