Photo / Perla de los Santos
*Dedicated to the Rieke Elementary School staff of magical beings and superheros.
I once had the privilege of bearing witness to the divine child in action every week when I was a part time dance teacher at a local elementary school.
It’s there that I led kids into a big, open space where they were allowed to coil their bodies around rhythm and explore the limitless menagerie of movement creatures that stalked their wild, wide imaginations.
The inhibition that fueled their wonder was something I revered. It allowed them to be risk taking. It allowed them to discover essential truths and ancient myths through the vehicle of their bodies.
We enjoyed a game, my students and I, that we came to refer to as the Tell Me A Story game. It was SIMPLE in concept and PROFOUND in practice.
I asked them to tell me a story about something specific, using no words, only movement. I put on music to accompany their exploration. I began with things like, “Tell me the story of planting a garden. Tell me the story of why the sun sets. Tell me the story of your favorite pet.”
They threw themselves head first into these exercises. They wanted nothing more than opportunities to tell stories kinesthetically.
We soon entered more complex and layered story scenarios. Things like, “Tell me the story of loneliness.”
One child went to the corner of the room, sat down and tilted his head toward the floor. Another child crawled on his hands and knees toward his friend and reached out for her. A third child laid down on the ground and looked up at the ceiling as if the ceiling were a universe of endless STARS.
It always quaked me - their willingness to tap into their own vulnerability and the collective vulnerability of their parents, their siblings, their teachers and the world. Kids perceive ALL the layers.
We then delved into magical story territory. Things like, “Tell me the story of when rainbow warriors ruled the earth and the moon was made of dolphins.”
It was abstract, yet they were always able to inhabit abstract places. They were not worried how other students did it. They were curious about the interpretations of their peers, but they didn’t look to their peers to set the template. They trusted their own imagination. They trusted their own creative instinct - limitlessly.
Why, as we grow, do we disconnect from the freedom of our inner child?
Why do we block the wisdom of our non-linear instincts?
Why do we stop harvesting the beauty of a flexible mind?
Because society values clear divisions between children and adults. Because we become wounded and afraid. Because we do not want to be rejected.
We ended with, “Tell me the story of how to save the planet.”
I asked this often when I taught. I asked this often because every time they danced the answer, I learned something new that gave me faith.
Here is where I’ll make a confession:
There are times when I disavow my sense of wonder and magic. There are times when I enter into a dark underworld in which everything appears hopelessly beyond salvation. I've stored these dancing moments with my students up and I reach for them when I am drowning in my own cynicism or despair.
Their saving-the-world-stories looked like:
One girl gathering a circle of her friends and linking hands.
A boy smoothing his palms over the ground with loving attention.
Two children jumping up and down as they faced each other and giggled.
A student cradling something invisible and humming softly.
Two kids slamming their bodies into the mat against the wall, over and over and over.
There is radical insight in courageous play.
Truths that elude our serious, adult examinations of the planet, they surface like sacred shadows on the water.
To access the medicine of magical thinking, we must forget everything that divides our world into yes and no, good and bad, this or that.
We must be exceedingly present and wondrously enraptured. We must be our first selves again.
Once we communed with deep sources of wisdom through the channels of our imagination.
Before the fear of rejection restrained us, we knew a great secret.
So let the movement speak and lean in close - a revolution is sounding.
Photo / Ryan McGuire
When you meet that Mean Girl…
you recoil fast. You remember being very young and feeling very hurt by the words of others because being the young member of a species armed with free will and verbosity is a rude awakening. It is one of the first slayers of innocence.
Next you put your defenses up. Fast. Remembering being little and young and afraid is no fun and it’s kind of embarrassing and you’d rather not stew on it, so you suit up with armor and call on Friend to lend an ear. Friend comes right over to hear how you’ve been wronged.
You are aghast, you are disgusted, you are outraged and you are righteous about that Mean Girl. You clink around in your armor and bat your heavy arms through the air.
“I won’t stand for this!” you shout. “Who does she think she is?!” you scream. “She doesn’t even know me! I’m not gonna let this happen! How dare she!”
