Essays on lineage, the body, boundaries, and the sacred work of assembling yourself.
Before it ever strikes, the rattlesnake rattles. It gives you every chance. It would rather you leave than bleed. That is not weakness — it is the most sophisticated form of intelligence I have ever witnessed in a living creature.
The thirty birds crossed seven valleys — burning, surrendering, dissolving — to find a king who could make them whole. What they found instead changed everything.
You are not behind. You are not broken. You are standing at the threshold of something that requires not more healing — but the courage to receive what you have already found.
Long before I could explain what I was witnessing, my great grandmother put clay jars in my hands. She worked with sound in a language most of the women who came to her did not understand. And still — trauma left. This is what I inherited.
No, I cannot make you cluck like a chicken. No, I cannot meet you in a coffee shop and take over your mind with a snap of my fingers. Let me tell you what this actually is — and why the misconceptions are keeping you from the deepest work of your life.