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apparently they dont let journalists into heaven.

im not sure i want to be a snitch from the other side of the veil, the one who posts a photo from the top of a mountaintop. if you want to see the view from the top, endure the climb, savor the adventure. wear your scars proudly. but i can’t do it for you anymore. i just can’t.

the final edit of my book is ripping me apart. my editor laughed at me and said this is the fun polishing part most authors love, its curious as a writer you actually love the writing part. i’ve done the hardest part. but for me going back to the crime scene again and again is excruciating. am i retraumatizing myself? is this why it usually takes a nervous system decades to process before materializing a written account. i’m not necessarily writing a trauma memoir. i’m not. i am processing a profoundly unbearable human experience using the tools in front of me within a system of containers designed to allow me to fall apart while keeping the children who are very much alive safe and stable. a single mom with two boys full time. i have approximately four days a month to write. thats 96 hours of start at the beginning and by the 10th page my spine is locked. i locked the door to my own awakening by opening it for others.

the first ten pages hurt so bad i need to schedule a doctors appt for my pelvic floor therapist to literally hold me together as i read it outloud. at first i thought it was just me. i lived it, of course its triggering for me. and then i sent it to my sister audrina and her boyfriend michael. he’s a country singer, he’s been through some shit, that man knows grief and pain. he cried like a baby by page 2. through the tears he told me “this is so good." she said, you have to publish this. but i can’t finish it. i dont know why.

writers block after writing? its that editors block? whats happening here.

today i went down that rabbit hole. its because i am afraid. afraid to let go of the early narrative carved into my brains hardwiring. casey(me) is the invisible one. the ghost writer. the scaffolding. the one who sees the patterns and moves the pieces nobody else has the balls to move. but i do. i always do. without credit. as long as it gets done. mission complete. this is different. actually requires me to step into a very uncomfortable zone. visibility. to be witnessed. to allow strangers to walk in my shoes.

seeing as last week i received one of the most disgusting hate messages ever from a follower on instagram and fell apart. im not sure i am strong enough to be told those words. ive seen the rice experiment. words are powerful.

she attacked me by slandering my dead daughter. i do not support donald trump as a human being. i dont care that my mother kissed him on television when my family was on some reality show on vh1. guess what? i wasnt there. i refused to film with him. i flew home from new york. and that was BEFORE the scandals and headlines and presidental candidacy. I am glad he signed the executive order for ibogaine research. thats a big win for the women who were little girls and harmed by men like him. end of story. it doesnt just cure addiction and heal brain trauma.

i trigger people.

but i have accepted that i am sensitive and i feel it all and it makes me question everything.

this book will help people, i know that. the journal i created will help people. the company i am building is the scaffolding, so i dont have to hold it all together anymore. i realized i am building the container to hold myself so i can finally fall apart.

they would give you ice cream? tickle you, bribe you with candy or special treats.

maybe they told you to rub some dirt on it and walk it off, boys dont cry and neither do big girls. was this an inherited generational shittiness? im curious. how i respond to my own sadness surprised me. i punish her. i take her on long walks, i biohack her, i fix her chemically, i solve the problem, i feed her mushrooms. my sadness was embarassing, if i am sad i am “mopey” i am “eeyore” i am bringing down the vibes. so i learned to smile, to make people laugh. shove it down deeper where someday you will be called to the jungle to drink an ancient brew that will unleash the floodgates and every single moment you were sad and silenced or sent to your room which translated to you learning to self silence as regulation… it comes bubbling up lava-ly spilling over and touching everything in your perfectly organized and controlled life. oh sadness what have i done. love of mine someday you will die.

