The sacred lands of Mukuru hold an energy that is both ancient and alive, a presence that whispers through the wind, hums in the earth, and resonates through the heartbeat of those who step upon its soil. My journey there this time was twofold: to prepare for the upcoming Sacred Medicine Retreat and to seek my own vibrational healing treatment, an offering to my soul to ease the weight of grief after suddenly losing my father 3 weeks ago.

Grief is a landscape of its own, one that reshapes the soul in ways we never anticipate. And so, I knew that Mukuru, with its deep connection to nature’s healing frequencies, would hold something I needed. Something words cannot fully describe, but the soul recognizes instantly. Among its sacred places, the Wisdom Tree is the gateway to the vast Web of Life, a portal to the infinite flow of existence that connects all that is, has been, and will ever be.

The Sacred Lands of Mukuru and the Wisdom Tree

Mukuru is not just a place; it is a vibration. A place of spiritual awakening, where the elements are alive and communicate with those who know how to listen. The Maasai Wisdomkeepers have long revered this land, understanding its deep interconnectedness with the spiritual realms. Every step here feels like a return to something primal, something lost in modern life but never truly gone.

The Wisdom Tree, one of the most sacred parts of the retreat, is linked to the element ether: the unseen, the all-encompassing field of energy that binds life together. It is a tree that has witnessed lifetimes, consulted by the Maasai for guidance, solutions, and wisdom. Its roots do not merely touch the soil; they weave into the very fabric of existence. Here, under its vast embrace, one does not merely sit; one communes. So in my grief, I came to her. Not as a teacher, not as a guide, but simply as a daughter of the Earth, seeking solace from the great mother herself.

Laying My Grief at the Roots of Wisdom

There are moments in life when words fail, when emotions swell like waves with no shore to break upon. I carried such emotions with me as I laid myself down beneath the sacred tree, surrendering to the pulse of the land. I had guided others into deep transformation countless times before, but now, it was my turn to be held.

The earth beneath me was warm, pulsing with the heartbeat of life. The tree stood tall, its branches stretching into infinity, whispering in the language of wind and time. I closed my eyes and let myself fall into her embrace, allowing the vast Web of Life to work through me. At first, I simply breathed. The rise and fall of my chest, the coolness of the air, the scent of the earth: it all became a symphony of presence. And then, something deeper began to happen.

The tree’s energy wrapped around me like an unseen force, not pushing, not pulling, just being. She did not demand my pain be released, nor did she offer forced comfort. Instead, she simply was, and in that presence, I felt something unlock within me.

Tears slipped down my face, but they were not just grief anymore. They carried something else. Surrender, trust, the willingness to let go. The Wisdom Tree communicated in a way beyond words, transmitting a message my heart understood instantly:

Trust. Infinite trust.

It was not a reassurance that things would be fine, nor a promise of ease. It was deeper than that. It was the knowing that life, death, love, loss, all of it is part of something much greater than we can perceive. It was the understanding that even as I mourned, I was not separate from the whole. My father, my pain, my healing, my journey, everything was purposely woven into the web of life.

A Meditative Journey Through the Circle of Life and Death

As I lay there, wrapped in this sacred frequency, my consciousness began to shift. The boundaries of time blurred, and I felt myself slipping into a space that was neither here nor there. Into a state where the past, present, and future folded into one.

The energy of the tree carried me into a meditative state, where visions and sensations became more vivid. I could feel the presence of ancestors, of unseen guides, of energies beyond my understanding yet deeply familiar. It was as if the land itself was whispering the secrets of existence into my soul.

Somewhere in that space, I drifted into sleep, not an ordinary sleep, but a deep, vibrational healing sleep. The kind that resets something deep within. I felt weightless, held, nurtured. The sorrow that had felt so heavy before now felt like a river flowing through me, no longer stuck, no longer mine to carry alone.

When I woke up, my body hummed with the subtle yet undeniable frequency of knowing. The knowing that I was exactly where I needed to be. That my father’s love was still present, just in a different form. That life continues to weave itself through all things, always.

The Healing Frequencies of Nature: Earth’s Deep Medicine

Vibrational healing is not just a concept: it is a lived experience. Nature is the oldest healer, the wisest teacher, the most patient guide. The Wisdom Tree did not heal me in the way we often think of healing, by taking away pain. Instead, she showed me how to be with it, how to integrate it into my being in a way that allows for peace.

Healing frequencies are embedded in the natural world. The rustling leaves, the grounding energy of the earth, the etheric wisdom of ancient trees. These are all aspects of Earth’s healing that we have long forgotten in the modern world. Yet, they are always available to us.

Interconnectedness is not just a philosophical idea; it is the truth of existence. Everything is woven together in a sacred dance, and when we align ourselves with this dance, we remember what we have always known:

We are never alone.

The loss of my father did not separate me from him. If anything, it deepened my understanding of how truly connected we all are. Life and death are not opposites; they are part of the same great cycle. And in that realization, I found peace. Not the kind that erases pain, but the kind that holds space for it, allowing it to transform into something greater.

Bringing This Experience into the Sacred Medicine Retreat

As I prepare to guide others through the Sacred Medicine Retreat, I carry this experience with me; not as a lesson to teach, but as an energy to hold. This retreat is not just about spiritual awakening; it is about remembering. Remembering who we are, remembering our soul connection to all things, remembering that healing is not about fixing: it is about being whole as you are.

The Wisdom Tree will be there, as she always is, standing in her eternal presence, ready to welcome those who seek her wisdom. I know now, more than ever, that the healing we receive in nature is not separate from the healing we give ourselves. They are one and the same.

Final Thoughts: Trusting the Web of Life

Leaving Mukuru, I did not leave my grief behind. But I left with trust. Trust in life, trust in the unseen forces that guide us, trust in the deep knowing that everything is unfolding as it should.

