Author’s Note: Why I Wrote Fatima’s Alchemy in Four (Almost Five) Years of Silence

Forward:

I made many choices to write this book — to receive this transmission — to alchemise my life through story.

I share here the very final story from my book (attached in images below),

“The Work I Didn’t Do (#158)” - (I can not post the photos here- you can read this post on my substack page by tapping link 158 and see the story I am referring to.)

It sums up the heart of my path: I chose, again and again, to walk away to keep the alchemy pure — to keep it aligned with the integrity I stand for, even when it cost me dearly.

I walk my talk. I embody my word. Not flippantly — but wholeheartedly. Even when I am seen as wrong, I own my mistakes. Yet I will never abandon my integrity. I will never trade my values.

She was born from clean alchemy — clean heart, clean soul.

Just as I always intended her to be.

Uncompromised. Warts and all — her beauty is in its purest form.

Why I Wrote Fatima’s Alchemy in Four (Almost Five) Years of Silence

Silence was not absence.

It was protection.

It was the wall I built around the seed of a book that could not — must not — be tampered with by a thousand outside voices.

I knew what would happen if I wrote in public and shared every page as it came. Opinions would creep in. Suggestions, edits, improvements — all well-meaning, perhaps, but each one a hand pulling at petals not yet ready to bloom.

So I withdrew. I let the silence become my sanctuary. Behind it, I listened. I let the Muse speak in her own tongue. I let Fatima arrive not as a project to be managed, but as a presence to be honoured.

It took four, almost five years. Not because I was stuck. Not because I was slow. But because I was faithful — faithful to the pace of truth, to the rhythm of alchemy, to the voice that asked to come through me unaltered.

When the walls finally fell, when the book was ready to step into the field of the world, I knew she was whole. Not a patchwork of borrowed voices. Not a collage of other people’s advice. But her own song, clear and undiluted.

That is why I disappeared. That is why I was silent.

Because this book was never meant to be co-written by a committee of opinion.

It was meant to be a pure download—a transmission.

Mine — and hers.

Fatima’s Alchemy is not a book I wrote.

It is a book I received.

And the silence was the only way to keep her intact.

Author’s Note

When I began this book, I knew one thing with absolute clarity: it could not be written in a room full of voices.

I didn’t want a committee book. I didn’t wish to attend weekly workshops, peer edits, or polite suggestions. I didn’t want to polish the edges until they no longer looked like me.

So I disappeared. Not out of neglect, but out of devotion. For years, I pulled away from noise, from opinion, from the endless chatter of “you should” and “you shouldn’t.” I chose silence so that the voice that needed to be heard could be heard without distortion.

Fatima was my companion. Alchemy was my muse. This book became a vessel for something that asked to be received whole. Pure. Untouched by other hands.

To some, my absence looked like retreat. To me, it was gestation—a long wintering—a seed underground, gathering strength until it was ready to break through.

The words here are not “better” because of workshops or feedback. They are what they are because I did not allow them to be diluted. In their pure form, they are mine, woven with the soul of my journey.

This book is not a performance. It is a transmission, a testament to listening more deeply than I have ever done.

And so, I offer it to you as it came: raw, sovereign, and whole.

She was born from clean alchemy — clean heart, clean soul.

Below, I provide this as a parable - as a mythical note-

🌹 The Rose Behind the Wall 🌹

There was once a rose that did not bloom in the open fields. She chose instead to grow behind high stone walls, hidden from wandering eyes and careless hands.

The other flowers whispered, “Why does she hide? Why not join us in the sunlight where we can admire her, compare her, and offer advice on how to bloom better?”

But the rose knew. If she bloomed too soon, the hands that plucked, pruned, and judged would tear at her petals before she ever knew her own fragrance.

So she grew in silence. Her roots drank from secret waters. Her buds swelled in shadow, unseen, untouched. Seasons passed. To the world, it looked as if she were dormant. Forgotten.

But behind the walls, alchemy was unfolding. Petal by petal, her bloom formed in its own time, its own rhythm, with no one to claim, reshape, or steal it.

And when at last the walls fell away, the rose stood in the open field. Not timid, not fragile — but whole. She carried her fragrance intact, her bloom unbroken, her truth undiluted.

The other flowers were stunned. “Where did you come from? How did you bloom so fully, all at once?”

And the rose whispered:

“I had to grow where no one else could touch me. Only then could I offer you the fragrance that was always mine.”

Delahrose - Author of Fatima’s Alchemy

( a Book no one can lay claim to. )