At the foundation of the old idea of woman is that she is a possession—partial and dependent.

Outrage is the amphetamine of the masses; it keeps pumping us up but we get nothing done.

This era is for the outcasts: the geniuses, the discarded, those who live at the margins of society. It’s not about what’s wrong with them—it’s about what’s uniquely right with them.

It’s a long game. It may not happen in this lifetime. Winning is not the goal; playing is.

We can complain about the labor of this, but this is the labor of real love.

Practitioners of Orgasmic Meditation reported states marked by heightened clarity, connection, surrender, and immersive absorption. Hallmarks of flow.

History has a record of not welcoming those who want to stir the pot of the status quo in themselves or anyone who comes across their path.

What cannot be metabolized by the system must be denied or disguised. And so, she is taught the ritual of reversal, the public undoing of her own experience, the practiced apology for having been too much, too wanton, too alive.

Until woman is willing to take full custodianship of Eros she will remain estranged from her own soul. The moment she does, the world will no longer be built on her absence, but on the fierce, Erotic sovereignty of her return.

We know ourselves only in response—to culture, to expectation,
to man. We have not yet commenced the sovereign life.

True power has no need for theater.
It does not beg, seduce, or withhold. It simply is.

We have been seduced by shortcuts, selling out our wisdom for the safety and status of masculine-defined worlds, bartering away our value for conformity.