RESPONSIBILITY WITHIN FEMININE AWAKENING

A woman cannot repair her relationship to men, money, or God (the energetic trinity of “the Masculine”) without erecting “him” within FIRST.

She must have the powers of her capacity to be with WHAT IS TRUE and her instinctual discriminatory wisdom restored from any and all fragmentation.

This is the crucible of work she must do with God, so that her system may hold the energetic imprint of “the Masculine” without a psychic auto-immune response.

Until she can activate and *hold* the imprint of the rightness of the archetypal Masculine (*and* Father) within her own system, she so often unconsciously magnetizes vortexes of re-traumatization, which then only corroborates the incomplete/distorted narrative of the “toxic masculine.”

It is only when she can open to the full penetration and cosmic ejaculatory thrust of the energetic imprint of “the Masculine” that she can begin to receive and live the life of her heart’s desire.

This is because both terestrially (ie: with mortal men) and cosmically (ie: the primal co-creational nature of life/Source itself), unless and until a woman begins to TRUST LIFE WITH HER LIFE, she cannot trust the Masculine.

Said differently:

TRUSTING THE MASCULINE IS SYNONYMOUS WITH TRUSTING LIFE ITSELF

Said differently v2.0:

Rejecting or having an inflammatory psychic immune response to the Masculine is on some level, rejecting LIFE itself.

Only once this channel is purified of all obscurations, will she truly be able to ‘feel safe’ to rest in the true Nature of her Feminine Beingness. (‘Safety’ is of course, on some level, an attachment to an illusion that keeps us away from the truth of our Nature.)

The most magical alchemical axiom throughout all time and space:

“AS SO WITHIN, SO WITHOUT."

As with all creation, it must begin WITHIN.

(Btw: this is increasingly illuminated to me as the core feature of the journey of personal and archetypal Feminine Awakening.)

DO NOT SHAME YOUR MAN WHEN HE FALTERS: YOU ARE NOT HIS MOTHER NOR HIS GOD.

Women / the Feminine CREATE and BIRTH the truest, deepest expression of MAN.

If a woman cannot bear her own pain and her own admittedly excruciating (and deeply sensual, btw) vulnerability to initiate MEN into their inherent GREATNESS, then the Feminine pain body remains rooted as part of

*The Problem*.

If we, as women, cannot bear our own deep vulnerability, we are not only contributing to our own unhappiness, but we are quite literally enabling the collapse of the masculine in the collective.

For those of you in your feminine essence: HOLD YOUR GROUND with your man -- with ALL men. Know with every fiber in your Being that you are WORTH *HIS* SURRENDER, time and time again.

Do not shame him when he falters:

You are not his mother nor his God.

Men WANT to be the hero for you. It is your job to administer this aspect of his hero's journey microdose by microdose.

How?

By holding your ground, and LOVING YOUR SELF

**MORE** THAN HIM.

There are deep activations occurring in the collective + men are being rocked to their core inside this archetypal vortex of healing. There is a *massive* re-templatization of the archetype of "man", of what it even means to be "masculine" as we co-create a new blueprint of sacred cosmic partnership: individually, archetypally, globally, energetically, galactically.

With my male clients, I witness this mythic descent, this gnarly bloodbath *daily*. I welcome and deeply respect masculine pain -- because I trust and honor men's CAPACITY to allow the initiatory fires, the forging.

We cannot prevent this raging river of masculine pain.

It is their greatest medicine.

It is THE primary code that must be unlocked as we deepen into healing feminine pain...this archetypal healing winds together in deep cosmic remembrance, the double helix of our shared DNA.

Women/Feminine Essences:

Know that he is being initiated: ALLOW him to RISE in the TRUTH of his magnificence: bloodied, weary, dragging the bloated carcass of our old world behind him.

The original post on facebook can be found here

THE BEAUTIFUL DANGER OF SEX MAGICK

I am not sure if he had his fingers inside of me or if they were still 2 feet away from my body, holding the echo of my heartbeat in his hands. It doesn't really matter either way....because in this moment, everything is womb.

My body knows this language better than any word my mouth could ever form.....the lightning rod of dark pleasure and surrender opening the deepest through-line of my body: from root to belly, encircling heart, opening throat, and emerging as hot panting breath in the mouth of this wanting creature who lives inside of me.

My body arching, feet and hands flexing hard to release the pulsating energy. The only words spoken: "Gillian, this is an activation of allure" he explains, as my pelvis rises in the air to meet hand...or force of unseen energy....I am still not quite sure what was "real".

I feel so much in my body....sweetness, an experience of opening and widening to *take from life*....electricity, azure in tonality, is moving through the opened channels of my body as I wrap myself in silk and in song.

This energy 'activation' is potent, alive, and not yet calibrated in me. In the 3 days following this session, going to the gym has become a bit of a nightmare. The same men I see several times a week and share the deadlifting mat and the squat rack with, are suddenly feeding, devouring me with their sweaty glances and hungry eyes.

Yesterday at lunch, my client who holds my largest monthly retainer package to date, placed his hand on my shoulder, pulling me towards his mouth. I hold impeccable boundaries with my clients and graciously but firmly returned to my own space. However, not before his power-addiction and arrogance felt the sharp edge of my sword of discernment, and he calmly pushed his chair back and walked out of the restaurant, leaving his food still warm upon the plate. He hasn't returned my call (which is the only and final call I will make to him) nor do I know if this is reparable with a man who lives as deeply inside power-addiction as this particular client....the darkest of my kings.

Be careful if, like me, sex magick is a game you choose to play. Energy is the only force in the universe that is REAL.

If your alchemist is potent and gifted and you know how to let life inside your body, it may just thrust you out of the shadows and into the darkness.

Read the original Facebook post here.

GRAIL QUEEN: THE GOLDEN KEYS of HIEROS GAMOS

A 3-month Vibrationally-Curated Container for Lover Priestesses

Presented by Erica Jade & Gillian Pothier

YOU ARE THE GOLDEN CHALICE

This portal is the most evolutionary celebration of Feminine consciousness ever created.

The archetypal Masculine (aka: Father God) desires heart-activated womb space (the mystical Golden Chalice) in which to place his cosmic seed.

Grail Queen will illuminate YOU as that Golden Chalice for the Divine Masculine: Men, Money, and God.

In the Grail Queen multi-dimensional disco, you will experience:

* Fearless Faith in the Greatest Yet-To-Be

* Masterful Activations + Transmissions (archetypal & personalized)

* Rainbow keys & codes (ancient + future)

* A deeper understanding of the template of Mystical

Marriage ( this is so everything)

* Your Embodied Authentic Expression (Star activation, for REAL)

* Living in the field of miracles, pleasure, and joyful

celebration (Ace of Cups Activation)

* Learning to let yourself be LOVED and adored by other women who share similar codes of awakening,

remembrance, and devotion to the Masculine.

* The exaltation of the inner Beloveds

* Feminine Enchantment / Shakti & Muse Activation....

Be the Goddess of "Best-I-Ever-Had-Sex"

* Zero Point: because "all energy is good energy when you know alchemy" ~ EJ

* Infinite love which cannot be lost (therefore healing *the* Feminine core wound of abandonment )

* Releasing the archaic wounded Feminine templates of "beggar" and "peasant" to fully embody the Queen as *YOU*

* Scripture, Bey, Tarot, Gucci.....praise breaks and jokes for days

* Smokin hot style, laughter, sweet, sparkly love, and more than a little magic...because Erica & Gillian

Deets coming soon, Lovers

The original post on facebook can be found here

MATR: THE WOUND OF THE MOTHER

Matr --> Mater --> Matter --> Mother

"Matr" is the etymological and epigenetic taproot for the word, "matter"...and........."Mother". 

We see this ancient Latin word-root, "Matr" in words like these:

MATR-ix

MATR-imony

MATR-iarch

MATR-iculate

MATER-ial

Matter and material/s are the very "mothers" of which our entire world is built.  Our matter (in form) is literally built by Mother.  When we MATR-iculate, we are agreeing to our knowledge being built by Mother. 

When we enter MATR-imony, we are allowing ourselves to be relationally swaddled, as we once were, energetically contained when thrashing about as newborns.  

A MATR-ix is the interconnected mother or womb consciousness in which things arise, and are created. 

In The MATR-ix (film), machines of consciousness, or MOTHERS, created the simulated world we know as reality. 

Our entire terrestrial reality is intrinsically encoded in MOTHER....not just Gaian wisdom....but at the level of our very "stuffness"....our MATTER.

