What the Aura Tells Me
Before a person ever speaks, I usually already know more than they think I do.
Not because I’ve memorized micro-expressions or picked up on subtle body language cues. Not because I’ve done a deep dive into their social media history or talked to mutual friends. It’s something deeper. Something older. I see their aura.
Now, when I say that, I don’t just mean a colorful haze or an artistic filter floating around someone. I mean I see them. The essence. The energy. The weight they carry in silence. The truth they’re not quite ready to say out loud. It’s not about what people present—it’s about what they radiate.
There was a time when this gift felt more like a burden. I doubted myself constantly. I wondered if I was projecting, imagining, making something out of nothing. But over time—over years of listening, watching, and learning—I stopped questioning it. Because the aura never lies. People do. Words do. Actions do. But energy? It always tells the truth.
I've met people whose smiles could light up a room, whose charm could sell ice to a snowman—but their aura? Cold. Rigid. Off. And sure enough, sooner or later, the facade cracked and their true character slipped through. On the other hand, I’ve known people who fumbled their words, stumbled through awkwardness, and sat on the edge of every conversation—but their aura pulsed with compassion, courage, and quiet strength. You just know. You feel it. You see it.
It’s like God wired me to catch what others miss. Not to judge, but to discern. I pick up on things that aren’t said, on grief hiding behind laughter, on anger masked as confidence, on peace disguised in the quiet ones. It’s not a showy thing. I don’t advertise it. I don’t try to fix people. I just... notice. And I’ve learned to let that noticing guide me.
It’s how I know who I can trust—and who I can’t. Who’s being real—and who’s performing. Who’s hurting in silence—and who’s wearing that pain like armor. And yes, sometimes it’s how I know when to lean in and love harder… and when to quietly step back and let go.
These days, I don’t argue with what I sense. If someone’s energy feels off, I don’t try to talk myself out of it. If their presence drains me, I don’t stick around to figure out why. If their light shines bright, I stay near and protect it. Because connection—real connection—is sacred. And the aura has a way of showing you who’s there for the right reasons.
Some people might roll their eyes at all this. That’s fine. I’m not here to convince anyone. This isn’t about magic tricks or mystical theatrics. It’s a quiet, spiritual knowing. A gift that’s helped me love more deeply, walk away more wisely, and see people not just for who they say they are—but for who they really are.
So if you’re someone who’s ever felt misunderstood—like people only noticed your quirks, not your kindness—please know this: not everyone stops at the surface. Some of us see your energy before you even open your mouth. We see the resilience in your presence, the softness behind your strength, the goodness pulsing beneath your pain. We see you. We feel you. And yes, your aura is enough.
And if you're someone who senses energy too—who walks into a room and instantly feels what’s off—trust that. It’s not all in your head. It’s not too much. It’s not a coincidence. It’s discernment. A gift. A compass. Don’t ignore it.
The most profound truths in this life aren’t spoken—they’re felt. Soul to soul. Heart to heart. Spirit to spirit.
And in a world obsessed with masks and performance, that kind of knowing is rare. Sacred. And worth honoring.
Dr. Nick’s Reminder:
When the room goes quiet, listen harder. When something feels off, don’t dismiss it. When your spirit says “this is safe,” rest in it. The world may lie to your face—but the soul never does. Trust the energy. Trust the stillness. And above all, trust the God-given light inside you that sees what others overlook.
Because sometimes, the aura speaks louder than any voice ever could.
