Tag: desire

Sometimes I think passion is something Life Coaches made up

When was the last time you got excited about something? Quivering excited? Jump up and down excited?

I have a hard time remembering the last time I got excited. Partly because I rarely do anything exciting and I avoid getting excited to avoid being disappointed.

It’s really fucking sad.

It’s not how I want to spend the rest of my days.

I want to find something I’m passionate about and allow myself feel that passion sear through my veins.

There is a level of commitment that comes with being so passionate about something that it burns you up. It kinda scares me. It takes an investment that I’m not sure I want to make. Drive that I’m not sure I have.

I’ve cultivated a safe life of mild disinterest.

Oh well, I didn’t really give a fuck anyway, method of living. 

Safe. Comfortable. Boring as hell.

It’s easy not being passionate about anything. It takes zero effort.

Admitting that you give all the fucks you have to give about a thing, that’s hard. Things might not work out. People will shit on the thing you love. Who wants to risk that?

Not many of us, but  amazing things happen when we find what we are passionate about and allow ourselves to go after it at full tilt.

At least I think amazing things happen. I’ve heard stories.

I’m still looking for my passion. I don’t know if I haven’t found it or I have and it’s such a strange feeling that I don’t know what it is when I feel it. Or I’m too chicken shit to admit to it.

What do I love the fuck out of? Other than my husband and kids?

Honestly, the work I’m trying to do here. It’s in the art, the stories, the poems and the intuitive workings.

I also think it’s in something I haven’t found yet. Something I think I’d enjoy, but don’t really know because I’ve never done it before. I’ve got to work on having more of those experiences.

What do you love the fuck out of?




There is another life out there and I want it.

I’m not happy.

Yes, I have things to be happy about and I love everyone one of them, but I’m not happy.

This isn’t the life I want to be living. It’s a total asshole thing to say. It’s selfish. It’s like telling my husband he isn’t good enough. Which isn’t remotely true.

Maybe discontent is a better word. No. No, it’s not.

There is too much content-ness going on here. Settled. Comfortable. Suffocating. Binding.

I want something different. Long for. Crave.

The ache of this unknow unlived life pulses with every beat of my heart.

The pounding of a drum trying to change the dance without knowing how.

I want to travel. Let my bare feet touch the ground in new strange places. Stay long enough to know if I’ve found a new home.

I want a wildly successful business that supports me in every way. That sets me on fire and helps me spread that fire. Burn the world down.

I want lazy mornings in bed. Sheets that feel like heaven against my skin. Sex.

I want clothes that help me feel amazing. That fit. That are just as sexily geeky and gothy as I am.

I want a healthy body. One that performs all the tasks I need it to. Without suffering. Body love with ease.

I want a home to come home to. A house with working parts. Comfortable and beautiful spaces. Welcoming spaces. Sanctuary.

I want a car. Maybe two. A classic car that screams sex. The perfect gleaming black paint job. A truck that works hard. Roaring engine. Mud fling tires. Ever part performing to perfection. Creams jeans.

Bonfires. Starry skies. Chocolate. Full body massages.

It gives me the chills just thinking about it. The good chills. The ones you get when your lover brushes their lips along your naked skin.

Shamelessly follow your desire. Your dreams depend on it.

We’ve been taught that desires are bad, selfish and shameful.

It isn’t true. Our desires, the deep ones, the ones that send shivers skittering across our skin, are the whispers of our soul song trying to call us to our brilliance.

Desire is a delicious powerful thing. It’s a compass needle pointing us in the direction of our soul calling.

I believe stripping away the negative teachings around desire turns it into a clear connection to Spirit. It makes it easier to see where we want to go, get inspired, stand in our power and create the hell out of our thing.

When we desire things that aren’t good for us, it is a direct result of having a twisty wonky understanding of desire or we are buying into some other bullshit.  It totally fucks up our ability to create lives that set our souls on fire.

Have you ever burned for someone? Imagine allowing yourself to feel that way about your dreams, about the thing you want to create, that biz you want to start or whatever is calling to you.

