Author: hajnalkacecilia@icloud.com

The Unstruck Heart

How many of us live our lives with our hearts tucked away and protected? We build walls of logic, of cynicism, and of busy-ness, all to ensure that we are never again vulnerable to the pain of loss or disappointment. But the Sanskrit word for the heart chakra is Anahata, which translates to “unstruck,” “unbeaten,” or “unhurt.”

This suggests a profound spiritual truth: that at the very center of our being, there is a part of us that remains forever whole. It is the part of us that existed before our first heartbreak and will remain long after our last. It is the essence of our spirit—the unstruck sound of the universe resonating within the chamber of the heart.

The Paradox of Vulnerability

The courage to love is not the absence of fear, but the willingness to act in spite of it. It is the realization that while the personality can be bruised and the ego can be crushed, the heart itself is indestructible. When we understand this, our relationship to vulnerability changes. We no longer see it as a weakness to be avoided, but as the only doorway to authentic connection.

Living from the Anahata center means trusting the “unstruck” nature of our soul. It allows us to step into the world with an open chest, knowing that even if we encounter storms, the light at our center cannot be extinguished. This is the ultimate spiritual resilience.

Reclaiming Your Center

Healing the heart is less about “fixing” what is broken and more about “remembering” what was never broken to begin with. It is a process of peeling back the layers of protection we have accumulated over the years to reveal the pristine awareness that has always been there.

When we align with this center, we stop seeking love as a commodity to be acquired and start experiencing it as a state of being to be shared. We move from a place of scarcity to a place of abundance. We realize that we are not just recipients of love, but the very source of it.

The courage to love is the courage to be who you truly are, without the armor.

With love.

Karmic Rebelle ©

Disrupt Karma. Restore Dharma.

The Desire to Begin Again

There is a deep, resonant longing in the human spirit for rebirth. We see it in the changing of the seasons, the rising of the sun, and the quiet moments before we fall asleep when we promise ourselves that tomorrow will be different. This desire to start new is not a sign of failure, but a sign of our inherent connection to the creative force of the universe, which is constantly renewing itself.

In the practice of yoga and the study of consciousness, we learn that starting new is not something that happens once in a lifetime. It is something that can happen with every single breath. When we let go of the stale air in our lungs, we make space for the fresh, life-giving prana to enter. In the same way, when we release old identities, stories, and versions of ourselves that no longer fit, we allow the truest version of our soul to emerge.

Releasing the Weight of the Past

The primary obstacle to starting new is often the weight of the past. We carry our mistakes, our heartbreaks, and the labels others have placed on us as if they were permanent features of our landscape. But tantra teaches us that the past is simply a series of energy imprints—karmas—that can be transmuted through awareness and intention.

To begin again, we must be willing to look at these imprints without shame. We acknowledge what has been, we honor the lessons it provided, and then we consciously choose to set the burden down. This is the essence of disrupting karma. It is the realization that while we cannot change what happened, we can absolutely change our relationship to it in the present moment.

The Courage of the Unknown

Starting new requires a specific kind of courage—the courage to inhabit the unknown. When we step away from our old, predictable patterns, there is often a period of emptiness. This void can feel uncomfortable, but it is actually the most fertile space we can inhabit. It is the “unstruck” sound of the Anahata heart waiting to be heard.

Instead of rushing to fill the silence with new distractions, what if we allowed ourselves to sit in the mystery? What if we trusted that the new path would reveal itself in its own time, as we align more deeply with our dharma? This trust is the foundation of spiritual maturity.

Every day is an initiation. Every moment is a doorway. You are never too old, too tired, or too broken to choose a new direction. The light at your center is eternal, and it is always, always ready to shine in a new way.

Karmic Rebelle © Disrupt Karma. Restore Dharma.

I didn’t expect football to return pieces of myself to me.

Yet somewhere between a stadium, an old song, and memories I had buried for decades, something quietly shifted.

