Tag: faafo app

  • i said yes. and i would do it again.

    i said yes. and i would do it again.

    AI did not invent displacement. it just has a name people can argue about at dinner. ~ courtney (sisi)

    i have been on the internet since before most people knew the internet was a place you could live.

    i started podcasting in 2006. not with an app. not from my phone. i sat at a desk with a laptop, a desktop, an external microphone, an external recorder, and a whole lot of patience. youtube was not what it is now. the tools did not exist yet. we were building the infrastructure that people now take for granted and call their own origin story.

    so when an RSS platform asked me point blank whether my podcast was AI-generated, i sat with it for a second. i could have said no. the content was factual. the sources were mine. but i used voiceover narration to produce it and i believe in being transparent. so i clicked yes.

    and i have been thinking about it ever since.

    not because i feel guilty. because i don’t. but because the conversation around AI has gotten loud in ways that reveal more about the people talking than about the technology itself.

    i am not here to be an analyst. i am not going to sit and argue with every objection because every objection comes from a different place and i learned a long time ago not to chase that trap. what i will do is tell you where i actually stand.

    i hear the copyright arguments. i hear the data scraping arguments. i hear the water usage arguments. i understand them. and i also know that many of the same people making those arguments have no problem going to a museum full of pillaged artifacts and calling it culture. they pay ancestry.com — a private company — to access historical records about their own family that should be free, especially for Black people who were systematically denied documentation of their own existence. they use single-use water bottles and wrap christmas presents in paper that goes directly into a landfill the next morning. they screenshot someone else’s content, strip the credit, and post it without a second thought.

    most people are hypocrites. AI is just an easy target because somebody gave it a name.

    that is the part nobody talks about. when you can name something, you can oppose it. but databases have existed for decades. telephone operators were replaced. search engines scraped everything. nobody held a press conference.

    i used to work as a telephone operator on third shift. it was slow. we typed numbers into computers and read them back. but what i remember most is the elderly people who called in the middle of the night just to hear a live voice. that job is gone. nobody mourned it publicly. it is nostalgic now.

    AI did not invent displacement. it just has a name people can argue about at dinner.

    here is what i know about myself. i have been contributing to the internet for decades. writing, podcasting, recording, publishing, showing up. my content is out there. it has been searchable, scrapable, and freely available the entire time. i made peace with that the moment i hit publish the first time.

    the people who have never contributed a single original thing to the internet and are loudest about how it should be used — i have very little patience for that conversation.

    what i do have patience for is this: using what is in front of me to build systems that give me more time. time to teach. time to create. time to show other people, especially Black people, especially women, that financial freedom and mental liberation are the same project. people think of the underground railroad as something that ended. it didn’t. it evolved. liberation moves through whatever infrastructure exists in its era. right now that infrastructure includes AI.

    i am not going to apologize for getting on the train.

    i go deeper into all of this in the full podcast episode over at sexdeathpower.com.

    if something in here landed, head there. look for “The Architecture of Liberation: AI, Identity, and Digital Ancestry.”

  • 500 years of documented ancestry read from bahia brazil

    500 years of documented ancestry read from bahia brazil

    note: ancestry screenshots are anchored to my grandfather, manley ray bell (1927-2003). i'm his granddaughter, courtney crosslin (sisi in brasil). to find my direct relationship to any ancestor shown, add one generation --- e.g., "11th great-grandfather" becomes my 12th great-grandfather.

    research and archival work: p. pierson (family). genealogical expert: angela walton-raji.

    i sat on my balcony in barra, salvador, bahia — the yoruba capital of the western hemisphere — and read a document that traces my bloodline back to 1516.

    five hundred years. documented. confirmed. cross-referenced against census records, dawes rolls, tribal treaties, colonial documents, and ship manifests.

    i already knew pieces. i knew i was chickasaw, cherokee, yoruba, choctaw, powhatan. i knew my DNA confirmed it. but i didn’t know the full scope until i sat down with screen recordings of my ancestry.com tree, ran them through extraction tools, organized the data, and then let google’s deep research engine cross-reference every name against verified historical records.

    what came back shook me.

    the names that showed up

    my 12th great-grandfather is chief wahunsenacawh  (…”whose proper name was Wahunsenacawh (alternately spelled Wahunsenacah, Wahunsunacock, or Wahunsonacock”). the man the english colonists had to negotiate with when they arrived in virginia in 1607. 