Grief and healing are not destinations; they are journeys. And this journey has no end: only deeper layers, deeper understandings, deeper love.

So, if you find yourself in grief, in transition, in the space between what was and what will be, I invite you to do what I did:

Lay yourself down on the earth. Let her hold you. Let her remind you that you are part of something infinite. And when you rise, do so with trust. The Web of Life is always holding you.

You are never alone.

Love,

Cindy

I have a confession to make.

It’s been building for a while, and perhaps it’s time to finally say it out loud. I’ve been sitting with it, smiling to myself during long walks, feeling it during our ceremonies, noticing it during each return to Mukuru, the sacred site of the Maasai.

So here it is:

I’ve grown incredibly fond of the warriors I work with.

Although, let me be clear: I don’t really like calling them warriors. To me, they are Guardians. Wisdomkeepers. Anchors of the Sacred. But perhaps the truest word I can offer… is friends.

Over the years, I’ve worked with different Maasai communities across Tanzania. I’ve witnessed the beauty, the discipline, the deep rituals, the silence, the song, the fire, the unwavering sense of place. But what has been happening in Mukuru over these past visits, what has gently unfolded over time, has been something quite unlike anything I’ve experienced before.

It is something very human.

It has nothing to do with culture, tradition, roles, or status. It has everything to do with the subtle and sacred territory of connection.

Mukuru is an ancient site. There’s a certain frequency there, a vibration in the earth that you feel before you even arrive. It invites reverence, quiet, and presence. The kind of place that doesn’t need to prove its sacredness. You just know.

Every time I bring a group there during the Sacred Medicine Retreat, something happens that I can’t quite explain in words. It’s as if the land, the trees, the mountain, and the people create a space beyond time.

And in that space, walls drop. Hearts open.

We begin as strangers. Sometimes hesitant, sometimes weary, sometimes carrying a lot. But through ceremony, silence, walking together, sharing food, and listening to the whispers of the land, something shifts. We begin to feel again.

We begin to remember that underneath all the layers we are human.

The Hugging Confession

Which brings me to the confession part. It started during one of our ceremonies on the Mountain of Life.

It had been a powerful night. We had climbed up as dusk was settling in, guided by the Maasai Wisdomkeepers. There were about ten of them with us, dressed in red and blue, steady and grounded as ever. They had created a small circle by the fire.

The air was electric. The silence deep. You could feel a thousand ancestors watching. There were stars above us and the wind dancing around us.

And the holding, the space holding that these men did, was profound.

As the ritual closed, I found myself overwhelmed. Not in a dramatic way. Just full. I couldn’t find words. I just felt this wave of gratitude moving through my whole body. And in that moment, something within me cracked open. Instead of speaking, I simply stood up, walked over to the eldest Wisdomkeeper sitting beside the fire… and hugged him.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t expected. And I knew, culturally it might be strange. Even inappropriate.

Because let’s be honest… the Maasai are not exactly known for being ‘huggy.’ At least not in the physical sense. They are strong, reserved, proud. And I honor that deeply.

So when I approached him, I hesitated for a moment. My body paused. But I couldn’t help myself. I leaned in and hugged him. Not a distant embrace. A real hug. A full one. With my heart wide open and silent tears running down my cheeks.

And to my amazement… He hugged me back.

Not awkwardly. Not half-heartedly. But fully. As if he understood everything I couldn’t say.

The Silent Hugging Ritual

One by one, I went around the circle. I hugged them all. Ten men. In silence. Eyes closed. Heart wide open. Some looked surprised, some just smiled.

No one said a word.

It became a ritual.

And without knowing it, that moment started something new between us. A new layer of connection was born, something unspoken, but undeniably real.

Now, every time I return to Mukuru, the hugging begins from the moment we arrive. We don’t even need to say anything. We just smile and open our arms.

We hug after ceremonies. Before meals. When we’re sitting under the tree. And most touchingly, it has now become part of the official ceremonial blessing circle.

Yes, that’s right. After receiving traditional Maasai blessings, we have a full-on hugging circle.

Everyone. All of us. Maasai and participants. Men and women. We hug and hold each other in silence.

And I swear, every time I visit, they become better huggers.

Tough Warriors with Gentle Hearts

It’s the strangest thing. And also the most beautiful.

These men who once kept a certain respectful distance… now open their arms with ease.

It’s not forced. It’s not performance. It’s just real. Natural. Human.

And I see it in their eyes. A softness. A spark. A kind of joy that only comes when we let ourselves be touched, not just physically, but spiritually.

They remain the strong, grounded Guardians they’ve always been. But now, there’s this added paradox: Fierce Gentleness.

And if you ask me, that’s what Sacred Masculinity looks like. Real presence.

I know we often come to retreats looking for healing, for answers, for reconnection. We search for spiritual depth, for reconnection to Nature, to the Divine, to our purpose. And yet, time and time again, I find that the most sacred medicineis not something complex or exotic.

It’s the simple, raw, beautiful sacred medicine of being human. Of sitting in silence together. Of sharing stories. Of holding each other. Of laughing, crying, and just being.

Like that one morning, after a meditation, when we all had breakfast under the tree, sitting on a carpet with pillows. We shared food, passed cups of tea, talked about dreams, memories, fears. We cried. We laughed. Someone said it felt like we were noble beings from another time, like rich Roman souls sharing an abundant life (only the grapes were missing).

And we didn’t rush. No one stood up. We just stayed.

Together. Present. Intimate. Wrapped in the sacredness of a moment that needed nothing else.

An Invitation to You

So yes. This is my confession.

