It is cold even in the summer.

Men with iron pressed shirts debating centuries old parchment paper.

Eight dollars for a plastic tube.

How can that be such a thing? A necessity becoming a tragedy of price gouging.

29.99.

Lose weight.

Clear age lines.

Plug in hair.

Balance gut health.

It is cold even in the summer.

Data breaches.

Emails. Sorry for your inconvenience.

Ticking headlines.

An avocado for your life.

A B C D.

Do not read.

A.I. generators.

It is cold even in the summer.

Recycle plastic.

Refurnish fabrics.

Make a T-shirt. Donate to a cause.

Homelessness is at an alarming rate.

Veterans without health benefits.

It is cold even in the summer.

 

Incredible misalignment was saturating my life at the beginning of 2023. As a girl I was taught that I should please others before myself, and prioritize everyone else’s peace before my own. I was taught this through the actions of the strong but programmed women who came before me, and it was validated by the wounded men in my life that couldn’t meet depth and emotion. There is no judgment here, because we’re all at different levels of remembering how empowered we already are. But there is discernment and compassion; discernment which means that what works for me might not work for you and that is okay, and compassion which I started to look at my reality through. 

At the beginning of 2023, I recognized how unaligned my reality was with my soul’s essence; love, freedom, joy, creativity, expression, expansion, exploring. I stood grounded on the Earth with my bare feet in the grass and admired it, challenging myself to stop looking for greener grass in the future and ruminating on all of the hard places I’ve walked in the past. I asked myself, “If this right now is all my life will ever be, how can I make it the best life ever?” It wasn’t an immediate shift, and it wasn’t without action, but it did cause a ripple effect that started with recognition of misalignment and journeyed through meeting the love of my life, being diagnosed with a rare type of cancer, and embracing feeling it all. The final destination isn’t here yet, but I no longer am searching for that place. I have found that the journey is much more magical than the greenest grass. 

I took my life into my hands, after many attempts of the same thing for years. This is to say that it’s not easy, but it is worth it. My body has always been very communicative with me. When I found myself in partnerships that weren’t supportive or aligned, I was always sick. When I left a soul-sucking bartending shift, my body would break out in a rash. It was at the beginning of 2023 that I started honoring these messages from my body more decidedly. I stopped going to the places that felt like a “no”, like bars filled with surface level interactions, and started leaning into the things that felt like a “yes”: yoga classes, walking in the woods everyday, prioritizing meaningful relationships, etc. Life wanted to shift for me. These doors were open, but it was my responsibility to walk through. 

In an attempt to signal to the Universe that I am open to an aligned community, I found a few uplifting accounts on Instagram that resonated with me. One of which was a page for masculine people helping other masculine people to heal. I followed sixty people that followed that page, with no intention other than energetically calling in a like-minded community through this simple reach. Out of the sixty accounts I followed, only one followed me back, but that was never the goal so I thought little of this new mutual follower in the beginning of 2023. A few months later, I began to feel worried about a lump the size of a golf ball that had been long standing on my shin. I had bumped my leg on my bedrail, and the swelling hadn’t gone down for months. At the same time, Johannes, the only one who followed me back at the beginning of the year, directly messaged me, instigating the greatest love story of my life. Our conversation began with text, then audio, then video calls, and finally transcended and evolved to him flying from Germany to the United States to meet me. We knew it was love before he arrived. We spent two weeks in that bliss. When he left, I visited the doctor’s office to have the bump on my leg examined. They knew it was cancer before the scans confirmed it. 

Unfortunately, it was rare and the outcome was uncertain. Fortunately, I was fast-tracked through examinations to get to the bottom of it, and held by a team of medical professionals, family, friends, and my German partner. Contrary to what you likely think when you hear about an experience with cancer, because we’ve all been touched by it in terrible ways, the cancer for me felt like a gift. In the tarot card deck, The Tower card is about unavoidable death for the sake of beautiful rebirth. Intuitively, I knew I would survive the cancer, and metaphorically, I knew death was unavoidable. 

