Sarah La Rosa

SHE comes

Sarah La Rosa
SHE comes

I have run from the terrors. I have limped along the path of the lacerated soul. But here, in the nearly come light birth of day... the dark ever gives way... to lions.

- Sarah La Rosa, from Summoning Strange Angels


Stop playing small.
Stop pretending you are not who you really are.
The truth is, there just isn't any more time left for you to be anything other than what and who you really are.
That is not humility. 

That does no service to your great Self or the souls of those you are called to touch, as only you can.
You don't get to pretend any longer that you are not sovereign, not powerful, not wild, not wise, not intuitive, not knowing, not strong, not capable.
This is no longer about permission.
Permission is something given to children, and you are WOMAN: wide awake, queenly, fierce, lioness, wolf, raven.
No, you don't have permission. 
Thrive anyway.
No, you don't have permission. 
Speak anyway.
NO, you don't have permission.
Cackle anyway.
Who decides the words you are permitted to say anyway?
Who decides that your deep heart's cry is valid?
Woman, you are no weakling. 
Step forward. 
Move into your power, your truth, speak your words as only you can.
Cast your circle.
Spread your cards.
Light your candles.
Summon your fire.
No, you don't have permission. 
Live and dance with wild abandon anyway.
Shake your hips and let your skirt ride high on your thighs.
If you are waiting for this world to stand back and make room for you, you are waiting for blood from stone men.
Move forward, speak, dance, make your altars, write, paint, make love, play, laugh loudly, make solid eye contact, stand tall with your shoulders back, dress in fabrics that feel good on your skin and move in a way that reminds you of your innate beauty, wear bold makeup or none at all, as you wish, bear and raise children- or don't, as you wish, circle with women you are drawn to, step back from those that don't feel safe to you, without apology. Honor your wild sense. Wolves do not ask permission for their lives, and they do not cower in shame when the wild winds call them to new frontiers. Be wolffish in your sensibilities.
No, you don't have permission.
Stop asking for it.
The time has come to move past the privileged thinking of permissive actions and acceptable lives.
Be unacceptable. 
Be radical. 
Most of all, be real. We desperately need your real, Woman.
Make every one of your moves a genuine step toward whole soulfulness.

And do not pretend that unkindness, recklessness, or rudeness is the same as moving in wild woman authority. 
No, beloved. 
Wild Woman Healed is not shrill and filled with frantic rage.
Wild Woman Healed does not point the finger at her sisters and shift blame. 
She stands solid and trustworthy in her own sacred truth and opens the way for her tribe to move more fully into healing, into safety. 
We must provide safe haven for one another- EVERY one another- of every color, race, size, tribe, heritage, ethnicity, worldview, religion, age, political bent, social status, lifestyle, gender identity, sexuality, and any other attribution outside and on top of 'human being'.

It is not necessary or loving for us to point out  and loudly declare the wrongdoing of our sisters. 
We have all wrestled with demons of SHAME our entire female life. 
We can remember every single time we broke and shattered our truth, threw our tribe under the bus, fed our sisters to the predator in hopes of saving ourselves from capture. 
We will ALWAYS remember. 
Instead, forgive. Open. Welcome. 
Be queenly. Be radical in your love. 
Be outrageous in your wild acceptance of not only your darkness, but the darkness and struggle of your sister, who is laboring so intensely to birth herself in this transformational time we are walking the earth.
If that is not possible right now, own it, and do your own inner work to heal. 
Then step our your front door and move on. 
We need you. 
All of you. All that is aching in you to be given to this wounded world: your voice, your talents, your great love, your great and holy work.

Feel into your words and your actions for the truth of fierce queenhood, reclaiming the lost and abandoned cities of sovereign healing- for the people. 
You are Her emissary. 
You are Her torch-bearer. You are the runner that goes before Her, clearing the way with your bravery and noted for your great love.

Your radical transformation must be rooted in great love. 
They will know you by your compassion, your words of welcome. 
Your warm hearth and safe rooms.
You will speak the truth of the forgotten ages, and you will be heard in the desolated streets.

No, you don't have permission.
Why are you begging for healing from those dying of soul cancer?

Your pain, the Great Wound that's been touched and stirred in you will serve as your starting line. 
It will remind you of your purpose- why you are here, in that body, that family, that culture, this lifetime. 
It is a place to begin, only. 
It is not a place to remain. 

Let it go.
Live now, before you are dead. 
Speak now, before your tongue dries.
Dance now, before your legs turn to ash, and you are forgotten among the millions who went before you, afraid, cold, and always given permission to lead acceptable, conforming lives that held them inside gray spaces of nothing where dreams go to die.

You will never receive permission from the predator.
You will never receive permission from those who live to control and corral you. 
You will never receive permission from the ones who have stone hearts.
You will never receive permission from all those who are captured and held back from the living waters. 
They have forgotten the taste of fresh rain on their tongue.
You will not receive permission from the mothers who speak on behalf of the old fathers. 
They have forgotten how to pronounce their own sacred names in the forests and deserts.
We must remind them. 
Our holy howl must rise so long and so loud that it pierces the thick fog around their ears and eyes, reminding them of their furred, clawed feet and their wild, sacred birthright.

Remind them, then. 
Dance fiercely. Speak truly. Walk freely. Love deeply. 
Give permission to yourself.
And watch the holy rains come to drench us all: freed and captured, warm and stone hearted, broken and scarred alike.
Watch the rains come and wash away the hardened cement of fear and "it's always been this way" thinking, for a new whole to emerge in our midst.
Just watch.

SHE comes, and She's looking for you. Be ready.