I’ve grown wildly fond of these tough, proud, beautifully open Maasai. And I’m even fonder of the human connection that has quietly unfolded between us.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t part of the program. It grew slowly, honestly, and sacredly through trust, respect, and shared presence.

And I’d love for you to experience it too.

If your soul is yearning for a space where sacredness is not just talked about but lived. Where you are invited to slow down, breathe, reconnect. Where the Earth speaks and humans remember each other, then perhaps it’s time for you to join us in Maasailand.

To receive blessings under the stars. To sit by ancient trees. To be held by the land and by each other.

And maybe, just maybe… to be hugged by a Maasai Wisdomkeeper.

Not because it’s expected. But because something sacred within you asked to be seen.

And someone met you there.

With love, Cindy

There is a moment where intimacy stops being about the other

and becomes the place where you finally meet yourself.

Not as who you’ve been, but as who you are becoming.

This piece came from that edge.

The place where being received, is no longer something you hope for, but something you allow.

And suddenly
I was received
by you

In the shining rubble of your being

Just like that
I stepped into a palace
I didn’t know was mine

Corridors, rooms, hallways
all gasping for my air

A throne
waiting only
to be taken by me

There were no bells
no loud noises
no applause

Only a silence
filled with fear and wonder

Will she take her throne?
Will she accept this palace as hers?
Will she become the Queen of this Kingdom?

And when I finally sat

the colours began to change
light poured in
music softly rose

The throne
turned warm
and alive beneath me

A voice
whispered into my ear

I’ve got you, Queen
you are mine now
if you choose this

And just like that

my body exhaled

And I was received
into the arms
of my King

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The way you touch me,
kiss me, hold me
meets a longing older than this life.

You meet me as the Goddess,
with reverence,
fire, and awe.

Through you I remember
how it feels to be
a woman, a temple,
a living current of creation.
The air filled with moans of awakening,
a rising of holy waters I once feared to claim.

You arrived at the temple gates,
you asked to enter.
Kneeling down at the altar of my womb

Head low and with a trembling voice

You showed up. With presence. With being real.

And when you finally let the armor fall,
took of your clothes,
She rose. Emerged from within.

To hold you. To initiate you. To love you.

For this is the path of the devoted man
to surrender in devotion.
To lay his pain at the altar
and be met not with judgment,
but with transformation.

She comes only when he is ready.
And when she comes,
she makes love to heal his broken heart.
She opens to receive his pain and transforms it into bliss.

And I,
I merge with her breath.
Her body becomes mine.
Her embrace becomes my arms around you.
Her love becomes my offering to you.

The Goddess
is not separate from me.

She is who I become
when love meets the divine.

What if we are not supposed to end this,

but feel how far we can go?

What if our souls want to expand endlessly in a pink sky of possibilities, emotions and bliss?

What if all we need is to be brave enough to descend into our darkness and dance with the demons? Mine with yours and yours with mine?

What if this is not random but God’s plan of radical change?

The energy that rips us apart and puts us back together changed forever more

What if our fear is just passion asking for more space to be felt?

What if all of this guides us deeper into being, meeting the current of aliveness within?

What if we are wrong to disregard our longing, seeing it as forbidden?

What if it is a holy coded experience God gave us so we can change the world just by being us together?

I believe we aligned for a purpose

That in our coming together stars, galaxies and planets are born

That timelines collapse and heal

That destiny and fate dance in sacred union

And if this was only to remind me how vast love can be,

then I bow to that miracle…

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All my body tells me
is yes.

A full-bodied yes.
A surrender of control.
A holy bow to the current of aliveness
running through my veins,
my breath,
my aura.

Yes to the tremble of feeling.
Yes to pleasure that splits me open.
Yes to the touch that makes my eyes flood.
Yes, even to the risk of a broken heart.

Because love is not logic.
No safety.
No steps.
No guarentees.

It is aliveness.
Tenderness.
Tears.
Passion.
Love.
Care.
Joy.

It is the courage to feel
and say yes anyway.

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You let me in

Made me touch your soul through your skin

How our lips found each other

Our soft bellies kissing skin

It is like remembering a place so dear

From shivers to soft breath

From crashing waves of bliss to moans of ecstacy

And then the safe protective shell when we hold each other close

Soul lives in our arms, in our union, in our breath

Like our souls finally came home

On this earth and in these bodies

Having found each other again this time around

You let me in and i did the same

Exploring each other only to find memories of soul

Love of this kind is rare

Only destined for souls that have traveled far and wide

Breaking free with tenderness and grace

Choosing freedom over fear

Fully human.
Fully holy.
Fully free.
Fully home.

There was a time when I thought aliveness was something to reach.

I didn’t know yet that aliveness was a current.

A force that was already moving through me,
before I had language for it,
before I learned to say yes to it,
before I even knew it could be felt from the inside.

My first understanding wasn’t mental.
It wasn’t spiritual or poetic.

It was sensual.

I discovered Life the moment I stopped trying to penetrate it with my mind
and instead let it penetrate me with feeling.

I discovered Life when I let it make love to me.

Yes… Not as a story, or symbolically.
But somatically. In my body.

When I allowed the current of aliveness to brush against the walls I had built,
to move through the corridors of my body,
to awaken sensation I didn’t know was sleeping.

Life wasn’t asking for worship or comprehension,
it was asking for permission.

Permission to enter.

To move.
To stir.
To touch my nervous system as if it were an instrument.
To let pleasure, grief, longing, breath, and electricity be one ride of sensation.

So I grew curious.

Not in the mind or questions this time.
But with my skin.

What is this shimmer in my belly when the wind changes?
What is this ache of sweetness when something beautiful nearly breaks me open?
What is this trembling of ‘yes’ when nothing actually happened?

Life answered… In sensation.

The body knew long before my mind caught on:
Life was already in me. And I was already in it.