The version of me that wanted to die was one who believed herself unworthy to the bone. People pleasing since the jump will do that to someone. The many masks required of a people pleaser become so disorienting, it’s hard to see clearly once you’re in deep. When I sat with myself at the beginning of 2023, compassionately and honestly, I had no idea how my intention to release anything aligned would spur the greatest transformation of my life. I had no idea that cancer would become such a blessing in my mind, considering the way it hurt me by taking my grandparents and a childhood friend. Looking back at that time, cancer was the destruction for the sake of rebirth. This death, tower moment, cancer was pivotal, and left no room for small living on the other side of it. It was a reality check, a threshold, a bridge that transported me toward feeling things more deeply and expressing myself more authentically. On the other side of it, my reality is one of alignment with my soul’s truth. Honest and thoughtful partnership that prioritizes healing and understanding. Friendships that prioritize connection, creativity, and intimacy. A career that prioritizes integrity and passion. An environment that prioritizes safety and expansion. A girl turned woman by the alchemy of death, who prioritizes alignment, truth, and love. 

In the middle of 2024, I’m now married, living in Germany, cancer-free, pursuing a career as an author that tells stories of fear through a lens of love, and living in the greatest alignment I’ve ever known. Death promised me rebirth, and here I am. Rebirth promises that this is just the beginning, and it is.

 

Smile, love, it makes you look so pretty.

What good will it do for you to writhe in self-pity?

You can’t avoid this place, you can’t avoid these people,

So stop sulking and look at life from a new angle.

The more you smile, the more people will think you’re happy.

They won’t know the burden that you carry.

And as time goes on, your smiles may convince you too.

Maybe the lie will become the truth,

And you will be filled with the joyous wonder of youth.

But under that joy is a thick layer of dread, And you know deep down you’re hanging on by a thread.

You may have a few moments a day of joy,

But like when a wooden horse was gifted to the citizens of Troy, You’re lured into a place of peace and safety, And that’s when you realize it’s all a fallacy.

Your enemies are here, they’re knocking down your door, They’re out for blood, they’ve won the war, And there you are, still trying to find the silver lining, Smiling to everyone when you really should be crying.

You know you should stop, but it’s like your face is frozen, You’ve accepted your fate, like those gob-smacked Trojans,

And all you have left is your pride,

So if this is the end, you will not be remembered as the girl who cried.

They will say she was still smiling even as she died.

In the imagination, there would be a sort of pride in ripping someone’s heart out. The villains would take joy in what they have done to the poor, defenseless princess. That isn’t what it looks like in reality.

In reality, the lonely princess is mourning the loss of love, while the villain gives it no thought. The injured party makes their coffee alone in their apartment, thinking and writing. Piecing together what has happened to them, trying for answers, and coming up with none. The villain has moved on already. Their sights are set on someone new – they’ll manipulate, hurt, and destroy just like before, or maybe they’ll get their happily ever after. Not like you; there are no happily ever after’s for girls like you.

You will set goals, make plans, change, and grow, hoping against hope that you won’t ache so much one day. The ache never stops though.

You cut your hair, exercise; start a new job, make new friends; read new books, listen to new music, and avoid everything that reminds you of the past. You refuse to let intrusive thoughts take over, and you swear to yourself that you still shine. The thoughts come anyway. You feel dim.

You start to think of the villain – do they know what you are going through? Would they care? You know they don’t care and don’t think of you, but you were taught to love deeply and believe the best in others, so you can’t help it. Lonely lover, you try so hard to imagine you’d be stronger the second time around. You know what you’d say, how you’d protect that massive heart. You keep telling everyone you’ve learned your lessons after trying to save all those villains.

But everyone in the kingdom knows the truth about you, princess; you can’t help but let these villains in. You think everyone deserves love and affection when the knights in your court, your maidens – everyone else knows the truth. Villains aren’t worth saving.

You’ve been gutted.

