You Said You Were For The Wilds

You said you were 'bout that revolutionary, legacy-making life.

But when you were offered an invitation into the oracular untaming of your Refugee Soul…

You denied it.

You asked it to get right back.

At a more opportune time.

In a more acceptable way.

You pleaded with it to come through with more ease.

But then when it laid itself bare at your feet…

You retracted.

You doubted.

And you looked the other way.

Because what could possibly be that easy?

That's just not how things go for you.

That's just not how the world works.

Except… hmmmm… wait a minute…

That's not quite right, is it?

That doesn't feel quite true, now does it?

But the semblance of the thought of the belief of the words have presented themselves for preening {and pruning}.

And so oblige we must.

{Ok, of course, we musn't must. But we are here. And the portal is opened. And so we shall.}

Now, where were we? Ah yes.

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In your quest to get ready, you forgot to stay ready.

And in this forgetting, you began to find yourself… wanting.

Which allowed all the traumas and dramas and constructs to lay {and reinforce} sticky, quagmiric tracks throughout your body once again.

And so you began to see behind the coveted veil, into an unseeming malaise of all that you have left unsaid.

All that you have left un-created.

And all that you have left unmet.

Because, if you HAD in fact met yourself in the totality of yourself, you would have also already BEEN living into {and as} the inevitable and post-calibratory actualization of your own truth.

You would have laid YOURSELF bare, rather than waiting for the magic to show up and do its thing for you.

Well, shit, right?

Because in this attenuation of your own severed attention on yourself AS the magic…

You have inadvertently slipped back into the falsified belief that you were ever anything other THAN the magic…

And that the magic was ever anything other than the primordial and evocative expressing of the You.

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An Amplified Cacophony Of Who We Might Have Been… If We Ever Fully Allowed Ourselves To Become

One fear I hear over and over again, from creators and healers and messengers all around the world, is that they will die with their music still inside of them.

That they will… when it's all said and done… NOT, in fact, have gone all in on the one thing they came here to do…

Which was to simply be their everything.

Meaning:

We came here to unleash and surrender and orgasm and fuck ourselves home.

Back into the sacred and glorious reintegration of formlessness and form.

Back down down down into the erotic psyche and cosmic audacity born into the multidimensional mystery of who and what and that which we could never NOT be.

It makes noise, you see.

It signals.

…The calling that rips and rends its way through our waking and dream consciousness.

…The howling that has taken up root inside our throat and insists on subvocalizing the Wilds across our tongue whenever we forget who we are, even for a moment, and attempt to speak to ANYTHING born of our encoded ideations and mores of who we were "supposed" to be.

…The moaning that reverberates deeper than our spine… so deep we can feel the ley lines of ancestral remembrance dancing across the star-dusted and salacious soliloquies that wrote themselves into our cells before our cells even knew themselves as existence.

But, Really… It Can All Get Fucked

The magic? The signals? The noise?

Nope. {Of course not.}

The fears, though.

Yeah. They can get bent.

As can the doubts that you were ever anything other than your everything.

And as can the mother fuckin' and thrice-damned UNCERTAINTY that you ever had to make the magic dance in order to "get" somewhere… in order to one day, someday, be worthy and deserving of your own damn SELF.

Yeah. Those can get allllll the way bent.

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Surrendering Into Simplicity Over Sacrifice

This is one of those moments, you know?

A kairotic excavation of life making itself known to you in the instantaneous now.

Where you are called back into an orgasmic flow state of consciousness and presencing into each and every area of who you know yourself to be…

As you release the death grip on your pleasure and beingness that you've held for so long, that you almost forgot you were still holding on.

And as you allow yourself to let go of the exhaustion that somehow, somewhere, became your "norm"… you effortlessly create the spaciousness and fertile momentum that expand your capacity to free fall back down into your everything.

Ah, and also?

This is where you take another look.

At the internal and external habitats that have formed your daily environment and inhibited ideations of your own desire…

At the hypervigilance that's been masquerading as the holy…

And at the no sum game and seemingly never-ending war you waged upon yourself before you even knew you were in a fight.

It is from this quantum vantage point and re-articulated seeing, where you stop boxing yourself into half truths and cobwebbed corners of a life less lived…

Where you disintegrate the trappings to which you {more than once} bound yourself because you had {yet again} overextended yourself into areas and projects you don't give a damn about {and never did}.

It is also here that you, instead, come to see and understand that these distractible desiccations only serve to leave you feeling like you're on empty, with nothing left to give to the things that matter most.

And, it is within this decision point that you surrender into the deepest and most potent regenerative innervation of your body, breath, blood, and bones that you have ever known.

…Simply by allowing yourself to live into the full, embodied evocation of the magic and majesty born unto you.

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An Incendiary Inciting Of Intimacy And Becoming

An inquiry for you:

Where have you been fighting it?

The exquisite deepening, awakening, and longing that carve themselves beneath your rib cage each night…

Where have you fought them to the edge of death, so that you wouldn't have to try and find your way home?

Ah, one more:

When did you last offer your conscious witnessing to the rusted holding cell where you first locked away your magic, creativity, voice, and soul?

Let it land.

Let it marinate.

Because these are the portals that offer up the scent of the Wilds.

These are the waypoints where pussy is the medicine.

And where you remember yourself in the hallowed spaces between who you told yourself you couldn't be… and the primordial warrior goddess you also always knew you couldn't not become.

