The Feral Dessert

I watched her for a while before deciding to sit with her.

My four-card spread wasn’t a surprise. Tarot is intended more to help you focus, and to pull things to surface than to unveil what’s new and unknown. Except the fourth card, which gives you the result.

Of course I did a love spread.

All you need to know? It’s gonna be alright.

I am forcing a hidden beauty to unveil itself after too many seasons burying its light.

The beauty has held, even if concealed deep inside. I am facing a geode. And I have a hammer in hand. She said that my hammer is my mouth / the truth.

This energy is everywhere lately.

My heart is as the desert demands – calm.

Since landing, I’ve been at balance. My heart-seas are peaceful. Immediately, the air smelled right and my heart slowed. I was born in the desert. My body is built for the heat of it, the sensuality of it. Everything moves slowly and with intention.

Someone called me impulsive. They were wrong.

Explosive, yes. But never impulsive.

Demanding, yes. But always deserving.

I move a lot slower than people believe. I am far more calculated and intentional than people imagine. But how they see me is more them than me, and I’m good to let people see what they need.

If they’d stopped to consider it, they would understand – 49. Unmarried. Ruled by love. Impulsive would have sent me to Vegas long ago. I am anything but.

Running on feelings and moving with energy is not impulsive, and I am both of these things. They are to live honestly and to trust the Universe’s asks. So long as I am neither lying nor harming, I’m good. In the event that the Universe decides to be impulsive, I will move with her.

That’s living truth, and it’s difficult only for those who cannot meet me. Because while there is a hammer in one hand, I carry a mirror in the other. And it’s the mirror that’s usually harder for people to accept. Some take time, and some never get there. Either way, their journey is distinct from my own, and I revel in mirrors. I am always wishing to see more of everything and every layer and angle a mirror has to offer.

Eternally curious for no reason other than to understand everything the Universe places in my path, every time the Universe forces me onto the gravel of another. Sometimes, a geode shows up, see.

I am run by energy fields. I respect and trust the rhythms of the Universe and yet and yet and yet I do not live where my body is most at rest.

The desert.

Feral. Quiet solitude surviving what everything else cannot.

I am surrounded by steel and glass and everything man made. I remember sitting on the plains of the Serengeti watching the sunrise, and crying. I was inconsolable; my friend asked why I was crying and I was so frustrated that I could only use words which are far less sophisticated than what the heart feels – because this is what Allah wished for us to see but we ignore His asks daily.

In service of “progress”, whatever that might mean. None of it is true. None of it is healthy. None of it carrying the peace which our hearts need to breathe every day.

We’re sitting on the curb-side after watching Kruangbin and Hermanos Guttiérez, the latter is for whom I came.

El Bueno Y El Malo is my favourite of their records. Most of the songs they played last night (and hopefully tonight) are from this album.I’ve never liked my men strait-laced. Every man I’ve cared for has been covered in edge, though not all as obvious as here.

Every man I have loved has been feral. Quiet solitude surviving what most others cannot survive.

This has never changed. It will never change.

Fire can only be met by the feral.


I couldn’t pull my eyes from him. He wasn’t playing music; he was it. Pulsating. I don’t know how he stayed sitting. I don’t know how he is human when he is music. Every part of my body responded. Watch them play a longer set than the 10 seconds above to understand how he is inseparable from the groove; how he is unadulterated unapologetic sexuality.

It’s why I couldn’t see anything but his energy in the room. The music took a backseat to what he is.

Feral. Every single one of my love stories. Men carrying wild in their hearts. Refusing the pretension of tame, they give me permission to be myself (though each of them would tell you that this space might be a part of me which I carry everywhere whether people like it or not. Maybe…)

May your groove be feral, loves x


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