Blessings for the new moon and lunar new year in Aquarius! I’m offering a free defiant meditation and writing class-Thursday at 10am PST. Join us here.

And! listen to this new episode of Mother of theSword with our friend and Body Temple Community member Sydney Paige - who was just on our Goddess Pilgrimage in India. We are celebrating them for taking this intense and wild journey with us! S/o to our sibling Jeff from Cosmic Cousins for the support putting this episode together!

“I don’t write poetry that has punchlines. I write poetry that breaks your heart. Poetry that asks you to feel the pain because the only way out is through and you only heal the pain you feel. My poetry begs you, to heal.” @scar_poetry

Surrender is necessary and also what triggers us the most. So how about we just, actually, stop trying to surrender. Pisces is also, the void, the Sacred Unknown. So what if you don't even know that you "need to surrender?" What then?

What happens next? What do you notice? What is its more of a natural process than religion and its abusive tendencies taught to believe. What if it's yes painful, but also way more fun to be alive than numb and in service to systems we don't believe in?

Don’t let the way the oppressor lives in your body—those signals of stress, anxiety, despair, and hopelessness—win. Yes, you must feel it to heal it, but you also must rise up and prove that bitch wrong by choosing something else. Do NOT consent to the systems of domination and control that you never had a say in. Do NOT consent to the lie that death is the end, or allow any pattern of control to keep you from being your truest self.

If you’ve been in that place of deep wound before, let yourself climb out of that hole faster than you did last time. That is progress, and only you can claim the truth of it within. No words, no teachings, no external wisdom can do that inner alchemy for you. The fear is offering you pieces of yourself to love—that’s its gift. Boundaries = Love. Don’t forget this.

Do not surrender to the systems inside that seek to manipulate and silence your soul. Awakening is not about grasping or forcing the way; it’s about unraveling and unlearning the behaviors that harm us, that stand in the way of love. It may feel like the death of parts of you that have only ever known a certain pattern or story. But so what? Did you not come here to learn how to dance with the dead?

You’ve felt it before, perhaps in a heartbreak, or in the death of a parent, or in the sudden, unexpected loss. These weren’t just tragic events—they were invitations. But that choice, that courage, is yours alone to make.

With the dark goddess who pulls us into her endless embrace—who exiles nothing, who holds everything—you can’t fake it. You must dive deeper, until you meet Her Love face to face. There is no blind faith here, only the love of a community that carries us from shame into the next layers of soul we were born to create.

As Venus revels in Pisces for a few more days, we tap into our power of sacred sexuality. Our abandonment wound is soothed by us reclaiming the oracular arts in relationship to our love, to our body and beyond. To honor our inner knowing that love and sex, is deeply, and wildly spiritual.

Our hearts break open when we learn to stop ignoring the paradoxes. We are never, and always, alone. We will die alone and surrounded by all those who walked before. We will love in ways that hurts but we came to learn what and who we came to be. We are already free, we just forgot.

My Prayers Are Not My Own

My prayers are screaming women—eyes bulged, unafraid of your mind.Hot tears streak soft cheeks,gut moans, throat wails,hair pulled, souls ignited bya consensual spanking–

return to aliveness.

These prayers are not for me;they are for innocence,for relief from insanity—the torture, the ignorance,the hopelessness that clenchesus together in her teeth.

War crimes in Palestine,tell me the truth you see.

This ache bears no requirements,leans toward the lovethat sustains, remains.Oh, these dark times—the crackling and cackling of a heartneeds no degree, no certification,no perfect offering.

To gather with others who ache,who create in the face of murder,who dream of other endings:to genocide, ecocide, femicide.

She, who rages blind,knows release is love—that numbness; a non-negotiableinvitation into now.

My prayers are not my own.

“Do not staywhere the oppressors want us!”she screams into a mic,still receptive to love.

We lay down,we wrestle,we push back,we pull it together untilthere is nothing left.

And when there is nothing left,anciently exhausted,we weep like treesand rememberhow deeply we have always received–

life.

We turn all the way aroundto face new Gods—the ones who welcome change.

She who lives wild,as Rumi says,“as fierce as the lion and tender as the evening star.”They who know hate,but choose love.

These colonial, capitalistic conditionsare not done.The possession of fear persists.Shame on this worldfor not protecting innocence.Shame on usfor dying so slowly.

Can we sit in the distance between us?Be with the ache?Take shame back to the church,leave it on their altar?

Can you stop consumingfor the sake of creating—in a world that asks you to turntoward beauty and sadness alike,to truly live?

The soul descends.

If your lonely hearthas nowhere to turn,let it turn inside itself,until pain grows so largethe conditioning bursts—into a flood, into a billion suns,ringing the bellsthat sing, "you have never been alone."

And though we all hurt,some humansare here to help.

My prayers are not my own.

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