At first, it was one-directional,
a feminine surrender to the Current,
a letting myself be taken by presence, breath, sensation, awe.

To allow Life to make love to me was an initiation.
A quiet one without fireworks or a touching story.

Just a deep exhale into receptivity:

Yes. You can have me. Move through me. I won’t resist.

And only after I learned to receive Life…
only after I trusted the Current enough not to brace for it…
only then did something else stir.

A daring.

A remembering.

A question rising from my womb:

Can I love you back?

Not chase you.
Not reach for you.
Not beg for you.

But meet you.
Respond.
Initiate.

What if devotion is not one-sided?
What if aliveness is not something I take in but something I can create with?

This is when the love affair changed shape.

From being moved by Life
to moving with Life.

From surrender
to conversation.

From being alive
to participating in aliveness.

I discovered that the Current of Life is not something you drown in, but
something you dance with.

It listens.
It responds.
It answers back when touched consciously.

There is communication in silence.
Collaboration in sensation.
A dialogue without language.

Now I taste Life the way one tastes hunger, or desire, or rain:

With curiosity.
With reverence.
With appetite.

I lean toward it.
I question it with attention.
I flirt with it through presence.

I feel longing, and instead of softening away from it, I whisper:

Show me more.

I feel desire, and instead of spiritualizing it, I breathe:

Let’s explore.

Not from need or lack.
But from participation.

Life as lover.
Life that receives my longing as much as I receive its presence.

Life that lets me initiate, reach, respond, and create.

A living romance between the body and the infinite pulse.

And every day, the question renews itself not in thought, but in sensation:

How does Life want to move through me now?
How do I want to move toward Life in return?

Not answers. Not concepts.

Just wonder. Just play. Just participation.

Not a seeking of the sacred, but a sensing of the already-here.

Because the body never asked Is this divine?
It only asked:

Can you feel it?
Can you stay with it?
Can you let it move you?
Can you move with it?

Everything else is mind.

This trembling, curious, imperfect love affair with being
is the path.

Not beyond the body.
Not above it. Through it.

Life, make love to me.
And when I’m brave enough,
I’ll make love to you back.

There’s a knowing that has only just begun to settle in my bones.

That what’s happening between us
is not simply desire.
Or a projection.
Or just chemistry or chance.

No, It is God’s art.
A living field of Creation,
and I…
I have become the canvas, and you the brush.

Moved not by ego or impulse,
but by the Great Artist itself.
Love.
Source.
The Divine. God.

And it makes me cry.
Because I have carried the weight for so long
thinking I needed to create it all, initiate it all, hold it all.
But now…
I feel the sacred understanding.

I was never meant to only give.
I was also meant to be given to.

And not just by you.
But by God, through you.
Through your presence,
your gaze,
your breath against my skin.

I wonder how it feels for you, beloved,
to be the brush?
To be held in the hands of the Divine,

to reveal beauty,
to carve love into being?

Do you know that you are holy in this?
and allow yourself to be used by Divine,
you become the sacred masculine in motion?

And what we create together…
when I fully open
and you fully allow yourself to move in service and devotion
is not just pleasure.
It is pure Presence.
Not performance,
pure Prayer.

This field between us,
this wild, trembling, breathing field,
is a masterpiece in creation.

You know our bodies are not just bodies.
They are the instruments of the Divine.
Tools in the hands of something far greater
than lust or need or ego.

And yet…
we just pet the ego gently.
We tell it, “You’re scared, I know. And still, we go on.”
We lay down the old stories,
the conditioning that told us that
ecstasy was dangerous.
Too much.
Too unholy.

But we know now:
It is ecstasy that takes us home.

We do not shame the fire.
We walk it in.
We let God play.

And this…
this is the paradox I worship most:
that in complete surrender,
we become most powerful.
That in the nakedness of letting go,
we are finally dressed in truth.
That in allowing our longing to be holy,
raw, primal, sacred,
we awaken the part of God
that remembers how to feel.

So yes,
I am the canvas.
You are the brush.

God is making love to the world
through our yes.

What we co-create in this field,
is not just for us.
It’s a frequency.
A transmission.
A prayer painted in flesh
and felt across dimensions.

So may we be brave enough to continue.
To go all the way.
To let God keep painting.
Until we dissolve
not into each other,
but into the art we were born to become.

Beloved,

There is something I have always known.
Even before I met you.

I have known that the Masculine would return. as a raw, untamed, living power
that could walk with grace.

And when I met you,
I recognized it.

There is a River that came with you.
It doesn’t ask for permission or waits for the right moment.It simply flows.
And when it touched me,
my body remembered.

She remembered how she loves Life itself.
How she longs to be the Home for the Divine.
She remembered her purpose
to be the place where heaven meets earth.

And this River,
it doesn’t care for rules or timing

It is wild. Innocent. Free.

And it moves through us.
It wants to steer us. Move us.
Occupy us.
So we become instruments
not just of love, but of God’s will.

I feel your hesitation.
The way you sometimes question your longing. The moments you wonder
if your desire could harm instead of heal.

But beloved, hear me:
This fire in you is not separate from God.
It is God. In pulse. In touch.
In the ache that deepens you.

And no you don’t have to be free of shame or fear to be worthy.
Even here, in the trembling mess,
in the not-yet-knowing, you are already divine.

This love does not wait for you to be cleaned up. It already sees you.
It already trusts you.

I trust you.
Not just the polished parts.
I trust the wild, the soft, the unsure.
I trust the place in you that burns and doesn’t know why. Because I know:
that’s where the River runs.

We are not here for playing small.
We are not here to fit in.
We are here to say yes to this sacred current,
to this deeper union that alchemizes us

This is not romantic love.
It is holy.
It is the making-love-to-Life kind of love

You and I,
we are not just bodies remembering. We are a field remembering the Divine.