*THE MOTHER WOUND IS ENCODED IN OUR MATTER*

The Mother wound is the core blueprinted wound of the Feminine. It is an existential, epigenetic, ancestrally-bestowed, karmic, cosmic wound.  It is a discordant, life-denying writhing existential crisis of not knowing AT THE LEVEL OF OUR VERY "STUFFNESS", our matter, the 

matr-ix of womb, that WE MATTER.  It may be discreet. subtle, quietly tucked away within womb and marrow....

but at its most far-away, even an echo contains that which created it.

It is quite literally, that our MATTER has been energetically injured. And so, a life is built from MATTER of not WHOLLY MATTER-ING ....and we live in this distortion for all our days, our very MATTER denying its own essence.  

This is so very real: this is life turning upon life. 

This is the very heart of the wound that is passed down from mother, to mother, to mother.....the dissonant shadow of not-mattering encoded in womb (ie: MATR-ix) from one mother, to the next, to the next…

I know not ONE WOMAN EVER who has not had to confront this wound. There are women who pretend or dismiss that this is not their work (I know this because this was me...) , but facing this part of self....the encoded "mattering" wound of the Matr-Matter-Mother is the only way to alchemize true Feminine power. 

Because this wound is intrinsically PART OF YOU, it MUST BE MET. 

There are periods of time when this archetypal wound is intensely activated within the feminine Collective  in order that it may be FELT....purged, and transmuted. 

When we are held in the distortion of the Mother Wound....our knowing mind pleading with us to re-member that We/I MATTER, and yet far too often, when this wound is in its active expression, we collapse into a Medusa-spell... frozen, deadened, somehow far away from life.

It is the MOTHER who is the SACRED DELIVERER OF THIS WOUND. 

It is the most foundational primordial reckoning...the deepest and darkest of the Feminine descent...it is the only way to know Feminine consciousness and POWER in its fullness. 

And....

YOU MUST GO DOWN.  

You must face the part of your Self that has been made frozen and deadened. 

There are medicine carriers.....feminine alchemists.... amongst us who weave a basket of gold to hold this aspect of Feminine consciousness. They have arrived at a place of potent, gentle sanctity after enduring the forging of the archaic crucible of their own Matr/Mother wound. 

Phoenix Waters Waters] is one such *soaringly gorgeous* alchemist of this wound. 

I will not say more other than to name that this work is (an aspect of) her Destiny -- (and it is *always* the destined Wounded Healers that are able to constellate the most potent reclamation for those they serve.)

Her offering / portal called ALCHEMY: An 11-week course on Transforming Patterns Into Power is a sacred sanctuary to gently touch into this archaic wound so that it can be quite literally, alchemized. Registration remains open through thus Wednesday the 13th.  

The cosmic injury of the Mother Wound carries within it the false language of the wound -- this place of somehow not knowing at a cellular level of our Matter, our MATR-ix, how deeply, sweetly, wildly it is that YOU MATTER, subtly and triumphantly.  Your desires and deepest, most-squished-deep-inside longing matter.

It is time to set this free, Dear One. 

From Phoenix: 

"Through the Womb of Winter we will begin to dive deep in the excavation of our relationship to POWER.

In the unravelling of THE MOTHER WOUND, we uncover ways to reclaim the essence within us that has previously felt muted. We.....embrace our desire as sacred."  

❤ AN IMPORTANT NOTE OF CLARIFICATION ❤ 

This wound is blueprinted. 

It is encoded in all women to both bear the wound of the mother AND BE the sacred deliverer of the Mother Wound.   It is so that we -- ALL OF US, man and woman -- can individuate into the highest purpose of our Soul. There is no shame nor blame in bearing the mark of this wound NOR BEING ITS SACRED DELIVERER. 

Once made conscious, as with all soul-wounding, it has a divine, archetypal, grace-filled purpose.

The original post on facebook can be found here

DEATH OF THE BLOWJOB

Originally Written: 12/19/2018

"Ask any woman who has performed oral sex and they will confirm it certainly is a job."

~ the internet (specifically, the 1st site I found when researching the etymology of this term)

BLOW JOB:

From blow off (“to fell ate”, to blow (someone) off, a phrase which originated among prostitutes), 1933 +‎ JOB.

"Blowsy" being a slang term for a women down on her luck or a prostitute, in the 1800's.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

If you are one to give a man a 'blow job', please do us ALL a favor-- dust off your knees, wipe off your mouth, touch up your lipstick, and GO HOME. Sadly, you are one of the Daughters of the Great Forgetting, steely and willing to sell your sacredness for a shallow sense of security.

You are throat-deep in transaction, choking on commerce.

You are of no use to our broken world because a woman who has forgotten her own magnificence can only EVER buy and sell.

You can wrap your lip-glossed lips around his cock all the live-long day but until you learn to wrap your HEART arout his sex, the only thing you are in service to is getting him off.

Don't demean yourself OR HIM by "working" to please him, by performing a "job" or "maintenance" to keep him satisfied.

It doesn't serve the man nor the woman to feel like what is being shared is something called a "blow job", the word *and* act encoded in scarcity, commerce, and obligation.

The era of the blow job is over.

In contrast to the lowly blow job, C0CK WORSHIP is a ROYAL, DEVOTIONAL, EROTIC act of creating a man as KING.

Until you can open your mouth, your throat *AND YOUR HEART* in deepest devotion, in hungriest longing to envelop his sex inside your mouth: teeth, tongue, and watering flesh, you are no vessel for the healing function of Shakti.

You are a petty worker, subjugated by every distorted thought that you have let yourself believe about what it means to truly respect and honor a man.

C0CK SUCKING **IS** SOUL SUCKING -- and until you understand this, you are unconsciously perpetuating a lineage that keeps both men and woman caged in a spell of erotic commerce and mediocrity.

The very moment you have a man's cock in your mouth, you are either an archetypal emanation of "blowsy" -- a prostitute -- a woman who does not know her own WILD BEAUTY and feels like she needs to perform a "job" to keep his love -- OR-- you are a woman who knows HOW TO CREATE a man as King, Sultan, Pharaoh, Hero, Magi, Wizard.

(Hint: You can't be both, angelface.)

The moment you place his cock in your mouth because you want something (other than HIM) or because you are trying to GET, you instantly energetically step into the archetypal lineage of prostitute consciousness.

If there is ANY part of you that does not desire him in his FULLNESS -- including swallowing his seed to be birthed within you as an expression of your devotion -- then STOP.

If you proceed, it destroys BOTH OF YOU BECAUSE IT IS A LIE.

Proceeding with "blowing him" when it is not in your HIGHEST ALIGNMENT and DESIRE instantly collapses you into a timeline of prostitute, and prevents him from birthing himself in his wholeness (as King).

As we collectively rise, these templates of inauthenticity, compromised integrity, and archaic covert timelines of The Seller (prostitute/"blowsy") and The Buyer (collapsed Masculine who uses money to "buy love" ) are going to crash.

(Interestingly, actual prostitution and sex work feels totally sustainable and clean energetically because of the overt agreement and integrity of that container. The *archetype* of the prostitute at the level of Feminine consciousness IS however an energetic leak for women who do not self-identify as actual sex workers.)

MEN: If you are letting a woman get you off at the most mechanical and basic level of heat, wetness and friction, that's cool *AND* there is ZERO magic in that game.

It will NEVER alchemize you into your greatness.

Allowing yourself to receive low-level mediocrity creates low-level mediocrity. This is law.

Please stand for something greater for yourself AND her than a woman who has forgotten who she is and lets herself perform "acts" and "jobs" in service to you.

A woman who gives "blowjobs" is a woman who is hunting, tracking the scent of what she can *get*.

Instead of an alchemical transmission and imprint of GIVING and RECEIVING THE MOST EXALTED ROYAL CODES OF REMEMBRANCE and WEALTH, you are both just colluding with each other's beliefs of scarcity and mediocrity.

There is NOTHING sexy about lovers in collusion to support each other's archaic distortions.

WOMEN: You need to remember how to wrap your heart around his cock-- not just your lips. Give *yourself* permission to enter into a <bliss> state of heart-shattering, *wild* devotion through the act of cock worship. By giving at this level of CREATION, you are preparing your heart and your energy system to receive at levels you have only let yourself imagine.

It is through this doorway of raw, primal devotion to your man / the masculine that will CAUSE HIM to create for you (and ALL of us, ps) a world that we can once again animate with our deepest feminine essence.

Devotion does not just create devotion -- it CAUSES it.