    Little is known of Powhatan’s life before the arrival of English colonists in 1607. He apparently inherited the leadership of about 4–6 tribes, with its base at the Fall Line near present-day Richmond. Through diplomacy or force, he had formed the Powhatan Confederacy from about 30 tribes by the early 17th century. The confederacy included an estimated 10,000 to 15,000 people.” via widipedia

    his daughter — pocahontas — is my 11th great-grandaunt. not folklore. not a disney movie. my actual documented family.

    before you make any conculusiolns about HERstory — consider the following very different perspectives.

    1. Contrary to Disney’s portrayal of this well-known ‘family film,’ the true story of Pocahontas is not one of a romance, but a tragedy. Pocahontas was one of the first real-life Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women (MMIW).” via the indigenous foundation
    2. …And historians are divided over whether Pocahontas, then about 11 or 12 years old, rescued the mercantile soldier and explorer at all. Smith might have misinterpreted what was actually a ritual ceremony or even just lifted the tale from a popular Scottish ballad.”   via the smithsonian magazine

    opechancanough, the war chief who launched a coordinated surprise attack on the english in 1622 and killed a quarter of their population in virginia — that’s my line too. he fought until he was nearly 100 years old. they shot him in prison.

    Pages: 1 2

  • part 1 of 3: jefferson the island of chaos

    part 1 of 3: jefferson the island of chaos

    existe um tipo de pessoa que você conhece e imediatamente sente que já conhecia há cinquenta anos. não vidas passadas. cinquenta anos. como se vocês tivessem cortado o intervalo e simplesmente chegado no ponto em que a amizade já estava estabelecida.

    jefferson é essa pessoa.

    e esse post quase não aconteceu porque ele me irritou profundamente. mas ele se redimiu. como sempre faz. e é parte do motivo pelo qual eu o honro.

    a foto que não saía da minha cabeça

    eu estava vivendo em salvador há mais ou menos um mês quando vi uma foto de cachoeira. não era nem uma das fotos mais bonitas que já vi do lugar. era só uma encosta seca, provavelmente na estação seca. mas eu não conseguia tirar aquela imagem da cabeça.

    fui dormir pensando nisso. acordei pensando nisso. eu tinha que ir lá. eu não sabia por quê. só sabia que precisava ir.

    colagem jefferson cachoeira salvador bahia

    e tem mais uma coisa: uma semana antes eu tinha recebido um download. um insight de que havia uma pessoa espiritual que eu precisava conhecer. não estava procurando um professor espiritual. não é o tipo de coisa que eu faço. mas ouvi claramente: existe uma pessoa que você precisa conhecer. então mandei mensagem para a única pessoa que eu conhecia em salvador pedindo indicações. nada apareceu.

    daí conheci uma americana pelo threads que fazia passeios a pé por salvador. fomos juntas numa caminhada. mencionei cachoeira. ela nunca tinha ido. marcamos a viagem.

    ônibus cachoeira bahia chegada viagem

    assim que descemos do ônibus em cachoeira, soubemos que precisávamos ficar duas noites, não uma. o ar era diferente. mais leve. verde de um jeito que salvador não é. a cidade entrou em mim de um jeito que eu não estava esperando.

    cultura local bahia salvador aventura expat

    o homem da confeitaria

    estávamos num balcão de confeitaria. ela escolhia doces. eu já estava levemente irritada porque me deram café frio que esquentaram no micro-ondas. aquele tipo de dia. estava sentada com o meu café olhando para o nada quando um homem alto e esguio se aproximou e disse: ah, vocês falam inglês.

    meu primeiro pensamento foi: ela vai esculhambar ele.

    confeitaria cachoeira bahia doces cultura local

    mas não foi assim. eles começaram a conversar. ele veio sentar à mesa. ela me apresentou. e eu fiquei observando, um pouco na minha, porque estava cansada e não tinha ido lá para fazer networking. mas a minha primeira impressão dele foi essa: ele parecia meu filho. tinha aquela energia curiosa e amigável que me lembrou imediatamente o meu menino. e eu notei que ele amava doces. estava completamente entretido não só com as sobremesas dele mas com as dela, girando no prato, inspecionando, saboreando cada pedaço com uma concentração absurda.