Trauma is difficult to explain because it changes you in ways that are often invisible. Childhood wounds, shame, coercive control, emotional manipulation, and repeated experiences of fear can alter the way we move through the world. For some of us, passions fade, confidence shrinks, and parts of ourselves seem to disappear underground.

Sometimes, we forget because we must.

When difficult experiences begin early, particularly in childhood, the mind finds ways to protect us. One of those ways can be dissociation: disconnecting from painful emotions, memories, or parts of ourselves in order to cope and survive. Over time, especially when trauma continues, we can drift far from the person we once were without fully realising it.

Looking back, football feels like one of those lost threads for me.

When I was about 14 or 15, I got into football for entirely superficial reasons: boys.

At the time, David Beckham was everywhere, and football felt woven into teenage life. A friend suggested we start watching matches so we could understand what the boys were talking about and join in their conversations. In theory, it was strategy. Extra points with the boys.

But unlike my friend, I actually watched the matches.

On Monday mornings she would ask if I had watched the weekend games, expecting the usual vague answer. Instead, I would excitedly talk through what happened in detail. Somewhere along the way, I genuinely started enjoying football. I remember watching matches with my brother on Saturday afternoons and feeling quietly delighted by this new interest.

Then something happened that, at the time, seemed small but stayed with me.

One Saturday night, my family were driving around trying to find an open restaurant while football played on a television nearby. I was captivated by the match, thrilled watching Ronaldo play, talking enthusiastically about the game.

My father reacted with disgust.

In front of everyone, he mocked and shamed me for loving football. What I remember most was not simply embarrassment, but the feeling that something joyful in me had suddenly become wrong. Small. Shameful.

And after that, football quietly disappeared.

At school, I still discussed matches with the boys and stubbornly defended Manchester United when everyone around me wanted me to support Arsenal. But over time, the interest faded from my conscious life.

Or perhaps, more accurately, it went underground.

Years later, in my twenties, after moving to the UK, a friend unexpectedly reminded me how much I had once loved football. Strangely, despite not watching for years, I still instinctively said, “I support Manchester United.”

Then life moved on.

More trauma. More survival. More forgetting.

Last year, after moving to Islington following many years in East London, someone encouraged me to support Arsenal.

“The stadium’s here,” they said. “You’ll feel part of the community. One day we’ll win and everyone will come together.”

At the time, I barely thought about it.

But recently, something shifted.

A stadium photograph shared by Jeremy Corbyn unexpectedly stirred something familiar, and suddenly I found myself caught in a strange wave of recognition.

Football memories resurfaced. Conversations I had forgotten returned. Even fragments of the Arsenal song the boys taught me decades ago drifted back into memory:

North London forever…

And with it came something bigger than football.

I began thinking about how many parts of ourselves trauma quietly buries. The interests we abandon. The confidence we lose. The spontaneous joy we stop trusting. The small delights we unconsciously learn are unsafe.

Perhaps healing is not always becoming someone new.

Perhaps, sometimes, it is remembering.

Remembering the girl who got excited over football matches. The teenager arguing passionately with boys over Manchester United and Arsenal. The person who felt joy before shame convinced her to hide parts of herself.

So yes, I’ve decided I’m an Arsenal supporter now.

Because, somehow, it feels like reclaiming something.

I am learning that authenticity matters, even in small and ordinary things. I am spiritual, and I believe there is something sacred about following what feels true to us, however unexpected. The more natural and honest we become, the closer we move towards ourselves, one another, and perhaps even God.

So here’s to Arsenal.

Here’s to remembering ourselves.

Here’s to healing, belonging, peace, love, and joy.

North London Forever. Whatever the weather.

Karmic Rebelle ©

As more people are diagnosed with neurodivergent conditions, experience burnout, or struggle to remain in work, the conversation often focuses on individuals. But what if we’re asking the wrong question? Perhaps it’s not simply people who are failing to adapt, but systems that were never designed around human needs in the first place.

