Bareback & No Saddle On The Fire Horse

My dissertation.

I know a dissertation is meant to come at the end of study, the moment a person demonstrates they can produce knowledge rather than repeat it. Mine was not written in a university. It was written in experience, across years of testing, dismantling illusion, and learning through consequence.

Life became the research field, the body the laboratory, relationship the method, and truth the only acceptable result.

Where academia asks for citations, existence required embodiment. Every lesson had to hold under pressure, every understanding had to function in reality, not just theory. In that sense, the doctorate was conferred by coherence itself, a PhD earned through participation in & with life rather than only observation of it.

2025 marked the completion of a nine year cycle and the beginning of a new one. Most are saying the new cycle begins with a 1 year, but in fact it is a 10 year. You see, 2026 equals ten & ten is a binary code.

This matters more than most people realize.

As we just crossed the Equinox, the year of the Snake is complete and we officially enter the new year of the Fire Horse. This majestic creature arrives on a ten year, which means we are not entering a naive beginning, we are entering a cycle of conscious co creation, and most importantly with Source. A collaboration with the divine, not simply out there, but your divinity as well.

The number one speaks to new beginnings, but the zero is not empty. The zero is everything, literally it is infinity & in this case represents source. When the one stands beside the zero, it is no longer about initiation alone, like we have experienced over the last 9 years, it is about collaboration with the divine. It is about co-creation that knows where it comes from and takes responsibility for what it brings into form.

When we pair this with the Fire Horse era, the picture sharpens. Fire becomes the dominant element for the next cycle.

What is fire? It is one of the purest things in our universe. On earth it acts as a catalyst. A force of alchemy that changes the nature of whatever it touches. Fire is passion. Fire is heart and truth. Fire is spiritual force that does not negotiate with illusion or accommodate what is false. It reveals by consuming. It clarifies by burning away what cannot endure.

In the cycle of the Fire Horse, we are being asked to move from the heart, as courage. We are being asked to allow sacred will to guide our choices rather than fear, strategy, or survival conditioning. This is the kind of movement that requires trust in the unseen and responsibility for what we ignite.

But every light carries a shadow, and fire is no exception. Fire can illuminate, and fire can destroy. It is not easily contained as it spreads fiercely consuming everything in its path. Fire can warm, and fire can rage. Untended, it becomes chaos. Unconscious, it scorches indiscriminately. If we ride the horse too long, we will burn out.

This next cycle we are moving into will not reward intensity without wisdom.

We are being asked to trust fire by working with it.

How to be the wind that moves it with intention rather than feeding it recklessly.

How to be the water that knows when to intervene, when to cool, when to contain. How to tend the fire rather than worship it. How to keep the embers alive so they can heat the future without burning the house down.

This will be the initiation of the era ahead. Power with mastery, in a devotion that knows how to hold flame in service to life.

And honestly, what I see the most is that we are bluntly moving out of the era of inauthenticity.

Over the last 9 years.. many of us shed who we were never meant to be so the horse can move us forward into our true destiny path.

You made the space now its time to occupy it. Every identity you laid down cleared the channel. Every false agreement you broke freed the energy now returning as your real gifts, your actual superpowers, available here and now so you can co create with the divine instead of seeking for outside permission.

It is no wonder we had to pass through the last five years of upheaval. Individually and collectively. It is no surprise that 2025 felt like the final squeeze, the last tightening of the vise, the moment that demanded the truest of integrity instead of just intention.

For those walking the path of real evolution, one thing is unmistakably clear, 2025 marked the end of the era of the New Age spiritual guru through obvious and sometimes not so obvious exposure.

And now we stand at the threshold of something else entirely, even if it does not yet have a clean name.

In 2025, there was death, a lot of it.. I personally lost many people very dear to me, many illusions collapsed, the sneaky subtle ones, & the ones we did not even realize we were still standing inside.

Identities that lingered quietly were finally obliterated. It was painful. We grieved, and we are still grieving.

For many of us, this became the nail in the coffin for what we had unconsciously subscribed to, and for the words that once carried real weight, only to be exposed by how casually and strategically they were deployed, no longer as carriers of truth, but as tools of influence, persuasion, and spiritual propaganda;

Community: somehow it came with a cost we didn’t know we were willing to pay & alignment ended the moment you disagree.

Authenticity: conveniently unlocked at the top of the funnel, marketed just well enough to sell belonging & rebranded as a conversion strategy.

God: still tethered to dogma and personal branding, invoked freely while responsibility was outsourced, & flattened into a vibe that never challenged ego.

Medicine: Revered without reverence, was often administered without dosage, consent, or integration, powerful enough to open portals and rarely accompanied by the skill to close them.

Container: The spiritual equivalent of “trust me”, a word used to justify anything that should have been a boundary, & used to hold power without accountability.

Frequency: Elevated in speech and absent in action, something to talk about instead of actually live.

Let’s not forget the word Abundance. I wont even with that one.

Ugh Puke.

Each became a buzzword emptied of meaning through repetition without embodiment.

I could write an entire dictionary mapping how language meant to point toward truth became a veil for misalignment, how sacred words were repurposed to disguise extraction, avoidance, and incoherence once severed from lived integrity. I guess they did actually point to a different kind of truth, allowing many of us to eventually find our way back.

For a long time, it all looked deceptively simple.

There was a promise floating through the wellness and spiritual spaces that if you just followed the thread, trusted the nudge, invested in the next container, aligned your lifestyle and language accordingly, life would soften & abundance would arrive effortlessly.

Work would feel meaningful, relationships would become transcendent & pain would finally loosen its grip. Are you kidding me? These were a far cry from what most experienced, me included.

I remember when the aesthetic shifted first. The clothes, the hats, the feathers.. then the lingo, & then the priorities.

Corporate pressure gave way to laptops on beaches and flexible schedules.

Deadlines were replaced with devotion & the grind was reframed as liberation but felt real short on true sovereignty.

The world felt lighter, almost solved, as long as you stayed inside the field being offered.

In this field past wounds were renamed & your grief became soul contracts, karma showing you how deep the addiction hid behind destiny & relational dysfunction softened into attachment theory soundbites.

Before we knew it, complexity was reduced into spiritual shorthand that felt soothing, elegant, and complete enough to move on from after simply scratching the surface of a wound.

Let’s not forget, ceremony followed ceremony, where medicine opened doors & the breath cracked something open.

Look, ill be honest, there were moments of real beauty, real tenderness, and yes real connection.

And yet, beneath all of it, something remained untouched. A quiet hollowness that no retreat, workshop, or transmission seemed able to reach.

What finally did us in?

Was it the 42 person Ayahuasca ceremony in the jungle, that drove 2 people to the hospital after they fell off the Maloca? And Im not making this up.

Was it the ketamine journeys that opened you to something your clinician was never taught how to close.

Was it the tantra facilitator training, you flew to after the divorce, that served up a side of poly, where consent became blurry and responsibility never quite made it into the room.

Was it the rich, fit influencer filming his documentary in Egypt, high on LSD, wandering temples without reverence or restraint.

Or was it the 30,000$ spent just to be near the orbit of influence, proximity sold as community, access confused with abundance & devotion reduced to being allowed in the room.

It was funny how the answer always appeared just ahead.

Another facilitator.

Another initiation.

Another investment that promised to finally heal lingering dissonance.

2025 the year of the Snake, showcased charisma filling the gap where depth should have lived. Instead what we saw was confidence replacing wisdom.

Charisma was a huge force in 2025, the seduction of the shadow side of benevolence, where charm wears the mask on immaturity and influence outpaces integrity.

