Letter from God.
{source}
Dear One,
I have loved you since the day I saw you.
When I am tired, I reach for your hand and I remember what this life is for. An artist in love with their art is fitting, but why do you push me away?
Do not fool yourself into thinking you do not deserve my worship. That false humility I see you cover your head in shrouds your natural aura that shines like the moon. Cast it off. Do not pretend that I love you just because you are mine, because I created you by mixing blood, earth, and gold. It is because who you are is so wonderful I cannot help but listen when you speak and cry when you cry.
It is you who creates me: with every song, every movement, every time you lie limp or charge forward. It is because of you that I can be. What would I be without your hands as my hands and your heart as my heart? Your smile holds how good this world can be, as there’s nothing that compares to your healing touch. Are you getting now just how much I need you?
It is a lie that they have told you to believe that I am anything but hungry for you. That I sit on my throne with my holy scepter, telling you to do this and that as I look incredibly bored and annoyed with most things you say and do.
They think love is a tail that you have to chase, and they have made their home on the run.
I do not blame them. It feels safe to live inside a box called home. But it is a type of death, the most dangerous kind. You were never meant for the boxes they barely survive in. Their bodies are tired like their souls, and they have decided that illness, suffering, and walking around with half of their hearts, is their cross to bear. They hold the illusion that they will be rewarded for their suffering after death!
I keep telling them that I am a God of the living, and not of the dying.
You were meant to live. You were meant to dance with me outside of those lines, and feel the sting of the cold rain on your skin and the hot flame of the fire. You were meant to look into my eyes and see yourself, and find my fingerprints on everything and everyone, instead of a select few.
Honey, do not get too caught up in all of those rules: do not eat this, or drink that, wear this, or say that. All of the acting as if there are things too terrible or too good even for my hands. As if anything is outside of my reach.
Eat with your fingers and suck the nectar of life off each one. Remember that your pleasure, your health and your wholeness are all I ever asked for.
Don’t get me started on the popular lingo. All of this sending you love nonsense. Or praying for you bullshit. I know you care because you write words that create a wave of change in the world, and you do not waste your time mouthing appropriate prayers to a proper God in robes and slippers. For I prefer glitter.
I’d rather hear your ecstatic moans and feel that jump in your heart when you look at your lover, than feel your blood go cold at a man-made altar.
Yes, you will be tempted to join the march of Man. To believe my words were only given to very controlling know-it-alls about 2,000 years ago. They rewrote so much of my love, and made it fuel for your enslavement. As if I would ever choose some of my creation to rule over others.
They will promise you that if you follow and listen to them, you will become their long-lost friend. Revered, even. The minute you drink of that emptiness, you have lost sight of me, and we both know they will put you out the minute you show your vulnerability (as they often do).
Please do not beg to return to those who could never love you. You with a light that hurts their eyes. Do not cover your breasts, your truth, your thighs, in hope that your covered body will put you on good terms within their society.
You can never win at that game, and I made you to lose, sweetheart. A painful loss, I know. But it’s a holy rejection that awakens you to who you really are and the greatness you are destined for. You know what it’s like to survive so you become a safe haven for all of the survivors.
And do stop dodging my kisses like you are playing tennis.
Stop professing that your brilliance, your beauty, even the way you sing in the shower, is all me and not you, and that you shouldn’t really feel all that good about it. It’s this forced propriety, that drabness, that just does nothing for your figure.
I want you to wear red. Wear a dress that makes the world ache at your presence. And I want you to love it. If all anyone ever does is politely ask to be passed from the spotlight, we will have a world cloaked in darkness.
Have no qualms about soaking up all that you are, and stop acting as if I’m the only one who deserves the recognition. My love, just receive that damn compliment.
It amazes me how brilliant women are so quick to disregard their brilliance as a thoughtless channel, an empty vessel for my breath to be breathed into. As if you have no say in the matter. When the wind blows just right, you contribute to me the brilliance you share. Then you say you might finally be worth something to this world.