    cachoeira salvador bahia experiência expat

    trocamos números. descobrimos que ele morava em salvador e tinha ido lá de passagem. no dia seguinte ele apareceu para o café da manhã.

    cachoeira salvador bahia café da manhã expat

    jefferson.

    o prefeito da bahia

    existe uma piada entre a gente. jefferson é o prefeito da bahia. não importa onde a gente vai. não importa a hora. ele conhece alguém. ou alguém conhece ele. eu já fiz apostas com ele que a gente não consegue caminhar alguns metros sem ele encontrar uma pessoa conhecida. ele nega. diz que não conhece todo mundo. até hoje ele me deve dinheiro porque não ganhou uma aposta sequer.

    cachoeira salvador bahia rua cultura local

    foi a mesma coisa naquele primeiro encontro em cachoeira. a cidade inteira parecia saber o nome dele.

    de volta a salvador, apresentei jefferson ao leo. leo é aquele que cuida dos meus assuntos práticos — vistos, traduções, burocracia. nasceu e cresceu em salvador, foi pra faculdade em atlanta numa universidade historicamente negra, fala inglês fluentemente. leo e jefferson não se conheciam. e eu fiquei pensando: como temos dois homens negros nascidos e criados em salvador, dos poucos que falam inglês, e eles não se conhecem?

    ilha de maré salvador bahia brasil

    marcamos um encontro. claro que outras pessoas apareceram. claro que jefferson conhecia alguns dos rapazes que chegaram. claro que leo conhecia outros. mas nenhum deles sabia que os outros se conheciam. acabou virando uma reunião espontânea de gente que não se via fazia tempo. foi um daqueles momentos que eu vim buscar quando decidi me mudar para o brasil — e ali ele estava, acontecendo sem que eu precisasse forçar nada. você pode ler mais sobre como isso acontece no meu post de aniversário de um ano aqui.

    dois apartamentos e uma conversa que jefferson nunca vai esquecer

    uns três meses depois de estar em salvador, eu precisava de natureza. não de praia. natureza de verdade. verde. árvores. silêncio que não vem do mar. então liguei para jefferson e disse: quero me mudar para cachoeira.

    jefferson e a ilha salvador bahia

    e é claro que jefferson resolveu tudo.


    leia a parte 2 de 3leia a parte 3 de 3

    uma história sobre a amizade caótica que só o brasil produz. clique no + acima para ler em português.

    there is a type of person you meet and immediately feel like you have known for fifty years. not lifetimes. fifty years. like you skipped the getting-to-know-you part and arrived at the point where the friendship already exists.

    jefferson is that person.

    and this post almost did not happen because he made me furious. but he redeemed himself. as he always does. and it is part of why i honor him.

    the picture i could not get out of my head

    i had been living in salvador for about a month when i saw a photo of cachoeira. it was not even one of the more beautiful photos i have seen of the town. just a dry hillside, probably taken during dry season. but i could not stop thinking about it.

    went to bed thinking about it. woke up thinking about it. i had to go there. did not know why. just knew i had to go.

    jefferson collage cachoeira salvador bahia

    there is also this: about a week before, i had gotten a download. a clear insight that there was a spiritual person i needed to meet. i was not looking for a spiritual teacher. not something i do. but i heard it plainly: there is a person you need to meet. so i messaged the one person i knew in salvador and asked if they knew of anyone. nothing came of it.

    then i met an american woman on threads who did walking tours in salvador. we went on a walk together. i mentioned cachoeira. she had never been. we planned the trip.

    bus to cachoeira bahia arrival

    the moment we stepped off the bus in cachoeira, we both knew we needed two nights, not one. the air was different. lighter. green in a way salvador is not. the town settled into me in a way i was not expecting.

    bahia salvador local culture expat adventure

    the man at the pastry counter

    we were at a pastry counter. she was choosing sweets. i was already mildly annoyed because they had given me cold coffee warmed in a microwave. one of those days. i was sitting off to the side with my cup when a tall, slender black man walked up and said: oh, you speak english.

    my first thought was: she’s about to snap on him.

    cachoeira bahia pastry counter local culture

    she did not. they started talking. he came to the table. she introduced me. i sat back and watched, a little checked out, because i was tired and had not come to network. but my first impression of him was this: he looked like my son. he had that same friendly, curious energy. and i noticed immediately that he loved sweets. he was completely absorbed in not just his desserts but hers too, moving pieces around on the plate, inspecting, savoring everything with an intensity that made me laugh to myself.

