Dusting off the rust, wagon tracks, and waymaking with God
Welcome to the unfolding…
Sometimes it feels hard.
To be who you know you are.
To be who you always and already KNEW you were.
And sometimes we forget.
To be.
We forget that what we know and see and feel inside us is true.
That we ourselves are true.
That we are nothing if not Divine Truth being made manifest in and as this moment.
But, we forget.
And then we forget some more.
And in this forgetting, we tend to go a bit… off the rails.
Of our sanity?
Perhaps.
Of our own magic and knowing?
Absolutely.
There’s a song, Rocks In My Bed, by Duke Ellington, covered by Ella Fitzgerald.
And there’s this one lyric that’s stuck with me for decades:
“She's lower than a snake down in a wagon track”Phew, chiiiiile!!!
And that’s how it can feel, you know?
When we’re disrespecting the magic and medicine born to us?
We feel like we ourselves are lower than that snake.
As if we ourselves have put the rocks in our own bed.
We can’t sleep.
We toss and turn.
We wake up in raw existential angst.
Because what the fuck are we DOING?
Or, perhaps more so, what are we NOT doing?
How are we not showing up to life?
How are we not allowing life to show up to, for, and as us?
Where are we denying and vilifying the message and movement we know is ours to speak over the world?
But, then…
Where do we go from here?
When we’re already in the wagon track.
How do we get back up, when it feels like “up” is so far away that we can’t even seem to ascend high enough to reach dirt?
We give it all up.
We give it all over.
We stop trying to think our way through.
We surrender to the interoceptive waymaking of God Manifest.
We stop trying to claw our way to the surface and, instead, we free fall into the void once more.
We remember ourselves on the way down.
We reveal ourselves unto ourselves on the way through.
We come home.
Yeah.
We come HOME.
Even when it feels like the security of our physical home has been stolen from us and our ancestors.
We come back to the home that can never be stolen.
As always…
Here’s to your untaming,
N
P.S.:
The Erotic Abolitionism™ Experience is officially open and we are kicking things off with some dope af medicine, if I do say so myself, which I of course DO.
Technically, we started last month, but then it was back to emergency hospital family stuff and I needed to take a pause from inviting you into this space with me.
Because invitations are energetic devotion.
And I wanted to be able to be fully in that devotion with you.
But, it’s time.
No matter what.
It’s BEEN time.
And I’m remembering how to Be again.
I’m remembering how to amp up the energy for the madness and mayhem of soul again.
I’m remembering how to light a fire under your gorgeous ass and catalyze the fuck out of your own remembrance and amping.
Again.
Now, did I ever actually forget?
Of course not.
But, one of the not-so-told aspects of this whole soul medicine path thang thang is, in fact, the practice and experience of remembering ourselves.
And so.
Here we are.
Where I’m just an Erotic Muse.
Standing in front of my melanated Soul Refugees.
Inviting you into what will be my greatest body of work ever.
P.P.S.:
I’ve lowered the investment.
Because I was holding onto what the EAE was, rather than allowing it to unfold as what it now is.
Next week, I’ll be going more into this process of evolution within the business of soul, on our members only podcast- The Refuge.