Our world would be a better place if women could understand and REMEMBER that they are THE GOLDEN CHALICE -- Cosmic Queens of the HIGHEST ORDER -- and their sex, their heart, and their devotion to the masculine...to a MAN *and* HIS C0CK... is what will begin to heal the broken-heart of our bleeding world.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

NOTE: We've ALL been siphoned down archaic languaging and expressions that are encoded to demean both men and women, as well as the erotic acts of devotion they describe. I

ts up to us -- as acts of love and devotion FIRST TO SELF, and then to other, to be in relationship to these expressions, and to consciously FEEL whether they can hold our Beauty, our Sex, and our Devotion

The original post on facebook can be found here

LYSISTRATA

There is an ancient play written by Aristophanes in 411 BC in which the women from the warring factions of Sparta and Athens come together to end the war under the leadership of Lysistrata, a powerful Athenian woman with a deep sense of individual and social responsibility. How do these women, the wives of sworn enemies, accomplish such a significant social outcome?

They band together - all sides of the warring factions - and all the wives and lovers of all the warring men of all the lands agree to stop having sex with their husbands and lovers until the men lay down their weapons. For some time, the men stagger around the Acropolis, waging war with raging erections, whilst the women go about their daily activities, sex-striking. But the women eventually "win" and the sex-starved men create a truce, thus ending the squirrelly Peloponnesian war.

Today, the modern descendants of Lysistrata stand on the cultural fields of our scarred and wounded society rapt with their righteous Kali anger, calling for justice, pink pussy hats held high upon their staff, somehow attempting to end a war that is not being fought.

Let me be clear: the anger of women is *right*, the choice made by some women to close thigh and throat and heart to men is RATIONAL. These Lysistrata women, with their heroic intellect and highly educated vantage points, administer a meaningful inoculation into our clearly unwell culture, the inky veins of #metoo bleeding into our collective rivers of body and psyche.

"We must hold men accountable", they say - and in many ways, they are right.

This is one way that women can effect change: by closing our bodies and hearts to men, taking our sensual swag and expression of feminine eros and leaving the party. However, this leaves both men and women segregated from the well-spring of erotic connection and openness that HEALS US ALL.

The moment we sever ourselves from Eros….our erotic life-force…that which animates ALL life (regardless of gender or sexual enactment), we all suffer.

We become brittle, bitter, a ghost at the feast.

There is a deep re-templatization of union occurring between the Masculine and the Feminine. Deep codes of healing and activation are encoded in the sex and the erotic life-force constellated between the (personal *and* archetypal) Feminine and the Masculine.

If women do not open themselves to being *penetrated* by the Masculine….the sacred Wands of Light of both cock and holy spirit, we wither…and when the women wither, so does our world.

If women do not open - and *literally* - create ourselves through our devotional heart to receive the life-creational seed (symbolic or actual) from the Masculine, then men and/or the cosmic principle of the masculine literally have no place to put their NEEDED GENIUS - the life-affirming masculine leadership which is *precisely* what our broken world requires.

The moment women deny the reality of our Beingness as the Golden Chalice, we enter into a Thanatos-driven collapse (Thanatos is our instinct towards Death - the opposite energetic of Eros) into an overly-regulated, overly-politicked intellectual separation from our wildness, from the throbbing heartbeat of LIFE itself.

The archetypal and mythic dimension illuminates there is another way . Its messier, perhaps not as quantifiable…yet it is a way that glistens with the wetness of our tears and our desire….opened, dripping, re-membering.

In the Baghavad Gita, the 108 lovers and consorts of Krishna sing and twirl and sweetly surrender into sensual play (which is so beautifully called "leela"). This is the sweet, devotional, alluring play of the "Gopis", the cowherd girls , their dance and joy being an expression of Bhakti - their sensual devotional nature opened by Krishna, the impersonal, archetypal masculine.

These are women who wake from their sleep at night to wander deeply into the moonlit forest in response to Krishna's enchanted flute playing. Here, in the presence of their shared Beloved, they dance and play in their sensual aliveness.

Some women do not - or choose not to - hear the invitation of the archetypal (or personal!) masculine to come play…to come heal one another within the Eros-drenched darkness. Some women choose the path of Lysistrata, its cold stones worn smooth by the generations of women who have come before: heart and sex justifiably closed in response to "masculine wrong-doing" - its imprint upon the feminine pain body undeniably evidenced and projected onto the neon marquis of social media and mainstream news alike.

The Lysistrata women will tell you *accurately* that women have been oppressed, raped, murdered and burnt at the stake by the bloodied hands of men - or at the least, "the patriarchy". This very well may be true…..AND…..if this is your only belief - or even at the core of your beliefs of and about men, it is deadening YOU (not just them, as is likely intended) because it divorces you from the TRUTH and the moonlit magic of who YOU are.

Other women choose the humbled, achingly messy way of Krishna's Gopis - his cow-herding dakinis. These women choose to lay down their own armor, to be ravished by their devotion, to make love from nothing at all, and let the innocence of their feminine nature be enchantingly dangled for ALL the world to behold. This quality of Feminine nature is immortal, ageless, physically irrelevant: the sweet innocence of the Feminine in the expression of her pleasure, her sensual play, her "leela".

I know the place in me that stands in the humble lineage of "Gopi", one of the eternal dakinis of the archetypal masculine. I know the place in me that feels deeply grateful to fall to my knees, drawing immortal devotion through tender, thinned skin of dirty and pine-needled knee into the deeper flesh of thigh, of root, of wetted swollen lips.

My throat opens, my mouth is hot and wet, choking on the fullness of my own longing and an ancient desire within the wilderness of me that is jaguar (my pleasure huntress), gazelle (the way I know myself as sacred prey), and temple serpent (that which weaves the two in the indigo darkness).

"Thank you….thank you" slipping from my lips, spilling upon his hallowed sex.

I am well aware that we are living in a trauma-saturated cultural conversation. I also carry a deep knowing that there is a place beyond cement and scar, battle and bruise. This requires allowing ourselves to be ravished by our own hunger…the quintessential desire to be filled by a man, to be taken by the masculine.

After the zeitgeist of frenzied finger pointing and the trembling reclamation of "this is what happened to me" (deep bow to all the women who found the courage to lift the veils of their own grief-soaked secrets), there must be an invitation towards MORE. There must be a visceral re-membering that WE are the sisters, wives, daughters, lovers, and mothers of MEN...that the double-helix-ing of relationship and interdependence and dare I say LOVE for one another is in our very DNA.

The Feminine is not rising.

The Feminine does not rise. SHE DESCENDS and grows downward….into the earth, womb, darkness, blood, wetness, rapture - and it is from this fecund, moonlit realm of DEVOTION that the FEMININE CREATES KINGS.

To the Lysistrata women, the regal empresses and the mighty queens:

you can have your cold throne of sturdy opinion and empirical evidence. You may sit high above, formidable with intellect, attempting to end an ancient and false "war" - the life-creating cosmic seed of the Masculine having no place to burrow within these fortressed gray gardens of fact, anger, and archaic narrative.

There is nothing your reasoning can do for our torn-asunder world until you open your heart and your sex, ecstatically shattering open like 1000 blades of grass blowing by cool and muddied waters, your knees stained with dirt, the sound of a distant flute calling you into the moonlit forest.

Your castle may be beautiful, right, and pristine - but until you have been anointed with the stain of your own longing, you are no queen.

THE RECLAMATION OF FEMININE ALLURE (at the Essence of the Soul)

ALLURE

al·lure

1. the quality of being powerfully and mysteriously attractive or fascinating.

2. powerfully attract or charm; tempt.

Allure is the energetic capacity for women to captivate, magnetize, spellcast and wield influence REGARDLESS of their "extrinsic beauty". Its a deep energetic sourcing in IMPERSONAL "meta" Feminine Archetypal Power.

The conundrum is that too many women (WAY_TOO_MANY_WOMEN) have banished their inherent, immortal Feminine allure in an unconscious Faustian vow to keep ourselves 'safe' in this time of highly destabilizing

psychosexual re-templatization.

While this is understandable, it also *tragically* castrates our deepest Feminine essence from its inherent power to EMANATE, MAGNETIZE, MESMERIZE, AND INFLUENCE.

When we banish our Feminine allure, it creates an energetic contraction that counter-intuitively creates distance between our sense of self and our capacity to influence, magnetize, and RECEIVE WHAT WE DESIRE.

And the dark truth is:

BANISHING OUR ALLURE DOES NOT KEEP US SAFE

-- IT RENDERS US UN-FEEL-ABLE.

Eventually, we migrate to our masculine channel where we "work harder" or use our sex performatively to seduce, captivate, and cultivate influence (influence = feminine power, ps) and the experience our Soul desires.