you would think having your child die would warrant a get out of pretending your sadness doesnt matter card. but it took me three years and countless coversations with God to discern just what that looks like. do i still cry at random appointments or when i am shopping at sephora. yes. i do. unashamedly. and i dont feel the need to explain why i am crying either. its none of your business actually sir. there was a server in the costa rica airport, i was sitting alone at a little table waiting for my flight and the tears wouldnt stop. i didnt want to leave. i had spent a week sitting with ayahuasca and being taken care of in the way of unconditional love. i was not scolded for jumping in the pool with all of my clothes on after breakfast and then showing up to class dripping wet, i was handed a warm towel and a cup of tea greeted with a smile. i felt free. everyone else in class had joined me. there is something very healing for your inner child to jump in a pool fully clothed with your friends. i had spent the week having deep conversations, dancing under the moonlit, purging my ancestral pride, journaling the mysteries of soul mates and the origin of time while deep in the medicine. bleeding while in ceremony is forbidden with certain shamans, i was afraid i was going to miss the chance to see sadie that week. but i was allowed to sit and i triggered the shaman. he scowled at me and i smiled at him as i danced around the moloka twirling my polarity biogemetry silk scarf, a gift from my london wizard friend. i was free, i was also the only one awake. all 40 others were still, peaceful and serene as i fanned my scarf over them shushing like a mother putting her babies to sleep. i was 5 cups deep, i wasnt trying to piss anyone off, my soul just needed to be a mother. anyways. i cried in the airport, i didnt want to leave. i felt like i finally found my real family. the unconditional love i had dreamed of my entire life. and the server with bright blue eyes looked at me sobbing and said may i give you a hug? and he held me in that little costa rican airport diner. and i stopped sobbing after a while he let go and smiled while speaking with conviction, you are very loved and protected on the other side. then he turned and came back with a pot of tea and heap of honey.

there is something about being seen like that. from a total stranger that makes you believe its going to be ok. and then you keep going. you show up in full vulnerable transparency. this is me. im leaning in all the way. the sacred container to fully be yourself is the most healing part of any plant medicine journey i have done. i have only ever gone alone, i wonder what that would look like? to have someone willing to meet themselves as deeply. to walk into their own shadow and say look what i found! and i would say wow youre so brave to hold that, and i would show them my shadow and they would hold it with reverence. that is the deepest form of love. sadness is a key to love then in a sense.

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functional freeze is not a pleasant state for a single mother to live. being thrust into survival by choice was an odd experience. when i say survive i confess my lack of productivity the nervous system locked in sacral spasm brings forth. my curious inner child wonders if the stove is hot everywhere or just where the spots i touched the first four times. is it still hot? is it always hot? what if its different this time? searching for patterns that the world might surprise her. intellectually my ignorance is a sacred teacher who never wears shoes and i love washing her feet while she tells me stories.

what is the purpose? i find that offensive. why must everything have a purpose? what if my purpose is to exist. struggling to find meaning as someone who has never felt understood is a journey in itself. to embody the abstract. i ask then, would you follow the rabbit down the rabbit hole if he never ran down it in the first place? would you assume there was a snake waiting? danger? who is the rabbit?

writing the story of her death. sadies death. i might as well be sorting shards of broken glass with bare hands, fascinated by how the light hits each piece differently. the cuts heal and i start again. our bodies do that without permission. i suppose that inner child is still wondering if the world might surprise her.

the spirit of depression speaks in an ancient language that sounds like truth but might be lies. she sits at my table wearing my daughters face and i cannot move or speak. just listen. the curious inner child wondering what is down that rabbit hole. the awareness. the gratitude for being frozen in place when the lies get too loud and the curious hands wants to find out if the stove is still hot.

naming the pain of being frozen in place as sacred protection. even ignorance knows, that one is always hot. and when the spirit of depression visits, know that existing is your purpose.

Consciousness expresses itself through three nested layers:

1. Lived Experience (Reception) – how consciousness enters the body.

2. Embodiment (Translation) – how consciousness moves through the body.

3. Theory (Projection) – how consciousness organizes reality through the body.

Each layer shapes and refines the field of awareness, translating invisible energy into visible form.

Think of this process as tuning, amplifying, and broadcasting the God-within frequency.

1. Lived Experience — Reception of the Signal

• Nature: Sensory, emotional, intuitive.

• Function: Receives raw data from the field — grief, love, tension, inspiration.

• Mechanism: The nervous system records vibrational imprints (memory, trauma, ecstasy).

• Shadow distortion: Over-identification with story (“this happened to me”).

• Evolutionary task: Presence — feeling fully without narrative.