    cachoeira salvador bahia expat experience

    we exchanged numbers. found out he lived in salvador and had come to cachoeira just for the day. the next morning he reached out for breakfast.

    cachoeira salvador bahia breakfast expat

    jefferson.

    the mayor of bahia

    there is a running joke between us. jefferson is the mayor of bahia. does not matter where we go. does not matter what time. he knows someone. or someone knows him. i have made bets with him that we cannot walk a few feet without him running into a familiar face. he denies it. says he does not know everyone. to this day he owes me money because he has not won a single bet.

    cachoeira salvador bahia street local culture

    it was the same way in that first meeting in cachoeira. the whole town seemed to know his name.

    back in salvador, i introduced jefferson to leo. leo is the one who handles my practical affairs — visas, translations, logistics. born and raised in salvador, went to college in atlanta at a historically black college, speaks english fluently. leo and jefferson did not know each other. and i kept thinking: how do we have two black men born and raised in salvador, among the rare few who speak english, and they do not know each other?

    ilha de mare salvador bahia brazil tour

    we planned a meetup. of course other people showed up. of course jefferson knew some of the young men who came in. of course leo knew others. none of them knew that the others knew each other. it became a spontaneous reunion of people who had not seen each other in a while. it was one of those moments i came to brazil looking for. you can read more about what that first year looked like in my one year anniversary post.

    two apartments and a conversation jefferson will not forget

    jefferson and the island salvador bahia

    about three months into living in salvador, i needed nature. not beach. actual nature. green. trees. silence that does not come from the ocean. so i called jefferson and said: i want to move to cachoeira.

    and of course jefferson sorted everything.



    read part 2 of 3read part 3 of 3

    a story about the chaotic friendship that only brazil produces. click the + above to read in english.

  • march 21, 2026: building something real while running on empty

    march 21, 2026: building something real while running on empty

    21 de março de 2026: construindo algo real enquanto rodo no limite

    acordei com o oceano de novo.

    falo isso como se fosse algo comum. tem dias que quase parece que é. aí eu me pego e lembro que essa vista, esse som, essa qualidade específica da luz atlântica de manhã — nada disso estaria ao meu alcance em casa. não por esse preço. não dessa forma. isso não passa despercebido, mesmo nos dias em que estou cansada demais pra sentir direito.

    e eu estava cansada. as olheiras estavam falando por mim. me olhei no espelho e aceitei, do mesmo jeito que se aceita o tempo que faz. essa é uma fase de construção. eu sei o que estou construindo. os olhos se recuperam depois.

    passei a maior parte do dia mergulhada nisso — sistemas de ia, automação, tentando fazer o trabalho conversar com ele mesmo pra rodar sem precisar de mim em cima a cada hora. tem algo genuinamente empolgante nisso e também algo genuinamente humilhante. a distância entre o que consigo imaginar e o que consigo executar num único dia continua grande, não importa quantas horas eu coloque. fiquei me lembrando que existe um ponto de chegada. que não preciso terminar tudo hoje. que adicionar mais um recurso às vezes é só mais uma forma de evitar lançar.

    a geladeira ficou quase vazia. tomei a decisão executiva de não resolver isso ainda. fui aproveitando o que tinha, do jeito que a gente faz quando não quer quebrar o foco — e fazer compras em salvador nunca é uma tarefa rápida. exige cálculo. qual mercado. qual bairro. o que realmente tem disponível. como está a situação do cartão. não é difícil exatamente, mas nunca é nada também. quando finalmente me preparei pra sair à tarde, já tinha gasto mais energia mental com compras do que em anos morando no brooklyn.

    peguei um uber pra vitória.

    vitória é um bairro diferente. dinheiro mais antigo, ruas arborizadas, as calçadas têm uma certa dignidade. tinha gente passeando ao entardecer como se não tivessem nenhum lugar urgente pra ir, o que por si só já é um tipo de luxo. parei num mercado por lá e percebi — mesma rede, sensação completamente diferente. mais calmo. mais abastecido. outra clientela. o mesmo mercado pode carregar um mundo inteiramente diferente dentro dele dependendo de onde você está.

    de lá fui andando até uma festa de inauguração.

