there are women in this world who initiate you just by walking into the room.
how? their presence.
they are the oracles. the dakinis. the sex priestesses of the old temples. they see the sacred in every object, every opportunity, every stranger on the train.
and then they worship it.
i used to feel that i was her in a deep place, but it felt like a caged animal. like a lioness at the zoo. i couldn’t figure out how to release her. become her fully.
so i did the breathwork, the cacao, the days of silence, the ceremonies you’re not supposed to talk about (but IG tries anyways). i’ve read books and sat at the feet of (oh so many) teachers.
none of them told me this:
that woman doesn’t think her way to that space. she moves.
specifically? with her hips.
they say dance like no one is watching. fine. but go further.
dance like something is waking up. let your body become the kitty cat, the wild animal, the stripper, the saint. let it get heavy like the earth, then liquid like water, then weightless like air, and then set her on fire.
pretend you’re dancing for your lover.
then make yourself your own lover.
sometimes you’ll cry, sometimes you’ll laugh, sometimes you’ll find yourself fully activated and turned on.
all of it matters. that’s her, pacing the cage, remembering she was never locked in.
the door just lived in your hips.
practice tip:
circle your hips to the left. that’s release. everything you’ve been holding, everything that was never yours to begin with, let it roll off.
circle your hips to the right. that’s the calling in. let your body ask for everything it wants before your mind gets a vote.
one may feel good. one may feel sticky. lean into both.