We watched large platforms that carried many of us through the early truther era slowly become mistaken for authority, while there again embodiment lagged quietly behind. Visibility gave way to authority, & replaced integration. And fear, the very thing these spaces claimed to be dismantling, was never actually metabolized. It simply changed costumes.

What emerged was a saviour complex dressed up as leadership, voices positioning themselves as the ones who could see clearly while everyone else remained asleep. But unhealed fear does not disappear just because the narrative changes. It calcifies. It seeks enemies. It feeds on urgency and outrage. The same nervous system dysregulation that drove blind compliance on one side began driving obsession, paranoia, and righteousness on the other.

The truther movement, in many corners, never did the deeper work of stabilizing the body, regulating the fear response, or taking responsibility for projection. Instead of restoring sovereignty, it often replicated the same dynamics it claimed to oppose.

Without embodiment, truth becomes another identity to defend. Without nervous system foundation, awakening becomes another battlefield. And so we watched the cycle repeat, different language, same wound, fear still running the show under the banner of freedom.

It became harder to tell the difference between genuine insight and well rehearsed performance.

Then the cracks appeared, and just when we thought we would catch a break..& had it figured out.. AI began filling them! Could it get any worse?

There were just too many moments where something felt off but couldn’t yet be named.

The tone didn’t match the teaching & the power dynamics mirrored the very systems we believed we had left behind.

And yet.. those who you would have thought could hold accountability.. held a silence that spoke louder than their sermons, when real world suffering demanded a spine.

For most of us at least, some are still trying to find Waldo on their 32nd Ayahuasca journey.

Over time, in the thrust of confusion, & frustration on too much money spent.. on too many gurus followed & on allowing ourselves to get seduced by self serving collaborations..there was just enough to make it impossible to continue pretending & enough to feel the weight of having outsourced our own authority.

The limit was reached & surpassed & after the shame was cleared from having purchased perceived comfort at the cost of truth we came to realize that there was no program that could resolve this moment.

No certification that could hold it.

No influencer who could explain it away.

The ache that surfaced was asking for HONESTY not another healing session.

Somewhere beneath the language, the ceremonies, the personas, something real had been touched long ago.

Before it was packaged & sold, & before it became an industry.. there was a thread that still existed, quiet but insistent, asking to be followed with zero guarantees.

Ah my friends, there is much beauty in the disillusionment. It is a necessary force that supports evolution when we say yes.

Now what?

because lets face it.. the spiritual, wellness and healing industry is a disastrous mess, just like anything else that ego takes the reigns on & industry infiltrates.

But these are not the kind of reigns we want to secure taking us through 2026.

Have we really learned how to lean into a deeper discernment?

And can we actually lead ourselves with it moving forward? You see, you are the fire horse.

Yes we can, but it requires trust

Your friendly portal into faith.

This is where the slow reclamation of trust began, the real story of my awakening. A return to the body as my primary navigator of discernment. A learning to differentiate between the many forces moving through me, without collapsing into them or outsourcing authority.

I chose to recognize truth through sensations that do not perform, do not sell well, and do not ask for permission to exist. Truth that is quiet, stable, and unmistakable once felt. And from that point on, I stopped chasing certainty outside myself and began listening to the signal that had been there all along.

This is about halfway to real mastery, and even that feels generous.

True elders speak of forty years. Forty years of discipline, devotion, study, embodiment, humility, and service to a craft before mastery is even whispered.

It takes years, not one or two, and not even 5.. to return to your raw authentic unfiltered essence, to dissolve scarcity stuck in your root, and to be able to express truth that is clean in a way that is of actual service to the world.

And yet these last few years we have watched shortcuts replace apprenticeship at an alarming rate.

Weekend workshops that crown people facilitators by Sunday afternoon. Self made content creators declaring themselves shamans & priestesses after a plant medicine weekend and a good ring light.

Online certifications that mistake confidence for capacity and followers for lineage.

Ancient arts reduced to Instagram reels, sound bites, and personal branding strategies, where the title arrives long before the nervous system, the ethics, or the responsibility to hold others safely ever does.

My curiosity opened doors, discipline followed & devotion came much later.

What started as healing became deeper initiation & what began as self work became my official vows.

Like many of you, the last 9 year cycle alone have been some of the most life changing, soul shaking years of my existence.

Years that stripped me of relationships, illusions, and comforts I once believed were proof of safety and success.

Many have heard parts of my story, Government covert operative, turned Priestess, spy turned spiritual mentor etc..

You have yet to hear the full disclosure because full disclosure comes in pieces told over time, not condensed in one sitting.

My story is meant to be digested slow so it can nourish you deep, the same way I experienced it.

Before I take you into bites of my story, I want to say with my entire being, that not a single experience I lived, even the ones most easily labeled as negative, arrived without purpose.

Each carried a lesson, and more importantly, each opened a doorway I was able to walk through toward real transformation. I would not remove any of them, because everything has shaped the woman I am today and sharpened the trust I now stand on.

When I look back I cannot begin storytelling without mentioning what came before that because I now see clearly the initiations that prepared me for the onset of the last nine year cycle.

What I am about to share is some of the most vulnerable terrain of my life, its tender and unguarded, I share this with you as an offering to witness proof that no challenge, no matter how consuming, is beyond transformation.

Even in the moments that break you open nothing is too impossible to move through.

This was the moment motherhood took me by the throat and dragged me into my first true dark night of awakening, the kind that dismantles your life quietly while everyone around you expects you to keep smiling.

It was the first time I understood the loneliness of single parenting whilst being married to a man that was always working overtime, the first time I was coerced into taking prescription medication as the only means & option to ‘treat’ a “Post Pardum” & the first time I ever had suicidal thoughts as a result of medication, while laying lifeless, & numb on my couch watching my then 1 & 3 year old playing joyously on the floor.

In those medicated moments where my awareness slipped in and out of space and time, I left my body. I could see myself lying there, already gone, as if I had crossed a border I did not yet have language for. There was no panic, only a vast stillness, the kind that feels final. And then something greater than me moved through that stillness, something unmistakable, commanding, and precise. It guided my hand to the phone. Remarkably with no sense of urgency & only absolute knowing. I called for help.

My husband was home within twenty minutes, though time no longer felt linear. In that window, I knew with devastating clarity that I had reached a true bottom. A quiet, irreversible kind where denial dissolves and there is no path forward except truth. That moment marked the end of how I had been living and the beginning of a complete reorientation.

Everything shifted there. Values. Direction. Devotion. I did not climb out of that grave so to speak, I emerged from it changed. It was the first time I was aware of what a true death and rebirth process felt like.

From that point moving forward nutrition for my family became non negotiable. Once you actually see the food industry for what it is, you cannot unsee it. I found local farms, sourced local food. The same goes for water, plastics, synthetics, chemicals lining the shelves under friendly yet deceitful brands, marketed straight into the mouths and bodies of babies. I booked my first Naturopathic session, bought my first reverse osmosis system and argued relentlessly with my husband to install a thousand dollar unit in our home, he felt I was being extreme, but instead I knew that when the truth lands in your body it refuses to be negotiated away.

Fitness became non negotiable. I found a local dojo and committed to one on one kickboxing and martial arts training, a practice I still return to. I invested in a home gym. I began a meditation practice. These were not lifestyle upgrades. They were acts of survival and reclamation. I was rebuilding my body as a place I could inhabit again, training strength, focus, and presence so my nervous system had somewhere solid to land.

And it did not stop there. I was on a rampage of awareness.

