Hello beautifuls! Happy holidays!
I'm writing this as I launch the second edition of Loquacious Slut. It's so much better than the first edition and I hope it finds you cozy this winter - I worked super hard on this project and I am THRILLED to be launching it before the New Year.
It's on sale until mid-January > a little treat for you to enjoy during the holidays.
In other news!! I will be solidifying new rates and updating the booking portion of my website for 2022. Y'all have been so patient with the confusion my site delivers 😅 I appreciate you. Be prepared for this section to appear differently and for the booking form to change ever so slightly.
This has been a wild year. Working with touch during a time of such isolation has been nothing short of bittersweet. Bitter in that I wish I could make everyone feel better by snapping my fingers, and sweet because I *do* actually get to make people feel better with my actual fingers. Bitter because I know how hard existing is for so many right now - sweet because I get to witness people in authentic ecstasy.
Not that I needed ANY more proof of the magick and medicine that is touch, I'm learning how truly remarkable it is to have the honor to hold space for people in such an intimate way during an absolute shit show parade of human history.
Our pleasure has never meant more than it does right now. Its always mattered. But we havent always been under such a shit storm...So it means something different now, doesn't it? At least that's how it feels for me.
We are living in devastating times. But we can access portals to the divine reality of our erotic gardens - we can go where green glows brighter, where the song of a bird brings us to tears, the places where treebark becomes a heart's bandage, holding in our tender syrup in an endless cup of stardust.
A few days ago, I burst into a weep while I was mediating on trees. I was thinking about how much I enjoy being in 'languageless spaces'. You know, the kind of presence/existence that words don't stand a chance to describe. Those spaces where words don't even fucking matter. I reminisced over how much I enjoy being in the woods - because trees don't talk back. But I immediately took back that thought and a response like "the fuck trees don't talk back!" came thru (If this is a spirit guide voice, woofta she's got a mouth on her, lol). And suddenly, I remembered, during my awe soaking mind adventure, a podcast that taught me tree roots don't go further than 4 feet into the earth. And the message "only go as deep as you need to" came through like a rolling wave of fire over my body - and I just balwed y'all.
I cried in gratitude of how gorgeous a relationship with nature can be; how maybe God really does speak to us by way of trees, of wind, and of roots. She's teaching us in such subtle ways that maybe her messages go unnoticed. I've learned when I shut up long enough and just let the trees speak, shit comes through. And that, all by itself, is what keeps my faith intact during times like this.
Spoken like a true loquacious slut.
May the best be yours,