You rant and rave and grumble. Your face is red and you’ve gotten hot as hell in all that armor, so you take it off for a minute. That’s when, in your moment of repose, you’re struck with a feeling of intense exhaustion. The exhaustion is vulnerable and vulnerable reminds you of being little and being little reminds you of when you learned that people can say shit and throw shit and sometimes the shit they say and throw has nothing to do with you, but it can wound you deeply, just the same. You quickly realize you’ve reverted to the young and the hurt, so you scout a different path. Your armor is on the other side of the room.
It’s time to throw yourself a pity party.
Your eyes get steely, distant and defeated. You say, with definitive cynicism, that Mean Girl is responsible for all your problems and your pain. You predict, with devastated finality, how Mean Girl will never leave you alone. She will continue to fuck with your peace. Mean Girl wins. You have no idea how to get her and her super aweful awefullness out of your life.
Game Fucking Over.
You stay at the pity party for awhile. It’s not exhausting, but it’s suffocating. It’s like a thick net that tightens slowly around your body and pinches the soft parts of your skin. It becomes hard to breathe or feel the breeze or see the light change from day to night.
You remember, while you’re squishing and scrunching, about your ally. Friend has been sitting there the whole time - listening. Friend listened while you stormed around, furious, in your armor. Friend held your hand while you burrowed in your net of pity and despair. And Friend didn’t go anywhere.
So you take a risk.
You go back to the little, scared you - the one who lost her innocence when she realized that cruelty is a part of humanity. You feel that feeling. You feel that whole feeling until it makes you cry. You acknowledge out loud to Friend the Sad and the Afraid. Then you picture little you in the place where you first felt cruelty and you look for Mean Girl.
She’s little too. You picture little you and you feel your innocence evaporate and you remember what it’s like to fear the world and you find Mean Girl there beside you, losing her innocence and fearing the world and feeling her sadness. You stand beside Mean Girl in that place and you do the thing that is the hardest. You look at Mean Girl and you see your sameness. You see the ways you both were wounded before you even met. You see the ways you both feel so sensitive that it can be absolutely paralyzing.
Then you claim the difference.
Mean Girl navigates her wound by trying to impact others and you navigate your wound by letting others impact you.
But it’s a circle - this empathy thing - and it always leads to the same center.
Mean Girl wouldn’t lash out if she didn’t feel impacted by the world around her. You and Mean Girl both let other people impact you.
This is the dance, you tell Friend and Friend agrees.
We are trying to find the sameness and also claim the difference. We are trying to understand ourselves based on who we don’t want to be like and who we do want to be like. We are trying to do this while simultaneously remembering that we are all alike at our core because we are all human at our core. We are trying to do this while simultaneously creating the necessary boundaries we need to take care of ourselves when that Mean Girl lashes out with her super awful awfulness.
There exists a lovely paradox. Simply because someone is acting from their wound doesn’t mean you have to take their shit and simply because they are throwing their shit at you, doesn’t mean you have to disregard their humanness.
When all the armor donning and the net weaving and the vulnerable plunging is over, you sit with Friend and you feel grateful. This is what we’ve been given to navigate the strange reality of humans being humans. We have been given each other. We have been given the opportunity for connection. We have been offered the cup of intimacy. And all we're really seeking, is the courage to drink deeply.
Photo / Greg Raines
We design worlds of rooftop conversation and tree limb lounging. Our backs press laughter into hardwoods as our fingers snake together.
We are bare feet and protection.
We listen to the same songs and cry over words that spear our hearts with lyrical arrows.
In high school, we call eight times in two hours because we forget one small sentence that must be placed in each other’s care.
I want to know everything about your day and you mine - not just the line up of activity and transition, but the feelings that flood each moment, the subtle perceptions that define your uniqueness, the illuminated seconds of epiphany that reveal you.
We light our souls on fire for each other. We understand the burn of love that can blaze between women - a complete and reckless dedication, a limitless understanding, a delicious adoration.
We are not romantic partners, but there is romance in the way we honor the world together. We are not sexual partners, but there is sensuality in the way I am open to your body - how I lean completely into you when I cry, wrap my hand around your elbow when I agree emphatically with what you are saying and wrestle realization into being through hours of patient conversation beside you.
We are bandit goddess warriors and giggling girls and brave priestess seekers. We are limitless as light patterns on wheat fields.
In our tender unknowing and careless conviction we co-create navigation rule books. We rock our rule books back and forth. We clutch them as we grow from babies to children to adults.
Then one day - breath caught on the phone at 35 - startled we proclaim,
“We know less now than we did. We know less now.”