We’re Asking the Wrong Question

Remarks by politicians and government agencies accusing people of exaggerating illness or faking conditions for financial gain, particularly regarding neurodivergence and mental health, are deeply frustrating.

Recently, we’ve once again heard familiar narratives: that people are gaming the welfare system, unwilling to work, or simply lack resilience. The idea that “work is good for mental health” is repeated so often that it begins to sound unquestionable. But life is more complicated than that.

Meaningful, safe, and supportive work can absolutely improve wellbeing. Purpose matters. Stability matters. Community matters. Financial security matters. But work that is inflexible, unsafe, exhausting, traumatising, socially overwhelming, or fundamentally incompatible with someone’s needs can deepen distress rather than relieve it.

Perhaps we’re asking the wrong question. Instead of asking why so many people are struggling, perhaps we should ask what it is about modern life, work, and society that leaves so many people struggling in the first place.

Built for Productivity, Not People

Our economy and many of our institutions still seem rooted in an outdated understanding of human needs. We have created systems that often prioritise productivity, efficiency, and economic output over wellbeing, flexibility, dignity and, at times, even the planet itself.

Modern work culture often assumes consistency, resilience, emotional regulation, social confidence, commuting, rigid schedules, and the ability to keep functioning under pressure regardless of personal circumstances.

Even many neurotypical people struggle under these expectations. For neurodivergent people and those living with trauma or mental health conditions, these systems can become almost impossible to navigate.

This isn’t simply about employment. It shapes education, healthcare, social relationships, and how we measure success. We tend to reward people who can adapt to existing systems, rather than questioning whether those systems are healthy in the first place.

The Cost of Masking

I’m a masking neurodivergent woman in my 40s living with ADHD, autism, complex trauma, anxiety, depression, and borderline personality disorder. I’ve spent much of my life trying to function within systems that weren’t designed with minds like mine in mind.

I’ve never faked my conditions. If anything, I’ve done the opposite. I’ve masked them.

Masking is survival. It’s pretending you’re okay when you’re overwhelmed. Rehearsing conversations. Hiding distress. Suppressing sensory overload. Forcing yourself to appear calm, capable, resilient, and “normal” in environments where difference is often misunderstood. It takes enormous energy simply to participate in everyday life.

Like many people, I wanted to work. I repeatedly tried to work. But determination alone couldn’t overcome environments that fundamentally clashed with my needs. When I eventually worked for myself, with greater flexibility and autonomy, I realised something important. The issue was never a lack of willingness to contribute. It was finding conditions that allowed me to do so sustainably.

Invisible Doesn’t Mean Imaginary

Even now, people sometimes question my disability because it isn’t always visible. I can walk. I can carry shopping. Some days I appear completely fine. But invisible disability doesn’t work like that. Many conditions fluctuate. Many people spend enormous amounts of energy appearing functional, only to collapse when they return home. Looking well is not the same as being well. The ability to function sometimes does not erase disability.

Perhaps the Systems Are Failing

This is why I find public narratives suggesting that large numbers of people are simply pretending to be ill so concerning. Of course, we will always be isolated cases of fraud. That is true of every system. But when increasing numbers of people experience burnout, poor mental health, neuro-developmental conditions, and an inability to cope with modern working life, perhaps the more important question isn’t whether individuals are failing. Perhaps we should be asking whether our systems are.

Instead of expecting people to endlessly adapt to environments that leave so many exhausted, maybe it’s time to rethink what we value. What would happen if workplaces offered greater flexibility? If productivity wasn’t measured solely by hours spent at a desk? If managers understood trauma, neurodivergence, and mental health? If dignity mattered as much as efficiency?

These aren’t radical ideas. They’re human ones.

