Is Your Soul Dying?
I wrote the following post on August 15, 2016.
My sister asked me something about it this morning... I got suuuuuuper triggered... and it inspired today’s vlog of me sharing my actual practice of Sensual Energy Transmutation.
So. Freaking. Yummmmm. 😍
You can watch on YT or read below first. Either way. xo
I hope this takes you into the most potent energy experience evahhhhh.
Enjoy, Wild Ones. 🐾🌙
musings from august 2016
When I was a child, my mother told me she thought I'd be a journalist. Because I was such a natural writer.
I told her no. Not because I truly disagreed. But, rather, because I wanted it so desperately that I was afraid I could never be good enough to actually succeed at it.
And thus was the first time I denied my gift.
Growing up, I was told I was such a beautiful child. And at some level I would appreciate that others saw me that way...
And on another level, it would just remind me of when other kids would tell me I was too light-skinned or red-boned or my hair was too wild... Or when adults would tell me I wasn't really Black because I didn't want to eat ribs and chitterlings and tripe. (And then laugh at their own cleverness.)
And so I convinced myself that I was not, in fact, beautiful. That I was average and that even being average was enough to make people think that you were conceited and privileged.
And so I decided that maybe it was better to be ugly.... And broke.
I went to a Black church and a mostly white school. At school, I was too poor and Black. At church, I was too rich and "trying to be white".
And so I decided that it was probably safer to just not be seen as anything at all.
At some point, I decided I'd had enough of trying to stuff my soul down into a body that no longer even felt like a semblance of home.
I was tired and fed up of half-way trying to fit with my friends/family (whom I love/loved dearly) and half-way rebelling against fitting with anyone.
It's exhausting, you know. The trying. The fitting. The suffocating of soul.
And so I decided to wake up. To come home. To be reborn into ME.
And I was.
I stopped caring what other people thought. I no longer tried to fit. I gave up the ghost of an unfulfilled woman whose time had run her course.
I re-emerged into desire and pleasure and love and God and purpose and SEEING.
And then I decided to really begin writing again...
Funnily enough, I also started caring what other people thought about me again.
I started to immerse myself in what others were creating and how and where and with whom.
I began believing in other people's visions for my life over my own.
And I started suffocating all over again.
I tell you this because maybe you too have been trying to come home.
To your gifts and to your soul.
Maybe you have been trying to remember who you are as a woman.
And you too have found yourself falling down the slippery slope of comparison and self-doubt. Smothering your truth and beauty behind the safer veil of what someone else feels is best for you.
Spoiler alert: It won't end well.
I am a writer.
And yet I allowed myself to be consumed with coaching and coaches. Marketing and marketers. Gurus (and gurudom?).
But I am a writer.
I breath life through words.
Whether or not those words make sense to anyone other than me.
I am a writer.
And I am full when I write. And I am full when I immerse myself in other's writing (like Jennifer Pastiloff and James Altucher and Maya Angelou and Meghan Currie and Steven Pressfield and Paulo Coelho).
In the alchemical elixir of sorrow and joy and love dripped into being on page, written by hands I may never know.
I come home.
And you, my Love?
Who are you being? In your life? In your love? In your work? In your art?
Are you allowing yourself to live WITHIN the calling of your soul?
Or are you still pretending to be someone who wouldn't dare risk the possibility of being seen as the beautiful being of divinity that you truly are?
I do not have your answer.
I cannot save your soul.
I would not pretend to even know your pain.
But I do offer this:
I see you.
And I love you.
For the broken fragments of the person you have tried to forget... And for the exquisite and most sacred power that I know you have always been.
As the magnificent Sia (and George Michael) would say...
You have been loved.
Time is passing anyways, Darling. So why not just let yourself be free?
Loving you madly and deeply.
Here's to your Untaming™,
❤ N ❤