One by one, the truths I had never been taught but had always sensed were surfacing, and with each revelation the old sense of normal quietly collapsed. What once felt excessive now felt like basic care. What others called paranoia felt like responsibility. There was no turning back, because awakening, once it reaches the nervous system, does not reverse.

Then it came ..the experience of all the moments you begin asking real questions and sourcing cleaner options, you are promptly labeled the family hippie. Apparently informed consent and basic discernment are radical positions in the normie world.

That shift alone created friction. Family members who believed they were entitled to my counsel suddenly realized they were not. Boundaries arrived. Opinions were no longer welcomed as authority. The illusion of hierarchy cracked, and not everyone appreciated the reordering.

10 years into my career, & just at the beginning of reclaiming the feminine, I felt the full weight of being a police woman inside a male dominated organization where many of the female leaders had been shaped into wounded men, unable to relate to nurture, rhythm, or biology, let alone compassion for a family first paradigm. Allowing an inversion of feminism to inform their leadership. There was no room for the mother. No room for the body. No room for the reality of children, postpartum recovery, or the nervous system cost of relentless productivity. The organizational inversions were clear even then, structures that demanded everything while offering nothing resembling humanity in return.

What followed was organizational and occupational harassment stretched over years, layered with constant conflict as I attempted to navigate a system that was fundamentally broken. I learned how to weave my way through it, how to prepare official proposals, how to draft legal documentation, how to play the game just well enough to survive, often citing supreme court decisions meant to protect basic human rights, only to watch them land uselessly on supervisors’ desks.

The culture itself did not recognize what was actually required to keep human beings healthy. All the formal wellness initiatives, the glossy pamphlets and check box programs, existed more as liability shields than lived practice, gestures that looked good on paper while bodies quietly broke beneath them.

This came at the cost of immense life force that was never meant to feed that machine. It was a nightmare initiation for an awakened young mother with two children under three and a husband working inside the same organization.

There was no clean separation.

Only pressure layered on pressure, with no room to breathe.

That was when I learned what black sheep really meant & what disruptor actually looks like in real time. It was coherence threatening a system built on compliance over any kind of rebellion for sport. It made me a threat to more women than men in my unit, a paradox that would only make sense years later, when I began healing the witch wound and finally understood how deep the fracture among women really runs.

At this point my very existence violated their illusion that climbing the chain of command would deliver liberation, when in reality it offered hollow success rewarding only those willing to amputate parts of themselves to survive inside inverted hierarchies.

What was being celebrated as empowerment was often just assimilation. Feminine intelligence was traded for hardened postures. Sensitivity replaced with aggression & intuition dismissed in favor of dominance.

Many of the women (not all) at the top had learned that power in those systems required abandoning the body, suppressing the womb, and performing a false masculinity so convincingly that the original essence was no longer recognizable. It was the earliest rehearsal of a future where humanity is reshaped to fit machines rather than systems reshaped to honor life, the quiet prelude to transhumanism disguised as progress for severing their parts.

Can you see it?

At the time, I could not see what this was preparing me for. I only knew that something was being forged. My spine & a capacity to stand inside truth while being misunderstood, mischaracterized, and quietly targeted.

The training had begun long before the world caught fire. My fight for union was well underway.

And while many challenges developed on the work front, back on the home front came more.

The diagnosis, my eldest daughter, at the age of 6, Dyslexia. ADHD. And my own ADHD, which I could not disclose to my organization for fear of being put on desk duties.

I now understand these labels far differently than I did then.

What followed sent me into a full Joan of Arc spiral through the educational system.

Them pushing more medication. Me pushing back. Me scouring the planet for holistic remedies, nervous system support, and alternatives that could actually honor a very old soul who was never meant to be confined inside a broken system that mistakes conformity for intelligence.

That journey reflected everything back to me. She was a branch off the old tree. Her nervous system spoke a language the system could not hear. I knew that territory well. Once I saw it, everything began to make sense. What was being labeled as disorder was actually sensitivity & what was being framed as dysfunction was awareness moving faster than the structures designed to contain it.

After three years of fighting with schools, principals, and school boards, I was depleted. We explored private schools, school pods, tutors, specialists. We spent thousands on assessments and testing, to appease a system that required paperwork before it would even consider offering support. And even then, the support on the table was never what she actually needed. What it did offer instead was a label. A file. A quiet narrative that something was fundamentally wrong with her. Not smart enough. Not wired correctly. Broken in some essential way. A belief we are still actively dismantling to this day.

By the time the school promised they would finally help her, but only if she was medicated, I was exhausted beyond words. She was no better off. I was running on fumes. And somewhere in that collapse, I drank the Kool Aid. I surrendered to the lie that I had no other options. Every cell in my body said no to medication, informed by my own lived experience with it, but exhaustion dulls even the sharpest instincts. My husband argued from fear and fatigue, terrified she would be left behind, terrified she would not develop the way the system promised she would if we just complied. Driven by his own inner child wounding of not being good enough in school. Eventually, I tapped out. I said yes, because I was out of energy to keep fighting.

For two weeks, she took a medication they described to her as glasses she needed to finally see clearly. I watched. I complied. I overrode my mother knowing and told myself to trust the experts, even as something in me quietly fractured.

And then, with one last thread of hope, I brought her to a deeply trusted elder, a wise medicine woman who knew nothing about the medication my daughter had just been placed on, nothing about the labels, nothing about the file. She met her exactly as she was.

The elder sat with her and began scanning her energy body.. moving over her spine she spoke calmly, “there is a black tar interfering with her ability to access intelligence”. In that moment a massive grief met with relief washed over me, a divine confirmation in not only my knowing, but that the intelligence she spoke to was the deeper current that moves through the body, the spine, the field of her being itself. I got home & immediately threw it out, the bottle of meds, along with any remaining trust in the medical & educational system.

It took years to heal the guilt I carried for overriding my deepest knowing. Years to forgive myself for participating in something my body never consented to. I knew, somewhere beneath the exhaustion and fear, that medication was not the answer, that it was a bypass, a temporary silencing of a much deeper signal. And yet I allowed myself to be folded into a program of belief so deeply embedded in the collective psyche that it masquerades as care, as science, as responsibility.

The grief was not just about the choice itself, but about the moment I disconnected from my own inner authority. About the quiet betrayal of the wisdom that had guided me faithfully until I doubted it under pressure. I came to see how these solutions are offered to numb, suppress, and manage the symptoms of a far more profound rupture, the severing of humans from their organic divine technology, from the body’s innate intelligence, from the nervous system’s capacity to regulate, feel, and know.

Healing that guilt required more than understanding. It required compassion. It required reclaiming trust in myself. It required seeing how fear, fatigue, and institutional pressure can bend even the most devoted mother, and how choosing differently later does not erase the love that was always present. That reckoning became part of my initiation, a reminder that remembering who we are often comes through the ache of forgetting, and that returning to truth is itself an act of devotion.

You see the body always speaks first, data comes later.

Looking back now, with everything I understand about the spine, the akasha, and the movement of life force, I know exactly what that darkness was. I know how it gets masked behind studies, white coats and clinical lingo. I know why ADHD carries the label it does. Its strategic. And I see clearly how hundreds of thousands of children and adults are being taught to believe they are disordered, when in truth they are operating within divine order inside systems, environments & basically a world that cannot accommodate their depth, their emotional intelligence, or their expanded way of perceiving reality.

These are not broken humans. These are the ones we need most right now. Souls whose nervous systems are tuned to more than efficiency and obedience. Beings who sense what is wrong long before language catches up. And until the systems change, they will continue to be pathologized for refusing to shrink themselves to fit what was never designed for them in the first place.