Asking Better Questions

If increasing numbers of people are burning out, withdrawing from work, and struggling to participate in systems that were supposedly built to support society, perhaps the problem isn’t simply the people. Perhaps it’s time we started questioning the systems themselves. Because until we do, we’ll continue treating symptoms while leaving the causes untouched.

Karmic Rebelle ©

(Disrupt Karma. Restore Dharma)

Winter & Wonder into the New Year

Karmic Rebelle ©

(Disrupt Karma. Restore Dharma)

The Extraordinary Ordinary

The extraordinary exists within the ordinary. We just have to be willing to see it.

In a world that often feels heavy with uncertainty, conflict, and a constant demand for our attention, wonder can feel like a luxury we can’t afford. We are told to be realistic, to be vigilant, to stay informed. And while those things have their place, a life stripped of wonder is a life stripped of its most essential fuel.

Wonder is not the same as naivety. It isn’t ignoring the darkness or pretending the world is perfect. Instead, wonder is a choice to acknowledge the beauty and complexity that exist alongside the difficulty. It is a refusal to let the weight of the world flatten our experience of being alive.

The Science of Awe

Research in psychology and neuroscience suggests that the experience of awe—a close relative of wonder—has profound effects on our wellbeing. When we experience awe, our sense of self shifts. We feel connected to something larger than ourselves. Our heart rate slows, our stress levels drop, and we become more inclined toward prosocial behaviours like generosity and compassion.

But more than that, wonder changes the way we process information. It pulls us out of our habitual patterns of thought and forces us to look again. It demands a presence that the modern world often tries to steal from us.

Wonder as Subversion

In a system that profits from our distraction, anxiety, and consumption, choosing wonder is a subversive act. It is an act of resistance.

Consumption relies on a sense of lack—the idea that we need something external to feel whole. Wonder, however, is based on abundance. It finds value in what is already here: the way light hits a leaf, the complexity of a conversation, the rhythm of our own breath. When we are in a state of wonder, we are difficult to manipulate because we are already full.

Anxiety thrives on the future—the “what ifs” and the “maybes.” Wonder anchors us in the “what is.” It demands that we stay right here, in the present, witnessing the miracle of the moment as it unfolds.

Practicing Wonder

Like any capacity, wonder can be cultivated. It begins with a pause. A willingness to stop the momentum of the day and look—really look—at something.

It requires us to set aside the need to be an expert, the need to have the answer, or the need to categorize everything immediately. It asks us to return to the “beginner’s mind”—the state of not knowing that allows everything to be new.

I see this every day with my service dog, Radha. She doesn’t move through the world with a list of tasks or a set of expectations. She moves with an open, steady curiosity. Every walk is a new exploration. Every scent is a story. She reminds me that the world is far more interesting than my thoughts about it.

Conclusion

We are living through challenging times. There is much to be done, much to be healed, and much to be protected. But we cannot do that work if we are hollowed out by despair.

Choosing wonder is not a retreat from reality; it is a way of sustaining ourselves so that we can face reality with more clarity, more courage, and more love. It is the bridge between our survival and our flourishing.

So, today, look for the wonder. Not because the world is perfect, but because beauty is a form of truth that we cannot afford to lose.

With love . . .
Karmic Rebelle ©

Commentary on Andrew Tate/Bonnie Blue Disruptors Interview with Rob Moore. Bonnie Blue and Andrew Tate argue that sex has become transactional — but the deeper story is the system that makes it so.

We live in an era of erotic economics, where intimacy is traded like a commodity. The metrics of control, cash, and predictability have hollowed out authentic desire, leaving a void that swipe-logic and subscription-based intimacy cannot fill.

Tantra offers a radical departure from this transactional paradigm. Instead of quantifying exchange, it invites us to inhabit the present moment, embracing vulnerability over control, and depth over predictability.

It challenges us to look beyond the surface of transactional sex and reclaim the sacredness of human connection. The question is not whether the system is broken, but whether we have the courage to step outside it.

Are you ready?

Karmic Rebelle ©