And isn’t that something to celebrate?
Isn’t becoming humbled by humanness in the arms of your friend something to celebrate?
Taking apart every story you ever told, isn't that amazing?
It's like the last piece of clothing slipped off of hip bones.
It's like the belly of a berry, bleeding sweetness on your palm.
Photo / Dmitry Demidko
We were standing at the crosswalk, my friend and I, when she told me that someday she wanted to ball hard.
"I want to have the means to support the people I love and to buy new equipment for work and to live in a house with a giant projector so I can host bad ass movie nights. "
I nodded my head and echoed her sentiment.
We'd made it to the other side of the street, and were just turning the corner, when she referenced an acquanitance who had recently pissed her off with his oblivious disregard for other people's needs.
"I bet he's just a fucking rich kid," she said. "Selfish and unaware."
Now this caught my attention. It mirrored a demon I know well. It spoke to the way I desire abundance, yet associate abundance with a lack of humanity.
I believe it to be a sticky, largely unconscious problem. I have a hundred of my own judgments around craving financial prosperity. I have judgments even as I'm writing this blog.
A small voice in me is crying out, "You have NO right to speak about the desire for wealth. By most of the world's standards - you are wealthy. You have a community safety net. You would never end up homeless. You have a roof over your head and a full refrigerator. You have never felt lack for any of these things. You don't get to talk about money and you don't get to bemoan the lack of it and you don't get to manifest more of it."
Yet a larger part of me - the part I'm trying to claim with this writing - knows that feeling guilty for the impulse to enrich my well being does jack shit to help people in need. All it does is fill up useful space inside of me where clarity and intention and power could live. All it does is paralyze me with the weight of shame.
And then I stop facing things.
Like people in greater need.
Because facing people in greater need mirrors what I am not in great need of. And that triggers my shame. And my shame summons the wealth demon. And the wealth demon is a scary, seething beast.
I was sitting on a stoop with another friend of mine. This friend lives in Brazil and does not have a bank account. At different points in her life she has also not had food when she was hungry. It was only recently that she owned her first refrigerator.
I was busy expressing my web of guilty feelings - like how I hated knowing that when I went home I would have access to things she didn't. She cut me off mid-sentence and told me lovingly, yet firmly, that she didn't want my guilt.
"Your guilt doesn't change my poverty," she said. "I want you to be prosperous and do good things with your prosperity, just like I want me to be prosperous and I want to do good things with my prosperity. Stop pretending you don't want that."
I think about her words when I feel like I should hide my secret longing to ball hard.
I don't want to hide it.
I want to manifest it and I want to do good things with it.
I want to enrich my well being and the well being of people I love and the well being of people I've never met. I want to recreate my divisive relationship with money. I want to discard the ridiculous belief that being spiritually in tune and abundant-as-fuck are somehow mutually exclusive. I want to stop associating money with evil. Money, as my wise mama says, can be a means of loving distribution. I'll add that money can also be a means of oppression. Therefore, this human created resource called money, has a tremendous amount of power and power is not inherently wrong.
It's about how we use our power.
It's about what we use it for.
I want to plug into that power and use it as fuel for freedom, equality and well being. I want everyone to have the opportunity to plug into that power and channel it towards a more equitable and conscious reality. I want to join a clan of Money Warriors who are willing to tackle the wealth demon and shake off the paralysis of guilt.
It's time for wealth and heart to form a partnership.
It's time for money to express our humanity instead of oppress it.
It's time to ball. Hard.
When I was very young, my mother told me not to be afraid of shadows, because shadows contextualize light. My vocabulary was limited then, so she explained this profound gem of wisdom to me in a child friendly way.
She flipped the lamp on and off.
"See," she said, "it's the light that makes us see the shadow. Light and shadow need each other. They are pieces of the same puzzle."
As a nightmare prone kid, her words comforted me when I woke from dreams about monsters with empty eyes and bodies made of blades. I repeated her words in my head - the shadow needs the light - as I traced my gaze across the trickster flicker of my bedroom walls.
I consider my mother to be one of the wisest women I know, yet she holds her knowledge modestly. She's rooted in a way that allows her to deliver high minded truths as if she were telling you what she ate for breakfast. I'm grateful for her esoteric earthiness. It has helped me approach the width of my own emotions with both feet on the ground.