By the time 2019 arrived, I had been forged into something unbendable. The kind of forging that happens slowly, under pressure, heat, and repetition, until what remains is clean, precise, and impossible to corrupt. I was basically Excalibur.

So I thought. None of this came without a very real darkness lurking. If you think that any of the last years didn’t wear me down & take its toll, think again. By 2019.. I had a very raw flare up of PTSD.. I had just returned from my second & last stint in Africa. This one was different, although I had been on a long healing journey, well into my shamanic apprenticeship, & already walking a priestess path that was covertly hidden from my government counterparts, I still witnessed, dealt with , & faced things no human should ever have to. I knew going to Africa that I was coming to the end of my time in the Government, I just had no idea it would go down the way it did. Even when you think you are well prepared, solid in your system, it doesn’t matter, the worst things still shake you, we don’t simply get over it.. the awareness I had already built taught me that I had to face it, navigate it , that was true resilience.

This time resilience would take longer than usual.

If I could sum up my last experience in Africa in simply a few words it would be.

Corruption, Death, Human trafficking, Beauty, Sun, Illuminating, laughter.

Every single part playing its role in the moment I was living, moving from one phase of life and into another.

Financially we were struggling. We knew we wanted to downsize our home & live something more simple. We wanted a different kind of life, we just weren’t sure how to get there.

We sold our first home, the one my kids had spent the first 12 years of their life in. We decided were were going to build the next one, and in the mean time we needed to find a rental in our area that could hold us while we built the other house. Rentals were so limited and at that time the only thing we could find in our price range and in our area was a small barn loft apartment on a farm, where we spent the beginning of 2020 leading into the pandemic.

The small quarters, the financial burdens, the construction of a home, two young kids, online learning with a child who developed high anxiety, high profile jobs & international travel, a pandemic, corruption and my values completely out of alignment with my soul purpose, took a profound toll on my marriage.

In the midst of all of this, my husband and I entered a three-month separation that marked the darkest night, like pitch black night, of the soul that I had ever known, both as an individual and within the bond we had built.

Those months I became the dark. They were filled with distortion, projection, emotional volatility, and the unraveling of patterns that had long gone unspoken. There were moments of narcissism, escapism, and the numbing pull of alcohol, all surfacing as what had been buried could no longer stay hidden. My husband and I both found ourselves in the hands of others, new relationships, who mirrored back the deepest, most grief-filled parts of our own shadows.

There was no betrayal in the conventional sense. What was happening was far more confronting.

Speaking to my part, I had pushed him away, openly and honestly, from a place of deep self-rejection. The distance between us was not created in silence, but in the ways I could not meet myself.

And so I watched us both turn toward others, not out of love, but as reflections of what we had not yet faced within.

It was not about them.

It was about what was being revealed through them.

Despite everything, there came a moment, nearly four months in, when it all collapsed.

It was Easter. My family had gathered, trying to hold some sense of normalcy for the children. I was there in body, but inside I was hollow… barely holding myself together.

He was invited to join us, to make it easier on the kids.

Midway through the afternoon, something in me gave way. A panic began to rise, fast and consuming. I walked myself downstairs, trying to stay composed, trying to breathe, reaching for every tool I had to self-resource.

Nothing was working.

My body was no longer responding. I couldn’t catch my breath. I collapsed onto the floor of a basement bedroom, completely overtaken.

And then he found me.

He didn’t hesitate. He simply came down beside me, lay next to me, and held me.

“No matter what, I will always be here for you.” Simple words. I wouldn’t expect anything less from a man with very few complexities. The magnitude of heart was undeniable.

And in that moment… everything broke open.

All of it came pouring out. Uncontrollably. Raw. Unfiltered. Both ugly and profoundly beautiful.

It was a purge that did not belong to that moment alone. It felt ancient. Layered. As if I was releasing grief that had lived in my body far longer than this lifetime.

The purge of a woman who had held herself together for too long.
Who had hardened where she needed softness.
Who had carried pain she did not know how to name.
Who had learned to survive, but had forgotten how to be held.

And in that unraveling… something true finally emerged.

It was a confrontation with everything that had been avoided, denied, or held together by force.

And yet, within that darkness, something deeper was being stripped back to reveal what was true, what was fragile, and what was strong enough to be rebuilt with integrity.

Im not pointing the finger here. I take full responsibility but I would be amiss not to mention that years of undercover work will also do that to you, that’s the down side, the upside, if you can move past the very real trauma, is what it also teaches you, and how I was able to utilize this very unique skillset not only to support people, but to also read the world that was coming ahead.

Learning the psychology of selling a role, of moving convincingly inside narratives designed to manipulate perception. The art of lying & storytelling while watching propaganda being built from the inside. Developing human sources. Gathering intelligence. Spending endless hours on surveillance for national security initiatives, hostage recoveries, and operations that took me into red zone environments where government corruption lived so close to the surface you could feel it under your feet.

I had seen how un integrated power actually moves. How narratives are constructed. How fear is leveraged. How language is shaped to steer behaviour. I had watched policy be written in ways that look clean on paper while doing real damage in practice. Government red tape became its own kind of absurd theatre, procedures and protocols designed to protect systems rather than people, missions that slowly drifted from service into self preservation.

Somewhere in those years, pattern recognition sharpened into instinct. I could see distortions immediately & feel misalignment before it spoke. I could smell a psy op long before it reached public consciousness. The body learns what the mind cannot always articulate, and mine had been trained in environments where discernment was survival.

By then, I could see what was coming. I knew the outer system was no longer mine to serve. There was no dramatic rupture, or single moment of doubt, only a quiet and unwavering knowing that what I had evolved into could no longer coexist with what I was being asked to uphold.

The mission that lived in my soul, the one oriented toward humanity rather than hierarchy, knew this was no longer the path, because it had drifted too far from integrity to ever truly serve life.

I did not leave in rebellion, although I did have a couple of fuck you’s along the way.. I left to begin a deeper exit that had already started long before I filed the paperwork.

By 2019, I genuinely believed I had found my footing. My early retirement date was in sight. The years of pressure had yielded a kind of hard won stability. And yet, beneath that sense of order, I could feel something immense gathering. I could not name it. I did not have language for it yet. I only knew the field was shifting in a way that felt seismic. At that point, my sensitivity was present but not yet fully entrained. I felt the tremor without seeing the fault line.

When the vaccine was introduced, my response was immediate and familiar. I said no, the same way I had years earlier as a pregnant mother who refused the H1N1 shot. There was no drama in my decision, just a clear internal line I would not cross.

I spoke my truth calmly, without evangelizing it. I remained open to other people’s experiences. I held compassion for the fear moving through the collective, regardless of which side it landed on. I did not mock it. I did not dismiss it. I understood how fear spreads. Did I think masks were absurd. Yes. Did I wear one. No. The decision was simple, embodied, and non negotiable.

The first rupture came quietly and then all at once. I shared a well established podcast on my then Facebook page.. that raised legitimate scientific concerns about masking, particularly its impact on young children and language development. It was thoughtful. It was measured. It was grounded. And it detonated something I could not yet comprehend.

The response was immediate and vicious. I was told I was stupid. I was accused of endangering lives. I was warned that continuing to speak would make me responsible for people dying. The words came not from strangers, but from someone I had known for over thirty years. Someone who had shared my history. Someone I trusted.

That was the moment something fundamental broke.

Friends who had once stood beside me as I spoke my vows at my wedding now stood against me, not in curiosity nor with room for dialogue, but in condemnation. Love proved conditional. Relationship collapsed under pressure. And I saw, with devastating clarity, how quickly fear can erase decades of connection when obedience becomes the price of belonging.