I know you think it’s right this time because you use the name of the Goddess and the latest internet guru as your guide, but it’s all just the same. You are worthy, so worthy, the whole entire time. Before you are inspired, when it is flowing, and in the deep stillness after.
Have deep respect for yourself and know that you stand on your own volition and that you deserve love, not because you are me, but because you are you.
I get it that you know we are one, but I want you to be in awe of your dirty knees from planting in the garden and see them as gorgeous, like I do. Everything you deeply love and give your time to, moves me.
And on the topic of sage:
Sage will not remove the bad energy just as going to confession did not make you better.
It’s the same rules with a new twist, but either way you feel chained.
What heals you and frees you is your willingness to feel you, that’s it. No more, no less.
It takes great strength to face yourself, and not simply try to sage it away.
I want to get to the topics of purity and social media.
First purity, naturally.
Purity is your heart. The way you forgive the unforgivable even when you still ache at the sound of their name. The way you reach out and love no matter how many times you are cut. That is the skeleton of purity.
Purity has nothing to do with who you have lain with, how many times, when, where, how. Purity has nothing to do with the clothes you wear or do not wear. Purity has little to do with who you love, for what, when, if you love them still. Any concern of that is the ploy of certain ones so they feel safe and in control around you.
They make it your fault that they want you and can’t stop thinking about you. The rest throw stones at you because this world is only just waking up to what it means to revere a woman in her sensual fullness.
My dear, your natural mode of being is to be in love with all, and what hurts you is pretending you are not. Be wildly hopelessly in love with all who cross your path, and know your love makes the world stronger.
What you choose to do with your body, that is for you. Know it is for only the kings and queens of this world. You no longer have to settle for scraps from the table of someone who you thought kinda maybe sorta might like you.
You make your social media and all of your life a shrine to who wants you, who doesn’t want you, who you want. I get that you’re in a happy relationship or desiring one, but you have more to do than take sexy selfies or post love notes to your current or soon-to-be partner. I need your head in the game, woman. We need you thinking big and focused on creating the world that can save us all.
Leave a legacy.
Start a movement that wakes people up. Do not waste your gorgeous brain and heart and soul solely on incredibly witty and moving social media posts.
There is so much more for you out there. Do not sell yourself short.
I want you standing up and sharing your thoughts all over this world, and I want you declaring from the mountain top the truth that only you can share. Whether or not your social media has a lot of followers really shouldn’t mess with your head all that much when you have bigger fish to fry.
If you get caught up in the social media thing, I will love you.
If you journey to the Alps and tweet about how badass and spiritual you are, I will love you.
If you call me Jesus, Buddha, Muhammad, Lilith, Holy Spirit, Mary Magdalene, God, Allah, the Universe, no one that important, it’s all cool.
If you show pictures of your incredibly gorgeous altar on Instagram, or if you show pictures of your incredibly gorgeous naked temple, I will love you.
It matters not to me the way you express your truest heart, as long as you just express it.
If I cared too much about what you called me, how you lived, what you wore, this wouldn’t be love but some washed-up version of it. And I love you, big time.
Next time when you’re searching for the right mantra to help you feel me and ground you in reality, just say your own name over and over. You will find me there.
Love,
Me
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Maria Palumbo’s ‘soul mission’ is to awaken women to their innate power. Beginning in community mental health, Maria served as a psychotherapist with a specialization in healing trauma wounds. Maria integrated holistic therapies of Yoga, aromatherapy, meditation, and dance therapy with the discipline of psychotherapy. She expanded on her education and experience in psychotherapy by becoming certified in Yoga and Reiki II. Recently she burst through the box of psychotherapy to create her own model of self-discovery which stokes the holy fire in every woman she meets. Acutely aware of the innate genius in all, Maria works with women to help them remember who they are. She is the creator and dream-maker of BodyLove Goddess photo shoot, an event that is the impetus for a body-love revolution. She is also a mentor for brilliant women all around the world through her Awaken To Your Magic mentorship program. You can contact her via email.
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