13 years

In an instant, as if the flame was extinguished

My entire existence, washed away in the sudden swell

Wiped out with no remorse, no hesitation

Cold, heartless, empty gaping hole

13 years

A reflective look into the past, full of hope, passion ignited to initiate change

Thankful for the offer to teach, inspire and motivate

Excited to engage in learning in all its shapes, forms and methods

Eager to collaborate, to debate, to challenge and to question

13 years

Smiles and laughter during the highest of highs were shadowed by tears and sadness during the lowest of lows

A community brought closer through celebrations, victories, intense losses and defeats

13 years

In an instant, as if the flame was extinguished

My entire existence, washed away in the sudden swell

Wiped out with no remorse, no hesitation

I was not ready for this choice made for me but in my heart I was confident in my new path

With determination not to let them see my tears, pain and heavy heart

I know my worth, my talents, I carry memories that are my own

I wear my scars, with pride and with intense faith

13 years

Some might see this as unlucky but not for me

I will rise again

I’d write my name in sacrilegious books 

And 

Condemn myself to fates unknown for the chance 

To dance with the devil

Again and again, 

And learn the hard way,

The best way, 

The only way, 

To love the parts of me that exist for the sake of Hell 

Because Hell exists for the sake of Heaven.

Today, I know that higher, otherworldly place

Because I look in the mirror, 

And face the artist, artwork, and muse

All in one. 

It burns and brands me new. 

If I could do it all again,

I would, 

Like Eurydice be stuck, 

Or Persephone be it all at once. 

Heaven, Hell, and Earth 

For the sake of Love. 

Could it be

That these violent ends have violent delights? 

Passion is so intimately connected with death and so like
Romeo and Juliet I’d die again 

And again. 

My only love sprung from my only hate, 

Could it be that death is great

And love remains

Despite the ashes to ashes 

And dust to 

Dust. I must 

Not fear the constant change that I am

Or think it fatal, 

Flawed of me to know 

Heaven, Hell, and Earth so

Intimately. 

Because they exist for the sake of 

Me. 

 

muchas criaturas sobre la tierra /by many creatures on this earth

pero la más /but the one

que me encanta /with whom I am most enchanted

es el guapo jaguar /is the handsome Jaguar

que corre rápidamente /running swiftly

por las selvas /through the jungles

de la Sudamérica /of South America.

In this captivating interview, we meet Cari Shore, the visionary founder of Aspiring Bohemian, a travel community designed for queer women seeking adventure and connection. Cari shares her transformative journey from a successful career in banking to embracing her true self and exploring the world. Her inspiring story highlights the power of travel to reshape our lives, the importance of authenticity in love and relationships, and the beauty of forming connections with kindred spirits across the globe. As Cari reveals her experiences and insights, she offers a beacon of hope and encouragement for anyone ready to break free from their comfort zone and embark on their own path of discovery.

What inspired you to start Aspiring Bohemian? 

I knew I wanted to travel when I left my job, but my experience at that point was limited to all-inclusive and weekend getaways. As I was planning my trips, I had a hard time finding travel options for queer women that were adventurous, authentic, and modern. I was seeking a community of curious spirits…but couldn’t find it.

Simultaneously, I was searching for what was next for me professionally. I wasn’t interested in rejoining the corporate world and was convinced that the universe would point me in the right direction. Still, my one-year sabbatical had turned into two, and I was getting anxious. I knew I had to do something with the gift that travel had given me. I felt compelled to inspire other queer women to feel confident about exploring the world.

Earlier this year, I found myself poolside chatting with some incredible entrepreneurs in Costa Rica. After hearing my story and my idea for filling the gap for lesbian travel, they convinced me that I just had to get started. I taught myself how to build a website on that trip, and Aspiring Bohemian was born. 

How did realizing your love for women at 40 change your perspective on life and your career? 

Realizing I loved women changed everything. I had lived an extraordinary life full of successes and safe choices. I was married to a wonderful man, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. I want to be clear, I was not living in the closet; at 42 years old, it had never even occurred to me that I was gay. 

Oh, but there were signs…I watched queer couples with awe and envy; I even remember thinking how lucky they were to be lesbians. Ha. 

When I finally understood that I was gay, it was like putting on a pair of glasses. For the first time, I knew why people wrote love songs and poetry; for the first time, I experienced love and heartbreak, and for the first time, I considered what else I might be missing because I wasn’t paying attention or because I thought it what I was supposed to do. 

