Pivot To Purpose

I want to name my interpretation of the difference between anger and sacred rage.

I have experienced both, and held deep space for both to unfold, as I began my journey, I yelled, screamed and cried into the trees and earth that held me and seen me more than people did, as I began to work my anger and express my frustrations with safety, I felt seen in my sacred rage by people, and began neglecting the part of me that still needed to yell, scream and cry, because I began walking the path of "love and light".

And with the state of the world, and my work and knowledge within the oppression of bodily autonomy.
I want to create spaces where its the sacred rage and healing of this collective wound that I need and want support in building.

And of course with love and light always being the driving force to this release. 🙃 cause that will naturally bring laughter. Community and conversations around dismantling our own judgments on our bodily autonomy. Reclaiming our voices and bodies with confidence, not performance.

For me, anger is something the body recognizes before the mind does. It arrives as heat, as tightening, as a sudden no in the chest or the gut. It rises when something hurts, when something feels unsafe, when a line has been crossed.

Anger moves fast. It wants relief, release, resolution now. And when it isn’t met with care or containment, it can turn sharp or scattered, spilling outward or folding inward, leaving us flooded rather than heard.

Anger itself is not the problem. It’s a signal. But without grounding, without witness, it can pull us away from our center instead of guiding us back to it.

Sacred rage comes from a deeper place of knowing
It is what happens when anger is listened to instead of unleashed.

When the body is allowed to speak and the nervous system is allowed to stay. Sacred rage knows why it’s here. It rises when something precious needs protecting truth, dignity, autonomy, life.

It does not rush. It does not need to destroy to be powerful. It is held in reverence, shaped with intention, and guided by care for both self and collective.

Sacred rage doesn’t ask us to explode, it asks us to stand. The difference is not how strong the feeling is, but whether we are being carried by it, or consciously carrying it forward.

I learned your name the way smoke learns a room careful, curling along edges, never touching the alarm. We loved in lowercase, in pauses, in the almost said.

Our hands memorized each other behind backs, beneath tables, inside sentences that ended early.

Silence told us it was safer this way. It said survive first. It said, later. It said, don’t make yourself a target.

So I folded my voice until it fit in my pocket and mistook that shrinking for maturity.

But the body keeps records. My chest hummed your truth even when my mouth wouldn’t. Every time I said friend, something in me flinched. Every time I said we, I meant us and erased us at the same time.

Reclaiming my voice didn’t arrive loudly. It came as a crack, a breath I didn’t swallow back, a sentence that didn’t apologize for existing.

I practiced saying it alone first your name, my name, the word love without disguise. The walls didn’t fall. The world didn’t end. Something else did.

Now I speak not to be understood by everyone, but to be intact within myself. If they are listening behind the door, let them hear this, I am no longer hiding to be loved. I am choosing myself and finally, my voice knows where it belongs.

Written by Bodhi
Your Spiritual Intuitive from
Pivot To Purpose

My time at the She Is Wild Festival felt like a deep exhale I didn’t know I’d been holding. Surrounded by land, laughter, music, and bodies moving in truth, I was reminded what it means to belong without performance.

There was a rawness in the way stories were shared, a tenderness in the silences, and a wild devotion to being fully alive exactly as we are. Each moment whether in conversation, ceremony, or simple presence, wove me back into myself.

I left feeling softer, braver, and more rooted, carrying the echo of collective courage and untamed joy long after the festival ended.

Last call to apply to be a vendor/facilitator at SHE IS WILD 2026! 💜

BC - July 9-12th / Boston Bar
AB - August 20-23rd / Drayton Valley

✨️ Are you interested in volunteering? ✨️
We are still accepting volunteers for both the BC and Alberta festivals.

Find tickets and applications on our website and linked above in our bio!

-Arielle, Lead Photographer & Team Member

Some of us arrive already tired, carrying a weight we can’t quite name.

It’s the kind of tired that doesn’t come from lack of sleep, but from listening too closely for echoes we never lived through ourselves. We feel things before they happen. We remember grief that doesn’t have a clear origin. It’s as if something ancient learned our names before we were born.

When we enter a space, we sense what’s underneath first. The unsaid words. The habits that hardened into survival. The stories that were swallowed because speaking them once cost too much. Others move forward unaware, but we pause, not because we are afraid, but because our bodies recognize familiar patterns and quietly ask us to pay attention.

We are often told we are too sensitive, too intense, too much. But sensitivity is not weakness, it is attunement. We notice where the thread is frayed, where harm keeps looping, where love was confused with endurance. And something in us aches to stop the unraveling, even if it means standing alone for a moment in the dark.

