Here With Intention



Many have come before me that go unnamed.
They greet me in the most unnatural ways.
They come in the darkness,
when time is primordial and flat.
They come during ritual,
when my eyes are barely open
– in a state of trance.
They come underneath my feet and tickle, guiding me to dance.
They come inside my humming,
sending messages along the way.
They come in pools of water,
shifting the fluidity of my grasp,
forcing me to know. “I can’t help it!” I cried. “You don’t know what it’s like.” Only I know.
Indigenous spirit remains unscathed as far as I’m concerned.
Its healing and its full,
granting freedom from suppression. Unnatural?
Or the most innate?
I come from lineage
of Africa and Indigenous.
I come from the elemental makeup of the cosmos,
the void.
I come from the vast oceans,
the crisp foam on top.
I come from the dirt in the forest,
the muddy, black parts.
I come from the rain and the wind,
the trees and the sky.
I come from death,
turquoise scales,
and ancient stories.
I come from your dreams,
your nightmares,
and the crystals you use
for protection
from beings like me.
I come from the black,
way back,
a time you can’t possibly conceive.
I come from sound,
from movement,
from energy,
from motion.
I come from the wetness between you and your lover,
concentrated energy,
practicing devotion,
I come from everything.
I come from nothing.
I have created everything.
I keep seeing birds in twos.
If everything is interconnected,
I reflect my omens.
I am here with intention.




Internal war and internal love coexist, in different spaces, different dimensions of me. Mental chatter is my thing. It’s almost as if I can hear into realms, behind veils, beyond this time. The thoughts are everflowing and they don’t cease. I am never still. I am constantly in an attic full of mirrors, and I know it. I am constantly inside of myself, sifting through my limitations and my grandiosity, my naivety and my hard, my shadow and my light.
Some days, I’m a wreck. A pool of emotion, chaos, and tornadoes. I can cause destruction, fear, pain, inadequacy. Like a natural disaster, structure and healing comes in the aftermath.
Some days, I’m unusually serene and all knowing, accomplished, productive, loving, and full. I bring you light and flowers. I make you believe in yourself.
This is the dual nature of us myriad people. We come Earth side and leave as we please. We destroy and rebuild, effortlessly.
I am proud of my humanity. I am proud of the work I prescribe, everyday integrating more and more into my spiritual body. Could you imagine being perfect? Where is the grit? The character?
I am as deified as I am honest.

Opening the Sacral, Secrets From Mermaids, and Unlocking Your Power


I’ve never felt particularly connected to my womb space. I actually struggled to feel the light that most healers said was supposed to emanate from it. I would place my hands in an upside down triangle, hoping to find her voice. I only felt empty and stagnant. Even when I was pregnant with my son, there was no ethereal understanding or otherworldly communication.

I figured something was wrong with me.

I didn’t even consider there being a blockage until I kept getting confirmation through readings, and scrolling past literature that resonated heavily- all aspects pointing directly towards my sacral chakra and the work that needed to be done within that space. I tried rituals, baths, open dialogue, writing, art, all aiding my spiritual body greatly but, in those moments, still no light.

Within this swirling time, mermaids appeared, making their presence well-known.

In Western culture, mermaids are typically known to be alluring, seductive, and vengeful feminine energies, which is true, but only partially. The aforementioned attributes make up a small amount of the entirety of these beings. Much mystery surrounds them. In African folklore, they are very powerful deities. Mermaids are symbolic for healing, fertility, sex, and creation, as is the womb. They are beautifully divine, and demand a worthy sacrifice in place of their adoration. An eerie transparency I have, to see their rage and their romanticism transpire comfortably. The clarity at which they present themselves to me is strikingly familiar.

These concepts became intertwined and the meaning was left for me to decode.

It wasn’t until I took a leap of faith in moving to Envigado, Colombia. I was sitting on my porch watching the plants dance in the wind and listening to sound therapy. I have never felt my womb tingle with such delight.

Because mermaids symbolize creation as well as the womb, it makes sense that before I could unlock the mysteries in the connection between the two, I would need to create.

How can I possibly understand the goddess energy that exists within mermaids if I have failed to create from the heart/womb space? If I chose to live my life against my heart and for my mind, it would be impossible to reveal the secrets of the womb.

The secrets revealed themselves once I finally stepped into my power and birthed a life worth living.

The mermaids were telling me I must sacrifice and die before I can become them. I must allow them to immerse me in these ancient, black, primordial waters. I must face each monster that came to greet me in the darkness. I must allow them to open my clenched fists, in turn, opening my heart, releasing doubt, pain and fear. I must swallow abyss, black, ancient, and drown. I must sacrifice and die before I can become the power, beauty, and sorcery of the womb, of the most creative magical space connecting to the heart. They go hand-in-hand.

The mermaids were communicating my humanity dying and asking me to trust them, trust them to kill me, lead me to a life of eternal magic, bliss, opportunities, blessings, and creation.

My womb is glowing and I can finally breathe.

Being receptive, vulnerable, and accepting that I knew nothing and felt nothing, led me to be immersed in my own bliss, my own understanding, my own creation.
I began to make myself feel beautiful each day. I began waking up a little earlier to take care of myself. I began to talk to the plants, coming to my friends in dreams with the perfected art of connecting.

Creation and magnetism folded into one.

Incantations come through as these holy words, cleansed and sacred and complete. I draw urges, intuition, messages from within- without. They come in the form of poetry, alchemy, patience, and connecting the dots.

And connecting the dots is how you unlock your power.



I am running from myself,
sliding down irrigation systems, splattered onto your streets,
flowing into your cup,
making my way down your dirt,
your skin,
through your hair,
your fingertips,
washing you clean.
I have collected your debris, muck, and stench, world.
Purify, purify me.
I am running from scarcity,
running from doubt,
I have been running, praying neither the good nor bad catch me.
I’ve been so consumed by my vulnerability,
My plant babies appear to grow so effortlessly,
but I can’t see what’s happening underneath.
When I finally reach that river bank, who will be waiting for me?
Everything that I can’t see in me, exists
fold in true reality.
Powerful. Fearless. Bold. Soft. Secure. Abundant. Trusting. Enough. True. Authentic. All knowing.
Magic Woman.
Spit on your hands and drag them through the Earth.
Let your hair be free. Wild everyday. Keep yourself close.
Add honey and ginger to your tea for herbal remedies.
Paint your face, pictures, pages. Make your art symbolic. Lush and abundant. Subtle and ripe.
Watch birds fly overhead. Cyclical life stones and teaching in all.
Add salt to your baths, frankincense and rose, flower petals and your favorite oil.
Smile with your babies. Dance and sing. Create safe spaces of being.
Write poetry. Write you. Write me. Write madness. Write peace. Write passion.

Be who you want to become.
Know the universe is answering your prayers.
Know that what will be, will be.
Keep working.
Let go.
Deal with blocks when they come.
My life is mine.

How We Change


I found myself swallowing in shallow pools of grief, praying a flood would come and anncounce my birthright. I sat in solitude, in the ever-changing temperature, the clouds following me, and the sun finding me, again and again.
In my own misery,  I sat leaking sadness and wreaking of insecurities.
I know that I am, but I don’t feel it.
I want to stand up now, take strides, lift my head high.
The flowers are dying and so am I.
Where is the line between surrender and stagnation?
Letting things be and giving up completely?
I once believed I found me.
I’m sure it was true,
a layer in the constant cosmic metamorphosis of who I’m meant to be.
I keep slipping and falling, scraping and bruising.
When does the peace sink in?
I’ve been sitting here for hours pulling dead leaves from a fern that is very much alive and growing.
Is this how we change?