I have fewer nightmares now, but I think about my mother's words in my waking life. I find as an adult, that everyone wants to beat their shadow into non-existence. We are all trying to attain an illusory perfection - be it puritanical or new age spiritual - we aim to scrub ourselves clean of vulnerability and darkness so that we may finally rest. We aim to rid ourselves of weakness, and in doing so, we negate the vast ocean of our humanness.
I visualize that lamp switching on and off in my childhood home when I am feeling particularly self-critical. When I experience a tidal sea of feelings because I am alive and in relationship to other free-willed humans, I remind myself that shadow contextualizes light.
I don't want to amputate. I want to integrate.
I want to consciously fold my arms around my wholeness and anchor myself in empathic grace.
I want to allow all of me to exist.
I want to befriend the beasts within, so they don't lash out of me like a caged, forgotten animal.
I want to know them instead of fear them.
In knowing my own shadows, I want to better understand the shadows of the world, so I can turn on the light, again and again, until everything is illuminated.
Photo / Milada Vigerova
I dreamt about shame last night.
In the sweaty shine of sheet and twilight, I wrestled with twisted images of disdain and exclusion.
I'm not surprised my dreams were invaded with this particular brand of monster. For the last six months, I've been thinking a lot about shame.
This year, I left my marriage for another relationship. To be more specific about some of the nuances: this year, I left my marriage to one of the most amazing humans I know, with whom I was absolutely in love. I left to be with another man. I left because I felt a kind of deep knowing that cannot be encased in words. A kind of deep knowing that cannot be translated to anyone outside of the knower.
And the deep knowing said, here is your life partner and he is not the man you married.
There is no softer way to say it. There is no type of explaining that makes it more logical or acceptable.
I can tell you that my mind scrambled in the wake of my own sense of truth. It shook its head vehemently. It said NO to letting go of someone I love. It said NO to sacrificing a companionship I cherish on the altar of this so-called knowing.
It said, are you Fucking Crazy?! You are Not allowed to hurt someone you care this deeply about.
It said, are you Fucking Crazy?! You are Not allowed to leave a marriage, unless the marriage is not functioning or the partner is cruel and ill-suited for you.
It said - what's Wrong with You?! Marriage is about sticking it out, No Matter What. A community of treasured friends and family celebrated and supported your union. You will let everyone down.
You will alienate yourself by doing this. You will be misunderstood until the end of time.
Meanwhile my heart rocked back and forth like a scared child, whispering, I don't want to break.
And then the knowing - which I can only call my soul - it chanted without words. It fused all the disparate parts of me into one pulsing animal of sixth sense.
That sixth sense is what I chose to follow. I chose to follow it because I believe in that part of myself. I chose to follow it because I vowed to my former husband to grow truth with him. I followed it because even though this wasn't the truth I expected to grow - even though it is hard for people to view my divorce in this light - I wanted to honor the man I chose to marry with the truest truth that I discovered.
It's confusing and it's paradoxical and it's wildly charged for most everyone I know, but ignoring or disavowing that truth does nothing for his wholeness or for mine.
The human disposition is fickle. We have access to a limitless imagination, yet we are inclined to box up other people’s lives into a ‘this or that’ framework. We are inclined to decide who is bad and who is good - who is right and who is wrong. Because it makes the mind feel safe to have definitions, we create rule books of exclusion over and over again.
We exclude love.
If you left, you didn't love him.
We exclude change.
If your marriage ends, you failed.
We exclude connection.
I know what happened, I don't need to reach out to you and ask directly about your experience.
We exclude paradox.
This is true and that is false. This is more and that is less. This is better and that is worse.
Lately, I see paradox as the medicine for humanity.
Specifically, I see the ability to hold space for paradox - for coexisting view points, ways of being and truths - as the most important thing we can learn to do.
It is our secret super power.
In an earthly reality - where we are both human and spirit, mind and soul, heart and ego - constant oneness is not possible and neither is constant duality.
We have to be the thread that weaves between. We have to be the music that translates the threshold. We have to be the oneness and the two-ness.
So here is my paradox:
I miss my former husband in ways that shred me open. I grieve him everyday. He is one of my favorite people in the history of time.
The sadness that accompanies the choice I made to walk away will be with me forever.
I feel clarity in a wordless way that teaches me.
I feel happiness.
I feel strength.