Mantra: “Nothing that I feel is wrong; everything I feel is information.”

2. Embodiment — Translation of Frequency

• Nature: Somatic and behavioral.

• Function: Converts energy into motion, tone, posture, rhythm.

• Mechanism: Breath, movement, and awareness modulate the body’s electromagnetic field.

• Shadow distortion: Disconnection — numbing, performing, controlling.

• Evolutionary task: Integration — letting energy flow cleanly through the vessel.

Mantra: “My body is the antenna of the divine broadcast.”

3. Theory — Projection into Form

• Nature: Conceptual and symbolic.

• Function: Encodes lived truth into language, art, structure, systems.

• Mechanism: The prefrontal imagination translates frequency into narrative and design.

• Shadow distortion: Abstraction — thinking replaces being.

• Evolutionary task: Alignment — using theory as scaffolding for embodiment, not escape.

Mantra: “I speak what I have lived.”

4. The Projection Field — The Loop of Creation

All three layers form a feedback loop:

Imagination → Emotion → Vibration → Perception → Experience → Meaning → New Imagination

The outer world reflects the internal broadcast. When you clear static (fear, shame, unprocessed emotion), your perception upgrades, and the world reorganizes to match your new frequency.

Diagram idea:

        IMAGINATION (Source Signal)

                ↓

     EMOTION / LIVED EXPERIENCE (Reception)

                ↓

      BODY / EMBODIMENT (Translation)

                ↓

   MIND / THEORY (Projection Language)

                ↓

         FIELD OF AWARENESS (Manifestation)

                ↑

            FEEDBACK LOOP

5. Applications

• Healing: Trace any repeating pain pattern backward through the layers—what lived experience, embodiment habit, or theory sustains it?

• Creation: Begin every vision in imagination, anchor it somatically, and then give it language or form.

• Leadership: Teach others from embodiment, not abstraction. Words have authority only when the nervous system agrees with them.

6. Integrative Reflection

“To imagine is to seed;

to feel is to water;

to embody is to bloom;

to teach is to garden.”

The Sequencing Problem No One Talks About

I’ve watched people chase enlightenment like a chemical romance.

“Should I do ayahuasca, psilocybin, 5-MeO-DMT?”

Almost no one asks the question beneath it:

Am I ready for what it will show me?

Plant medicine can kill the ego.

It can reshape neural patterns in a single night that would take years of therapy to touch.

It can crack open dimensions of consciousness most people never access.

But it cannot do the work that must come before.

The Bypass Trap

The ego can die for a night and still run your life in the morning.

I’ve watched brilliant, spiritually hungry people rush toward plant medicine as if it’s the portal—the one thing that will finally break them free.

They do the ceremony. They see God. They weep. They come back convinced they’ve been rewired.

Six months later, they’re running the same programs.

Only now the narcissism wears cosmic robes.

The avoidance calls itself vibrational alignment.

The bypassing has mystical vocabulary.

Medicine didn’t fail them.

Sequence did.

They used plant medicine as a replacement for embodiment, not as an accelerant of work already in motion.

What Plant Medicine Actually Does

And it feels holy while it’s happening.

Plant medicine is a neurological disruptor.

It temporarily dissolves the default mode network—the part of your brain that maintains your sense of separate self, your story, your defenses.

When those structures dissolve, you can see beyond them.

You can feel what’s underneath.

You can touch dimensions of truth your ego could never allow.

This is not the same as integration.

Seeing the pattern is not the same as changing it.

Touching the truth is not the same as living it.

Killing the ego for four hours is not the same as building a self that doesn’t need those defenses.

Medicine gives you the experience.

But experience without capacity just becomes another story the ego uses to stay safe.

The People Who Need It Most

The people who need ego death most are the people least prepared to integrate it.

The defended. The traumatized. The dissociated.

The ones who live entirely in their heads because their bodies have never been safe.

They need the reset most desperately.

But without preparation, the medicine doesn’t liberate them—it floods them.

The light pours in faster than their bodies can translate it.

A nervous system that can’t regulate gets overwhelmed, not enlightened.