It was my first real lesson in what this era would demand, the willingness to stand alone without hardening my heart, and my god was that a hard one.

This was only one of the dozens of experiences like this over the course of that year.

On my husband’s side, the fractures went even deeper. We lost family to cognitive dissonance. We were written out of wills. We witnessed sibling rivalry mutate into something toxic and unrecognizable, driven by fear, ideology, and unspoken resentment that finally found permission to surface. Lines were drawn where none had existed before, and what unraveled was the illusion that blood alone guarantees safety, maturity, or truth.

And More recently.. on my side of the family, a few that had stuck out the covid storms.. showed me exactly how in capable of receiving truth they were when I chose to safeguard my children from generational trauma recognized by what I had already confronted and healed within myself years ago.

Trauma that was visible & that lived in the room. Trauma that everyone felt and quietly navigated around, yet no one was willing to name. Silence became the agreed upon strategy, and over time it did far more damage than open conflict ever could.

When I finally broke that silence of my concerns with clarity & care, it revealed a painful truth. The people I believed could hold reality with maturity could not. Instead of meeting truth, they defended their shame. Instead of choosing responsibility, they protected their identities. What followed resistance, even though I sought resolution by their reflex to preserve comfort at the cost of integrity.

In that moment, I understood that lineage healing often requires becoming the one willing to be misunderstood, even by the very people who had stood beside you for the last nine years, who had witnessed your unraveling, supported you through your becoming, and welcomed you into their lives. It asks you to release the hope of being met, approved, or remembered accurately, and to choose truth anyway. Healing a lineage means stepping out of the familiar roles that keep peace at the cost of integrity, and accepting that growth can look like betrayal to those who are not ready to move. It is another lonely initiation because it severs patterns that survive only through silence and allegiance, and it restores allegiance back to something deeper than relationship, back to truth itself.

Choosing the well being of my children meant releasing the fantasy of being held by those who were not prepared to see. Again.

A pension, a specialized government role. A future that looked impeccable on paper and felt dead in my body. I did not fully understand the magnitude of those decisions at the time. Only after the dust settled, after the integration had long begun, did I recognize the depth of courage it required. The level of rooting, grounding, and yes.. ill say it again.. nervous system regulation needed to exit a structure that promises safety while slowly eroding vitality is immense.

When I left the organization, I left an identity. Leaving meant separating from a group of people who had once been my peers, my colleagues, my chosen family, a brotherhood I would have taken a bullet for without hesitation. That bond had been forged through shared risk, long hours, and unspoken trust. And yet, a vaccine became the line that fractured everything.

Almost overnight, I was recast as a threat. Not metaphorically, but literally. I went from trusted insider to enemy of the state for choosing bodily autonomy. The speed of the reversal was jarring. The same values I had been praised for, honesty, integrity, compassion, accountability..were suddenly framed as danger when they no longer served the narrative.

Loyalty dissolved under pressure & belonging revealed its conditions. What remained was the stark clarity that allegiance within systems is rarely unconditional, and that true sovereignty often begins the moment you are willing to stand alone and accept the cost of telling the truth with your body, not just your words.

Today, I watch many of my former colleagues waiting out the game, willing to trade their health for the promise of a pension or the safety of an identity they no longer question. There is a real lack of that special kind of courage that asks you to take a hard look in the mirror & confront your own wounds, the inner child ones, the ancestral ones, the operational ones and especially the money ones.

Without interrogating the architecture of your own inner systems that drive your beliefs & values, the deeper mechanics remain invisible. What looks like stability is often just a long term agreement with depletion. Until someone is willing to see modern slave structures beyond the word conspiracy, and as a lived energetic contract we participate in daily, another way of moving remains inconceivable, let alone accessible.

A year passed, and by 2021 I moved even deeper into what I believed at that time was my spiritual path. I was sincere. Devoted. Willing to be shaped by elders, clinicians & teachers who claimed to walk in integrity. And just when I thought I had finally found spiritual community, more layers fell away.

I lost teachers I had apprenticed with because their worldview no longer had room for me if I did not comply with their beliefs. What had been taught as sovereignty quietly collapsed into conditional belonging.

I watched spiritual logic spiral into something I could no longer reconcile. Language meant to point toward liberation became contorted, circular, untethered from the body and from common sense. And then there was the moment that sealed it for me. I watched my mentor, a shamanic practitioner and well respected mental health clinician, leave a live ceremonial space mid journey to rush to an appointment to get vaccinated, while I lay on the floor deep inside my own psilocybin process.

Time slowed. The room went quiet. I returned to prayer. I witnessed the spectacle with eyes wide open, understanding in my body that something fundamental had fractured. Devotion had been interrupted by compliance. And in that moment, I knew with certainty that whatever I was being asked to align with here was no longer rooted in truth.

Then came a second teacher, another elder and shamanic practitioner, widely respected as an acupuncturist and healer, who attempted to persuade me to override the uncorruptible no that arose from beyond my gut. Once again, I was being asked to comply for the sake of legality, to simply take a vaccine so I could continue to move freely within sanctioned systems, because they had done it to keep their licence.

I was told that saying no meant I was breaking union. That if I believed it to be harmful, then harm would follow. That it was all in my head. I was assured that if I did receive it, it could be sucked out afterward with a cupping device, offered generously and free of charge. In that moment, the depth of spiritual bypass became undeniable. Language of unity was being used to override consent. Faith was being weaponized against discernment. Responsibility was being replaced with magical thinking.

As I began to witness the level of fear moving through the spiritual communities around me in Canada, I saw how deeply distorted many of the ceremonial and plant medicine spaces had become. Practices meant to restore alignment were being driven by panic and compliance. Medicine had become performative. Ceremony had lost its spine.

I believed then that I needed to go somewhere I could trust the land, the people, and the medicines. Somewhere my children could retain their innocence, after covid thrusted them onto computers, and I had to pick up the pieces of a child laying in crisis, in fetal position, on the floor in the corner of her bedroom.

I knew that somewhere aligned souls were living from mission rather than fear. And I thought I had found such a place.

So we sold everything and moved to another country, carrying with us both hope and the quiet knowing that running from distortion does not end the work, it only changes the landscape.

Within the first three months of living in Costa Rica, we were welcomed by a full blown home invasion. Everything was taken. Laptops. iPads. My husband’s deceased father’s gold chain & wedding band. My Nonna’s Sicilian made heirloom gold jewelry. The kind of items that cannot be replaced because their value was never financial to begin with.

And just when you think that might be enough initiation for one chapter, here came the cherry on top. About fifty thousand dollars worth of our bitcoin vanished too. The token was stolen along with the passcode, which had been stored in a separate case, carefully hidden in a box in our bedroom. That box was stolen as well.

Apparently the universe appreciates thoroughness.

It was one of those moments where grief, disbelief, and dark laughter all arrived at once. The kind that strips you bare and asks, how attached you really are to what you thought you owned.

Hey, at least we had new friends in a new community, and for a time it felt like refuge. But what they ultimately reflected back to me were deeper, unhealed layers of my own scarcity, the quiet kind that hides behind generosity, devotion, and being the one who always gives. The kind that goes unnoticed in most people’s lifetimes because it dresses itself up as kindness, availability, and spiritual service.

And like so many of us who are devoted to truth whether it costs us or not, I eventually lost those friendships too because I withdrew self abandonment. I acted from integrity again. I stopped playing nice. I chose kindness toward myself over appeasement. My boundaries became solid and non negotiable, as protection of life force.

