01.

A tale of Guardianship

To embody guardianship is to become a living body between the thresholds of worlds. An earthen body. A breathing, listening, watching body. It’s the way your knees lock just before something enters that shouldn’t. It’s the way your spine becomes vertical when something is happening behind you. It’s a thousand small instincts woven into the very body of your life.

Your skin becomes a border. Your breath becomes a gate. Your pelvis becomes a bowl where dreams are filtered before being let loose into the ether.

Guardian is not a practice, it’s an animal. It is alive.

It’s the old wolf who doesn’t sleep when the pups are dreaming.

It’s the raven perched above the birth-hut, catching the soul before it slips sideways.

It’s the ancestral snake who lives behind the stove, wrapped in soot and memory, hissing softly at spirits who don’t knock.

To keep your home safe, you must first let it become wild again. Let it remember its old shape—the cave, the burrow, the nest. Rearrange your furniture by instinct. Put the mirror where the light splits open. Let bowls of water catch moonlight in forgotten corners. Hang bones above doorways. Let the wind through once a day and speak to it as it moves.

Clean with herbs. Mop like you're painting prayers on the floor. Sweep like you're escorting ghosts gently to the door. Rub oil into the wooden table like it’s your elder, and sing while you do it. Humming is a spell. Your voice is a warding off. The scent of your home an altar.

Let your kitchen be a sanctum of fire-magic. Tend your stove. Whistle to the flame. Thank it before cooking. Leave a little food aside for the unseen, always. Not just because they need it but because you need it too.

Put stones near your thresholds. Not just pretty ones—ones that carry faces and wise stories. Stones that have felt thunder. Stones that have slept in the river’s mouth or have been spit out from oceanic hadal zones. These stones know how to hold.

Your body is a map of entrances. Mouth. Navel. Groin. Eyes. Fingers. Each one a door spirits can slip through. Learn to close them when you need to. Learn to open them like a priestess when it’s time. Practice sealing with breath, with touch, with the fierceness of a no.

Make every bath a ritual of reclamation. Pour herbs into your water. Slip into it like a serpent returning to the womb of the world. Wash off what isn’t yours. Scrub your feet as if they walked through someone else’s dream. Let the water take it.

Let yourself become land. Sit bare-assed on the soil. Let ants crawl over you. Press your belly to the moss. Listen. Guardianship is about listening to the murmur under the surface of things. When you become land, you’ll start hearing again.

The body remembers that guardianship is somatic sorcery. It’s the way your neck knows when someone is watching. It’s the way your blood heats when something is off. It’s the way my left shoulder always aches before the overstepping of a boundary.

Let your movement be a warning. Let your lovemaking be an incantation. Let your anger be sacred fire that burns only what crosses the line. Guardianship is not ostentation or ‘things’ or something to ‘do’. It is something to be - feral, erotic, shadow-hunted, and holy.

It’s how you become the howl at the edge of the village.
It’s how you sit up in the night when the child cries and the spirits stir.
It’s how you kiss the earth when everyone is watching,
and how you continue to kiss the earth when on one is watching.
It’s how you bleed and make it an offering.
It’s how you say no, and let the ancestors exhale behind you.

So yes, light your candles. Burn your herbs. But also,

Spit into the corners if you need to.
Snarl when something gets too close.
Suckle your own sorrow like a she-wolf mourning under the moon.
Shield others with your body.
Sleep with a blade under the bed, a prayer on your lips, and your hand on the belly of the house.

Because this world doesn’t need more caretakers who are just sweet and obliging,

spiritual pleasers…..

It needs guardians with teeth and grit.
Guardians with hips that sway in everyday ritual.
Guardians who know how to sing a space clean, how to curse a shadow out, how to make a home a temple, a den, a fortress, a womb.

This is guardianship.
This is body-magic.
This is ancient.
This is yours.
And you already know it.