You don’t have to sacrifice your health to avoid pregnancy, there are powerful alternatives to hormonal birth control that work with your body, not against it.

The fate of humanity could rest in the hands of a few powerful men who no longer see women as biologically essential. Controlled reproduction, designer babies, and gendered hierarchy engineered in code.

You see where this is going, right?

Because in the face of global grief and systemic violence, we need care strategies that are accessible, ancestral, and deeply restorative. We need tools that help us stay human. And we need the kind of healing that doesn’t just patch us up so we can go back to capitalism, but instead re-roots us in our bodies, our truth, our communities, and our power.

She could bleed without dying. She could create life without lifting a finger. She was a portal between spirit and matter. And in that witnessing, a question formed: If she can do that, what can I do? And instead of turning inward or asking the Earth, he turned outward. He decided to control her. To dominate. To violate. To take what he could not make. He would implant his power into her body and call the child his own.

From that moment on, it was a sin to be woman.

Pleasure in activism is not disassociation, avoidance, or spiritual bypassing. It is not turning a blind eye to injustice or standing idly by while harm unfolds. It does not mean detaching from the struggle under the guise of "self-care" or pretending that love and light alone will dismantle systems of oppression. Rather, pleasure in activism is the deep knowing of when and how you can show up fully and effectively for the causes you believe in.

As a proper feminist, I wasn’t about to let my hormones stop me from enjoying altered states. I just had to find another route.

Tantric touch is the antidote to this disembodiment. It’s not about sex, but about sensation. It’s not about getting somewhere, but about being with. It’s a sacred, intentional practice of connecting with your body, your partner, and the life force that moves through you.

Dong Quai is said to "return the body to balance.” That means helping your body get back on track when it feels off. The root contains natural plant chemicals that help relax muscles, ease pain, reduce swelling, and support smooth blood flow.

While society loves to pathologize libido—too much, too little, too wild—we know the truth: pleasure is your power. And plants want you to remember that.

For centuries, herbalism has been the people’s medicine. Not because it was trendy, but because it was necessary. When midwives and medicine women were outlawed or burned, their knowledge went underground.

Now, we are the ones digging it back up.
And we’re not doing it in secret anymore.

Let’s be real—humans have always looked to nature to alter consciousness. Whether for ceremony, connection, or just a damn good time, plants have long been our co-conspirators in expanding the mind and softening the edges of reality.

They came to my body like a shrine, hoping to find their own worth mirrored back to them. They didn’t ask permission. They didn’t have language for what they sought. But they wanted to feel powerful, and my energy made them believe they could. Even if they disrespected me. Even if they left. Even if they discarded me after. It didn’t matter. Because for one moment, they were close to the source.

I spent the whole damn day crying on the couch watching Hamilton. 

Have you seen it? It’s so good. Devastatingly good.

Of course, this emotional spiral came after three days of drinking—vacation vibes, right? 

But how do you navigate the dooms day spiral after a good time?

Omens are messages.
Whispers from the divine.
Opportunities to pay attention.
To adjust. To realign. To remember.

In the meantime, I was guzzling the souls of my beloveds like they were cheap glasses of Cupcake wine—sweet at first, but always ending in a headache I saw coming.

I was a hungry ghost, a humanoid spirit mummified by rage. A black hole in lipstick. I had to stop. But I had to eat. 

They talk about future plans and fallen star wishes.
They write down ideas on cocktail napkins and leave them in drawers to decay.
They wallow in wet puddles over the dreams that were never even spilt—because they held them too close to the heart.

Whether you’re dancing under a full moon, curled up journaling, kissing someone delicious, or just trying to get through a Tuesday without spiraling—Kanna can be the gentle hand on your back saying, “You’ve got this.”

By the time we got to our seats, the come-up was punching through me. Not a gentle rise—no. This was a tidal wave. My heart was pounding, my skin crawling, my vision bending sideways. The music hadn’t even started yet and I already felt like I was going to crawl out of my own body.

Then the lights went down.
Bass dropped.
The crowd roared.
And I launched.

It wasn’t that I didn’t love the people I was with. I did. Fiercely.  But I also knew, deep in my bones, that love and sex weren’t the same thing. A warm body next to you doesn’t mean a warm heart is behind it.  And for me, physical connection was exploration, expression, even therapy.

The first time I ever cheated was in high school, with a boy named Matt Steale. We were dating. It was fun. He had a silver Mustang and drove recklessly fast with one hand on the wheel and the other on my thigh.

We did anal, but never "traditional" sex. I was still a virgin—whatever that meant.