So we learn to hold two fires at once. One that warms, and one that clears. We don’t burn people, we burn habits. We don’t reject our lineage, we interrupt what no longer needs to be carried forward. This work is not loud or dramatic. It is slow, deliberate, and often invisible to everyone except the one doing it.

Being the one who stops the cycle doesn’t make us better than anyone else. It makes us responsible.

It makes us tender in ways that require courage. We choose rest where others repeat harm. We choose honesty where silence once kept the peace. We choose differently, even when no one is watching.

The path of a cycle breaker is rarely crowded. There are no standing ovations, no clear markers of success. The forest does not clap. The ancestors do not demand proof. The work speaks for itself in quieter ways in softened reactions, in boundaries held with care, in the simple but radical choice to say, it ends here.

And when doubt creeps in, when the weight feels heavy again, we remember this, the fire in our hands was never meant to destroy us. It was meant to light the way forward. And that, in itself, is enough.

Always loving ❤️
Bodhi ❤️

To my dear Sovereign Body

I speak from a body that may or may not carry a womb, but carries knowing. A body that has been renamed by others and renamed itself back into truth.

This is not womanhood as ownership. Not biology as a border. Not birthright as a gate. This is embodiment as relationship with breath, with choice, with the quiet authority, if I decide.

Some of us bleed. Some of us never have. Some of us were told our bodies disqualified us from reverence.
Some of us were taught to disappear to be allowed to stay.

Consent is not anatomy. Sovereignty is not assigned at birth. Sacred does not check chromosomes before entering a room.

For those with wombs, your inner world is not a public utility. Your cycles are not explanations. Your pain is not mythology. For trans men, trans masculine,
and non-binary bodies with wombs, your knowing is not erased by transition.

Your body is not a contradiction. Your relationship with yourself is not up for debate.

For trans women and transfeminine bodies, your womanhood is not borrowed. Your softness is not imitation. Your strength is not performative.

This body however it has changed, however it will change is a sovereign land
with living borders. Consent lives in how we touch ourselves, how we speak to our reflection, how we let others enter or not.

Reverence is not who we include. It is how we listen.
I do not speak for all bodies. I speak from mine and leave space for yours to answer in its own language.

Written by Bodhi,
Your Non binary Q***r womyn servicing all humans who want to heal at the soul level, and are ready to make the jump from living and playing within the spirit realm, and holding on to sacred rage, to a place where your whole self releases together with the support of all those whom feel called.

Please DM me for event updates! This next one is going to shatter your illusions. 🕊🙏✨️ in a sacred safe space ✨️ and container held by myself and a few others.

Energetically hug this stranger 🤗 love her words, content, and who she is out in the world

I feel the weight in the collective right now. It sits in my chest, in my gut, in the pauses between words.

There is grief, exhaustion, and confusion moving through people whether they admit it or not. What unsettles me most is not the pain itself, but how often it is ignored or used.

I watch moments of vulnerability become opportunities for profit. I see fear reframed as a product, hope marketed back to those already struggling.

Turning a blind eye feels normalized. Accountability feels optional. I cannot unsee how easily harm is justified when money, status, or influence are involved. I am naming this because silence participates.

If I claim to care about healing, I cannot benefit from pain or pretend not to notice it.

I transmute this knowing by letting it serve me, not harden me. It sharpens my discernment, strengthens my boundaries, and clarifies where my energy actually belongs.

I stop wasting breath trying to expose what will inevitably reveal itself and instead live my truth so consistently it needs no defense.

This awareness becomes fuel not for bitterness, but for precision. It teaches me when to step back, when to say no, and when to invest only where reciprocity and respect exist.

And because I know how heavy all of this can get, I hold space with laughter too, because sometimes the most sacred act of resistance is a well timed joke, a shared exhale, a reminder that joy is not denial, it’s survival. If I can help us laugh while we heal, I will consider it community care with a punchline.

Dear Mother Earth,

I am sorry we learned dominance before devotion.
Sorry we mined you for answers instead of listening for wisdom.

Sorry we treated your generosity like an infinite resource instead of a sacred relationship.

You have watched us forget our bodies.
Forget our seasons.

Forget how to rest without guilt.

And still, you feed us.
Still,you hold us.
Still,you offer beauty without asking for proof we deserve it.

Thank you for your patience.

Thank you for reminding us, again and again,
that nothing thrives through force alone.

Always loving
Your spiritual intuitive
Bodhi ❤️

To my beloved Starseed, to those who remember beyond this lifetime, to those who feel out of place because they carry remembrance in their bones.

We didn’t come here to escape humanity.

We came here to be with it.

To anchor kindness where cruelty took root.

To soften timelines hardened by fear.

To remember love when forgetting felt safer.

We are not here to save the world.

We are here to participate in its remembering.