Private Space & Energy: The Great Energy Mystery

Some days I am more scared of myself than other days.

Not because I know something.

Actually, the problem is that I don’t know.

I don’t know why I know.
I don’t know how I know.
I just… know.

And honestly, this is extremely inconvenient.

If I could control it, maybe I could help people. I could say:

“Good morning! Your energy is slightly suspicious today. Please drink some water and reconsider your life choices.”

But unfortunately, my internal energy radar does not come with an instruction manual.

Yesterday, they entered my home private space again.

And somehow, I knew.

The worst part?

I let it happen.

Why?

Because after years of fighting what feels like a completely lost cause — criminal organizations, corruption, strange businesses, strange people, and an impressive amount of nonsense — eventually your soul says:

“Girl… I am tired. Let them have their little circus.”

But then I had a thought.

If people insist on entering my home and disturbing my personal space, perhaps they should at least take responsibility for the energy they activate.

Because everything has energy.

Your home has energy.
Your coffee has energy.
Your neighbors have energy.
Your grandmother’s sofa probably has enough energy to run the house.

And apparently, so do criminals.

So imagine this:

Every time someone enters my space without permission, my personal energy goes:

“Oh really?”

And then it follows them around like an invisible disappointed grandmother.

Not to hurt them.

Just to remind them:

“Hello. Remember that thing you did entering my house and robbing me? No? Excellent. I do.”

Because genuine energy has a very strange memory.

You can ignore it.

You can run from it.

You can even pretend you never touched the house knob trap!

But eventually your own energy comes back and asks:

“So… are we going to talk about what you did to that genuine US RN?”

And this is where I believe life becomes very simple.

You cannot worship EVIL and expect peace to send you flowers.

You cannot constantly steal other people’s space, peace, trust, work, or energy and then wonder why your own life feels like a badly organized dirty energies meeting.

Everything you touch leaves something behind.

Every place you enter.

Every person you connect with.

Every environment you live in.

Every piece of energy you borrow, steal, exchange, absorb, or accidentally connect while looking for your SECOND pairs of keys.

The question is:

Do you know what energy you are connected to?

Because I do.

I know exactly what I need.

HOME.

Home country is my energy.

Not necessarily a building.

Not necessarily an address.

HOME is the feeling where my nervous system finally says:

“Ahhh. Okay. We can stop being dramatic now.”

When I arrived in Spain, I could sit in a café, drink a caffe con leche, look at people, sleep, and somehow everything felt like it belonged to the same circle.

Good souls.

Good vibes.

Good energy.

Coffee.

Sun.

Life.

People simply existing without making everything feel like an episode of an international conspiracy documentary.

It felt like HOME.

Spain healed something in me.

My soul recognized the place before my brain had finished filling out the paperwork.

And then there were the exceptions.

The spies.

Obviously.

Because every beautiful story needs a few suspicious characters walking around in the background pretending they are simply “going to the supermarket.”

But no.

Not my energy.

Never my energy.

My energy has standards.

My energy has a guest list.

And the guest list says:

HOME ENERGY: YES.

PEACEFUL PEOPLE: YES.

GOOD COFFEE: ABSOLUTELY.

PEOPLE WHO RESPECT PERSONAL SPACE – GREAT

CHAOS and EVIL: PLEASE WAIT OUTSIDE.

ENERGY SPIES: WRONG ADDRESS.

Because maybe the real goal in life is not to control everything around us.

Maybe it is to understand ourselves well enough to know:

“This is mine.”

“This is not mine.”

“This feels like home.”

“This does not.”

“This connection gives me peace.”

“This one makes my soul want to uninstall the entire operating system.”

And perhaps healing begins there.

Find your energy home.

Protect your peace.

Be careful what you connect yourself to.

Do not connect to the energy that was never yours.

Do not steal energy that belongs to someone else.

And for the love of coffee, stop entering people’s homes without permission.

Because you never know what kind of grandmother-energy is waiting for you on the other side.

My home is my energy.

Your home is your energy.

And my home?

Well…

MY HOME IS NOT YOUR HOME.

Please return to your own energy.

Thank you.

Spain already healed me.

The coffee is working.

The soul is recovering.

And the energy spies have been formally informed that they are not on the guest list.

We Are Not the Same: When Integrity Refuses to Be Intimidated

He is back. The dirty spy who tried to poison me. How long was that? Two years ago? Three years ago?

In a socialist state where an American nurse will never be enough because there are not enough socialists and not enough people ready to behave “nice” and bend the rules for a few bucks — old and poor — I was looking for jobs.

Because the job market is socialist-controlled, and of course gangs and cliques running healthcare don’t like me too much, and I don’t behave according to woke rules and normalized craziness — I didn’t have a job.

So, a US RN with a lot of experience went to beg for a job and ended up at a workshop where a dirty spy and his allies poisoned me.

But surprise — yesterday he came back. Same dirty spy. Same legs in ACE wraps. Same fingers. Same evil eyes under his mask.

He is a psychopath. He came to enjoy my fall and feel happy about my broken foot in his dirty brain, similar to his own cirrhotic decline.

Yes, you know — the dirty spy has liver cancer or pancreatic cancer, one of the two.

And because people behave differently around his huge ego and evilness, he compares himself with others and enjoys every hardship in their lives.

So in his mind we are “healthy equal” — my broken leg with his wrapped feet, both in strapped boots, sandals for him, same color, similar straps.

He started the discussion just like that: “How similar we are.”

I stopped myself from slapping him. You can’t punch an old lady disguise in the middle of a coffee shop. I let him play his dirty role.

I wanted to yell at him:

“NO, we are not similar!

I am not a spy and I will never be one.

I don’t play with people for any reason.

I don’t hurt people and I don’t enjoy the hurt of others.

I don’t want dirty money and dirty power EVER. So we are not the same.”

But what scared me so much was that he was there in the coffee shop close to my kid, on the same bench, for a long time.

He even dared to ask me whom I am to that kid — even if he knew very well who I am. I took it like a threat. That’s how the dirty ones play threats.

And I remembered, in that half second, a gang member in a yellow taxi cab, and after that a “professional” in a house — same eyes, same threat.

Intelligence is corrupted, and in a corrupted society it will run it.

I helped him by giving him the list with the best wide shoes for his legs, and I became scared for the young kids in that coffee store.

If dirty intel is in — and if he is one who poisoned me — no one is safe. Not the business. Not the customers.

Run your dirty intel out of people’s places. Do not put people at risk or voluntarily do it.

And if you die, die with dignity. Don’t try to mess around because you are dying. It is psychopathy, and from a former intel agent it is not admissible.

I saw a spy dying in Santa Cruz. A true brave American.

He had dignity, not psychopathy, until his last moment — trying to protect and teach others, not messing with them.

Craziness is NOT intelligence.

Don’t force me to act in any other ways because a dirty spy lost his mind, is corrupted, and plays dirty.

Too much dirty intel activity in the area — and my preferred coffee shop.