This realization marked the start of a profound transformation, which ultimately led me to make the bold decision to leave behind a career that had spanned almost three decades.

Can you describe when you decided to leave your job as a banking executive? 

I mostly loved my job and had been fortunate to succeed in a role that allowed me to live comfortably and raise my daughter in dreamy, small-town Ojai, California. I started my career as an after-school job in high school and literally worked my entire adult life as a banker (except for that one glorious summer as a lifeguard). But, like my marriage, I felt an inexplicable urge to leave. I remember telling my boss, as he listened in shock, that I was leaving to explore. To explore the world, myself, and my next profession. I’ve become keenly aware of how much of my identity was wrapped up in business. In a conservative field dominated by straight, white men, I’m relishing in the feeling of shedding my suit, literally and figuratively. 



What has been the most rewarding experience during your travels so far? 

The most rewarding experience, hands down, has been the connections I’ve made during my travels. I have formed friendships in countries that I never thought I would visit. I’ve met people who have shared that my own gay version of “Eat, Pray, Love” has inspired them to make significant changes in their lives or to do something that scares them.

Can you share a particularly memorable interaction you had with a stranger while traveling? 

During my recent adventure in Spain, I stumbled upon the tranquil island of Menorca. While having dinner, I struck up a conversation with the charming couple seated next to me. Barbara and Martin, lovers aged 75 and 80, were seasoned visitors to the island, and their stories captivated me. Before I knew it, they had become my generous guides, treating me to delicious meals, sightseeing tours, and an unexpected but cherished friendship during my week-long stay. Our time together was so fantastic that they invited me for a walk along the Camino de Santiago in the upcoming Fall.

What advice would you give to other women who feel stuck in their careers but are afraid to make a change?

Not to sound cheesy, but this is our one great life; we’ve gotta truly LIVE it. While I understand that not everyone can simply walk away from a paycheck, it’s essential to realize that transformation doesn’t always have to be drastic. Take small but deliberate steps towards pursuing your passions, be willing to take risks, and start saying yes to new opportunities. Traveling has truly shaped my perspective of the world and my place in it. There are many places outside the US where the human experience appears less complicated, and people seem more fulfilled. I’d encourage your readers to want less and experience more. I practice it every time I get an email from Anthropologie. 

How has your view on love and relationships evolved since your journey began?

I’ve come to the realization that I haven’t always stayed true to myself in my past relationships. Being authentic is now a non-negotiable for me. I’m a big fan of love, and I also thrive on exploring the world. Balancing these two passions can be challenging in a long-term relationship. But now, I’m lucky to have a partner who supports me on this journey, even when it means we’re apart for extended periods. She champions my love for adventure and my free-spirited nature. We may not always be in the same place, but I believe that love and relationships can thrive outside of traditional conventions.

What are some common misconceptions about solo travel that you’ve encountered? 

I always prioritize safety as a woman and LGBTQ+ traveler, but I have been pleasantly surprised by the kindness and support I’ve experienced. People worry about loneliness, but more opportunities for connection exist when I’m solo. Concerns about language barriers, getting around, and dining solo shouldn’t deter people from embracing solo travel. And solo travel for women is having a moment; there’s a statistic floating around that 85% of solo travelers are women, so you’ll likely bump into others in the same boat!

How do you handle loneliness while traveling on your own? 

Sometimes, being with myself and in my head for days at a time can be A. LOT. Social situations don’t always present themselves, so I intentionally interact with others if I’m feeling down. I often book a tour, take a class, or join a group outing. I also stay connected to the people who support me from home. It’s nice to know I have friends and family rooting for me. 

What role does community play in your vision for Aspiring Bohemian?

Community is really what Aspiring Bohemian is all about. I envision a tribe of queer women who uplift each other to embrace bold adventures, a space where we can come together for new experiences, shared or solo. 

What are your future plans for Aspiring Bohemian, and how do you see it growing? 

