🔥 FLAME UNTAMED

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A Nod to the Misfits, the Wild Ones & the Warriors of Light.

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I won a turkey shoot at seven,
tagalong on my mom’s date,
and left every man blinking in disbelief.
First time holding a gun. First time claiming my aim.

I learned to drive on a three-wheeler with no brakes.
You had to gear down to slow down,
and that’s how I lived most of my life.

At three, my mom said something I didn’t like.
So I packed my little bag and told her I was leaving.
She laughed, thinking I’d turn around at the door in fear of the dark.
But even then, before I had the words, I remembered: darkness, even in all its density,
is in service to the light.

So I kept walking.
A mile down a dirt road, alone.
Didn’t stop. Didn’t cry.
They had to drive down and get me
when they realized I wasn’t coming back.

I was raised in the wild.
Forged in earth and instinct.
Shaped by calloused hands and holy ground.
I’ve been around death, blood, and fire since before I could spell them.

By eight, I was hauling dead chickens,
to bury them,
and eventually to feed gators.

By nine, I knew God didn’t live inside buildings,
He lived in my breath,
in the sacred stillness of the trees,
and in the animals I grew up alongside.

I’ve never feared danger or being alone.
I felt angels surround me,
especially in the unknown.
Because danger was never in the wild.
It was in the cages people mistook for safety.
It was in the expectations dressed up as love.

It was in freedoms sold for convenience.
It was in the shame handed to those
who dared to shine.

I didn’t come here to fit in.
I came here to set things free,
through the sacred reclamation of the TREEnity.
The Mother within me who roots.
The Father within me who protects.
The Child within me who plays.

What the world calls rebellion, I call remembrance.

I wasn’t raised to be palatable.
I wasn’t born to perform.
I wasn’t built for boxes dressed up as belonging.

My presence disorients people who’ve never met their own truth.
Because I live in the liminal. The ether.

They told me to get my head out of the clouds, so I chose to work in them.
I remember Eden.
And I’m not interested in being understood
by systems I was sent to dismantle,
simply through embodiment.

I was raised as a farm hand, not a housewife.
I don’t romanticize submission dressed as servitude.
I refuse to coddle what I didn’t birth
but I hold the line in love for what I did.
What I will do is tend this hearth
as a beacon of remembrance,
in hopes that you and others remember: you are the light of love, star.
Let it root deep in your eternal soul.

I don’t empower others by leading them. You don’t need strategy, power plays, or formulas when you allow Spirit to lead.
I empower others by burning so fully in my own truth they remember their own.

I carry the torch for those who are ready to:

• Speak what was once silenced
• Shine without guilt
• Take up space without shame
• Reclaim their tone through direct communion with God

I have been treated like a sacrificial lamb in many stories and still chose victor over victim.
And every time, I rose.
Because I am the flame.
And I remember what was burned in me across timelines, and what I came here to restore.

In a world where systems are overloaded with information

and analytics intellectualize everything

for advantage over metrics

lean even more into your humanity and imperfections.

Lean into the glitch,

the wild card,

the rogue mode.

The holy unpredictability

of allowing God to direct your path

by faith, not by sight.

To the misfit reading this:
You are not too much.
You are not too wild.
You are not too sacred, too soft, or too strange.

You are exactly enough for the mission etched in your marrow. Systems cannot predict empty vessels directed by Spirit.
And it’s time you stop explaining yourself
to people who’ve never met their own flame,
yet siphon yours in their own name.

So let this be the ember.
The spark to remember.
The mirror.

For the dragons asleep in flesh,
the warriors disguised as gentle ones,
and the mothers who burn with divine rage
for a better world that we are midwifing,
starting at the ROOTS.

And to all those I unconsciously burned in my wake,
I’ve sat with the mirror.
I have taken my lashes.
And eaten my cake.
Stopped performing and minimizing
just to fit in with the fake.

I no longer sit at tables that have forgotten their own worth, or asked me to doubt mine.

I am newborn
with a flame in my hand,
and I rise and roar until God says it’s the end.

For a new dawn breaks after the darkest night,
and for all who read this, remember you’re light.

I didn’t come to play small
to soothe your fear of the flame.
I came to love without dimming.
To remember my God-given name.
To burn without destroying.
To carry a fire no one taught me to tend.

Every step and breath,
a soul kissed on the mend.

So if you felt the scorch,
and were humbled by my weight,
we signed up for this
before we knew our birthdate.

My flame doesn’t burn clean
unless God wills it so,
but let me remind you:
we’re perfect in our humanity,
through every mirror, flip or foe.

This doesn’t mean to live carelessly,
or to break what you never bought,
because trust me when I tell you:
we feel the pain
of everything that’s fought.

What you send will come back,
times two, or tenfold more.
So live with honor.
Stand in truth.
Let your heart be your holy core.

There are no medals for war,
no accolades for kills,
just blood on your hands,
and children still.

As a mother forged in flame,
yet softened by God’s love,
I ready.
I aim.
I fire
for the home team up above.

So Spirit, lead
refine and cool
my flame with holy aim.
By the love of Jesus,
and Asherah’s good name,
I burn not to destroy
but to remember, reveal, reclaim.

I am the Flame Untamed.

🜂🌳🜁

Benediction: A Sacred Ancestral Invocation

Speak life over the blood that bore you.

If grit and pain shaped you,

let it become fuel for the flame of love.

To curse or bless the vessels that carried us here—

is to curse or bless our cellphs.

We are the living prayers of those who survived.

We are the breath of those who could not speak.

You are the star your distant grandmother wished on.

Your origin story is crucial to your remembrance and becoming.

If you want to know where you’re going,

you must first remember where you came from.

Do not burn the people that brought you here.

Bless them in their imperfections and humanity,

because they too are a part of you.

Your ancestors are calling.

But they do not speak in the language of logic.

They speak through stone, bark, water, and wind.

Return to the soil.

Walk the lands they walked.

Let the wind carry their words.

Let the water remember your name.

Let us honor our roots,

as we rise together in love.

If this transmission lit a flame in you,

and you feel called to support the continued creation of soul-led work like this

you’re welcome to offer a love donation as an act of reciprocity.

💛https://venmo.com/u/WindofChangeWellness

Every offering is received with deep gratitude and reinvested into the mission

of truth, remembrance, and creative liberation.

Thank you for honoring the sacred exchange.