    era uma reunião pequena, maioria americanos, alguns expats de longa data e algumas pessoas ainda decidindo se fazem a mudança. tinha uma mulher hospedada no meu prédio que está pesando tudo isso. as conversas nesses ambientes têm um ritmo próprio — câmbio, segurança, adaptação, o que você sente falta, o que te surpreendeu. já tive versões dessa conversa muitas vezes. não me incomoda. tem algo útil em estar na sala onde outra pessoa ainda está no começo.

    mas o momento que assentou tudo foi a comida.

    costela. couve. broa de milho. macarrão. salada de batata. vinho.

    em algum momento a sala simplesmente ficou em silêncio. não aquele silêncio constrangedor. o outro. aquele em que todo mundo está com o prato na mão e a única resposta adequada ao que está acontecendo é estar presente com isso. música americana tocando no fundo, e algo nessa combinação — a comida, a música, as vozes familiares — chegou fundo. me lembrou das noites de verão no brooklyn quando todo mundo está lá fora, de verdade lá fora. sabe como é. luz demorada, ar quente, nenhum lugar que você absolutamente precise estar.

    sinto falta disso. não vou fingir o contrário.

    também sei o que tenho aqui. as duas coisas são verdade e estou aprendendo a segurar as duas ao mesmo tempo sem precisar resolver isso.

    cheguei em casa. trabalhei mais um pouco. fui dormir mais tarde do que devia.

    a geladeira ainda está vazia.

    amanhã vai exigir lidar com isso.


    tem muito mais a dizer sobre o que realmente significa ser uma americana negra no brasil — não a ideia disso, mas a textura diária de viver isso. esse assunto vai precisar de espaço próprio.

    vista pro oceano. geladeira vazia. soul food na sala de alguém. uma sala cheia de americanos que ficou em silêncio no momento em que a comida chegou à mesa. é assim que construir uma vida no brasil realmente parece.

    i woke up to the ocean again.

    i say that like it is ordinary. some days it almost feels like it is. then i catch myself and remember that this view, this sound, this particular quality of atlantic light in the morning — none of it would be accessible to me at home. not at this price. not in this way. that is not lost on me, even on the days i am too tired to feel it properly.

    and i was tired. the dark circles were doing the most. i clocked them in the mirror and just accepted them the way you accept weather. this is a building phase. i know what i am building toward. the eyes will recover later.

    i spent most of the day deep in it — automation, figuring out how to make the work talk to itself so it can run without me standing over it every hour. there is something genuinely exciting about that and also something genuinely humbling. the gap between what i can imagine and what i can execute in a single day stays wide no matter how many hours i put in. i had to keep reminding myself that an endpoint exists. that i do not have to finish everything today. that adding another feature is sometimes just another way to avoid shipping.

    the refrigerator stayed mostly empty…

    read part 2 here


    ocean view. empty fridge. soul food in somebody’s living room. a room full of americans who went quiet the moment the food hit the table. this is what building a life in brazil actually looks like.

  • preta in salvador during birthday week

    preta in salvador during birthday week


     

    i already wrote about crossing the ocean. this is something else.

    this is about what it feels like to stand inside salvador while salvador celebrates itself. the city’s official anniversary is march 29. salvador was founded on march 29, 1549 by tomé de sousa — the first governor-general of colonial brazil. it became the first capital of brazil and, by 1558, the first slave market in the new world. that is the formal history. the more useful truth is that this place carries history in a way you do not just read. you walk through it. you feel it. you argue with it. you let it change your posture.

    as a Preta woman, that lands differently. not because the city is simple. not because it is soft. and definitely not because it is some fantasy of automatic belonging. but because there is something about being in salvador during birthday week that makes the layers louder. the african presence. the contradictions. the beauty. the labor. the rhythm. a city celebrating itself while still carrying the weight of everything it has survived. that is not small. and it is not abstract.

    sisi in brasil on a bahia beach arm raised toward the atlantic ocean --- faafo.app

    what i love is that the celebration is not just stage lights and slogans. this year’s festival da cidade 2026 runs from march 21 to april 5 with free programming across the city. local art, makers, theater, literature, music — and the xiii semana do artesão adaba from march 25-29 at campo grande, dedicated to handcraft and local artistic production. that part matters to me specifically. i do not separate a city’s soul from what its people make with their hands.

    on march 29 itself, mercado iaô holds a special anniversary edition in ribeira — more than 150 creative businesses across fashion, crafts, design, food, and self-care, plus music and community. if you want to understand a place, watch what it builds, not just what it sells.

    if you are reading this and something in you is already leaning toward bahia, pay attention to that. not everybody is only meant to visit a place. some people are meant to let it confront them.

    that is the conversation i am building at fool around and find out — for people who want something more honest than travel fantasy. if you’re ready to think beyond tourism, that’s where we go deeper.