I see Aspiring Bohemian as the go-to for lgbtq+ travel. We currently offer travel consultations and coaching, some really fun merchandise, blogs, and inspiration. Later this year, we will launch small group trips, and ultimately, we’ll have multiple offerings for all types of travel preferences and destinations worldwide. Since we’re in the community-building phase, I encourage your readers to sign up for our mailing list and interact with us on Instagram.  

What message would you like to share with other queer women who are looking to find themselves and explore the world?

Travel has the power to be an escape, therapy, a platform for celebration, mending for a broken heart, or a catalyst for new possibilities. It can change the way you think and just might change your life. You never know what’s waiting for you on the other side of that airport.

“Travel is about the gorgeous feeling of teetering in the unknown.”  -Anthony Bourdain

https://www.aspiringbohemian.com

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I think one of the most scariest relationship statuses is “single”. Most women I know right now are in one sided relationships. In fact, I have never met a women or couple in my age range in a healthy relationship. Women I know (including myself) have always been in relationships where the women have to minimize themselves and be loved selfishly by a man but we will stick it through because it’s scary to be alone. Alone in the sense of not being controlled because women who aren’t loved by fathers properly or ever, look for a father figure in their partners. So the red flags of being controlling and possessive are taken as pink flags of emotional security and “love”. If you’re in a relationship ask yourself, “would I be with him if I wasn’t afraid to be alone?” The answer may shake your reality but then answer this “what are you pretending not to know?” If you are single ask yourself, “Is this life better than the one you were pretending to be happy in?”

“Why are you single?” should never be a question posed to any Women. To live in your singleness should be a confirmation of emotional intelligence and internal strength. Nothing is more easy to do than settle, it’s so comfortable and predictable. If you are single and you feel “alone” affirm everyday who you are and what you deserve and never be jealous of relationships you don’t want. Before you can love anyone, you have to first love on to yourself and be the example of how you’re supposed to be treated by anyone in any area of your life. Why would he love you more than you love you?

It’s hard to be alone.

In the morning, I wake up at 7 before my alarm in a twin-size bed that’s far too small. Light creeps in through the blinds, and I’m not allowed to sleep.

The dog hangs off the bed; my limbs are tangled, and I’m curled into the tiniest ball to ensure he has room. Then, when I’ve given up on comfort, I go straight to the bathroom to wash my face. I move so quickly like I’ve no time to prepare. But I have plenty.

I pick out clothes as if I have someone to impress – there’s no one. After I’ve dressed, I take the dog outside. We’ll walk the block. The morning is always muted. The sky isn’t quite so blue, and the air isn’t so humid. I want to spend the entire day with him, but I know I have to go.

My studio is so tiny. Getting the dog ready for his day doesn’t take long. Everything is within reach. I take my time saying goodbye; leaving him is the hardest thing I do all day.

I get into my small car, and I drive for thirty minutes. I stop at the coffee shop. I like to pretend I’m doing something with my life. I want to give someone, anyone, the impression that I am a person with a life. I don’t have one.

I drive from the coffee shop to the office. If I have time, I sit in my car to try and catch my breath. Silence. Breathing. In and out. Pretend I’m not so hollow inside. And then it’s to work. I work alone all day. I spend an hour at lunch alone in my car. I drive home alone. While driving over the bridge, I wish I could stop and enjoy the sunset, but I can’t.

I try to quell my loneliness by talking to the dog when I get home. I ask him, who’s ready to go out? Who’s happy to see me? I walk him a little longer at night. I’ve taken him away from home, and he sits all day alone too. No one visits during the day. It’s just us.

And then, for hours, I watch TV. I’ll think to myself – I’ll read tonight. I’ll write tonight. I’ll do something. Anything. I exist, I exist, I exist. I’ll prove it in some way. I never do.

So here I am again. Another night, the same as all previous nights, leading into a day that will be the same and into a weekend where I’ll pretend I don’t regret this decision every day.

I used to think that I was worth something. I thought people liked having me around. I had self-esteem, low as it was. I had it. Now I have nothing at all. I don’t think anyone misses me, and I don’t think I add anything to anyone’s life. I’m withering away in a studio apartment. The world keeps moving.