I stopped being afraid to value my own work inside friendship, instead of only valuing theirs. I stopped offering depth without reciprocity. I stopped allowing myself to be mooched upon for the medicine I carry in my bones, the listening, the clarity, the holding, the guidance that had been freely accessed for years without exchange. Scarcity revealed itself in relationships built on extraction, where my presence was welcomed as long as it remained endlessly available and unpaid.

When I chose to honour my own worth, those connections could not survive.

And that, too, was information.

The deeper I went into my practice, the sharper my discernment became.

The deeper the feminine initiated me, the faster I picked up the scent of distortion.

I withdrew from lucrative opportunities offered through large platforms with massive visibility, knowing the audience they drew were not aligned with the work I carry. Often it was the kind of attention that came from people searching to be fixed, a magic wand that could relieve them of responsibility while preserving their fantasy. I watched my calendar fill weeks in advance and recognized it for what it was, not success, but another iteration of urgency still humming inside my nervous system, the old reflex to respond, to rescue, & overextend.

At the same time, I watched this empire call itself a temple while feeding quietly off the feminine. Pimping her life force, literally watching women being told they were seen, honored, empowered, while being underpaid for their devotion, their experience, their labor, & their emotional and energetic output. Watching the one man at the top of his pyramid, scale their life force and gas light any questioning of it. The energy was predatory.

It was painfully familiar. I had seen this structure before. Different language. Same architecture.

Looking at my values, it was clear where my placement was again out of alignment with the values being portrayed.

Here’s the thing about values. The more you awaken to the lies, grow in awareness, and expand your consciousness, the more you return to the values your soul came here with before all the programming. This creates the conditions for identity to die.. who you once were, you no longer are, based on the values you uphold and how strongly you are willing to stand in them. You can say, I accept your values, but I live by mine. Many truths can be true at the same time. Being able to hold the reality that many things can be true all at once, is one of the most important keys to walking a sovereign path.

So I said no again. I declined promises of abundance that carried extraction underneath polished words. I watched life force be packaged and sold as spirituality, rebranded through a platform that dangled financial freedom while siphoning the very essence they claimed to serve.

And the truth is, I could have used the money then. I really needed it to feed my family & build a home. To create the simple life in the jungle I once believed was waiting for us.

Saying no was far from noble it was costly. But it was clean. I chose my no even when comfort would have made everything easier, even when it would have solved immediate problems and quieted the strain of survival. It required trust without evidence and integrity without witnesses.

My refusal to comply & just smooth over what felt wrong in my body, created friction with the friends who ‘employed’ me. I would not participate in what required my silence.

And once again, that choice came with loss. I lost what were called friendships, though they unraveled in ways that revealed how fragile & fake they truly were. The endings were immature, ego driven, and resistant to any perspective larger than personal grievance. There was no willingness to see the broader pattern, no curiosity about what was actually being built, or why I was not the only one from that platform who quietly walked away.. there were 4 more after me, as though my actions offered a permission to also stand in the truth of what was so blatantly clear.

What was framed as betrayal was simply my refusal to participate in something that no longer aligned, and I learned again that when integrity becomes the compass, not everyone can travel with you to the next horizon.

In a painfully familiar way, I found myself repeating a pattern. I was leaving another organization, covertly self serving & corrupted by extraction, just as I had when I walked away from government service. Only this time, the language was spiritual. The structure was the same. Hierarchy cloaked in healing. The same cycles I had exited before were being replicated under a different name, and my body knew it long before my mind was ready to admit it, until it was.

I returned to Canada with a bang.. literally a car crash.

Clearly at this point, I am no stranger to aggressive initiation.
I recognize God not only in blessing, but in redirection, refinement, and rearrangement. In the ways the path collapses just enough to move me closer to mission, to truth, to the kind of prosperity that cannot be stolen.

This one hit hard.

On a Monday morning, having just the week prior moved back to Canada. I woke to my husband bursting into our bedroom in sheer panic, his face pale, his voice cracking. “We lost it all.”

A decade of nervous system work kicked in immediately. My body still knows how to enter fight, the old stoic cop reflex bracing for impact. But something is different now. I caught myself. Where I once would have stayed there for days, I returned to center within minutes.

Breath. Ground. Presence.

The weeks leading up to it had been a slow drip of pressure. Car sale negotiations. Bank complications. Sudden repairs. The usual friction of life and business when conducted in Costa Rica, where nothing moves cleanly and everything tests your patience.

And then, three hours before signing the sale, our vehicle was sideswiped off the road and into the jungle.

Thank God no one was injured.

A fifty thousand dollar investment, was suddenly gone.

The money was meant to hold my family and cover our bills for the upcoming year back in Canada, while my business evolved, my husband got some work & while property and other investments were in the process of liquidation.

And that was only the beginning.

A year later, the car still sits untouched in Costa Rica. It cannot be sold. It cannot be repaired. There is a lien on it. The mechanic who was driving it to a lawyer’s office to complete the transfer to the new owners was charged with impaired driving, despite not having been drinking, despite no test being administered at the scene. The police officer who responded to the crash was the husband of the driver who hit him. The report was written. The narrative was sealed. Corruption moved quietly and efficiently.

The mechanic is Canadian. An expat. The court date is still six months away.

Until then, the vehicle is legally frozen, slowly rotting in a mechanic’s yard in the jungle, unusable, unsellable, suspended in a system that does not care about truth or consequence.

What now.

I leave it with the great mystery, as the Goddess continues her initiation.

Money is relative. Stepping away from government careers, banking structures, and systems designed to entrap rather than serve requires the collapse of an entire worldview. It demands deep alchemy around belief, security, and control. No one teaches you how to steward finances outside of compliance based systems. No one teaches you how to trust without being reckless. No one prepares you for the psychological detox of disentangling freedom from money.

Many believe money grants freedom from constraint.

It does not.

As long as freedom is tethered to money, you remain enslaved by it. Twist it however you want.

Placing money above God, above creation, above truth, is a declaration of distrust. It hands the wheel to ego, which will attempt to manipulate outcomes through scarcity and extraction. Fear masquerading as strategy. The oldest trap there is.

Faith is my currency. Here I am, still free.

And from this place, I say to you, Trust the process.

In that same year, came a moment when my system simply refused any more shit.

In a final attempt to pour into my business at a moment when I genuinely needed support to reach the next so called level, I took a big risk & a big loan to pay for a year long mastermind.

I received a return on investment I did not see coming. Clarity

I exited two months in, leaving thirty four thousand dollars on the table along with a network of highly successful entrepreneurs. There was no debate. No negotiation. Just a clean, immediate knowing that staying would cost me far more than leaving.

I walked away from a well known figure, an influencer with reach, reputation, and a very polished message, because my body would not remain in a space where my integrity could not breathe. What I was witnessing was not subtle. It was systemic.

The primary facilitator had just exited corporate and had recently completed a one year breathwork certification. Her spiritual mentor and best friend was not far behind her in the same trajectory. Together, they positioned themselves as holders of deep transformation, despite having little lived experience in trauma integration, nervous system regulation, or the ethical responsibility required to open what they were opening.

What was being taught was distorted at its core. Business strategies were wrapped in spiritual language so convincingly that it almost passed, but not to an initiated eye. The language sounded elevated. The promises pointed toward depth. But the structure itself could not hold what was being invoked. People were being taken into breathwork exercises that cracked open their most shame laden trauma, and the proposed integration was a sound bowl and a group chat. No containment. No aftercare. No understanding of what happens when you rupture a psyche without the skill to guide it back into coherence.