  • a catalyst does not hand-hold

    a catalyst does not hand-hold

    this post is in english — use your browser’s translate button to read in portuguese.

    este post está em inglês — use o botão de tradução do seu navegador para ler em português.

    let me be plain about this. i give you a spark. what you do with it is yours.

    i am not here to walk every step with you. i am not here to be the thing you come back to every time life gets uncomfortable. a catalyst initiates a reaction and then steps back. that is the nature of the work. i bring the enzymes that accelerate or decrease the chemical reaction — to surface what is dormant, to slow what is overactive, to name what has been sitting just under the threshold of your awareness. once it’s in motion, that motion belongs to you. not to me.

    my certification is my life. i have been the experimental test tube person — taking the leaps, hunting down the fear before it could find me on a quiet day and interrupt the vibe. brooklyn. detroit. oklahoma inherited land. a freedmen’s church in florida. and now a curved glass balcony in salvador, bahia, watching the atlantic and understanding exactly why i landed here. i share that. not as performance, but as frequency. people often say they feel better just from a conversation with me. that’s not magic. that’s what happens when someone dips into a well that’s actually full and gives you a taste of what freedom feels like in a body.

    the free magic phase is over. access to this frequency is now grounded in reciprocity. not because i changed, but because i finally understand the value of what i carry. you can see the range of what that looks like at portfolio.faafo.app or read what people have said at reviews.faafo.app. and if you want to understand the deeper inheritance behind why this work has the weight it does, the bloodline is documented, dna confirmed, and not going anywhere.

    if you are ready to stop circling your life and finally meet it — i am is where we start. and if you want to go deeper into what any of this means energetically, vanguard mystery school is where that conversation lives. or if you are thinking about making the kind of life move that changes everything, start at foolaroundandfindout.com.


  • why people mistake a catalyst for chaos

    why people mistake a catalyst for chaos

    this post is in english — use your browser’s translate button to read in portuguese.

    este post está em inglês — use o botão de tradução do seu navegador para ler em português.

    when truth enters a stagnant system, things start moving. that’s not chaos. that’s chemistry.

    i’ve watched it happen enough times to recognize the pattern. a person is living inside something — a story, a relationship, a version of themselves that stopped fitting years ago. everything feels fine because nothing is moving. then something shifts. energy gets touched. the thing just under the surface gets named. and suddenly everything is in motion and the person who named it becomes the problem.

    i’ve been called disruptive. i’ve been called too much. i’ve been called chaos. and what i’ve learned is that those words usually come from people who were comfortable inside stagnation. movement feels like threat when you’ve built your whole life around staying still. but movement is not the same thing as harm. revelation is not the same thing as attack. and the catalyst is not responsible for the fracture that was already there before she walked in.

    this is part of why my life has looked the way it has. brooklyn. detroit. oklahoma. a church in florida. and now salvador, bahia, brazil — the yoruba capital of the western hemisphere, where i live one year in and still processing how on time it all was. i did not move around because i couldn’t settle. i moved because i followed what was alive. a catalyst doesn’t stay past her season. she goes where the energy is actually moving.

    if my presence, my work, or even this post makes you uncomfortable — sit with that. discomfort is not always a warning sign. sometimes it’s the sound of something old losing its grip. read more on what i actually do. and if you want the longer line of evidence behind why this force has the weight it does, the bloodline is waiting.