Someday, I will die by my hand or by disease. It will be like I never existed at all. I’m not afraid of that anymore. I want it to happen. At least my suffering will end.

To be honest, I never really questioned if I was a girl. In 1979, if you had the appropriate hardware it was a question that was answered for you. But the thought never popped into my head, “What makes a girl?” I think I just accepted that genitalia was all that was required and went about my business.

Of course, as we continue to evolve, the question expands, what is femininity? I spent a lot of time in my early years being sugar and spice and everything nice. Polite. Kind. Sweet. This actually led to a lot of confusion, as boy after boy assumed I was interested in them, when really that sweet smile was plastered on my face through EVERY interaction good or bad. Sometimes it feels like the first 20 years of my life just happened to me. I tried to be present in everything I was doing. I grew into my intelligence. I was comfortable with my strength, in as much as I was emulating the male role models in my life. And no one was REALLY holding me back, except for myself.

I painted my room pink. I’m a girl.
I like boys. I’m a girl.
I have “girl parts” so I’m a girl.
I feel like a girl, so I’m a girl. Society relates to me like a girl. Girls can be whatever they want,
So there’s no reason I have to be a boy. I like the body parts I have, so I’m a girl.

I don’t know, some of these thoughts still resonate with me at 43, but they mostly just look cute on the page. It reminds me of the student I was teaching who purchased a new puppy. In my naivety I asked if it was a boy or girl, and upon pondering the question the youngling surmised, “I’ll put a pink bow on it, and MAKE it a girl!” to which I responded hesitantly… “Well, that’s something you could do.”

I suppose there are some things to dislike about “traditional womanhood”. Up until my thirties, periods were a hassle, but very tolerable. I hated that almost every man in my life seemed to vaguely interact with me as though I were a sexual object. I still hate that. I hate how much attention I get from my breasts. I hate when men overcompensate, or as one boss proclaimed, “I BELIEVE VERY STRONGLY THAT WOMEN ARE JUST AS CAPABLE AS MEN!”, almost as though he were trying to convince himself. I hate that my mentors and male teachers distanced themselves from me, requesting that I not hug them, and asking me to change my apparel which was deemed “inappropriate and too tempting”.

But eventually I grew into my self-perceived femininity, with little help from society, and lots of help from gentle men and strong women examples. Reaching adulthood I began to question the archetypes the Christian community had set up for me. While I think these were valiant attempts, I find God-given gender to be much less conforming, and more indicative of the creativity and variety I find in nature and in The Divine. Many of my friends in the theater community are gay, so I started to wonder what qualifies as “feminine” and “masculine”. And eventually I became close friends with individuals who were trans, and I began to wonder, “What makes a girl a girl?”

I recently saw an interview where a non-binary individual surmised that there are as many ways to be a woman as there are women on the planet, and that resonated with me. I don’t have a surefire answer, other than the idea that, yes, I painted my room pink, and I’m a girl. But it definitely bothers me that the removal of my uterus would cause my subconscious to question that. I feel sad, thinking one possible definition of a woman is an individual that is designed for the sole purpose of housing another. That can’t be right. But what kind of hole am I creating, carving out a uterus sized void in my previously “untouched” body?

One of my male friends casually exclaimed that getting a hys- terectomy must put me in touch with how old I am. I decided to refrain from reminding him that hair loss would be an analogous challenge for him. Though hopeful I can retain my ovaries for their hormonal benefits, I find that getting older doesn’t terrify nearly as much as “being less of a woman”. Am I a gender mechanic? Am I required to wear a button that says, “Uterus removed, proceed at your own risk?” Or do I somehow become more “valuable”, now that I won’t burst into pregnancy on the spot?

I mostly just feel violated. Wrong. Guilty. My uterus has completely misunderstood the assignment, housing a foreign body of the worst kind. Creating a tumor to fill the emptiness that remained. And rather than treating her gently or with grace, I’m carving her out? She somehow feels like a smaller version of me, desperately trying to complete a task without the right tools, and eventually discarded when deemed ineffective or malfunctioning. Hmph. I don’t know if there’s a way to celebrate such a death, but the rebirth is certainly going to involve some re- labeling. I’m going to have to redefine what I think womanhood looks like. Because it no longer looks like a uterus, or even a pink bedroom. It looks like me: scared, scarred and still here.