When I attempted to offer the feedback they had requested from participants upon departure from the first group retreat, I did so, thoroughly & it landed on deaf ears. This turned into two zoom calls with the main facilitator, her spiritual mentor and her business partner all present. Still.. no responsibility was being taken on their behalf. Instead I got blamed for being the catalyst to 8 other participants also leaving the mastermind as a result of the lack of integrity they had all experienced at this event. And later that year.. her company took a major hit, her business partner, her head of sales and her head of marketing all quit.. following this retreat and what they too had witnessed.

This is the power of speaking truth. It’s not always pretty. It’s never comfortable. It simply dismantles illusion.

With great power, comes great responsibility, but non of it comes without consequence.

I got hit with a legal notice. An illegal one to be honest.. a ‘slap’, basically a threatening bully tactic. In the letter, corporate terms, warning me not to speak about my experience, and not to speak to any of the participants otherwise I would be sued.

Basically this was the facilitators way of trying to shut me up. Later I found out that this was not her first mastermind where participants made complaints on integrity issues among other things. This facilitator had positioned herself strategically aligned with big money and using it to stomp on those with less of it to “keep them quiet”.. so not to tarnish her name.. funny .. how virtuous and spiritual of her.

There was direct inability to see the bypass or feel the injustice that others had experienced. She could not recognize the harm many participants were quietly experiencing in their bodies and lives afterward. The response was confusion at best, dismissal at worst. The gap between intention and impact was vast, and no amount of spiritual language could bridge it.

The facilitators had not embodied what they were selling. They could speak it fluently. Market it elegantly. Perform it publicly. But it was a role they had stepped into, not an initiation they had survived. The sacred had been aestheticized, the depth had been simulated. And the responsibility that comes with opening human beings at that level was simply absent.

And as the dust settled, there I was.. on my knees, in my cupboard, swimming in my own tears… me and God.. moving grief, being forged again.

This time the tears came with the akasha of every witch burned, every witch survived, every woman in my lineage that could not speak her truth, every man in my lineage who could not protect her. This time the tears were different, I was no longer crying for the dying parts of my false self.. I was crying for the new one being born.

These are only a few of the dozens of experiences I have had like this over the last few years.. and finally it dawned on me.. I saw it clearly, in the last two years alone, I closed countless karmic loops and contracts that became unmistakably clear to me. These were recognitions. Encounters with men and women I had taught in other lifetimes, souls who had once received wisdom and mystery teachings and then misused them, distorted them, or leveraged them for power. And here they were again, repeating the same patterns in this lifetime, wearing new costumes, speaking updated language, but carrying the same fractures. Closing those loops was surgical. Precise & final. And it required a level of clarity and resolve I did not know I possessed until I was inside it.

I have not even spoken about the level of real spiritual interference that moved through my field during this time, particularly in dream space. Attacks that came through ancestral lines, unresolved contracts, and external forces testing the perimeter of my sovereignty. Attacks that came through clients wanting me to be their teacher, clients who wanted the mystery teachings, who wanted to walk the priestess path and simply could not hold the enormity of this work, so attacks became their projection & their desire to take back their investments after several months of coaching, several months of chasing to complete their assignments and gaining access to my library of online curriculum. But wait, these are people who believe they are healers!

You know when you are under attack, its undeniable, lived & visceral. Night after night of initiation that demanded presence, discernment, and command. Over time, I learned how to remain conscious inside my own dream, how to hold my awareness steady, how to conjure my power through a fully embodied no, spoken clearly and without hesitation directly to whatever was attempting to enter, siphon, or destabilize.

And all of it.. every single attack, reflected a part of me that was still in lack, where I was not solid in my divinity or my wholeness, where there was still a part of me that held an opening for the energy or entity to latch itself onto. Much of this karmic as I have mentioned before.. teaching me where I was still not living my dharma.

There are countless visceral examples of this work, moments that live in my body rather than language, experiences so precise and instructive that words barely touch them. What I know now was forged there.

Each encounter tested my devotion again.
Each encounter sharpened my integrity.
Each encounter asked me, without compromise, how committed I truly was to this path, in this body, at this moment on this planet, for reasons far larger than personal comfort or recognition.

And each time, I answered.

Forgiveness has been the path. Every single person & experience. Forgiven. Including myself.

Its lonely.

I have no interest in romanticizing what this path actually costs. Yes, God is always present, but my human feels the consequences of choosing truth. She feels the distance created by integrity. She feels the absence left behind when alignment requires sacrifice.

People who think they know me often do not. Family included. Friends included. Familiarity does not equal seeing, and proximity does not guarantee understanding.

And still, I know my soul. I know who I am. My husband knows who I am. My children know who I am (Most of the time). And gratefully, my mother does too. I can count on one hand the friendships that have endured the tests of time and continue to thrive, and those few know me deeply. They are not confused by my silence, my boundaries, or my devotion. They recognize the cost and stand with me anyway.

I have come to accept that even the most insightful people do not truly see me. And perhaps that was never the point. Maybe no one is meant to, at least not fully, until we learn how to see ourselves without distortion. Until I became the one capable of meeting myself without outsourcing recognition or needing another to confirm what I already knew.

I am fully aware that people who once claimed closeness faded quietly. From the outside, it can look like I push people away. In truth, I am aligning myself to a truth that exists between me and God, and to be clear, not the God of dogma or inherited belief, but the living intelligence that moves through conscience, body, and choice.

Some call this the curse of the Seer, the one who sees everything except themselves. I understand it differently now. I understand it as responsibility. A form of service that extends beyond personal comfort, beyond belonging, beyond approval. It carries a cost, but it also carries precision.

It is like the work of a master craftsperson shaping something unseen for years, refining each detail in solitude, knowing the piece may never be widely recognized, but that integrity of the work itself is non negotiable.

Some souls came here to master friendships.

Some to master parenting. Some to perfect the beauty in simple crafts.

Some came to be master villains, & others the Hero.

Others came here to master the stewarding of consciousness through a time of great transition.

I can count on one hand the number of embodied medicine women, priestesses, facilitators, and practitioners that can hold the level of integrity I do.

It is so rare it borders on extinction. And this is one thing I will say confidently.

For a long time I wondered why so few people couldn’t truly receive my work.

Why my teachings landed deeply for some and bounced off others.

Why my business never followed the predictable arcs of ‘expansion’.

Why social media success eluded me while others amassed attention and fantasy lives I once believed I wanted.

Eventually I understood, something that cannot be spoken.

My work is not meant for the masses, and yes, it carries a form of exclusivity. But that exclusivity has nothing to do with hierarchy, elitism, or manufactured scarcity the way so many are selling it. It is not about status, access, or being chosen.

It is about sovereignty in its purest and truest form. A readiness, capacity & the willingness to meet truth without performance, without outsourcing responsibility, and without needing to be carried.

This work naturally filters for those who can hold it, only because they are willing.

The real work that transforms cannot be understood from the outside. It cannot be consumed, analyzed, or intellectualized into existence. It can only be experienced. Truth at this level does not move through concepts. It moves through the body, the nervous system, the field of awareness itself. It is felt & remembered, not explained or taught.

It took me years to understand that although I offer services, what people actually receive is an experience that moves through me. I am the vessel through which the work transmits. I am the bridge. When we sit together, you are not receiving information about God or Source. You are being brought into contact with your own direct experience of it. And in that contact, something ancient stirs. A remembering of how you connect. How you listen. How you trust what moves through you.

As a priestess, my role is not to tell you what is true. It is to hold the field in a way that allows truth to move. To remain clear enough, regulated enough, emptied enough, that what wants to pass through can do so without distortion. When the vessel is clean, the transmission is clean. And what you experience is not me. It is you, meeting Source through your own body, your own perception, your own inner authority.

Accepting this took years.

