Page 3 of Unclench Me Softly

“Maybe they won’t need a welcome packet,” I mutter, deleting another chunk of text. “Maybe they’ll just… vibe.”

“Greetings, sacred seekers. At Solstice Hollow, you are invited to, no, summoned to, surrender your wounds and awaken the wisdom of your primal self through stillness, sacred breath, and…”

“Toad venom?” a voice says from the doorway.

I nearly fall out of my chair. “Jesus!”

Toad leans against the frame, holding a banana and looking far too pleased with himself. He nods toward the screen. “You should say ‘toad venom.’ Really sells the edge.”

I blink at him. “Why would I tell people we’re using toad venom? Where would I evengettoad venom?”

“I know a guy,” he says.

“Youarethe guy.”

He just shrugs and takes a bite of the banana.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and inhale deeply through what I’ve decided today is my Third Nostril. “Toad, respectfully, I don’t need spiritual branding advice from someone who just installed a trauma bucket and calls himself a ‘plumbing empath.’”

“You’re welcome,” he says, utterly unbothered. “Also, you said ‘awaken the primal self.’ That sounds like sex. Is this that kind of retreat?”

“It is absolutely not that kind of retreat,” I snap, even though my dress is a little low-cut and I did once Google “what is tantric masculine polarity.”

Toad raises an eyebrow. “You sure? ‘Open pelvic floor’ says otherwise.”

I throw a sage bundle at his head.

He catches it.

“You know,” he adds, casually tossing the sage like a baseball, “You’re gonna have to believe your own bullshit if you want anyone else to.”

I stare at him.

He stares back.

“I’m sorry,” I say slowly, “Did you just mansplain spiritual authenticity to me in my own cult compound?”

“I’m just saying,” he says, heading back out the door, “If you’re gonna con some rich dudes, you might as well make it feel real. For both of you.”

I don’t respond.

Mostly because I’m re-reading the line “open pelvic floor” and wondering if it’s actually… kinda brilliant.

Toad disappears, leaving behind the faint smell of banana and some kind of herbal oil that I suspect he makes in a crockpot.

I sigh, crack my neck, and turn back to my laptop. The printer is now blinking a sad blue light, like it’s giving me emotional support through technical failure.

“Okay, let’s try again,” I mutter, standing up and facing the mirror I’ve propped against the wall with an intention candle and three randomly chosen crystals. None of them match, but I’ve decided they represent “masculine release,” “creative confidence,” and “vibe protection.” Or maybe they’re just pretty.

I take a breath, put on my best soft-guru energy, and lift my hands like I’ve just caught a blessing out of the air.

“Welcome, sacred seekers,” I say to my reflection. “At Solstice Hollow, you will be gently, but firmly, guided through the Five Pillars of Divine Masculine Surrender.”

I pause, take a deep breath and do a floaty hand motion that I think suggests divine flow but may actually look like I’m trying to hail a cab in slow motion.

“Each day will be a journey through one of the Pillars. You’ll unclench the jaw of your soul, rewild your inner cub, sit in the stillness of your root, oh god, does that sound like a fart thing? and, uh… burn your false king to reveal your wounded boy. That’s fine, that’s good. That’s like… emotionally nutritious.”

I glance down at my notecards, where I’ve scrawled half of this with a purple gel pen and possibly smeared chocolate.

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