I feel all these things swimming together.
It will never be one or the other.
At times, holding space for paradox is the hardest thing to do. I encounter my own judging, definition hungry mind, daily.
Discernment is important, but on it's own it is lethal. Discernment, without spacious empathy for the complexity of truth, is a weapon of limitation. It is the fuel for shame and shaming - which brings me back to the beginning.
I am dreaming shame out of my system. We are all dreaming shame out of our systems and it's hard fucking work. We humans have collaborated to create a consensus reality that encourages shame. We chartered an agreement to navigate the terrifying potential of our own power - to manage the wild truth that we are beings of change in a universe of change. Then we signed it and we passed it down to each new generation.
To live in accordance with the agreement means to be accepted. To live out of accordance with the agreement means to be excluded. The agreement speaks in terms of an us and a them, a hero and a villain, a success and a failure. The agreement does not allow two contradicting emotions to inhabit the same space for an extended period of time. The agreement says there is not enough room for everything or everyone or every part of the human experience, especially the parts that cause discomfort. The agreement makes you promise to never get too shameless.
If scarcity is our bread and butter, then one person’s liberation will surely starve the rest.
As the tightness in my chest eased this morning, as my dreaming state bled into waking, I laid in bed and formed a new agreement:
Being small and ashamed will not protect us or anyone we love.
We are meant to adore this planet with the scintillating abandon of our most activated creature-hearts.
We are here to dance with change and evolve.
We are meant to feel it all.
The deepest pain and the deepest pleasure.
We are here to call each other into the great work of being shamelessly human.
Because when there is all that extra space inside - the space where the shame used to live - our whole self rushes in and ignites.
And when we embody our whole self - our whole, delicious, joyful, shameless, love prone self - we alchemize the antidote to isolation. We forge the key to every prison. We rewrite the agreement.
Then one by one, we can stop trying to shrink.
Then one by one, we can feel worthy.
Then one by one, we can be free.
Photo / Annie Spratt
My soul asked my ego out on a date...
Believe me, no one was expecting it
They are like fire and water - some whispered
Well, opposites do attract - others argued
I just stood back and watched it all unfold
I never knew my soul could be such a charming romantic
I never knew my ego could be such a tender sweetheart
When my ego answered the door at 7 pm sharp,
my soul was holding two purple flowers (dashing move, I know) and this is what she said:
I have something to give you,
but first you need to stop running in circles, look me in the eyes and breathe
I want to pollinate your deepest potential,
but first you need to be here, right now,
even though the world feels impossibly heavy with heartache
This first flower is for your most vulnerable disposition
I am here to court your terror
I will shower your panic with loving attention
I will look inside the machinery of your making and learn all the circuits - spot the crossed wires and frayed edges and broken parts that never got replaced
I'll note the pristine strength and grit that helps you identify yourself in this wild human world
All the fiery proclamation
The intelligent discernment
and the sexy, powerful pride
because my dear, I notice
I will not try to repair
I will nod my head and widen my eyes
I will soften my voice and make my body into a shape like reverence
I will learn you - the tiny you - the wounded you
I will love you - for exactly where you are in this moment
And when I've memorized your pain
I will let it go
all of it
like a flurry of dandelion wishes
caught by the
My ego's jaw was on the floor, you can imagine, right?
When she finally pulled herself together, she asked my soul about the second flower
My soul held it out and grinned
This flower is for you to give to me, she said
My ego blushed, embarrassed that she hadn't come prepared
My soul wiped the blush off my ego's cheeks with one curving, shameless finger
Court me and life becomes less terror and more curiosity,
Fall in love with me, every day, and the world becomes less angering and more humbling,
Honor me and the universe introduces you to cooperative crowds of passion
who gather in spaces free of scarcity
who support one another to do the
I don't know if they stayed there at the door or walked into the night
I don't know if they kissed right then or waited til goodbye
I lost track of two versus one
of this or that
of then and now
The divided dissolved,
sudden as a birth cry
and it all turned purple petals tracing dances
Photo / Bao-Quan Nguyen
We must do the brave and vigilant work of loving ourself. The precious planet needs this humanitarian act and it needs it NOW.
This is a call to action.
Self love is often muddied by misunderstood words, like self centered and self absorbed. It is time to rewrite the cultural dictionary. I’m ready to propose new definitions.