A psyche without relational safety experiences terror, not transcendence.

A body that hasn’t learned to feel gets retraumatized, not freed.

The medicine cracks them open—and there’s no one home to do the integrating.

What Must Come First

Before plant medicine can be sacred, the ground must be prepared.

1.

Somatic Literacy

– The language of sensation

Can you feel your body without immediately making it mean something?

If your relationship to sensation is conceptual, the ceremony will just give you visions you can’t translate.

2.

Emotional Capacity

– The ability to stay present in intensity

Can you be with anger, grief, or shame without collapsing or exploding?

The medicine shows those emotions at tenfold intensity.

3.

Embodied Practice

– Repetition that rewires

Do you have daily practices—breathwork, movement, authentic relating—that contradict your old patterns?

Without new grooves forming, the medicine only amplifies the old ones.

4.

Relational Safety

– Someone who can hold your becoming

Is there someone who can witness you clearly, call you on your patterns, and stay steady while you fall apart and rebuild?

The Sacred Sequence

This is the order creation follows inside the body.

First: Learn to feel. Develop somatic awareness. Practice staying when it’s uncomfortable. Stop fixing every sensation with story or substance.

Second: Build capacity. Train your nervous system to tolerate intensity. Sit with grief without giving it meaning. Feel anger without needing to discharge it. Locate yourself in the eye of your own storm.

Third: Establish practice. Move differently. Breathe differently. Relate differently. Create new neural pathways through repetition, not revelation.

Then: Medicine as accelerant. Now the plants can do what they’re meant to do—disrupt patterns already loosening, reveal what the body already knows, and provide the reset after rehearsal.

Finally: Integration through continued embodiment. The medicine doesn’t complete the work. It shows you what’s possible. Then you live it—daily, somatically, in relationship.

The Real Question

When someone asks, “Should I do plant medicine?” what I hear is:

Will this finally fix me without the slow, unglamorous work of living differently in my body?

And the answer is no.

Plant medicine will not replace:

• Learning to feel

• Sitting with discomfort

• Repairing attachment through relationship

• Building distress tolerance one breath at a time

It will accelerate that work if it’s already in motion.

It will short-circuit that work if you’re trying to skip steps.

What Theory Protects You From

Here’s the real tell:

If you can describe your patterns perfectly—name your attachment style, explain your trauma responses, articulate your shadows—but nothing changes in your actual behavior…

Your theory is a defense.

You’re using insight to stay safe from feeling.

Using spiritual language to avoid embodiment.

Using the map to avoid the territory.

Until you feel what the theory protects you from, insight is armor.

The Transmission

Plant medicine is not the beginning.

It’s not the shortcut.

It’s not the escape from the slow, humbling work of becoming human.

It’s the catalyst for work already in motion.

Used correctly—after preparation, with integration—it’s sacred technology.

Used as replacement, as bypass, as emergency exit—it’s just another way the ego pretends to die while reinforcing itself.

The Invitation

If you’re drawn to plant medicine, ask yourself:

• Can I feel my body right now?

• Can I sit with intensity without needing to fix it?

• Do I have embodied practices that contradict my default patterns?

• Do I have relationships that can hold me through transformation?

If the answer is no, that’s not failure. That’s the map.

Those are the thresholds calling for your attention first.

Do that work. Let it be slow. Let it be unsexy.

Show up in your body every single day and feel what you’ve been avoiding.

Then—when the ground is prepared, when the nervous system can hold it, when new grooves are already forming—

Then the medicine can do what it was always meant to do.

Kill the ego that no longer serves.

Reveal the patterns ready to dissolve.

Accelerate the work you’ve already begun.

Not before.

The medicine doesn’t replace the work.

The medicine honors the work.

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I was already on fire so i stepped in unafraid and ready for anything, welcoming death if that is what found me. fearless. the first gift.

I spent years chasing the eternal. my torodial field pulsing with cosmic energy meditating in vortexes, the stillness revealing a deep yearning to reconnect with source energy. unprocess…

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There is a moment in grief where you feel yourself disappear

not in the dramatic sense, not all at once, but slowly, in the smallest ways. You stop responding. You stop showing up in the way people expect you to. You watch yourself move through the world, still performing, still nodding, still existing, but not really there.

