(a love letter to dirty spirituality)

I don’t know who told you that having a soul means floating.

That being “spiritual” means meditating for hours, whispering “I love you, Universe,”
and drinking moonwater infused with a rose quartz that was blessed by a monk on Mars.

Let me say it clearly:

🌿 My soul curses sometimes.
She doesn’t sit in lotus pose.
She sits on the floor, in a wrinkled t-shirt, with a chipped coffee mug,
and says, “I’m still alive, dammit — and that’s a fu….g miracle.”

I’m not holy.
I don’t want to be.

I have emotions.
I have days when I don’t want to be here.
I have nights when I send “love and light” out the window
and tell the Universe to take a number and get in line.

And you know what?

That’s when my soul shows up the most.

Because she doesn’t need glitter.
She doesn’t care if I post angel quotes or use incense made from ancient yak tears.
She wants me real.

Spirituality without shadow is like a selfie with 12 filters —
pretty, but not you.

Spirituality without anger, grief, chaos, or raw truth?
That’s not a path.
That’s decoration.

And I wasn’t born to be decor.

I came here to feel it all.
To meet myself.
To sit in the mess.
To taste the silence.
To scream when I need to and still open my heart the next morning.

I’m not holy.
I’m alive.

And honestly?
That’s the most sacred thing I know.

You still with me, wild one? 🖤
Now let’s make it legendary.

🌿 “If your spirituality can’t handle a breakdown at 2 a.m. and a coffee-fueled resurrection by sunrise, we’re not the same religion.”