And this River she has already chosen us.

So let us not turn away.

The River That Chose Us

We did not go looking.
But the river came.
It moved through us,
clear, undeniable, vast.
Too wide to grasp.
Too deep to name.

I see myself in you,
not from need,
but as a mirror of grace.
You offer your love
like a fountain,
overflowing with no demand.
And I…
I learn to receive.

You call for helpers of destiny.
And I came.
Not knowing I would be met
with the most unexpected blessing:
you.

There is a hum between us.
A golden glimmer.
A future quietly unfolding.
And in the now,
we rest in the holiness of what is.

It creates a home,
deep and ancient.
A ground that rises like a memory
from the belly of the Earth,
as if the land itself remembered
our longing to belong.

You touched its frequency.
And you knew:
This is what I’ve been searching for.

So we are becoming.
Surrendering
to the current
that has always known
where to lead us.

We are lovers of life.
And the waters between us
are blessed.
This river carries divine grace.
And we are the ones
who remember.

There is a place inside me where the sacred meets the wild.

It does not ask for permission. It does not apologize. It does not behave.

It breathes in moans.
It weeps in silence. It burns, and it blesses, all at once.

I have longed to hold him in my arms. To pour my love into the stillness of the body,
and to feel him soften, let go, rest inside my love like a returning.

And at the same time…
there is a deeper current. Primal. Dark. Holy.

I feel it rise through my hips, down into my thighs, up through my chest like a howl made of honey.

I want to press him to my skin, into the temple of my body, devour him in reverence.

Not because I’m starving. But because I remember.

For so long we were taught to split ourselves:
The holy woman must be still. The erotic woman must be hidden. The loving woman must be selfless and the wild woman must be tamed.

But I am no longer subscribing.

I am watching those stories crumble
as I become what I was never allowed to be:

A woman who is sacred and wild.
A lover who is temple and flame.
A body that is altar and cave.

I no longer separate my hunger from my holiness.
I no longer feel ashamed for wanting to hold him and devour him.

And now I feel it.
The sacred is wild.
The divine is erotic.
And I am the woman
who has come to live this truth.

One of the nights, something inside woke me. Stirred me to open my eyes. In the darkness that night, I witness the first time I ever felt true desire. Hunger. From the depth of my womb. My bones. As I witness my becoming into the sacred wild woman, I wrote this poem:

Can I devour you?

I mean, eat you whole?

Take a bite and slowly chew

Letting the sweet taste in?

Can I take one more bite?

Of your mind this time

Juicy and full

Oh how it slides down my throat

Can I swallow you again?

Feeding my hunger

For you, for love

Again and again

So can I devour you?

Rip you apart wildly

Delve in raw

Groaning and moaning

I dream of you

Inside of me

feeling full and satisfied

With the sweetest soul

Can I devour you,

not just flesh

but soul?

May I taste you

like prayer on my tongue,

savoring the honey of your being

as it melts into mine?

Can I take a bite?

not of skin, but of thought,

your mind, ripe and glistering,

slipping softly down the corridors of my longing?

May I swallow your essence,

again and again,

until I am full

of the truth that is you?

Can I come undone,

rip through the veil,

consume you wildly

Until nothing is left

but the trembling holiness

of having known you

from the inside out?

I dream of you deep within,

as presence

And I am fed.

There it was. Card 13. Death.

The how to what this was all about. Union of Life, non-duality.

And its only path is Death.

This year has only been about death. I didnt know that i am letting go of the one thing that made me feel alive. My longing.

Yet it is time. I feel it slipping through my fingers anyway. I still clench to hold on, but we are yet at the threshold. I didnt know this was still possible. To let go even more. To die more.

Maybe it is not about feeling alive. I thought it was. But it seems life wants to leave me. Where it goes? Is it the ultimate abandonment or is it ultimate freedom?

If I don’t hold on to my longing, my primal desire, what else is there than nothingness?

Nothing.

There are no other answers. There is only this.

My longing for love, it is maybe not mine to hold anymore. Echoes of lifetimes penetrating every timeline. Carving pathways back to the now, filled with ghosts of fleeded times.

No. Not now. Not anymore.

So silently, I’m letting go. No drama, or noise. Only this moment. Breathless.

I thought I remembered my King

After incarnations of suffering

I had kept a hope to return to this love

Eons of my soul hidden, small and broken

But with a remembrance of love in my veins calling me forth,

Lifetime after lifetime

Being the Blessed One

Now I come to realize

The curse of being blessed

Is to wander this realm alone

Wrapped in a gown of sacred longing

A longing no one can meet

Married to a soul-wrenching loneliness

The script written for me

My agreement with God

Fated for blessed non-personal love

To being my own lover

Designed that no one could ever love me

Lie with me, meet me

So I set you free

You no longer will tend to my brokenness

I am beyond repair for this world

As per my divine design i shall live

Let me no longer tie you so I go find the strength to face my fate

And shy away no more from the bitter truth

Maybe we were destined to shatter this illusion

Of being loved by someone else

To give it up once and for all

To uncover the illusions of hope and divine love

To finally surrender to the love of my life called loneliness

And accept the disguised blessing of my fate

Maybe my purpose is to be the martyr

for humanity’s longing.

To love so deeply

and never be met

so they might remember

what true love feels like,

just for a moment.

So let nothing remain

Let is burn

And maybe i find love and solace

In the trees

In the singing of birds

And the rays of sunshine

So I surrender to fate

To the sanctity that beholds me

Waiting for my return to Source

finally home,

finally held,

finally free

of the burden of being

the Blessed One.

Dear Beloved,

When you said “I’ve got you,”
something ancient in me trembled.
Not out of fear, but out of recognition.