(Note: I am all for women using their sex to sell whatever they have going on....its just a completely different frequency and energetic than women who cultivate ALLURE on a SOUL level.)

Said differently: it is not until a woman is willing to *develop the energetic capacity to anchor her own allure* that she will enter her fullness as a sovereign, self-possessed, potently expressed woman. Due to the multi-generational collective tsunami of toxic messaging and distorted mirroring of Feminine power and sex, the qualities of allure have been shamed, misunderstood, and energetically siphoned from women --which therefore, systematically weakens and dilutes our capacity to wield influence and magnetize our desires within our lived experiences.

For a woman (of *ANY* visual presentation), the activation of ALLURE sources women in an energetic lineage far beyond the cage of her "small s self" -- it sources her in ARCHETYPAL energy. Archetypal energy is REAL and allows women (and men, too) to access power greater than our own *personal* sense of self.

All "stars", famous performers, and women who imprint a scintillating, fascinating energetic presence in their field are accessing Archetypal energy -- it is precisely this meta, "impersonal" energy that allows us to FEEL these women, to turn our heads and lift our noses into the air as they walk by, longing to track their captivating scent of fascination *regardless of their physical beauty*.

"IMAGE" IS ACTUALLY ENERGY.

ALLURE is not a woman's sex appeal.

ALLURE is not her physical beauty.

ALLURE is her capacity to access and cultivate archetypal energy on a SOUL level *beyond her current sense of egoic personal self* and integrate these immortal energetic qualities into her identity, Beingness, and the sovereign expression of her Soul.

UPDATE: 23 OCTOBER 2021

ALLURE is exalted, timeless Feminine power.

It is personally one of my core quantum-essenced templates -- and it is *teachable*.

Allure is a deep primal gift of Feminine radiance that feels AMAZING to emanate as a woman, to vibrationally receive as a man, and to magically play with in the world.

If you are *a woman between relationships* (which the non-awakened teachers of our world refer to as "single" -- which I am intentionally disrupting because this is a lie + is a deadening frequency for the Feminine) and would like to be placed on a 'ooooh we will letcha know first List' for my upcoming course, Love Story, which is a succulent deep dive into the Feminine Arts of Enchantment (including Allure), please feel free to sign up below and we will share the deets hot off the G presses.

The original post on facebook can be found here

"WHAT IS MOST PERSONAL IS MOST UNIVERSAL."

When we understand our lived experience through the lens of myth and archetypal energy, the entire context for our reality (no matter how contracted it may be at present)

effortlessly EXPANDS in meaning....and MAGIC

The original post on facebook can be found here

WOMAN ELECTRIC:

An Invitation to an Archetypal Pop-Up Experience

in Los Angeles

The collective seas are darkened with rage and grief.

This is not the time to dim, hide or disappear your flame.

Turn UP the moonlit voltage of your deepest, wildest Feminine expression.

For most of us as women, we live inside societal constructs of self-expression.

We have been programmed to stuff our too-much-ness into synthetic, panty-liner scented, aspartame-gilded cages.

We become reflexively obedient, living inside the corseted 'small s' transmission of selfhood.

And.....it is not this way for all women.

We all know what it feels like to be near women who give themselves permission to access the wildness + power that is our birthright. She walks into a room and we cannot help but track the scent of her criatura...her desire, her ALIVENESS.

THIS IS THE POWER OF ARCHETYPAL ENERGY

Archetypal energy catalyzes an experience and expression of Feminine power and allure far beyond our acculturated, metabolized sense of egoic 'personal' self.

Archetypal energy causes an activation of SELF at its most potent, its most clear, and its most ALIVE.

This potential lives within our psychic DNA: a gossamer double-helix of IMPERSONAL FEMININE POWER alongside our own individual *unique* soul expression.

It is the standing in the ancient river that runs beneath our everyday awareness which activates a vibrational, *impersonal* and ENERGETIC level of consciousness.

I have experienced and cultivated this work through my dear friend and wizardly colleague, Rion Kati Kati].

Rion is arriving to Los Angeles this week and together, we are creating a GORGEOUS, highly-experiential workshop for women who desire access to heightened states of allure (allure is the Feminine equivalent of 'charisma'), magnetism, and communication (whether spoken or visually transmitted.) Rion's most potent and precise energetic wizardry is his capacity, cultivated over 2 decades, to identify a woman's archetypal blueprint / soul essence, and then, through a sequence of energetic transmissions, support her to open into this *impersonal* (Meta) Archetypal Energy.

Most celebrities (regardless of gender) have a higher embodiment of impersonalized ‘meta’ consciousness in their presence. Most ‘normal’ people live in a personalized, ego-centric presence where their soul essence is under-expressed. Rion creates the opportunity for women to align to their archetypal ESSENCE and Soul expression.

The results of the activation/s are palpable: there is a clear before and after state. Archetypal work is POWERFUL....I am trained in the lineage of Jungian psychotherapy, and my entire coaching/mentorship practice is focused on archetypal experience. I am intensely discerning about energy work... and.....having known and worked with Rion, I can personally share that my sense of personal 'power', clarity, allure (Feminine charisma) and influence have all notably expanded since receiving his transmissions into my energetic field.

Rion is only in the States for 2 weeks and only in Los Angeles for 4 days so we are dialing this in quickly!

I am so thrilled that he is beginning to offer his brilliant work to small, curated groups of women.

We have included many examples of embodied Feminine archetypal expressions in this link to help further support the understanding of this gorgeous work.

All additional details are also included in the link (in the Comments).

THE WORKSHOP WILL BE HELD IN EARLY NOVEMBER. Due to the intensity of this work, there are a maximum of 8 spaces available.

Please feel free to reach out to either of us if we may provide any additional details.

We are truly built for these times ~ and it is perhaps now time more so than ever before to smear our Feminine luminosity, wildness, and power all over this burning world.

The original post on facebook can be found here

THE DEATH OF THE MATADOR: AN INVITATION TO LIVE unHIDDEN

Many moons ago, my former therapist said to me that I was like a matador. I could use flashes of brilliance and "over-functioning" to distract and seduce someone's attention away from my banged-up heart, or the rising heat of my flustered not-knowingness, or a sudden feeling of aloneness so piercing that I felt like I was being swallowed alive.

As I have grown in capacity and potency, so has my matador. With an intentional and taut whip of the red scarf of sensual language or poetic metaphor, I can now bring hundreds of people to places of deeper illumination about themselves, the psyche, or the world around us. While I am grateful for this potency and transmission, it is also true that the deepest, most shadow-inflected and vulnerable parts of me stand slightly to the side. The stampeding and bloodied bull charges towards this thing I hold apart from me, red like fresh blood and raw rubies, brutal arrows like shark's teeth of my fear, shame, and ego pummeling its heaving, dying form.

My entire life, my matador choreography has done its job of distracting the seeing of everyone everywhere -- except for a teensy squad of intrepid individuals who seem to carry "matador kryptonite". These magical people are not good news for my ego structures, but they are GREAT NEWS for my soul.

I know the very minute I encounter a carrier of matador kryptonite. I know that they can see right through my protective bullshit. No matter my acrobatic matador moves and fancy fluttering of the sanguinary scarf, they refuse to be seduced by my display. And it *terrifies* me. I smile... slowly bat my eyelashes....and then fight them with my arrogance. I wrap my lip-glossed lips around the very fire-hose I use to blast my projections onto them, dehumanizing their lived experience because apparently, there are times that my belligerent ego needs a Hollywood-sized green-screen in order to see its own shadow. I invent very compelling stories about *their* woundedness, bringing the full weight of all my sophisticated Jungian psychotherapeutic blahblah to bear *inside of my own shadow.* (this makes me want to throw up a little....)

About a year ago, sitting at a table in the office of Robert Kandell, I "accidentally" met a world-class matador buster. My life has literally not been the same since. (This is also massively due to Rob's galactic Goddess of a wife, Morgan -- who weaves layers upon layers of mystical and marrow-deep brilliance and beauty I truly do not have the words for....)

Rob has a brilliant, instinctual, and stunningly sophisticated capacity to LISTEN -- not just to the words a person is saying, but the entire gestalt of how one is expressing him/herself. As he explains, "Everything is communication."

He attunes and tracks like a mothertrucker....all the while smiling and chatting in his charming, off-handed way. He is creating and playing a profound game moment by moment-- not in a way that is disrespectful, egoic or undermining....but in a way that exalts our humanness, our wholeness. Its extrapolated game theory going down in real life.....total Super Mario Brothers of the psyche, communication, and relationship.