Years of humility. Years of being humbled by the responsibility of it. Years of dissolving the belief that I needed to prove or package what simply moves when I am present. I had to release self doubt again and again, refining not just the offering, but myself. My listening. My capacity to stay out of the way.

This is the difference between knowing about something and being changed by it. Intellectual understanding may inspire you. Direct experience reorganizes you. One stays in the mind. The other returns you to yourself.

This is what the last seventeen years have given me access to.

Trust. It took years to understand that I was not abandoning people when I aligned with deeper truth, that I was being guided even when the path looked isolating. That my soul speaks clearly. That faith in myself is not separate from faith in God, but a reflection of it.

It took years to learn how to hold the recognition that came from a very small number of people, the quiet, unmistakable moments when someone would look at me and say, you are the real deal, without flinching or dismissing it. My mind clung to an old belief that authenticity had to look a certain way to be legitimate, that depth required a specific aesthetic, lineage, or platform.

Letting that dissolve was its own initiation.

There was a part of me that wanted to shout from the rooftops, can you see me, can you feel this, can you recognize what is moving here. And there was another part, older and wiser, that said sit the fuck down, stay quiet, tend the fire.

It took years to heal my fear of being seen, not the fear of visibility itself, but the fear of being visible and still misunderstood, still misread, still projected onto rather than met.

Every choice, and I mean every choice, tested this trust.

Leaving my career.

Rebuilding my marriage.

Selling my dream home.

Walking away from millions.

Building a business from nothing.

Living in the jungle. Leaving the jungle.

Returning to simplicity. Rebuilding again. Listening again.

each time I chose alignment over reassurance, something in me steadied.

These fragments of my story are a glimpse into what it looks like to remain curious. To question what the body asks to be questioned & move through experiences so absurd they test sanity itself.

This is what it looks like to learn how to walk with fear as an ally rather than an enemy.

Its just over one year since Ive been back on Canadian soil, as I write this..

This last year has seen by choice what most refuse to look at.

I discovered that trust is not something I could have ever declared from a hollow place rather than earn it through lived alignment, & choices that cost you everything that was never truly yours to begin with.

There is no trust without authenticity.

I do not have a seductive success story, at least not by modern spiritual standards.

I have not made millions yet. I do not live in a mansion. I do not run a polished multi seven figure empire wrapped in breathy testimonials and sunrise aesthetics.

Not all of my clients go on to make millions either, though some do. What they do not suddenly arrive in is a curated fantasy life that photographs well and sells easily. There is no overnight glow up that erases complexity or bypasses consequence.

Nothing about what I offer is turned on by fantasy, it is sexy only if you are the kind of human who respects the grit that collects under your fingernails after you have dug yourself out with your own hands.

This work is initiatory, because there is no sovereignty without it.

I do not wrap my offerings in certainty. I do not promise timelines. I do not trade in guarantees, because true devotion does not move on demand and transformation does not respond to ultimatums.

If you are waiting for a call to action that promises awakening in exchange for compliance, productivity, or proximity to me, you will be waiting a long time. That language does not live here. It never has, and it never will.

My work refuses shortcuts because shortcuts bypass the very thing being asked of you.

What I do hold, and what I can stand behind without hesitation, is something far more rare.

Authenticity.

And I am not referring to the buzzword I defined earlier.

Im talking about Authenticity, as a lived nervous system experience.

& bodily knowing of a slow and sometimes brutal process of learning how to trust every part of yourself, including the parts you were taught to exile in order to belong.

True authenticity pours through a human when no more lack is present & scarcity no longer runs the show.

You can call yourself a leader, a priestess, a healer, a guide all day long, but without the nervous system capacity to dissolve real scarcity at its root, you remain patterned by it.

Scarcity lives in the body long before it shows up in money, relationships, or leadership. When it is unaddressed, it quietly governs your choices, your language, your pricing, your tolerance for distortion, and the stories you tell yourself about service and worth.

Without that capacity, the psyche compensates, with a dissonance that reaches for symbols instead of substance.

What that looks like in the spiritual communities is the cling to perceived safety in the outsourcing of cards, crystals, and concepts because those spaces offer comfort without confrontation. It’s like playing your drum without ever having had the rope marks on your hands from making it.

These concepts allow spiritual identity to form without requiring the actual surrender that real transformation demands.

The true feminine does not work that way. She does not decorate your wounds or soothe your illusions. She descends, past the heart, and deeper than the womb.

She takes you into the depths where your identities collapse, where your strategies fail, where the parts of you that survive on approval, control, or fantasy can no longer breathe. She sears & strips. She returns you to what is essential and unprotected.

There is no ‘safe space’ or ‘Trauma informed’ here, because there is no victim here.

Authenticity emerges only after this descent. It is born when the nervous system learns how to remain present without gripping, without performing, without projecting unresolved inner child wounds through adult tantrums.

It arrives when responsibility is no longer a concept but a lived capacity, when you can hold your emotions, your choices, and their consequences without collapse, deflection, or blame.

This is when you no longer outsource your authority.

When the body no longer needs spiritual theatre to feel safe.

When devotion replaces image & truth is lived rather than displayed.

To live in your truth requires the action of stepping through difficult thresholds that challenge & ignite all your fears. They are far from comfortable.

And these are the thresholds most avoid.

Yet these are the thresholds that change everything.

Authenticity arrives when you stop abandoning yourself in all the subtle ways.

& stop trying to negotiate with your own truth because there is no negotiating with the real thing.

When you listen to what your body has been whispering for years and finally choose to respond. It is the kind of authenticity that restores contact with the divine as an internal signal & not as an external authority.

A signal humanity has been trained out of for thousands of years.

A signal buried under obedience, hierarchy, dogma, fear, and outsourced power.

What I guide people back to is not a better version of themselves.

It is a deeper relationship with their own listening. The ability to hear what is true for them without collapsing, spiritualizing, or deferring responsibility.

This is how evolution actually happens. Quietly, slowly & from the inside out.

When a human learns how to trust their own signal, something ancient begins to repair itself. The loop of seeking outside confirmation loosens. The reflex to hand authority to another dissolves. The need for someone else to tell you who you are fades.

What emerges is sovereignty that does not need to announce itself.

This work makes you cleaner by striping away what never belonged to you.

It does not promise comfort.

This is the kind of work that does not scale easily.

It resists mass consumption. It asks more than it gives at first glance. It requires maturity, self responsibility, and a willingness to be undone without being rescued.

Those who find their way here are rarely looking for answers.

What they find instead is permission to trust what they already know.

They are standing at thresholds where pretending no longer works.

They feel the cost of misalignment in their bodies, their relationships, their leadership, their sense of meaning.

Trust, in this way, becomes a practice in the daily choice of quiet devotion.

The devotion is not to any mentor or method.. but to the truth moving through you that has been waiting patiently to be acknowledged.

This is where my work lives.
In the restoration of something humanity has forgotten how to hold. Sovereignty.

And once you feel it, you do not need to be convinced.

Because you can trust it.

As we move into the next phase of the great turning of the ages, trust will be an important one because the illusions and the game is getting too smart, smart enough that most are losing their humanity.

I write this piece to support you in the process of building & evolving your relationship to trust as you chose to walk a sovereign path.

In return I trust this will serve as you saddle up & ride the fire horse this year.

Stay Fiercely Human,

Selvia

For those this writing & this wisdom speaks to directly, I’m currently holding mentorships for sovereign leadership development as well as pilgrimage journeys across Egypt, Crete & Delphi. With more opening up soon.

You can explore the current offerings here, if this feels like your next true step.

Explore the Offerings Here