Ah, we see, we see.

But what of the ramshackle REVOLT that has been making itself known? That has been carving rivulets of oceanic fire below your skin? What of THAT?

Well, it's here to give you pause.

To beckon and beseech you to hold your awareness around who you have forgotten yourself to be, in your quest to become that which you always were.

It is the darkness made manifest as fertile stomping grounds, upon which you are being invited to choose yourself {and your experiencing of yourself} once more.

And within which you are being invited to lean into the congruent unfolding and dissolution of your gilded shackles… as you navigate and orient yourself home.

When You Finally Just Stop Questioning It

At some point… perhaps at this imprecise waypoint at which we now find ourselves…

You will remember that you never HAD to draw your line in the sand on who you say that you are…

Just as you never HAD to then hold that line in ritualized actualization of who the fuck you know that you are.

Nope. It was always a choice.

It was always only an eventuated certainty of your magic coalescing into its fullest, most erotic form as you.

This agency… this choosing of your own agency… has simply been a portal through which you get to belong in your own damn life.

Through which you get to remember yourself AS home… as never having LEFT home… and as never ever evvvveeeerrrr having existed anywhere other THAN home.

And it is also at this sanctified waypoint that we begin to drop deeper still, moving beyond trust into the embodied wisdoming born only of the Creator.

And it is here we cease to question whether or not the magic will be there for us…

Or whether or not the muse will show up for us.

We simply KNOW.

As we have always known.

And as soon as we turn our attention to the stillness…

The very breath upon which we submerge ourselves into the devotional ecstasy of the quantum and the void…

We see it.

We see ourselves.

And we let go.

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Inhabiting The Subterrestrial Residence In The Underworld Of Your Soul

What have you only admitted to yourself in the dark of night, when no one else could hear you or bear witness to your longing?

It is likely a hallowed {and often hollowed} haunting of the sacred and the damned…

A cold sweat invoking space of "almost"…

One that leaves you feeling wrung out and wrought, about all the things you've pretended and wished and tried to be.

But what if you could simply begin living as the sensate non-attachment of whatever temporal travesty to which you have been giving yourself over?

How would you allow yourself to then begin experiencing and knowing your own expression and truth?

And, what might become possible through you when you finally say yes and give yourself over, instead, to the shadow-walking and moon-stalking revelry that is desiring to be made manifest as the undiluted and embodied reverence of your everything?

This is where you begin edging your capacity to hold the Wilds…

And this is also where you give yourself permission to grow roots.

Here. Now.

In this humaning sojourn through conceptualized time and psychic space.

You come alive…

And you become the earthen and intoxicating evocation of divinity, living its best fucking life as you.

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Bypassing The Masticated & Membranous Layers Of Conditioned Thought & Identity

Trying to think ourselves into our freedom and magic lends itself to nothing more than an idiosyncratic ideation of who we might have been.

Where we trick ourselves into allllmost believing that we are merely a proffered simulacrum of someone who kinda sorta maybe one day could've looked like magic.

{Fucccckkkkk.}

And so we offer invitation to The Ones Who Once Were Wild… {and will be again}.

This is a clarion call to arms…

A portal potentiate within which you will have the support and spaciousness to remember how to spread your thighs and osmotically re-encode your entire beingness through your ongoing {and immutable} somatic untaming.

This is, if you will, nothing more {and nothing less} than a cosmic conservatory of window panes that offer us a lens beyond and beneath the crossroads of what we were told was possible for us.

And, yes yes yessss, this is where we gather in aetheric and anthropological identity tracking across the lens of your creativity and the revolution that rides your bones.

Are you one of us?

Let’s Get Wild…

Cauldron ⋕1

➤ Initiating The Primal & The Profane

A time{less} exploration into the imprinted beliefs and identities that lead us to repeat and reinforce the habituated patterns that simultaneously take us out of our magic and into our doubt and fears

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Cauldron ⋕2

➤ Pussy Intoxication & Oracular Somatics

My own elixir of primal practices and rituals that will allow you to actively cultivate an embodied knowing of what it feels like to fully embrace and live as your magic, with deep relaxation and integration of your energy body {I will lay this bare for you in a way I have NEVER done before now}

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Cauldron ⋕3

➤ Upgrading Beyond The Crossroads

A quantum collapsing and transcending past the point where you usually pull out 😏 and stop your pleasure and orgasmic potentiality from fully “cumming” into form

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Areas of Fecundity & Initiation

➤ Quantum Business Energetics

➤ Pussy Magicking Into The Real

➤ Body As Temple

➤ Evocation Of The Formlessness

➤ Consciousness Re-Encoding

➤ Creative Expression As The Whole

➤ Accessing & Liberating Your Intrinsic Genius

➤ Flow State, Simplicity, & Ease Of Being

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This is a fluid and cosmic immersion through the Wilds.

As such, the medicine may unfold as above… or it may snake its magic through us in another way entirely. Ours is to simply show up {and come through} for the aetheric liquidity of these times.

➳ Primal {Pre}Calibration Medicine: Smoke & Mirrors {A Transmutational Tracking Of The Identities And Woundings Through Which You Have Been Unconsciously Leaking Your Power, Creative, And Voice}

➳ The Fertile Dark (A Wild Nectar™ Ceremony)

➳ Dark Eros Tantric Trance (A Wild Nectar™ Ceremony)

➳ Pussy Presencing The Business Of Soul