Being self-centered allows us to center in ourself before we tend the needs of others. It allows us to meet their needs from a place of grounded nurturing versus martyrdom and resentment. When care taking vampires our own well being, it is less effective in bolstering the well being of others. Care taking that vampires our own well being is a double edged gift. We fool ourselves into believing it is noble. We collectively affirm the image of depleting loving - of sacrificial saintliness.
This is a cop out.
Figuring out how to love ourselves fiercely - how to be our own champion - how to fill our own gaps - how to be nourished and how to be well - this allows us to love others because we truly want to love them.
Not because we want them to love us back in a way that will fix us.
Not because we want to prove that we are good and kind and right.
Not because we expect something from them.
But because we simply love them and we simply love ourself and we are a self-generated entity of reciprocal loving energy.
Facing the demons of our own wounds and bearing witness to our reactive mind is a spiritual marathon.
There is something so seductive about self-criticism and martyrdom. There's is no way to short cut past our growth edges. The only way to shift is to experience our internal story and keep our hand loose. Do not grip. Let the the emotional body have motion. Motion moves through us and eventually moves on. When we grip onto our wounds and our feelings and our fears so tightly that they cannot wash through us, then our wounds and our fears cement again and again into our identity. We begin loving with passive aggressive tendencies. We begin blaming and cowering and clawing. We begin believing that no one is ever enough because we have latched onto the identity that we will never be enough.
The healing potential of love is diminished when we shirk the task of true self-adoration.
Narcissism is not self-adoration. Narcissism is self-loathing misplaced and projected onto others. It is a relinquishment of responsibility for one’s actions. It is a dried up well, a shattered mirror, a desperate need for approval.
Learning how to adore ourself - in all our intricacy and pain and power - will only lead to expanding compassion, widening stores of energy and a delicious, unfettered love for others.
When we stop trying to make people responsible for our own pain, the profound pleasure and growth available at the core of all relationship, opens to us like the belly of a well-fed flower .
I don't know about you, but I am tired of turning away from myself. Literally - physically - tired.
I am ready to redeem the value of self-love, so that it can better serve the whole.
So that we can be free enough and real enough and loved enough to rain healing heartfulness down on this parched and precious earth.
Photo / Redd Angelo
The little girl in me still seeks her reflection in fairy tales. She hopes for a happily ever after. She craves a princess persona that will satisfy the comfort of others and provide a safe place to live within the kingdom of consensus reality. But alas - the little girl I was grew up to be a witch. The tender type of witch bitch who manifests feral feminine divinity. Who hunts the misconception of the wild woman and forages forgiveness. Who uses the words bitch and tender in the same breath and knows that paradox is medicine. Who reminds me often of a sharp edged truth: the work of being human is ongoing. There is no happily ever after.
Let me be clear, she’s not a pessimist, but she’s wise to the myth of forever joy. Forever joy is static and the human condition is not. Forever joy is a shallow state where the evolution of the soul is neglected. So if there is no forever joy, I ask her, do I submit to forever struggle?
She laughs at my divided mind.
Believing in forever struggle satiates the shame self’s desire for punishment, she chants.
Believing in forever struggle recycles original sin and original sin is the oppressive belief that has suffocated our perfect, prayerful wildness.
Our perfect prayerful wildness can be intimidating. It’s not always comfortable.
It won’t hold still.
It is an undulating entity.
It bows down in reverence and stands up in fear.
It is ever-changing and shape shifting.
It cannot play by the rules because the rules reform constantly to support the evolution of wholeness.
We all want to find the answer or the playbook that will make the unpredictable plight of being mortal and free-willed less terrifying. I often crave an antidote for the anxiety of existence.
The witch bitch - who has been marginalized and martyred - the secret crone who returned Snow White back to her dreaming body - she smiles an ancient grin and looks at me with bold galaxy eyes.
The only thing that eases the anxiety of the human condition is to make yourself vulnerable until you make yourself strong.
Love yourself persistently as you grapple with the pain of not knowing how or when you will die.
Be present in every moment that you are not dying because reality is just that - a series of present moments and time is a grand illusion and a moment is a circle and a circle is infinity.
I nod my head and ask her to stay close.
I'm not there yet, but I’m roaming round’ her cauldron.
I’m learning how to alchemize my demons.
I’m preparing to cast spells of liberation.
I'm writing the new fairy tale.