Hello, dear one,

One member of our group has asked for the story that I shared in our first call to be sent out so that she can re-read it to herself as many times as she needs.

This is exactly the kind of devotion I’m here for: the kind that knows what you need and instead of staying silent or second-guessing yourself, you reach out and ask.

So, here’s the story in print AND audio form. Replay it or re-read it to yourself as often as you need to remind yourself that your Body is the Temple, the Goddess, and the Altar and that Mind, Spirit, and Will must bow to her.

The Body Is God

Once, there was a vast and intricate temple — built not of stone, but of flesh and blood, sinew and breath. This temple was alive, a sanctuary so sacred that no mortal tool could replicate its artistry.

It was called the Body.

Some whispered that the Body was not just a temple but also the God within the temple.

In the center of this living temple burned an eternal flame, flickering and constant, like the pulse of life itself. The flame spoke, but not in words. Its language was sensation, rhythm, and need.
“Listen,” it said, “I am your guide, your keeper, your beloved. Through me, you will know all things.”

But there were others who lived within the temple — the Mind, the Spirit, and the Will — and t hey were often divided in their devotion.

The Mind adored analysis, always seeking logic in the Body’s sensations. The Spirit longed for ascension, for transcendence, often trying to float above the flesh. And the Will sought control, not reverence, demanding the Body perform, behave, obey.

Each believed they held the key to power. Each believed they were the center of the temple.

But they had forgotten something ancient.

One day, the Body spoke. Not in language, but through a sharp ache in the chest. Through a knot in the solar plexus. It wasn’t a punishment; it was a Portal.

A summons, a call inward, a call downward.

The Mind called it stress. The Spirit dismissed it as too basic. The Will tried to numb it with noise and productivity.

But the ache persisted.
The flame grew restless.
The temple began to tremble.

And from the trembling emerged a quiet presence — steady, ancient, knowing.
It had no agenda. No demands. No fear. This was Awareness.

Awareness had been there all along, tucked into the joints and breath and belly.
It belonged to no one, not the Mind, not the Spirit, not the Will. It belonged to the Body.

Awareness knelt before the flame and spoke to each faction, not with dominance but with truth.

To the Mind, it said, “Your questions are holy, but the Power you seek lives deeper than thought. Let the Body guide your answers.”

To the Spirit, Awareness said, “You long to rise, but the Portal you seek is not up. It is in.”

To the Will, it said, “You try to command what must be cherished. Control is not Practice. Bow to the Body and discover real strength.”

And so, Awareness offered gifts not fixes.

Breath.
Stillness.
The sacred art of Presence.

The Body, seen at last — not as something to manage, but as something to worship — began to soften. Not because she was healed, but because she was finally heard.

She did not demand perfection. She asked for Patience. She asked to be listened to over time. Not just once, but again and again, like waves bowing to the shore.

As the Body was met with consistency and care, She opened. Her flame steadied. Her walls relaxed.

And a deep knowing returned: Body was never broken. She was never the problem. She just needed Protection from urgency, from bypass, from disembodiment masked as healing.

And so the Mind, the Spirit, and the Will were invited to learn a new way.
Not to dominate.
Not to bypass.
Not to demand.

But to offer the one thing they’d withheld: Permission.

Permission for the Body to speak first, to feel before fixing, to fall apart, to become whole without needing to be neat.

And so the temple remained — strong, wise, and holy — for as long as life flickered within it.
Not because its walls were perfect, but because its people remembered:

The Body is God.
And devotion — not domination — is how we keep the flame alive.