How fucking amazing would that be? How hard would you work to make yourself more desirable to your dream? What would you do to show your dream that you two belong together? In a non-creepy stalker or trying to be something you’re not sort of way. In a honestly self confident sort of way.

Desire feels good for a reason. It isn’t about fitting into some narrow idea of what sexy looks like. I think there is so much negativity around it because it is a powerful magick. A women secure in her desire (not the same as  society’s idea of sex appeal) can do any damned thing she wants without any twisty manipulation.

Being desirable and creating your life around your desires is standing in your power, working your magick, and letting your brilliance out into the world.

What do you deeply desire right now? For the longest? Are you looking where it’s pointing you?


Mooning creative blocks should totally be a thing

There is something magickal about Autumn. Nature slips from hurried pace of life to a slow restful slumber. I can feel the change creeping through me. It is utterly delicious.

I want to wrap myself in the veil, pull it around me like a hooded cloak and wonder the between places listening to the whispers of the spirits there. It makes me want to snuggle up with ghosts, let their stories pour out  from me so others can drink them up.

It’s an ache that hits me every Fall. I’ll give in just a little and be left feeling unsatisfied until the next turning of the wheel and I’ll start this process all over again. I want to do things differently this time. I want to let this desire consume me.

Instead of worrying if it is right or good, I need to get the damned stories out, stop letting them haunt me, let my dark dirty mind run wild like demons loosed on the page. It’s exciting to think about. The idea of it is like the thrill that comes with a look from some sexy fucker wanting to devour you.

And scary as fuck.

Writing could be a total waste of my time. Maybe I’ll never finish one story. Maybe I will and no one will read it because it’s total trash. Maybe I’ll be abducted by aliens. None of those things really matter at this point. What matters is embracing desire and getting these things out of me, before they gnaw away at my insides turning me into a mindless empty shell.

Writing has always been something calls to me, whispers sweet nothings in my ear and then rips my heart out. I can’t avoid it. I can’t get away from it. I can run all I want, my writing will be patiently walking behind me like Jason Vorhees stalking a camp counselor.

There are many art/crafty things I enjoy doing, but writing feels different. It has never been something I can go without doing. It has always been the thing I’ve resisted the most, bagged on myself the most about and am totally addicted to. If it were possible, I’d probably bleed inky words.

I’m very good at helping others get their shit made. I need to start doing it for myself too. I’m making a commitment to myself (yes, I’ve said this before) to get one story done. All the way done, written to the end, edited and published.  No starting any new stories. No hopping from one to another and half assing things. Full bare ass or nothing.

What is your creativity calling you to commit to?


What you want in life might not be cool or trendy and that is totally badass.



Deep rooted Priestess, connected to the core.

Immersed, Wanton, Magick.

Black feathered, sharp toothed, and feral.

Creature of hidden treasures.


There is a trend with ‘Gurus’ of various industries that love to tell us to go big or go home, to do epic shit, to make 6-7 figures from anywhere and a bunch of other bullshit.

There is no place for deep rooted living, time that moves at a more sensual pace or creating a life that really is about you and what you want instead of what some wanker trying to sell you something says you want.

Oh and if you really want something different, well you clearly don’t know what the fuck you want. Fuck that shit.

I recently had someone tell me I didn’t know what I wanted from life because I wasn’t conforming to his life.  Please know that when someone tells you this, it isn’t true. You always know what is best for you (even if you don’t always believe you do). People who say these things are trying to get something from you, not help you. Even if they believe they are being helpful.

I want to be able to sleep in with my husband every fucking day.

That might seem like a bullshit goal to some, but it’s important to me. Reaching that goal means I earn enough money that my husband doesn’t have to go to a crap job anymore. Which means I’ll have to earn quite a bit, but the emotion behind that goal will make so much easier to reach.

I could say I want to earn 6 figures. But without the emotional connection, a deep reason, it is a meaningless goal. Meaningless goals are usually never achieved & if you do happen to get there it’s only to find out it sucks and not at all what you wanted.

I want to help women create the lives they want, ones with deep meaning, even if it doesn’t fit into the little boxes that society wants us to fit in. Those little boxes are so lame.

How would your life look if you were The Priestess of your life? How would it feel?