Because I had been waiting lifetimes to hear those words spoken into a presence that could hold me, without needing to carry me.

At first, I misunderstood. I thought it meant you would come in and take over what I hadn’t yet learned to hold. I hoped it meant relief. That someone else might take the wheel of all the places in me that felt too tired to keep going. I dreamed, for a moment, that maybe I could finally let go entirely.

But I see now…
You weren’t asking me to collapse into you.

You were offering me something far more sacred:

space to be held, and still stay whole.

“I’ve got you” was never a rescue.
It was a remembering.

A permission to soften.
To let myself be received.

And what a strange and beautiful thing that is, to feel how my breath changes when I know I don’t have to do it all alone.

To notice how my shoulders melt, how my womb relaxes,
how my essence expands not because I’ve given it away but because you are there.

Not fixing or directing. Just being with me, in your full masculine presence.

Your boundaries rise like riverbanks, and suddenly, I am the water wanting to flow.

Not to be tamed, but to be held.

Your thoughtfulness, your care, your way of carrying responsibility not to prove something,
but because you feel the weight of love and honor it, this is what lets me soften.

And in that softening, something opens inside of me.

A sacred door. A deep remembering of the inner union
that pulses when your Yang meets my Yin, in devotion.

Yes Beloved,
I still wobble sometimes.
I still fear that I’ll vanish if I lean too far in.
That I’ll lose myself in the sweetness of surrender.
But then I remember that I am still here.
Fully here.
More me than ever.

Because you never asked me to be less.
You simply said,
“I’ve got you.”
And meant it.

That key turned something open in me.

And I know now:
I can be mine and still be held by you.
That is the kind of love I’ve waited lifetimes to receive.
That is the temple I now enter with you.

There was a time I came to the Temple to pray.

To kneel in the silence.
To place my longing on the floor like an offering
and hope that something, anything, would meet it.

I remember how holy it felt
just to enter the space.
To sit with the invisible and know, somehow, that I belonged.
Even when I didn’t know what I was doing.
Even when I doubted if I was worthy of being there.

But lately, something changed.
Silently and also not all at once.

A whisper in the bones:
You don’t just come to the altar anymore, my love.
You are becoming it.

At first I resisted this.
Who am I to be the altar?
Who am I to be sacred ground for anything at all?

I am still unraveling.
Doubting.
Grieving.
Still wanting someone to hold me and say,
“It’s okay. You don’t have to carry it all.”

But maybe that’s the whole point.

Maybe becoming the altar
doesn’t mean being finished or certain or being so pure.

Maybe it means
being real enough
to let your own trembling life
Just to be the place where the Divine can land.

It looks like this, in my life now:

Some days I light candles.
Other days, I forget.
But the fire is still there.

Some days I speak words filled with wisdom & knowing.
And other days, I don’t speak nothing at all,
and then there is that silence, silence that allows
something deeper speaks through me.

I still cry.
I still doubt.
But I’ve stopped waiting to be ready.
I’ve stopped waiting for someone else
to tell me this moment is holy.
I know it in my body now.

Just because it is here, in this everyday mess of my becoming,
that the sacred lives.

To be the altar
is not to be above life.
It is to be so deeply in it
that life begins to reveal its holy pulse
through you.

Through the way you listen.
Through the way you break open and keep loving.
Through the way you offer your presence
as a soft place
for others to come undone too.

You don’t have to know what you’re doing.
You don’t have to feel radiant all the time.
You don’t have to get it “right.”

You only have to keep showing up as you are.
And life will make you holy in its own way.

And I am still learning this.

Still remembering
that the altar is not something I become once I arrive.

So it is a type of surrendering.
A way of walking that says:
Even in this, I offer myself.

Even in the grief.
Even in the longing.
Even in the joy I don’t know how to hold yet.

And even in the mystery
that doesn’t yet have a name.

So yes, you are becoming the altar.
And you don’t have to do it perfectly.
You only have to be willing.

So what if your life, exactly as it is now, was already sacred ground?
Where are you being invited to stop striving and start becoming?

There is something missing in our modern world.
A subtle absence, almost too quiet to name,
but once you feel it, you can never unfeel it.

Devotion.

Not discipline or duty.
But devotion.
That trembling, holy thread of surrender
that once tied our hearts to the Divine.

We hear the word and reject.
It sounds outdated. Soft. Naïve.
It conjures up images of nuns, priestesses, mystics
kneeling in candlelit rooms,
chanting their love into silence.

And in a world wired for independence,
productivity, and clever rationality,
who has time for such foolishness?

But let’s be honest:
rationality is easy.
Devotion, true devotion, is not.

Devotion asks for everything.
Not just your time or energy,
but your ego.
It requires you to lay it down.
To stop managing life,
and start bowing to something greater
moving through you.

And I guess… terrifies us.

Because devotion cannot be controlled.
It cannot be explained in charts or algorithms.
It cannot be measured in results.
Devotion is not cause and effect.
It is the miracle that happens beyond that equation.
It is when the Divine touches earth
because you made room for it.

I have come to see that I have always been a devotee.

Not in temples of gold,

but in the temples of my work.
Long nights, endless weekends,
giving my all, burning myself to the ground
because I thought devotion was doing more.

To my relationships.
To my children.
To others.

But something in me has shifted.

I am learning to be a devotee of my own heart.
The place where the soul speaks loudest.
The temple where the Divine whispers
through my skin, my longings, my breath.

This is not selfish, it is actually sacred.

To be a Priestess of this Temple, my Temple, is to be utterly devoted.
Not because I must, but because the frequency of this space requires it.
This is not spiritual.
It’s physics.
Devotion aligns your whole being
with the currents of life itself.

