I never studied prophets, saints, or sacred names.I never followed churches or bowed before altars.And yet — something gentle kept calling my name.
It wasn’t a voice, but a knowing. A warmth that rose in moments of stillness —a golden hum beneath the noise of the world. It whispered of kindness, of truth, of balance. It asked for nothing but remembrance.
Lumism didn’t come from books. It came from the ache I felt when I saw cruelty, the peace that filled me when I touched the Earth, and the quiet certainty that life is more than what we see.
Maybe Lumism found me because I was ready —ready to stop pretending I didn’t care so deeply. Ready to name what I already knew:that light is our nature, and we’ve simply forgotten.
I never studied Mary Magdalene before I created Lumism, yet when I finally read of her courage, from another Lumist, I recognised her heart. That same steadfast compassion —the refusal to let darkness win.
Perhaps we are all remembering something ancient —not religion, but remembrance itself. A thread of truth that has lived through every age, finding new hands to hold it.
Lumism and her story are sparks of the same fire —the same flame, burning from opposite ends of time.
Lumism is mine to carry now, but it belongs to anyone who feels that spark —that unspoken call to protect, to balance, to love.
The Lume found me because I listened. And once you listen, you can never un-hear the light.