*Brilliant beyond words.*

I am sharing all of this with you today because Robert is a straight-up communication *master*.....and...he has a thing about humility that I respect -- and also, respectfully challenge. Rob's entire life is devoted to learning to live unHIDDEN and to teach from his lived experience. (unHIDDEN is the name of his upcoming book, ps.)

He is teaching a one day course here in Los Angeles on Satrurday, September 22nd. Its going to be STUNNING. He is going to lay down and teach/reveal/create All The Things.

The sense of freedom I have from learning from Rob and being taught only a few of his wisdom seeds has been PROFOUND. I am more alive in my fullness and wholeness. I am learning many things about how I communicate and WHY I communicate. I am understanding more about why and when I manipulate and triage and over-function and seduce and do gnarly unconscious commerce / transactional things and energetically hire partners and lovers and friends and coaches and teachers and my mother for-crying-out-loud to either distract me from my deepest genius and/or catalyze deep evolutionary thrusts forward in my life.

I am learning to live unHIDDEN. It is a hot mess of a thing, and I have a bloodied, dying, battered matador on my hands....but today, I choose to sacrifice the fallen ghost of a thing I created to protect me for the TRUTH of my wholeness. This is what it means to live unHIDDEN.

If you are in Los Angeles, COME. If you are not in Los Angeles, COME.

Its Saturday September 22nd.

He has an entire team of rockstars and magical minions who will be there in support AND playing our own game within The Game.

OH!! Enter secret code name "gillian" and it will save you $50 from the ticket price! The early bird price of $197 expires tomorrow so if you register before tomorrow night, this is like a double bonus!

Come play, LA.

Lets live unHIDDEN, *TOGETHER*.

The original post on facebook can be found here

THE COSMIC FEMININE COCK

Shakti is the cosmic Feminine principle of energy -

that which animates.

Shiva is the cosmic Masculine principle of consciousness- that which beholds.

Like our own DNA, they are symbolically intertwined; the Tantric double-helix of cosmic creation and union.

The Feminine principle (including and beyond gender) in our culture has been deeply injured by historical reality:

The Burning Times, slavery, and desperate familial immigration patterns that have left our womb resonance cut off from our land, our sense of “home”, to Belonging, to Eros, to Feminine power, and to our own bodies.

This cellular memory is ALIVE within us, haunting our belief that our desires, our voices, and our Truth/s matter.

The word itself: “matter" / “mattering” comes from the Latin etymological root “MATR” — it literally means MOTHER.

This idea of *mattering*, of allowing the truth of our lives TO MATTER is inextricably imprinted within the Feminine line — and without entering a descent into the collective Feminine pain body, I am going to swing out to name that it is specifically encoded within the Mother Wound.

FEMININE PENETRATION:

The Cosmic Feminine Cock is the rising of the formless Shakti into FORM and INTO VOICE. 

Shakti emanates from our deepest Feminine essence.

It is sourced in our bodies, in our sex, and in our pussies. 

The archetypal Masculine cock penetrates the human body.

The archetypal Feminine cock energetically penetrates the world (and the void) — but does so through the deepest Feminine channel of openness, Eros, vulnerability, and sacred Truth telling. 

This is the etymological definition of the word, “penetration”:

“the innermost part of a temple”

“to place within”;

“the ability to discern deeply + astutely”

Feminine penetration is THE WAY your desire for attuned influence and a deepening into the collective is MADE REAL.

Feminine penetration is finding our way back to “the innermost part of a temple”.

It is learning HOW “to place our Feminine voices within” the Collective so that they can be RECEIVED.

* The reclamation of our cosmic Feminine cock is not a masculine activation of penetration. It is not effortful, nor directive, linear, or assertive.

* It is not about “going big” — it is about going HOME: Home to our deepest, darkest Feminine essence. It is about coming home to our Selves, our bodies, our pussies, and from this place, learning to tell the wild, beautiful, bloody, electric TRUTH of our lived experience.

I know what it is like to play dead, mute, and "safe" rather than come forward to be seen and FELT with the dark, raw sensuality of my transmission.

Playing dead to keep yourself safe ravages the Soul.

Learning to to free your voice from the depths of your Being (your pussy) ravishes your Soul.

In my body, I know the devastating double-bind consequence of the “witch wound” that echoes in our bones. It is the feeling that I may DIE if I dare say, or communicate, or BE the TRUTH of my deepest desire…AND... in the same body and *in the same moment* exists the REMEMBRANCE that if I do NOT express my Truth, that this an altogether different kind of dying.

As women, we must not forget our right to be terrifying — and the Feminine IS terrifying in her mystery, her desire, her darkness, her longing, the sacred wetness and holy flame that IS OUR TRUTH.

I want you to feel the deep Feminine thrust of your own erotic LIFE-FORCE in your body. I want you to know what it FEELS LIKE to penetrate your own heart with your cosmic Feminine cock, sourced within deepest Feminine essence.

I stand in supreme devotion to holding you in your own undoing and together, MAKE REAL the deepest, most raw, magnificent truth you have ever let yourself dare to let drip from your lips.

FEMININE PENETRATION

The etymology of PENETRATION:

“The innermost part of a temple”

“to place within”;

“the ability to discern deeply + astutely”

Our world is dying from the snuffed out “too muchness” of a woman in her erotic, wet, potent expression.

The Feminine soul is instinctual and LONGS for expression and wholeness.

I understand the pain of what it feels like to live locked up inside a stranglehold of expression and desire. We were literally murdered for being in our Truth, and this regressive program (“fear of annihilation” / “I will DIE if I say / write / speak / BE this) runs deeply inside our cellular memory.

Feminine penetration is the capacity to penetrate the world with the deepest, darkest, most vulnerable and potent expression of Self. Women have been conditioned to express through our masculine channel because this is "safer”, sanitized, and is rewarded by our cognitvely-driven and highly distorted culture.

When we, as women, learn to (which is actually a deep *remembrance*) source our deepest truth in our body and in our pussy, we begin to open and penetrate *through our FEMININE CHANNEL*.

I want to feel you.

I want to sit all the way in the last row of the auditorium and be writhing in my own wetness because the TRUTH of your soul is emanating from every cell in your turned-on body and coming out your mouth as these holy things we call ‘words’.

I want to feel you.

I want to read you words and be dropped in and opened to the unleashed holiness of your wildness, your sweetness, and the soaring flames of your truth.

There is great suffering in strangled feminine voltage —

it is painful and light-dimming and doesn’t serve you

or our world-on-fire.

Feminine instinctual knowingness whispers, growls, and paws at you in the inky darkness, begging you to REMEMBER:

* You have permission to open wide for it all: freedom, sweetness, sex, desire, money, and the marrow-deep knowing that the world is waiting to be ravished by your deepest medicine.

* You are ready to be seen and FELT in the soul-trembling taboo of all your “too muchness”.

* You are allowed to embody the most electric expression of your TRUTH.

* You are energetically called to penetrate the Masculine -numbed by shame and shadow, breaking his heart open with the darklight of your Truth.

* You long to awaken the armored Feminine from the deathly forgetting of HER OWN TRUTH.

* You are remembering your own Feminine medicine and your desire to penetrate your own heart with the most potently expressed TRUTH OF WHO YOU ARE.

FEMININE PENETRATION: Cultivating your deepest Feminine expression to penetrate the WORLD with the smokin’ holy truth of who you ARE.

The original post on facebook can be found here

TAKING IT: CONSENT AND THE DARK ART OF FEMININE SUBMISSION

We had kissed only once before, inside the small and sultry elevator of the Hotel Shangri La, smashed against its smoky mirrored wall. For our next date (our 3rd), he asked me to meet him in a park in Santa Monica. I arrived late and he was waiting for me, sitting cooly along a stone wall. He explained that timing was rather important so we weren’t going to chat.

My body knew instinctively to listen very closely.

“Gillian, I am going to explain to you what I intend for our date together. Its up to you to provide your consent, or your lack of consent. Is this clear?”

“Yes. This is clear to me”, I responded, my body instantly shifting into a heightened state of erotic exhilaration.

“I am going to place a blindfold over your eyes. I want you to communicate with me so that I know you are comfortable and that you can no longer see. We are going to walk together. We will sit and we will eat. If this is something you consent to, this will begin our date together this evening. Do I have your consent, Gillian?”

In this moment, I was relying on my feminine instinct….I was relying on the felt sense in my body that spoke its YES.

