Essays

ESSOESS ESSOESS

Open Legs, Open Portals

When the body opens, it doesn’t just invite touch—it initiates transformation. This piece traces the spiritual, psychological, and ancestral impact of sex, cutting through shame, and disconnection to ask: What are you really letting in? An excavation of erotic memory, energetic residue, and sacred discernment.

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ESSOESS ESSOESS

Your Pastor Gets Paid, But Your Priestess Can’t?

This editorial interrogates the racial, spiritual, and economic double standards that make it acceptable to fund pulpits but shame priestesses. It explores why Black women spiritualists are feared, underpaid, and often erased, while religious and wellness institutions thrive. Drawing on ancestral memory, historical scholarship, and lived experience, it dismantles the myth that healing should be free—and reframes sacred work as worthy of compensation, reverence, and recognition.

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ESSOESS ESSOESS

Between Ancestors and Algorithms

A manifesto exploring what happens when sacred Black and Indigenous traditions are filtered through digital algorithms. It makes the case for ESSOESS—not as content, but as cultural memory and spiritual architecture.

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ESSOESS ESSOESS

Premature Prophets

An editorial on the rise of self-ordained spiritual leaders and the commodification of sacred work. It unpacks the dangers of spiritual bypassing, the beauty of slow mastery, and the responsibility that comes with being truly called.

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White Sage, White Spaces

White Sage, White Spaces is a personal essay examining the silencing of Black voices in spiritual communities that profit from Black and Indigenous traditions. It reflects on what it means to carry memory in your blood while being treated as a guest of your own ancestry—and why true healing must include truth, accountability, and representation.

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There Was a Dead Chicken in the Middle of the Kitchen Floor

At five years old, I watched a voodoo priestess enter my kitchen and awaken something in me I’d never forget. My mother called it imagination. But my body knew better. There Was a Dead Chicken in the Middle of the Kitchen Floor is a visceral, poetic remembrance of ancestral power, psychic inheritance, and the kind of truth that can’t be silenced—even when it’s denied.

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