Page 114 of Unclench Me Softly

(Filed between chapters and chakras.)

Vibe-Based Practical Nonsense

“Never trust a man who doesn’t believe in moon water. Or tip well.”

“Charge your phone and your crystals. In that order, if Mercury is in retrograde.”

“You can’t align your chakras if you haven’t had a snack.”

“If it’s weird and it works, it’s sacred.”

“Spiritual downloads hit faster in a linen robe and nothing else.”

For the Boys / Emotional Chaos

“Men crave softness. They just don’t know how to ask for it without breaking something first.”

“If he cries during the cacao ceremony, he’s yours now. That’s just how energy bonding works.”

“Let him scream into the forest. Then hand him tea and a crystal dick and tell him it’s okay.”

General Spiritual-ish Vibes

“You are not broken. You are just misaligned with your moon crystal.”

“Healing isn’t linear. It’s spiral-shaped, and sometimes it makes you dizzy and cry in a hammock.”

“Every man has a wounded inner boy. Some just hide him behind protein shakes and emotional constipation.”

“If you can’t feel your feelings, dance them out in the moonlight. If that doesn’t work, wine.”

“Stillness is where the soul whispers. Or farts. Either way, you learn something.”

Bliss-ism #12/^

When your clit chakra is open, your breakfast should be too.

Chapter Twenty-Two:

The Sacred Brunch of Intuitive Pancake Sharing™ and Itinerary Mutiny

I wake up tangled in a blanket that smells like sandalwood, sin, and questionable life choices. There’s glitter on my thighs. My left boob is partially out of my robe. And my root chakra feels like it did ayahuasca without telling the rest of me.

I blink blearily at the ceiling of my dome, trying to remember what day it is, whether I’m still technically in charge of anything, and if I imagined the part where I got spiritually spanked by a man who uses the Oxford comma and files things by emotional tone.

Before I can answer any of those questions, there’s a knock at the flap.

Then I hear Asher’s voice. “Bliss? Um. Don’t freak out. We made you breakfast. And possibly restructured your entire retreat.”

I sit up too fast, and the blanket tries to murder me. “You what?”

The flap opens and Asher pokes his head in, smiling like someone who both did a good thing and knows he’s about to be punished for it.

He carries a wooden tray like it’s a peace offering. There’s a steaming mug, folded napkin, scrambled eggs shaped suspiciously like a sacred spiral, and two small pancakes topped with what I’m 87% sure is a flower.

“We, uh… had a group meeting,” he says, stepping inside and setting the tray gently in my lap. “You’ve been doing so much. And we thought… maybe you deserved a break. So we planned today.”

I just stare. “Planned… today?”

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