If the only prayer you ever say in your entire life is “thank you,” that would suffice.
MEISTER ECKHART
Nathan, for being the loam from which I bloom, for valiantly holding down the fort while I let loose my roar. When we lose our way, we always find it together.
Mom, for making me. And for seeing me like the Divine sees us all: precious, a wonder; utterly and joyously loved. Dad, for always looking beyond the veil. And for your absolute, unabashed, infectious love of life. Kathryn, for sweet, strong sisterhood, literally and literarily. Erika, sistah, for being my first idol.
My clients, WEE women, Man Whisperers, and Feminine Badasses, for taking the path less traveled, and for the honor of helping to rewrite your story in splendor.
Kate, for making art out of it all. For meeting me in the heart of the dark. For staying. Anika, for no-bullshit, all-star friendship from the Rio Grande to the stream. Sera, for setting me up on my first blind date with the Divine Feminine. For helping me feel the difference between truth and untruth.
KC, the manifestingest motha, for reminding me that who we are is love. Wendy, for seeing beauty wherever you look, including at me. And for gorgeous photos, always. Alisa, for cycling with me in unending friendship. Alexandra, for making dances that imitate life and for being my BFF. My soul brother, Bryan, for making art out of love.
Regena Thomashauer, for standing for me, for standing for pussies everywhere. Carla Camou, for teaching me how to not die from emotions. Michelle Masters, Deb Kern, Carl Buchheit, for mentorship of the highest order. For teaching me that being human is not a fallen condition. Kassy Shekeloff, Ilana Firestone, the Morehouse community, and Dr. Patricia Taylor, for expanding my definition of pleasure.
The Seductress Salon and women of the Mistressmind, for growing the Goddess in me. Annie, for demanding that I howl, for suggesting that I self-regulate. Nisha, for making and breaking the mold of “sistering.” Jena, for paving the way, and modeling self-celebration. Stacey, for championing my voice, even beyond the point of no return. Jennifer, for holding me strong when I was going down.
Sabrina, for gracefully embodying the fierce feminine. Domenica, for showing me the dark is delicious. Lisa, for sassy, sexy, Shakti sisterhood, even when I whine. Saida and Sol, for sexy integrity and succulent friendship. Lexie, for mad grass and magic. Susan, for your womancave, weekly composting sessions, and perfect design. Jessie, for rock star support. Mary, for the Fig.
Michael Ellsberg, for your ballsy views, and for being my word angel. Ibrahim, for removing degrees of separation. Alia, for feminine medicine. Eleanor, for helping me “burn in the fire of my own medicine.” Sonya, for personifying sweet ferocity. Kim, for modeling gentle bitchery. Julia, for your nerve — and verve. And films of beauty, always.
Gangaji, for kindly reminding me that all sickness is homesickness. Dolano, for pointing the way to waking the fuck up.
Chantal Pierat, for encouraging me. Laura Yorke, for taking me on. Jennifer Brown, for acquiring me. Haven Iverson, for orchestrating me. Joelle Hann, for editing me. All of team Sounds True, you mystical band of upstarts—including Leslie, Lindsey, Christine, and Kira—for helping me facet a diamond out of a hard hunk of rock.