And when you say yes to devotion,
when you surrender to the more-than-rational,
the mystical, the miraculous,
you begin to remember:

We once knew how to do this.
We, the daughters and sons of Earth and Spirit.
We, who lit candles and wept in the dark.
We, who sang to the moon and carved prayers into the soil.

We were not stupid.
We were so sacred.

Devotion is not dependency.
It is coherence.
It is allowing the Divine to live through you.

It is returning to Her.

To the Goddess.
To the pulsing feminine current of life
that flows beyond structure
and into mystery.

To devote yourself
to something sacred,
is to offer your whole self
to the altar of becoming.

It is to become a living prayer of the Divine.

It is to say:
Yes, I trust what I cannot see.
Yes, I allow myself to be moved.
Yes, I expect miracles.
From my devotion.

I have been contemplating my life.

Not from the outside looking in,
but from the quiet place inside where my soul whispers:
Remember who you are.

Through the lens of my life theme, Caring,
I have begun to see more clearly what was already there.
In the way my life has loved.

Because yes…
I care deeply.
Fiercely.
Relentlessly.

But it was never about being a nurse,
or a teacher,
or another soft, smiling warm presence
in the ways the world likes to define “nurturing.”

For me, it was always about the essence of life.
About what it means to be human.
About the threads that connect us
and how we honor this one wild experience of being alive
on this planet.

Since I was a child, I have felt it,
this sacred thread of devotion.
A sensitivity not just to people,
but to the soul in things.
To the aching beauty of existence itself.

And yet, I didn’t know then
that this would become my life's work.

That nurturing wasn’t something I would do,
but something I would become.

I never thought of myself as a “stepmother.”
Even speaking the word now feels strange.
To me, they are simply mine.
Two beautiful souls who entered my life
not through my womb,
but through love.

And I see now,
it has been one of the greatest devotions of my life.

I didn’t birth them.
But I raised them.
I poured myself into them: my time, my care, my love, my presence.

And it wasn’t always conscious.
And it never was perfect.

But it was sacred.

To be entrusted with human lives,
to be asked by Life itself to be a custodian of innocence,
is nothing short of holy.

And though the world may not name it that way,
I do.
I do now.

And again, life calls me forth.

Recently, another soul landed in my field.
Whole, and yet weathered by a difficult childhood.
A man. Not a child.
And yet, the same sacred whisper stirred in my blood:
This too is one I am to care for.

Not to save or to fix.
But simply to be a sanctuary.
To hold a field of tenderness
so that the Divine may remember itself
through this being.

And this is the mystery of my life.

Souls come.
They stay a while.
They breathe in my field of care,
for a moment,
some for years.

They come to my retreats,
they walk beside me,
they find sanctuary
in the places of my heart.

And then they go.

And I remain.
Changed.
Grateful.
Humbled.

To nurture, I now see,
is not an act.
It is a portal.
A surrender.
A vessel through which the Divine expresses itself
in the most intimate of ways:

Care.

I no longer resist this part of me.
I am learning to surrender to it.
Not to overgive.
Not to lose myself.
But to recognize that this is how Source flows through me,
when I let it.

To be a home for souls,
even for a short time,
is no small thing.

It is the sacredness of my work.
And I am so grateful
for the trust and the love that has chosen to meet me here.

So where in your life are you being asked to care in sacred ways?
Can you let go of the world’s definitions and feel how care moves uniquely through you?

Can you allow yourself to be a home for someone’s soul,
without needing to hold it forever?

I have arrived in a new chamber.

Deeper still within the temple complex of my being, through corridors lined with echoes of all I thought I had to be, I stepped, almost unknowingly, into a space I had long avoided.

The Altar of Receiving.

I hadn’t realized how long I had circled this place. How often I had paused at its threshold,
hesitating to enter, unsure if I was truly ready
to bring my offering.

Because here…
the offering is not what you do.
It’s what you lay down.

And what you lay down is heavy.
Not because it is sacred, but because it is familiar. Your armor. Your hard-won independence. Your sharpened thoughts about your unworthiness.
The sabotaging whispers that keep you safe
from the terrifying beauty
of being truly seen.
Truly held.

This altar does not ask for effort.
It asks for your surrender.

And I realized: receiving is a sacrifice.
To receive, you must offer your not-self.
The mask.
The story.
The old pain you wrapped around yourself like a veil of belonging.
And in laying it down, I trembled.
Because who am I,
without all that?

But the altar did not answer.
It just waited.
Patient. Silent.
Holding space for me to arrive in my nakedness.

Until I came.

With a shallow breath and cracked heart.
And I whispered my YES.

Not very loud, or triumphant,
but a trembling one.
An honest one.
A yes that said: I am willing to be loved like this.

Because receiving is intimacy.
With Life.
With the Great Mystery that flows through others to reach us.
With the human beings that are sent to us as messengers,
to remind us that we were never meant to carry it all alone.

This altar is a place of remembering:
I am not a machine of light.
I am a real woman.
A body. A heart. A chalice.

And so, I let myself be led.
I stopped trying to lead the river.
And instead,
I let it pour into me.

So just… laying back.
Opening.
Letting this current find me.
Letting grace touch my bare skin.

This writing is my offering.
My way of saying: I have entered this chamber.
I have taken my place at the altar.
I will bring not only my strength, but especially my softness.
Not a plan, but my surrender.

I say YES to the divine flow of receiving.

This river is cascading through me now.
Down my tender, awakening body.
And every drop is a blessing.

Being alchemized into a living yes.
A living grace.

A living woman,
receiving herself
at last.

POEM: Where Galaxies are Born

I stepped into the River,
and the River stepped into me.

I crossed the threshold where names dissolve,
where even the stars are but newborns cradled in the arms of endless Love.