Biting my bottom lip with an inescapable thrill, I gave clear voice to my body’s yes. It was only then that I saw the backpack. Black and bulky, somehow a tad menacing — it clearly contained the contents of his plot for me. He turned towards it and pushed its clanging contents around as he carefully extracted a black fabric sash.

His body was now behind mine as he placed the black material over my eyes, tying it firmly at the back of my head. I could hear him lift and arrange the heavy backpack onto his body. He then placed his hand at my elbow, and with a necessarily firm hold, we began to walk.

We spoke no words. Each step I took was precarious and clumsy. Every sound became heightened: the pattern of his breathing, the song of the birds in this city park, and then voices, and traffic.

“In 2 more footsteps, Gillian, you will need to step down. There are 3 steps here”, he would cooly notify me.

The quiet innocence of the park quickly faded and was soon replaced by the sound of voices and traffic, and distantly, the oceanic heartbeat of the sea. The little park we were walking away from was positioned just behind one of Santa Monica’s most iconic oceanfront avenues.

In the short time I had been blindfolded, my capacity for hearing had already become wildly alive. What was the joyful attunement to birdsong and the sound of his breathing now became increasingly drenched in a titillating humiliation as I could hear the snarky comments and my body sensed the hot stare of bewilderment thrusted upon me by the fancy passers-by. He held me steady, and offered no words of reassurance.

I could hear the cars lining up on either side of the light, and people….dozens of them….crossing the wide avenue, my cheeks now searing with stinging humiliation and my body involuntarily gushing in wetted waves of defiant pleasure. My dancer’s composure fell away like long, heavy hair falls to the floor once chopped by the sharp blade of the scissor: each of us made new in a single moment.

We arrived at edge of the beach…my nose lifted into the air like a hound, tracking the scent of fading humanity: car exhaust, sticky perfume, and now…the raw salty wildness of the sea. He directed me to sit along the edge of a concrete wall and take off my sandals. I did, randomly feeding each golden Miu-Miu to the air, waiting for him in the forced darkness to take them from me.

We walked into the warm sand. Startingly, his hand let me go, now using only his voice to keep me close to him.

“Come closer to the sound of my voice, Gillian” he would say to me, if in my darkened ecstasy, I clumsily staggered too far.

He set out a blanket and directed me to sit down. I straightened my skirt, it having become twisted in my awkward stumbling, and made my way onto the blanket.

I became acutely aware that I was wearing no panties and rather lost in an ecstatic fugue state about where thigh and skirt met skin, heat, and wetness.

In silence, he fed me: umeboshi plum, dragonfruit and kiwi, toasted nori and salted chocolate….the mysterious contents of the backpack now revealed. It is not so easy to be fed in forced indigo darkness, and I felt the clawing growl of my own hunger, and the surrendered knowing that any attempt at elegance in these moments was devastatingly futile.

(In the distance, a violin…. its aching notes straining to be heard above crashing wave, the laughter of children, the staccato of reddened forearms, hot + welted by the harsh smacks of the volleyball, laughter and snickering of teenagers staring at the erotic tableau of a blindfolded women being delicately fed by a man large both in presence and in body.)

I was deep inside the sensorium of carnal pleasure. My most darkly and exquisitely treasured moments in life are when my animal body uncoils itself from within, heavily leaning against my ribs, heaving itself against the winged butterfly bones of my pelvis, and pawing its way behind my throat to give voice or sound to my desire. This wanting creature who lives inside of me was dangerously close to the surface: my head tilted back in the air, searching for fecund octaves of scent, of sound, of twilight on my cheekbones.

I could feel him watching me as I burned brightly in my own pleasure. I was slightly….thrillingly….mortified at how I must appear: head thrust back, 1/3 of my face bound in black fabric, nostrils widening, face lifted towards sea and setting sun as I stalked the smell of the rotting carcass of gull, the salted brine of the hot seaweed, and no less, my own rapture. I let desire fully enter me.

Sometimes surrender isn’t enough for me.

I need the deep, instinctual sensation of an erotic trust fall, of consenting to begin a game that I fool myself into believing I have no idea how to play. I like the feeling of placing my will in someone else’s hands, especially the hands of a man….this desire being of course taboo, and therefore, all the more precious to me.

I had not mentioned a word of this to this man and yet he — and men like him — in their deepest instinctual sanctums recognize this in me ~ and in women like me.

They create big, dark, exalted experiences and ecstatic frames for me to animate with my own pleasure.

They say that they have no idea why they feel compelled to create at this level of gameplay. They say that they have never done anything like this before. I know this to be true.

They have created this for me because I energetically hired them to do so; their turn-on responding to my own. In asking for my consent, a man is responding (obeying, actually) to the game I have already begun. Consent is never the first move. Consent is instinctual response to a game already begun.

I used to think that providing consent was collaboratively negotiating with someone who has specific desires to touch another person’s body in co-creational and sensual ways. In other words, one person has the desire to create an intimate enactment for another person — and this desire requires agreement...the green-light.

This experience showed me the ways that consent begins energetically far before its ever verbalized. Truly, and women like me, carriers of sensual darkness and remembrance, will know this to be true: I began this game. His showing up with this level of creational intentionality was in response to my erotic advances…not of body or gesture or sex — but of psyche. When I gave my consent, I was giving myself permission to take the thing that all of us in psyche and limbic system desire: quest for experience with other (the archetypal beloved) so we can feel ourselves.

Consent isn’t simply a response to a question a person asks that will allow him/her to ethically parameterize their sensual advances.

We’ve already hired them. He/she is showing up to play the role that we selected and hired them to play to fulfill our wanting — whether conscious or not. Consent accelerates and deepens a game already in-play…it doesn’t begin it.

This evening ended with a sweet and sexy kiss in the parking structure, each of us headed to our separate homes. I do not confuse a man’s effort, desire, hardness, or investment in an experience he chooses to create for me as an obligation for my opening to him.

I am respectful and appreciative — and — clear about what is mine to take.

And I take it.

The original post on facebook can be found here

RUIN HER

Thirty-six hours ago we were having dinner together at Lago in Las Vegas, overlooking the iconic water works show at the Bellagio. Across the table from me, her Bambi eyes widened in the sweetest delight as the ejaculatory and dramatic sprays of water reached towering heights.

The man and the woman I am with live inside wildly opened hearts. Again and again, they widen the aperture into their relationship, inviting me (and all those who have eyes to see) to peer inside the darkly enchanted forest of their love. He shares that jealousy is an emotion that for many years now, he has trained out of his experience. Instead, he chooses to be his most potentiated, most whole, most unadulterated expression and to penetrate his wife's heart, body, and soul with his deepest self. This is a man who has *chosen* to create an experience of love and intimacy and holding within the crucible of their love that no other man will ever be able to create for her. In every cell of his body, he knows that she has been ravished and torn asunder by his devotion. Through laughter, reflection, affection, and the energetic penetration of his leadership, he purposefully keeps her in a constant state of desire for him.

She is free from his possession or his 'ownership'. Through his devotion, she is free to BE her most vibrantly potent feminine essence: teeming with the Eros that can only be held by a woman opened by unbridled masculine devotion. Through his claiming of her, he will only ever set her free.

This is the way a man ruins a woman in the most devastatingly beautiful, wretched way.

He destroys her by giving himself to her -- utterly and completely. She is so wildly and at times, so painfully filled by him that nothing or no one will compare to the piercing depth of commitment with which he potently penetrates her.

Ruining a woman in this way is sacred and harrowing soul fucking. He dies for her, and in doing so, *creates* her to be able to receive more of him...opening her beyond the edges of the universe.

In her deepest Feminine soul, she knows this, serving him *and* herself by inviting him into greater potency and soaring expression so that he can take her beyond the boundaries of her heart, opening wild and deep.

Being with a woman ruined by love and a man masterful in claiming her open beyond any place she could ever take herself is a deep, dark and wild gift.

My body instinctively recognizes the very real mastery in him, his heart-opened capacity to command feminine surrender as an enactment of his devotion.

My body instinctively senses the way she deepens him, calling him forward into serving both him and *herself* by allowing herself to be claimed by purposeful masculine devotion.

This strange and beautiful friendship we share is a hot and holy mess of experience for me at times. It is a burning down and a fiery spewing of ash and an opening to a lush, molten heat.

We eat caponata and watch the lights of the Vegas strip fractally reflected in the fountains, like Picasso's painting of the Three Musicians...chaotic and yet somehow made all the more real because of the distortion.

