Spirit Speaks My Language

I can hear the chatter, the thoughts, the noise…

Let me make something real clear — because I know what people are thinking—

“How can she talk about co-creating with Spirit when she swears like that?” “How can someone write about healing and the drop f-word in the same breath?”

Here’s how— because this is my fucking language.

I don’t speak in Sunday school whispers. I don’t sugar-coat survival. I don’t wrap pain in pretty little bows so it’s easier for people to swallow. 

My voice was forged in the fire. It came from hospital rooms, empty nights, broken trust, and learning how to hold myself up when nobody else did.

Spirit doesn’t give a damn about grammar, pretty words or perfect English. Spirit gives a damn about truth.

People have this warped image of what “spiritual” is supposed to look like. Soft words. Candlelight. Filtered quotes on Instagram with some angel emoji. 

That might be somebody else’s language — but it’s not mine.

Spirit doesn’t need you to be holy. Spirit needs you to be honest.

And my honesty? It’s not quiet. It’s not gentle. It’s laced with grit, rage, heartbreak, fire, and the kind of language that actually fits the weight of what I’ve lived through.

When I say, “Fuck you for looking away”—oh shit, I haven’t said that yet? Wait for it.

I’m not spewing hate.

I’m speaking a boundary. I’m spitting out a truth I swallowed for too damn long.

It’s not blasphemy. I’m not here to make my pain palatable for people who’ve never lived it.

A well-placed “fuck” said from your whole chest is more spiritual than a polite whisper that’s a lie.

Spirit meets me where I am — not where the world thinks I should be.

I don’t need to dress it up in politically correct words. I co-create not through “perfect “ language—but the kind that bleeds and breathes.

Spirit walks with me in my truth — in my authentic language. And my language just happens to be raw as fuck.

So if anyone’s wondering how I can write the way I do, swear the way I do, and still be deeply connected to Spirit, here’s your answer—

Because my connection to Spirit isn’t built on pretending to be someone I’m not. It’s built on showing up as I am — grit, scars, f-word and all.

It’s not about being saintly. It’s about being real.

Spirit flows through the exact shape of me. Not some polished-up, pillow-soft version — me.

Some people connect through light and lavender and that’s just lovely. But me? I connect through scars, steel, and spitfire honesty.

That’s my language.

Spirit doesn’t need me to sound holy. Spirit needs me to sound like me.

If that doesn’t fit into someone’s box of what spiritual should look like, that’s their box to carry— not mine.

How do I know all this?

I’m tapped in, baby — catch up.

— Jaye