It is not death, but it is not life, either. It is something in-between.

At first, it feels wrong like you’ve lost yourself. Like you should be trying harder to hold on. But then you realize: you are not meant to hold on. This is the unbecoming. The undoing. The surrender to something deeper.

Maybe this is the moment you have been running from the place where the fire finally catches up, where there is no more room for illusion, where you finally see that your hands were never meant to carry everything.

And in that moment, when you stop grasping, when you let it all slip through your fingers, you begin to understand:

You were never disappearing. You were dissolving into something new.

A self that no longer needs to beg to be understood.

A self that no longer clings to what was lost.

A self that is not defined by suffering, but by the way they chose to rise from it.

This is the quiet alchemy of grief

the way it burns you clean, the way it strips you down to your essence.

And if you are in that place now, if you feel like you are losing yourself

know this:

You are not fading.

You are not broken.

You are transforming.

You are being invited into something truer, something freer.

Let it happen.

it is the echo of the divine calling itself home.

We yearn not just for someone to see us, but to behold us. To gaze into another’s eyes and recognize the same fire that flickers in our own soul. This longing isn’t weakness; it’s worship. The ache to be known is the ache to be remembered by love itself.

But what if that holy encounter begins within?

What if the soul we are seeking is the idea inside us

the strange, beautiful vision only we can see?

The one others don’t understand, the one we protect like a secret garden.

I fed it.

I worked with it.

I gave it my attention.

And in return, it became a sacred companion.

A mirror. A flame. A prayer answered in my own hands.

Because maybe love isn’t just found in another’s presence.

Maybe love is in the choosing

to keep showing up,

to hold the mystical ache like a lantern,

and to tend the divine spark only you were born to carry.

Beauty compels presence.

But love?

Love builds a home in the unseen.

There is a moment when the world you have clung to collapses.

Not all at once, but like a slow erosion, a tide pulling away what you thought was permanent.

You do not get what you want.

You get what you need.

That is the first and hardest lesson.

In my journeys with the medicine, I learned this not as an idea but as a law written into the bones of the earth.

You ask for healing, and are given grief.

You ask for love, and are given loneliness.

You ask for peace, and are given a storm that tears your name from your chest.

At first, it feels cruel.

You sit inside the wreckage wondering why the divine would answer a prayer with destruction.

Why the hands you held out in surrender were not filled with comfort, but with everything you feared most.

The medicine does not bargain.

It does not soothe the ego’s cry for control.

It burns what is false. It breaks what is hollow. It strips away what cannot stand in the presence of truth.

And you, if you are brave enough, allow it.

You surrender again and again, not because you are strong but because you are too tired to keep holding up the old scaffolding of who you thought you had to be.

In the beginning, you come to the altar asking to be healed.

You come asking to be made whole.

You come begging for the pain to be lifted, for the loneliness to end, for the ache to be undone.

But somewhere along the way, everything shifts.

You stop asking for it to be taken away, and you begin asking how to carry it with grace.

You stop pleading for an easier life, and start building an altar inside your chest where even your brokenness is welcomed.

You stop seeing yourself as a wound to be healed, and start seeing yourself as a sacred place where life touches itself and becomes aware.

One day, you realize you are no longer seeking the medicine.

You are no longer waiting for the teacher, the lover, the parent, the apology.

You are no longer searching for someone to complete the story you were too afraid to finish yourself.

One day, you look around and see that the garden has grown wild and full where the ashes once lay.

You see that the very places where you were cut open are now the places where light pours through.

You see that the loneliness you thought would kill you taught you how to sit with the whole world.

You see that the heartbreak you thought would undo you taught you how to stay.

And in that quiet seeing,

in that stillness so deep it feels like touching the first breath of creation,

you realize

you have become the medicine.

Not because you forced it.

Not because you finally became perfect.

Not because you found the right prayer or drank the right cup or walked the right path.

But because you stayed.

You stayed through the storm.

You stayed through the dying.

You stayed through the hollowing out of everything you thought you were.