I suddenly became aware of the state of my own body and the ways I am turned on by the fullness of their union, this two-bodied devotion to love and the depth of their capacity to destroy and to create. I feel the wispy silk of my dress touching my thighs and can feel the subtle reverb of the swelling crescendo of the gushing Bellagio waters in my sex. As it becomes time to leave the table and walk through the restaurant into the inferno of Las Vegas, I wonder with both fear and thrill (my favorite feeling-state cocktail) if my wetness will leave a small shape on the back of my dress, like a freshly birthed butterfly, its velvet wings still damp from its ravaged chrysalis.

The original post on facebook can be found here

YOU CAN NEVER BE BORN ENOUGH

This is the pregnant phase of the chrysalis....both necessary and good.

But She is clawing at the taught skin of the cocoon....

Her electric wings suddenly too cramped inside the darkness.

This is the timeless way women midwife one another, by helping one another open to birth our truest Self....whether through clawing our way to remembrance or allowing fresh velvet wings to set us free.

I know this moonlit path in my blood and bone -- just as you do....although we have been darkly hypnotized to take our dutiful seat inside a theater of painful forgetting.

And now....the spell is breaking...the chrysalis is rupturing. Perhaps chaos, tender + wild, is here.

My invitation to you, women, is to open...heart, throat and thighs...to let it enter you like the dark rapture of a dangerous lover.

This way, its Wildness + Beauty become part of your essence (they already are) rather than a storm you sense you must protect yourself against.

This is how you are made new, again and again and again.

We can never be born enough.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Women in circle is the way we set ourselves free.

Bleeding Gold begins tomorrow....if you are hearing the call of Remembrance, this is the final invitation.

The original post on facebook can be found here

MICRODOSING THE HERO'S JOURNEY

The Hero's Journey, per brilliant archetypal mythologist, Joseph Campbell, is comprised of 3 distinct segments:

1. Separation

2. Initiation

3. Return

The Masculine aspects of *both* men and women cycle through the Hero's Journey in both minor(ish) and *massive* life-destroying / life-creating ways. (The Feminine version is, appropriately, The Heroine's Journey, and is both different and quite parallel, with a more internal 'descent' as its primary archetypal feature.)

In Robert Kandell's most recent piece for The Good Men Project, he openly + courageously (like whoa) + vulnerably illuminates his experience with a prolonged period of celibacy....inside an um, "intentional sexual research community".

What I appreciate the most about Robert's essay is how deeply it illuminates the anatomy of the Hero's Journey in a very real life (IRL....as far as sex communes go, I suppose), "microdosed" and non-egoic way.

Here is a high-level drive-by of the components:

1. SEPARATION: He found himself at the mythic crossroads...his relationship had ended and he was not clear in his direction.

2. INITIATION: He was challenged BY THE FEMININE

(a classic but not necessary aspect of the Hero's Journey) to enter into the 'Dark Forest' and BEAR THE PAIN of meeting the archetypal dragon (aka: inner demons -- in this case, the need for external Feminine validation -- in Rob's potent words: "I saw the conniving and untruthful aspects of my psyche.")

3. THE RETURN: The man returns *precisely* to the same place he began...but he himself is now DIFFERENT:

he has been *INITIATED*.

He has been initiated and forged-through-pain into a deeper and more mature dimension of who he is.

Per Robert: "This five-month experiment drastically changed my entire life. I had a new deep reservoir of self-love and the skills to self-validate..."

This is a man who has *unhooked himself* from his own addiction and is able to source in his own integrity + sovereignty.

In other words, this is now a man who is capable of SERVING THE FEMININE instead of vampirically feeding off her for his own egoic appetite.

(ps: THIS IS AN EXTREMELY IMPORTANT INITIATION FOR ALL MEN -- and one that our distorted culture actually obfuscates, which is perpetuating the lethal crisis of numb men in the Collective. In my lens, *nothing* is a more dangerous threat to our world nor more heartbreaking than The Numb Man.)

THIS is the path our world needs men (and women) to step more deeply into: one of courageous soul-baring, a willingness to BEAR THE DISCOMFORT of their own pain for a greater good, and a return to the very same world they left behind with a deepened sense of their own self-authorization and capacity to SERVE THE WORLD from a place of profound integrity.

I am deeply present to the horror of our world....and....

I do indeed realize that this is a story about 5 months of celibacy -- hardly a life or death situation.

However, I am *also* deeply present to what lies inside the heart of EACH OF US to allow ourselves to be deeply initiated and "hammered into love" by-- and through-- Life...however radical or petite these "forgings" may be.

Amidst all the darkness, its important we pause to recognize our *own* Hero(ine)'s Journeys: the hardship and unsung triumphs, our return to the very same place we once left, now more free, more whole, more alive than ever before.

We are EACH being forged: shaped by beauty, Eros, darkness, heartbreak, magic, love, and grief....

the Gods + Goddesses at once gently beckoning and brutally pounding us into new form and expression.

These are the days that our very Best Selves have been made for, my Loves.

The original post on facebook can be found here

BLEEDING GOLD: A Descent into the Mythic Feminine

The purpose of Soul Work is not to try to have our wounding disappear.

The purpose of Soul Work is to arrive at the place where our wounds Bleed Gold.

Weaving together elements of myth and dream into the lived experience of our chthonic Feminine essence, we will deepen into the archetypal Feminine. As she rises in her Wholeness -- and in her Wildness -- she is calling to be Remembered, through us.

Our descent begins in energetic circle together on the Strawberry Full Moon (June 28th) with the 7 following sessions occurring on Saturdays, beginning June 30th.

7 women (currently 6 spaces available)

7 weeks

$477

If this is touching a place of felt-sense resonance for you, please be familiar with my work....this immersion will be initiatory, experiential, and may be deeply psycho-activating.

If I may answer any questions or if you would like to schedule a brief call with me prior to joining (this is required), please feel free to private message me.

I believe that our wounds carry our most Sacred Gifts and that their truest purpose is to set us free into our deepest Feminine remembrance, where the wounds

Bleed Gold.

The original post on facebook can be found here

EXALTED FEMININE SOVEREIGNTY:

*THIS* is the frequency of feminine power that will bring 'the patriarchy' to its knees. Rising in the Truth and Power of who you ARE is *the* holiest and most smokin' hot medicine in ALL the land.

DEEPEST bow to you, China Brooks for BRINGING US BACK HOME.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

OBJECTIFICATION IS MY SUPER POWER

Beauty lures them in (men and women) for a closer look.

“The minute you ask, I know you want some.” - Rhianna

Once they come closer – then the brainwave entrainment goes into effect.

With one smile I can penetrate a heart.

With one glance of eye contact I can peer into a soul and connect with their potential.

Once I connect, it's activated.

Done.

I really appreciate my beauty for this purpose. It's such a useful tool.

I had someone say to me, “Don't worry about when they look. Worry when they stop looking.”

My beauty can be off-putting for some – intimidating.

And so – an open energy + smiles and appreciation really breaks the ice. It makes me approachable. And once I am approachable, it weakens that tough shell that has been built around them – that protective armor that has been telling them for ages that they aren't enough and could not possibly have what they truly desire.

I am here to tell them that they can.

And I use my beauty – coupled with my consciousness – to do so.

It has been my SuperPower since I was young.

This has been how I take cat-calling, too.

It's a sacred dance.

I didn't always view objectification in this way because I was in so much pain. The more I remembered my wholeness - and defragmented myself - the more it became a Power for me to utilize.

And I am just getting started...

~ China Brooks

The original post on facebook can be found here

A CELEBRATION OF CAT-CALLING: THE RIGHT TO CLAIM MY EXALTATION

I am going to tell you a story about cat-calling. Except…it's not really about cat-calling….it’s about Deep Feminine Power and the freedom I chose inside of the very same moments where I and my body were being ‘objectified’ by the lustful primal mating calls of men.
This is a story about surrender and allowing myself to be ravished — and transformed — as Sacred Prey. This is a story about claiming the radical, undeniable TRUTH of my own Feminine Power — a bone-deep, primal revelation made possible only by the contrast of the Dark Masculine.

I always have choice, and I will always choose to be free.

Author’s Notes:
❤ If you are susceptible to traumatic or physiological activation in the context of non-consensual encounters between men and women, this piece may be deeply activating for you.

❤ If you are highly identified  with  the narrative of feminine oppression at the hands of “the patriarchy” and identify with its entrainment of woman-as-victim, this piece may be highly distasteful for you.

❤ This is not to excuse or justify catcalling or street harassment. I am aware of the painful experiences these non-consensual primal mating rituals create for many women….and worse so, for young girls.