I hear them crawl all night
Through the absurdly miniature canals
The spiders sewing their kaleidoscope protruding webs
which ensnare paranoia
The tiny bugs with long whiskers that give you chills down
your bare, exposed spine

The ants carrying the weight of woe and despondency
The sensation of a caterpillar slowly paving its way, as
though gliding on the nightly trepidation
The sound of a cricket imitating the fading heartbeat
If you listen closely
One two One two One two

Why can’t I hear the following one?
Perhaps the noise of the earwig insect deems reality, all I
hear is a droning noise, twisting my thoughts into one
blob, whilst the world goes mute
If you focus scrupulously, you may hear the buzz of a
dying light bulb

That bulb maintains solitude in my solidarity
You must not listen for too long or it will make you go
insane
I approach with caution, thus, compos mentis
I hear them crawl all night
Oh… they live inside my head.

21 August 2022
Baku, Azerbaijan

I was five when I sang my first note of an Indian classical raga.
I was five when I first visited a temple in northern India.
I am twenty-five today and, for me, there remains no difference between the two.

Growing up in north India, sacred spaces were abundant around me. In a culture that values worship and reverence, it became clear to me that a life beyond the confines of everyday living existed for us all to tap into. Though present everywhere, this spiritual life was always portrayed to exist outside of ourselves in everyday spaces of temples, churches, mosques or festivals. It wasn’t often that internal reflection was prioritised as a spiritual practice. Not in my experience, anyway. At the most, going inward was secondary to external prayer. So, while spiritual practices were ever-present, in my formative years, I was deeply unaware of my own spiritual footprint; the unique song of my own soul.

From childhood to my teenage years, creativity remained a constant part of my life. Evenings after high school would end in notes of melancholic ragas sung at my guru’s home, and weekends would see me immersed in movement, practising dance and illustration. I did not know then how transformative the path of creativity would be for me. Over the years, the more I practised and shared my craft, the deeper I seemed to delve into a world that completely transcended the everyday routine and practices of life. I was weaving my own language. While people around me in communities and temples spoke of meditation and the ‘higher self’, I seemed to be visiting these spaces mentally in my creative expression. The cornerstone realisation of my late teens was that spirituality and meditation could be present wherever I wanted them to be, not just in mainstream cultural spaces.

In the moments I experienced grief, loss, trauma and pain, growing up in a turbulent household, I was able to transmute those into art through music, movement and poetry. During struggles with mental health, when I needed solace, my temple became my music, the pages of my notebook, the ink of my pen and the outpour of emotions from my mind way out of my mind and into the world. Each time I would visit my creative practice, I would unfold a different facet of myself.

Looking back, my spiritual pilgrimage began before I was ever aware. Those notes of music found their home and nestled so deep within me that prayer came out not as chant but as songs. Today, I sing professionally and for personal pleasure, and it feels nothing short of humming with the entire cosmos itself. As a published poet, creative writing has also served as a constant spiritual companion. I have found freedom in allowing myself this radical acceptance of my unique spiritual identity, different to my culture and upbringing. Allowing myself to lead a life shaped by creativity has helped me heal and blossom as an artist.

Living in Londo, having a published poetry book, performing music professionally alongside a full-time job working closely with the UK Parliament, creativity has helped me pursue a multidisciplinary career. This is a softly screaming validation of trusting myself and working with a deeper creative knowledge innate in us all. Over the past two decades, I have delved deeper into creating and responding to my emotions through art, and have ,in this way, tended to my needs better. I have learnt that self-care in its deepest and most sacred form is spirituality and that this is allowed to look different for us all – our unique ‘soul print’, our own pilgrimage to take.