You stayed long enough for the earth to remake you.

You stayed long enough to become what you once begged for.

And now, when someone else sits in the ruins of their life,

you do not rush to fix them.

You do not rush to carry them out.

You sit beside them in the ashes.

You place your hand over your own heart.

You let your presence say what words never could.

I have been here too.

I did not get what I wanted.

I got what I needed.

And it was enough.

You have become the medicine.

Unconditional love sounds boundless, infinite, without shape. But in practice, it has structure. It lives in patterns, archetypes, and unspoken laws that govern how men move through love.

These laws are not cages. They are truths I’ve witnessed in my grief, my lovers, my wounds, and my healing. When we understand them, we stop mistaking misalignment for love. We stop sacrificing ourselves at the altar of someone else’s authenticity. We learn what it means to love a man without losing ourselves.

⸻

Law One: Respect Before Love

For men, respect is the soil. Without it, love cannot root. A man may desire you, admire you, even stay with you but if he does not respect you, he will never feel devotion. Respect is not obedience. It is a deep bow to your essence: your intelligence, your boundaries, your no. When a man respects you, his love becomes steady. When he doesn’t, his love becomes conditional, transactional, or temporary.

⸻

Law Two: Attunement

Men need to feel they can win with you. Not in competition..but in closeness. When a man is capable of attunement, he notices your micro-expressions, your silences, your energy. He reaches for you before you even ask. This is not control; it is care.

When you’ve tasted attuned love, nothing else will ever feel like love again. Because anything less feels like you are mothering, begging, or teaching a man how to hold what is sacred in you.

⸻

Law Three: Vision and Direction

A man’s love is braided into his purpose. If he knows who he is and where he is going, he has space to bring you into his vision. If he is lost, his love will feel scattered.. sometimes intense, sometimes absent. Without direction, he may use you as a compass, mirror, or bandage.

A man with vision says: “I know where I’m going. Walk beside me.”

A man without it says: “I don’t know who I am. Show me.” One creates safety. The other creates chaos.

⸻

Law Four: Challenge and Expansion

Men secretly crave a partner who stretches them. Not through nagging or criticism, but through embodiment. A woman who lives her self-respect so fiercely that he must rise or fall away. He may resist. He may fight. But his soul is drawn to the fire of a woman who says, “I love you, but I will not shrink so you can stay small.”

In this way, women become initiators. The challenge is not punishment! it is invitation.

⸻

Law Five: Peace and Play

Men seek two medicines in love: rest and aliveness.

Rest: a place where he can exhale, collapse, be safe.

Aliveness: a place of play, spark, laughter, and desire.

If love is only drama, he will run to quiet corners. If love is only quiet, he will chase chaos to feel alive. The balance of peace and play is the gravitational pull that keeps him.

⸻

Law Six: Witnessing

Every man longs to be seen not just in strength, but in weakness. The moment a man feels safe to cry, to stumble, to lay down his armor and you don’t flinch he bonds in ways he can’t name. Many men never find this, and so they armor deeper.

Witnessing does not mean mothering. It means saying, “I see you in your power. I see you in your breaking. Both are you. Both are welcome.”

⸻

Law Seven: Sovereignty

A man who has not faced his shadows will project them onto you. His addictions, his rage, his jealousy, these will become your burdens. But a man who has wrestled his own darkness and made peace with it brings you something holy: wholeness.

This is where intimacy becomes divine. Not because he is perfect, but because he is integrated. He does not need you to carry what he has not faced.

⸻

The Thread: Authentic Love

Men function in love when they can respect, attune, expand, and rest inside a relationship without losing themselves. Women thrive when they can love without erasing their boundaries, their radiance, or their sovereignty.

Unconditional love is not blind devotion. It is love rooted in respect, attunement, vision, challenge, peace, witnessing, and sovereignty. Without these laws, love becomes survival. With them, love becomes ascension.

It is a convergence.

Of a Blood Moon lunar eclipse and the Ghost Festival.
Of personal endings and ancestral returns.
Of grief that has a name, and grief that has been wandering.

It is a night where everything hidden comes back to be witnessed.
And everything false must fall.