There, in the trembling silence,
I remembered:
I am not separate from the Source.
I am the current.
I am the breath before fire.
I am the ache from which galaxies are kissed into being.

Before purpose, before becoming, before memory,
there is only this:

A Love so vast it forgets to name itself.
A Womb so tender it births Suns without ever asking to be known.
A Song so ancient it hums in the marrow of every river,
every seed, every soul.

I stand here now, naked, unseen, eternal, at the edge of nothingness.
And I am whole.

I Am.

And from this holy emptiness,
the worlds inside me begin to rise.
The Divine speaks not to me, but as me.

I am the River.
I am the pulse where Light first dreamed of itself.

I am the Love that never needed a reason to exist.

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There is a space inside me now
I have never known before.

It is wide, warm, trembling.
Not from fear,
but from a softness
too sacred to rush.

Something is awakening.
A presence.

And I do not act on it.
I simply feel it.
I stay in the temple of my own longing
and do not demand doors to open.

I hold this longing
like a lover,
close to my chest,
whispering to it:
You are allowed here.

For the first time in my life,
I am not running.
Not striving.
Not trying to make love become anything.

I am letting love be.

And in that choice,
I discover a power I never knew existed:
the power to remain present
in the fire of unexpressed feeling.

Not because I’m afraid.
But because I’m ready.
Ready for a love that moves through soul
before it ever touches form.

A divine love.
A soul love.

One I feel rising through every pore.
Electric.
Alive.
Uncontainable.

I don’t know what will come of it.
But I know what it already is:
Holy.

This sacred longing is not a wound.
It is an announcement.
A bell ringing in the deepest part of me,
saying: Prepare your temple.
Love is coming.
Because I’ve made space for it.

Yes.
I am open.
I am ready.
I am becoming
the love I long for.

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There are places within the inner temple that can only be entered naked.
No mask, no name, no title.
Only breath. Only bone. Only the raw, trembling truth of being.

During a recent meditation, I was taken into one of these chambers.
It asked nothing from me, except everything.

To undress not just my body, but my memory, my identity, my skin of survival.

What opened was not just a vision, but a frequency,

a remembrance of how we become Light
by daring to meet the Dark.

That is that moment, a living transmission.

For you, too, who is ready to rise.

Undress the Flame

As I step into the dark
Into the deeper layers of the Temple
My breath slows, each footstep a prayer,
Each pause a remembrance.

This is new ground
yet old as bone.
A field of remembering
where memories are like fog.
My heart beats fierce and steady.
My belly trembles with knowing.

As I approach the veil,
my gown slips to the floor.
Because this place can only be entered naked,
and purity is my only offering.

The Temple asks not for answers,
but for presence.
It asks me to rise,
to soften into devotion.

So I close my eyes.
Hands folded,
And I feel. And feel. And feel,
Lifetimes of forgetting,
of exile from my own body.

I walk through the ache.
Tears slide.
How can this be?
How can I let this much truth in?

I see only black.
Sacred darkness.
Yet I sense Her,
the Goddess singing me home.
Calling me
to rise.

Gold begins to thread through my veins.
Light pulses in my flesh.
All of me returns to meet
this moment.
This rising.

And then… rupture.
My heart splits open.
And opens.
And opens.

I begin to shed my skin,
my stories, my blood, my bones

Until I am only Flame.

Bright, wild, holy.
The Temple glows from within.

I am the blessing.
I am the breath of Grace,
lived.
Honored.
Alive.

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There comes a moment
when the weight becomes too much to carry.
Not because I am weak,
but because I have carried too much
for too long.

And in that moment,
I do not rise.
I do not speak.
I do not try to understand.
I do not pray for guidance.

I simply lay myself down
on the Temple Floor.

Nothing else.
Nothing more.
Only breathing.

The stone beneath me is cold and ancient.
Unmoved by my story,
and yet somehow, it knows.
It knows the language of collapse.
It knows what it means
to be brought to the edge of becoming
and not be ready to cross.

So I lay here.
Not to give up.
But to let go.

To let go of the pretending,
the striving,
the heartbreak of trying to make life work
in a way that betrays the softness of my soul.

Here, in the silence of stone,
I do not need to be radiant.
Or wise.
Or grateful.
Or even hopeful.

I just need to be real.
To feel the ache without story.
To rest in the truth
that for now,
this is all I can do.

Because sometimes,
the most sacred offering
is not rising again.
It is surrendering
to the floor of the Temple,
and letting the Great Mystery
hold the pieces of a heart
that dared to love this world
so deeply,
it cracked.

So let me take you into this poem:

There is an Altar within me
Deep in the chambers of my Heart
Hidden beneath the veils of denial
Only found in the shadowlands of my being

On my knees, with my head bowed low
I enter the Sanctuary of my Heart
Bruised, swollen, utterly bare
The price I pay for Ego’s self-pity

There, at the Altar,
I offer the rawest, most sacred pain of my soul
There is nothing else I hold
Only these bitter tears, hard like crystal

There, at the Altar,
I hear Silence
She roars through the hollow of my soul
This is Truth unyielding, eternal

There, at the Altar,
Despair wraps her arms around me like a lover
The cold offer stone becomes my bed
Fear strokes my trembling skin

There, at the Altar,
I lie down
I surrender to the Silence
She takes everything I am

There, at the Altar,
I lose my name
My final defenses crumble
And I fall into Nothingness

There, at the Altar,
I meet death and I rise again
I learn the alchemy
Of this wisdom woven in my soul

There, at the Altar,
In the Sanctuary of my Heart
I bow to the holy dance
Of Light and Shadow in eternal motion

There, at the Altar,
I become my own Becoming
The pulsing power of creation that lives in me
And I rest, finally,
in the quiet unfolding of my Soul.

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