Hold this unpolished quartz in your palm — its jagged edges aren’t unfinished, but a rebellion against human hands. Let its cracks map your rebellion: “My chaos has better rhythm.” This isn’t a “healing stone.” It’s a geologic metronome — tuned to the planet’s primordial hum. Sleep with it under your pillow. Feel its fractures sync with your dreams’ morse code. When dawn cracks the sky, whisper: “My frequency’s older than clocks.”

Carve the quartz’s raw chant into your skin — its volcanic edges aren’t flaws, but fingerprints of earth’s fire. Let it ground your chaos into clarity. Or choose Rose Quartz, its blush-hued ridges syncing with love’s frequency. These aren’t accessories. They’re armor against the static of “should.” Feel the raw pulse of unpolished stone against your skin. When someone asks why you’re glowing, smirk: “I stopped borrowing light.”