✨ The Blood Moon

The moon turns red.
A total lunar eclipse.
Earth casts her shadow fully over the moon,
and it bleeds.

In ancient traditions, this is not just an eclipse.
It is a portal.
A cosmic blade that severs karmic ties,
illuminates shadows,
and asks you to release what has already died inside you.

If you feel the ache tonight,
it is because you are attuned.
If your dreams have been strange,
or your chest feels heavy,
this is why.

💀 The Ghost Festival (Zhongyuan Jie)

The 15th day of the 7th lunar month in the Chinese calendar.
A sacred time when the gates of the underworld open
and the dead return.

Not just ancestors.
Not just the loved ones we’ve lost.
But also:

• The voices that were never heard.

• The women who were erased.

• The children who died unnamed.

• The parts of you that were buried to survive.

This is their night.
To be fed.
To be remembered.
To be set free.

We light candles.
We leave offerings.
We do not whistle after dark.
We do not swim in wild water.
We speak their names, or we sit in silence.

🔮 The Rare Convergence

For a Blood Moon and the Ghost Festival to fall on the same night is astronomically and mythically rare.
There is no historical record easily available.
No known memory of this alignment in living history.

This is a convergence without precedent.

An eclipse that burns the sky
while the underworld opens its gates.

This is not a night to perform.
This is a night to release.
To bow.
To cry.
To reclaim.

🧡 My Ritual

Last night, I ended a contract.
Not just on paper.
Energetically.
I reclaimed the name my soul chose at birth.
And everything shifted.

Tonight, I gather with women under the blood moon.
We will sing.
We will grieve.
We will speak to the ghosts.
We will remember who we are.

And who we refused to become.

⚠️ For Those Who Are Sensitive Tonight

• Don’t whistle after dark.

• Don’t stare into mirrors too long.

• Don’t swim in open water.

• Don’t ignore your intuition.

• Don’t make light of the dark.

Do light a candle.
Do say their name.
Do ask for forgiveness.
Do forgive yourself.
Do listen.

The portal is open.
The veil is thin.
And the dead are not here to haunt you.
They are here to be healed.

And maybe,
so are you.

Every year Sadie and I would rewatch the vampire diaries, something about that first episode, Bonnie finding out shes’s a witch, the rare astrological events where the veil is thin, it was like our tradition in getting ready for spooky season. It seems fitting that since she is on the otherside now we would create new traditions.

The temptation is to close, to say: “It would be easier to be alone.”
And sometimes it is.

But the ache beneath isn’t loneliness

it’s longing for resonance. For the kind of community where love doesn’t need translation. Where silence itself is enough. Where grief is witnessed without someone rushing to fix it. Where joy expands because another heart knows exactly how it feels.

This is the difference between expectation and expectancy.

Expectation is heavy. It says: “You must meet me here, in this exact way.”
It narrows possibility and breaks us when the world doesn’t deliver.

Expectancy is lighter. It whispers: “There are souls who live where I live. I am already walking toward them.”
It makes space for mystery, for timing, for the unseen weaving that community really is.

Expectation will shatter your heart.
Expectancy will keep it open.

And so maybe the path is this: hold your heart unarmored, but not unprotected. Protect it not with walls, but with reverence. Place it gently in the company of those who can carry silence as communion.

Because true community is not numbers. It is resonance.
It is the place where grief eases, love multiplies, and expectancy feels like prayer.

i am armed with a level of self awareness that would make 21 year old me blush.

it feels like there is a forcefield around me. nothing can move forward until i open the doors i am afraid to. the real work is in what you are avoiding.

i was not afraid of hell. i ran headfirst like a viking warrior with armor made of genetic codes and biogeometry, morbidly excited to possibly enter valhalla and see her again. i searched for her in every sound bath, in every plant medicine journey.

the healing part. the dissecting my brains map. peeling back the layers. i would happily face all of my demons and rock them to sleep, braid their hair and sing them lullabies.

today as i sat starting at my outline which has slowly but surely left a trail of scientific facts and data points in piles following the journey to raw vulnerable sacred pain.