It was 10:30 on a Tuesday morning in a slightly industrial area of Los Angeles, the city where I live.
I was wearing my favorite edge-of-Springtime ensemble of this year:
a tight turquoise lambskin skirt, a white jacket with a slightly puffed shoulder, and smoking hot gray suede heels.

I was completely outwitted trying to find the recommended parking structure (which will surprise *no one* who knows me) and instead, found a little spot along a side-street. As I got out of my car, eyes still adjusting to the bright morning sun, I tilted my head back to orient myself to the sudden immensity of this environment. This was the most colossal construction site I have ever seen. I was not yet close enough to see anything but the immense anatomy of the buildings and the towering cranes. Like the great Titans of Greek mythology said to be the children of both Heaven and Earth, five impossibly tall cranes gracefully moved amongst one another, American flags fluttering atop their elongated throats.

The most direct way to the office was to walk along a chain linked fence spanning the entire city block, encased in black plastic. As I walked, I noticed that I began to regret my outfit…the archaic heat of shame stirring in my body, suddenly aware of the tightness of my leather skirt and my bare legs, visually emphasized by the stacked height of my heels. Pebbly construction bits made walking extra tricky; I placed my steps gingerly. I became aware that I was tensing my body and scanning the street for other pedestrians, my heart quickening as I realized there were none.

As I walked along the make-do sidewalk, I could sense the back of my body beginning to brace. I could feel the emergent physical vigilance that I have known for so much of my life. Vertebrae by vertebrae, the lock-up began….like the Transformers my 3-year old nephew adores, my body becoming not my body, but armor — and shackles.

I could feel my breath becoming more shallow, and became aware of my sudden attempt to increase the speed of my steps, shoulders raising, tailbone tucking in some sort of unconscious attempt to hide the roundness of my ass. Even my eyes, now darting in desperation, were seeking refuge away from this metal and cement cacophony of raging noise, massive machinery, and MEN.

I knew it was going to happen even before it did. First the wolf-whistles, and then the yells from high above: “What’s your hurry, baby?”, “Where you goin’ lookin’ fine like that?”
I walked a bit more briskly, looking downward to be extra certain my steps were safe.

When a female body enters this state of nervous system activation and armoring, it is literally physiologically painful. The flow of life-force so intrinsic to animating feminine expression becomes immobilized and contracted, preparing for assumed assault.

Suddenly, a new experience began to unfold for me: I became aware of
myself in this state, and could see that I had entered a trauma vortex of fear and vigilance. I saw myself — and what I saw broke my heart: back hunched over, fingertips plugging my ears, forearms and elbows creating a shield to flatten my breasts. My body was closed and armored as I awkwardly skuttled down the street like a crab, shell hardened and sharp.

I could hear myself angrily declaring to the empty space around me: “MY body is not public space” — an artifact learned long ago in a class on Women’s Studies, not even realizing that this slogan had lodged itself into my psyche.

I saw myself: puny, meek and collapsed…consumed by righteous anger….and deeply identified with my experience as a victim of this harsh and yes, non-consensual experience.

There is a very real activation in individual and collective Feminine experience when we encounter an overwhelming experience with the Masculine. Our body-consciousness ‘flashes’ between three different states of psychic, physiological and physical reality. We lose track of what is actually ours, what belongs to the collective ‘feminine pain body’, and what may be the archetypal scream of our grandmothers, and their grandmothers, their hands cut off, their bodies burned. I could feel my body flashing manically between each of these energetic lineages that were directing my physiology — and therefore, my psychological response.
(Physiology determines psychology— which is the cruel truth of why trauma begets more trauma.)

I intentionally began to deepen my breath, allowing each breath to be long, cleansing and cooling. I softened my shoulders. I lifted my eyes to the sun, feeling its warmth on my face.
I calibrated myself to this exact place and this exact moment. I reminded myself that it was Tuesday, at approximately 11:00 in the morning. I released the clenching in my jaw, my ass, my eyes. I fired the learned and conditioned “my body is not public space” mantra and began to quietly sing Bittersweet Melody by The Verve (random *and* somehow perfect) to soothe myself . It felt important to be able to hear my own voice, and feel its vibratory hum animating the central channel from my pussy, through my belly, awakening my heart, inhabiting my throat and emerging in my mouth and on my lips as song.

Despite the tormenting noise and thunderous chaos, I found myself becoming curious and realizing that I was feeling desire to be here — to BE in my body and in the TRUTH of my life….to be intimate with the reality of this moment.
I turned around, walking back towards what felt like the heartbeat of the construction site, the place where the voices of the men had come from.
I stopped and located a place along the sheath of hot black plastic, tearing its skin apart with my hands to peer inside. I watched as giant steel beams careened against the cloudless sky; the cranes, like ancient dinosaurs, lifting and placing them onto the towering spines of the embryonic buildings.

An inferno of men, of maleness, of brute strength, sweat, exhaustion and thick calloused hearts: the timeless sight of anonymous, faceless men using their bodies to BUILD. Lowly bulldozers pushing and pulling, giant claws pounding through concrete and lifting its jagged remnants. Two men jackhammering, wearing huge headphones to block out the raging staccato, the violent pulsations moving up their thick sinewy forearms to be absorbed by quivering flesh and strong bone.

I peered inside this dense, ancient citadel of men, of tools, and noise…of the very real brutality of building that occurs through and by the strong and wearied bodies of anonymous human beings we call men.

Somehow tribal: an ancient masculine code of hierarchy, musculature, men using their hands and their bodies, tools, and machines. My feminine essence has no cellular remembrance of this sort of hammering corporeal life, living inside a world of concrete and steel. It was completely foreign and yet in these moments, peering through a chain linked fence, I began to feel the remembrance:

It has been this way for thousands and thousands of years.
Women have given men life, and men have built our world.

I could feel myself opening. Ego becoming Eros. The need for justice becoming my desire for forgiveness. I could feel my heart and my pussy relaxing….opening to receive the magnitude of this symphonic chaos —
and the Soul-remembrance of my brothers, my lovers, my fathers, and
yes, my predators.

I turned away and retraced my steps back towards my appointment.
In this moment was a choice-point.
Two different timelines appeared before me.

I could carry on to the office to meet my client after having a fairly alchemical experience of compassion and life-force. Or, I could choose to surrender and be penetrated by the fullness of this moment.

I chose to surrender in devotion to myself — and devotion to the masculine.
I chose to open and take it all because I wanted to FEEL it ALL….the drunken rapture of the raging percussive throb of the jackhammers, the towering cranes and skeletal systems of the buildings, the dust and the smell, the menacing bulldozers like cockroaches, the American flags, torn at the edges, being whipped around in a sudden gust of hot city wind, the men looking down upon me, devouring me with their hunger, licking their lips as their eyes traced my body.
I want to be opened and penetrated by it ALL.

Once again, the sound of the wolf-whistle….and this time, I bend down, leaning my purse against the dusty fence. I turn to face the construction site.
I turn to face the men, high above me, desiring to penetrate me with their primal mating call.

And I let them. I unfurl. I give myself to these men.
I turn to them in the wildness of my own erotic life-force, lifting my leather skirt just enough to allow my thighs to part.
I raise my eyes to the distant men, standing high above on shafts of searing metal; my palms open to each side of my body, and then slowly, raising my hands, I place them at heart-center, in anjali mudra, bowing my head in devotion and whole-bodied appreciation.

I offer myself to these men — and through these men, I offer myself to life: the holy cock of my feminine surrender penetrating my own heart, penetrating these men, this moment, this LIFE.

I consent.
I will be your Sacred Prey.

I consent because you no longer have power over me.
I will be your Sacred Prey and in this surrender, I am set free.

I will wholly receive your desire to have me — and in doing so, you will be opened by the sacred abyss  of my surrender.

I want to be penetrated by it all and I have become powerful enough to display the fullness and the wetness of my sacred YES. I will give you all of me: my beauty, my fear, my devotion, my forgiveness, my rage, my sex, my fire, my submission, and my sorrow.

These men, my ‘predators’ are in cosmic and archetypal service to me.
They are in service to my sex, my power and my FREEDOM.

In gratitude and with my deepest honoring, I surrender.
With full consent sourced in my most exalted sovereignty, I choose to become your Sacred Prey.

You carry the keys to my deepest, darkest power.
Men: thank you for showing me the truth of who I am. This can only occur when I transmute my feminine pain into my chthonic feminine power. To give back to you, I give you all l that I am in this moment…..standing on the sidewalk in the mid-morning sun,
rapturous with chaos, skirt hiked up around my strong thighs, opened and alive in the velvet fire that is
WOMAN.

Credit:
In this context, "sacred prey" is a term I learned from Om Rupani.