An excerpt from my poetry book To the Homes that We Are on this theme. I hope this inspires creativity and joy

There is a symphony of worship inside you
That has been reverberating since Truth
Reverberating since You
Reverberating since the sun began painting the sky in forgiving warm hues
You are Orion in ecstatic motion
You are crystallised stones from volcanic eruptions
Every atom inside you sings the chemistry of compassion
Unearth this truth, and come home to your tune
You are the creator, the artist and the muse.

Exercises to find your own ‘soul print’

What does spirituality mean to you?
Where are some places that you can inspire creativity in your life?
How can you have difficult conversations and feel hard feelings in a playful manner?
What does your spiritual self-care look like for you?

Originally published on RachaelYahne.Substack.com

“When you reach the end of what you should know, you will be at the beginning of what you should sense.”

― Kahlil Gibrán

The beautiful and miraculous irony is, your intuition guided you to this post.

As Mimi Bouchard said in her recent interview with Mari Llewellyn the Pursuit of Wellness Podcast, we all have that little voice. That tiny, sometimes whisper of a voice that comes through to guide us, reassure us, or even tell us that beyond reason and evidence to the contrary, we can know and trust the gut feeling bubbling up within us.

I can with absolute and unwavering confidence say that I have built my entire life around that voice. From the very first moment she whispered inside me “Tell them no, you aren’t going to die. Tell them you aren’t going to cry and talk in whispers or live in fear through this. You’re going to do what you have to do – the surgeries, the chemo, whatever it takes, and you’re all going to come out better for it.”

When she found me in a yoga studio, finally learning to trust and truly look, physically and spiritually, at my body again after treatment, and in the dark she sang: “Go to India. Find an ashram. Learn to open every set of your eyes.”

And the time that she instructed me while sleepwalking comfortably in an 8-year relationship, “Rachael, it’s time to leave. Not because anything is wrong or anyone failed, but because you need to learn to love, and trust, and validate yourself.”

But when I saw I built my life around her, that sometimes meant hearing and ignoring that voice. When I was in jobs I hated, romantic connections that were abusive but I stayed for the addictive nature of my own self-sabotaging messages. Believing that if someone at the lowest rung of humanity found it hard to love me, surely no one else ever could or would. While she, in the background, gently and diligently tried to call me back home I shut off my ears my senses and my logic to stay. It is a full-time job to ignore her. She only speaks softly until our lives come crumbling down and then she must scream to reach us through the rubble just to help us find a way out.

Look Back

When I was a child, it helped to give character to this voice. In the years of adolescence, though, that personification began to feel immature and naive. As if Cali, the name I gave her as she wrote through me into my journals at night, somehow frozen in time but I kept maturing. The less time I spent intentionally listening, tuning into through the practice of free-writing, the less able I became to hear her distinct voice. Until the day I was diagnosed, and suddenly in the deafening silence of the kitchen where my parents sat crying as they broke the news “You have cancer”, outside snow fell delicately and too slowly. On that day her tone became more stern but just as soft and reassuring. On that day her volume became loud enough that it was the only thing I could hear. And when chemo finished, and I could see how right she had been about…everything, I promised to widen my perception of ways she might speak within and without my mind.

Look Around

On the cusp of becoming a wife and hopefully a mother in the next year, I hear her rhapsody in my heart and soul even more often. Perhaps it’s the practice of divine feminine flow that has me more aligned and able to hear her sweet songs. Or it could be that her own maternal instincts are being activated alongside my own. She tells me more often when to rest and, in the hardships of daily life and a day job, she reminds me of my purpose to help others find the miracles hidden in their hardships. She reminds me, in nearly every moment, that my work as a writer is to reach you in moments like the one we share right here, right now, through this post and to serve as the tiniest road sign on your individual path, to help you come home to yourself again. To see the magic waiting all around you. To give an example, by living it myself, of the power of chasing that little, quiet voice until you get so close to it, it’s anything but little and far from quiet. That is my purpose as a person in this second chance, that is the call she has divined for me to answer.

Your intuition led you to this post, and is calling to you right now, offering you the chance to ask the most powerful creative question of all: “What if?”

Look Ahead

“I believe in intuitions and inspirations…I sometimes FEEL that I am right. I do not KNOW that I am.”

― Albert Einstein