  • some people do not come into your life to comfort you. they come to activate you

    some people do not come into your life to comfort you. they come to activate you

    this post is in english — use your browser’s translate button to read in portuguese.

    este post está em inglês — use o botão de tradução do seu navegador para ler em português.

    not everyone who enters your life is there to make you feel better. some people are there to make you feel something you’ve been avoiding. some are there to name what you already know but won’t say out loud. and some are there to activate what has been sitting underneath your surface, waiting.

    i am a catalyst. not a healer — i want to be clear about that. i don’t operate from the assumption that you are broken. you are not broken. there may be pieces that are damaged, dormant, lost, or in need of retrieval. but broken? no. and that distinction matters because the way i work with someone depends entirely on where they actually are, not where they think they should be.

    what i do is translate. when i tap into someone’s energy, i feel it in my body first. then i put it into words. what’s just under the surface. what’s at the root of the anxiety, the stall, the thing you can’t quite name. once it’s named, we can start to move it. sometimes that’s transmuting energy that’s overactive and overwhelming. sometimes it’s activating something that’s been dormant so long it forgot it existed. sometimes it just needs a small push — a catalyst — and that’s enough to get everything else flowing.

    that is what i do. not hand-holding. not scripts. not performing insight like a party trick. i feel what is present, i translate it into language, and i give you enough of a spark that you can take it from there. one client, an astrologer named kacy danae, booked a month and a half of clients in less than two weeks after we sat together. she said the shift was damn near instantaneous. that is the chemistry of a catalyst at work.

    if something in this landed, keep reading. i am is where the full picture lives. the bloodline is where you understand why this work carries the weight it does. and reviews.faafo.app is where real people describe what actually happened when we worked together.


  • what grows from inherited land

    what grows from inherited land

    PT: este post está em inglês — use o botão de tradução do seu navegador para ler em português.

    the deed was handed to me.

    not metaphorically. literally. family land in rural oklahoma. my grandfather’s land. the kind of thing that gets passed down quietly, without ceremony, because the people doing the passing know exactly what it cost to hold onto it and they’re not interested in making a speech about it.

    i was burned out from tech. done with the corporate version of myself. i packed up and moved to that land with no real plan except that something in me knew it was time to go back to the ground.

    what i didn’t know was that the ground had been waiting.

    grandmother’s trees. grandfather’s tools.

    everything i made in oklahoma came from what was already there.

    peach trees my grandmother planted. apple trees. pecan. i harvested what fell and i put it around people’s necks as jewelry. i carved pipes from the wood using my grandfather’s tools — tools he built a whole design center around, by hand, before he died and left them for whoever would know what to do with them.

    i papered the walls with my grandmother’s magazines. i hung vintage album covers on the hallway ceiling. i built outdoor soaking tubs. i sold oklahoma red dirt in mason jars to women across the country and shipped it to their doors.

    i have literally sold dirt.

    and people paid for it. because they could feel what it carried.

    the women who came

    i didn’t build that chapter alone.

    women from across the US and canada sent money to sponsor rooms in that house. then they showed up. some of them had never met each other in person. they came to rest and to help. we called it OurCompound.

    there was no pitch deck. no program. no intake form. just a woman on inherited land saying — come. and they came.

    that is cooperative economics. not a theory. women wiring money so the roof gets fixed and then showing up with their hands.

    that is the porch before it had a name. that is vanguard mystery school before it had a curriculum. that is the philosophy that eventually carried me to salvador, bahia, brazil — where my yoruba ancestors’ cousins were taken on a different ship, and where i now live one year into calling it home.

    pluto in the 8th house — made literal

    astrologers will understand this immediately.

    pluto in the 8th house: you inherit the power and the wound simultaneously. you receive what the ancestors left. you also receive the responsibility that comes with it. destruction, creation, regeneration — in that order, every time.

    the deed handed over was not just land. it was a test. it was an activation. it was the universe saying — okay. you say you understand ancestral work. prove it.

    i proved it with my hands. with peach pits and red dirt and a grandfather’s drill press and women i’d never met before sleeping in rooms wallpapered with my grandmother’s better homes and gardens.

    that’s not a hobby history. that is a worldview made physical.

    what the oklahoma chapter actually was

    it was proof.

    proof that i am a psychic who doesn’t use tools — because the reading happens in the making. in the material. in what the hands know before the mind catches up.

    proof that chiefs. warriors. medicine women. — the bloodline doesn’t just live in a document. it lives in what you do when you’re on the land and there’s no audience and nothing to perform.

    proof that what grows from inherited land will always surprise you.

    and proof that when the ground is done with you — when you’ve taken what it had to give and given back what you could — it releases you for the next chapter.

    mine released me toward brazil. read about one year in salvador to see where the oklahoma chapter led.

    CALLS TO ACTION

    go deeper into what this means energetically: vanguard mystery school

    read the full bloodline: six hundred years. documented.

    book a session: one session. no tools. no theater.

    thinking about relocating to bahia? let’s talk.