slow down. really see that visual? like i started as an eskimo in 25 layers of protection and with every step i take forward into this process, this memoir writing process, i have had to shed another patagonia coat and then another and eventually thermals and then lingerie and now i am standing here bare naked shivering and trying to cover my scars with my bloody frozen shaking hands. but the scars are what hold the power to heal.. so i focus on my breathing and force myself to remove one finger at a time and then the palm and finally i am sobbing, exposed, all of me.

as i did my pages this morning i was dissapointed in myself for not being able to cry.

i used to cry all the time. non stop. and now its like i am afraid the structured tear water holds the last bits of my memories of her so i hoard them all. my precious. i feel one sneak out and i eat it. nope. mine. thats my medicine. im losing it.

i watch everyone around me move smoothly integrating the lessons of my pain into their own becoming, yet i still feel alone. stuck. here i am. still here. i have accepted the fact nobody is coming to save me. I also am aware I don’t want to be saved. will i always be here? which then begs the question, do i really want to leave this place? the sacred void of everything and nothing.

the people around me have been avoiding saying her name because theyre afraid it will cause an avalanche. the times i have laughed and told a story in her remembrance its almost like it is just so uncomfortable people smile but i feel their energy. they wince in pain. and it sends be back. so i talk about her to uber drivers like shes still alive and that feels safe for a minute.

everyone asks, what happened? in the first few months after her funerals i would make things up. i was so sick of people asking i lied. if they had the audacity to ask then be warned. shark attack was the one that made me laugh the hardest. she had a dark sense of humor, dry too. she wouldve loved it. and that was enough for me.

this is my in between. my space to breathe. to share. to brain dump. to unwind. its my digital glass of wine. to sip as i braid my demons hair and we chat about the fear of the unknown.

deeply energetically worshipped, but i never felt seen. he loved me. all of me. i never doubted that. we had children together, two beautiful boys. He raised my daughter. he did his best to create a container for my grief when her biological father was murdered. my life reads like a fucking trauma memoir. he hosted my first loves family during the funer…

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another time i brought fresh whipped cream made from my own breastmilk.

and then again i brought a soul mirror.

to sit at the kitchen table, drop into alpha and let me read your soul, reflecting back the parts of you that you are hiding from,

your fears, your blocks, your thoughts, i can unlock your power.

if you’re brave enough to face your shadows and egoic convictions formed in survival mode, your trauma is somatically cemented as truth. like little mafia boots.

how do you quantify that?

you don’t.

I cannot offer my gifts to everyone. but what i can do is show you how to unlock your own thru

to offer something of value in exchange for emails, for an upcoming launch of my new business. a business born from a journey my highest self surely chose to properly break me apart completely so that god could speak thru me. i dont have to do this. i dont have to post or write or share or build. i have paid my dues. i can go up the mountain and make a nice little cabin and sit by the fire and smoke a vanilla pipe and shoot cans and make friends with little trash pandas. i dont understand it sometimes, then i remember to forget. so i keep showing up, in pain, in sweatpants, in no makeup, in tears, in braces. i show up. because that is what i needed. someone to show up for me. no expectations just presence. so i want to create something that is what i needed in my darkest time and when i am done and i have handed it over to the collective, then i will ascend my mountain.

i am not going to tell you i have all the answers. i am just going to ask you to follow me. if you are human you are mortal and so is everyone you love, so maybe you dont need the key now but you will someday. that is something noone escapes. it is not fun to talk about, we want to live, we dont want to die. but honoring that we someday will die is what makes life taste so brilliant. its why after you attend a funeral you hug your wife a little tighter, you are more patient with your children. you get a glimpse into what is really important. and then youre swiftly moved back into survival mode and that fades until the next funeral. its just how we ebb and flow.

so i ponder. and the frequency of the curious is where i live.

telepathy.

it’s a hell of a drug.

“Teach me what I cannot see; if I have done wrong, I will not do so again.”
— Job 34:32

The most important lesson I have learned from my plant medicine journeys was about intention.

I know that is probably not what you were expecting, but this is my Substack so I am going to talk about it. Intention is one of the most powerful tools in existence.

It had onl…

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