Reflections of 2021

The following playlist is a musical archive telling the story of my 2021. I started doing back in 2009 this as a way to reflect on how much I’ve grown through the years. I recommend listening to it in chronological order. I hope someone out there enjoys this. ❤

Scorpius, Butterfly, and Queer Inner-Kids.

Image credit: star

I feel Scorpio’s stinger pierce the small of my back as I huddle in dark corners of mind, recalling old survival mechanisms, knowing they don’t work.

The season of Transformation is upon us and the Day of the Dead is to-day.

I’ve been dreaming of psilocybin-infused mate with sweet coconut cream, passed around the Medicine Wheel with familiar faces of past, shadows and reflections come to make the whole, but it’s up to me to choose, and choose wisely.

Which shadows should die and which do I still need to survive?

I recall a time when I couldn’t even look myself in the eye without eating my own lies, hiding who I am, for the sake of my frightened inner-children, I told them, “you don’t have to see it if you don’t want to.”

But I want to. Now, I do.

How the binary system was safe and my tough Masculine skin made the little girl feel okay, just so I can watch them play in the yard with the water hose, he as protector, wooden toy sword in hand, oh the demons he slayed, at least kept them at bay.

And she, what was left of her anyways, licking fresh Water off her lips and counting the bees, she wondered when the Masculine might turn on her, as they all did, she knew too well.

But life is so different, my inner-children have grown. She wants to sit near the Ocean and talk to the Surf, and he wants to jerk off.

Self-deprecation is one of those mechanisms that got him mercy from the angry crowds. It’s true, he likes to jerk off, he says, it’s about brain regulation, tension release, don’t judge him. He’s trying to heal her, to help her sleep at night.

Thank you, dear Masculine. I’m sorry for blaming you for everything.

Today, I know that there’s space for both, and what would it be like to not be afraid of who I really am? What would it be like to express freely without fearing for my life?

I am Caterpillar dreaming of Butterfly.

To the Twins who dream of Masculine and Feminine Union, but scoff at nonbinary realities, oh, why do you curse yourself so?

Why do I curse myself so?

Because I’m afraid for my life. Because I haven’t yet created the safety I need.

Butterfly has wings of steel, transmuting shadow with a blinding Love that disarms and melts away, fly, and be free, Monarch within me.

Let the shame and the fear, dysphoric anxiety, all the cries for safety, rise up to the flame, calling Phoenix by name.

Sending Parasites back to Creator, bitter hatred, forgetful nature dissipates as Aletheia, the angel bestows her gifts of Remembrance, with Rosemary, like me.

I wait for the vision. I vomit and cry.

I accept the poison of Scorpious as this season, I might die.

Bandaids Off, Prayers Up, Roots Down

The beginnings of my traditional Taino altar.

I feel layers of childhood skin finally peeling back, like crusty band-aids, pulling up residual pain, hanging on desperately to body hairs of reminders of the person I’ve been: afraid, lonely, and lost.

I didn’t know who I was, so I became what I needed to be to survive. I can’t even count all the ways I’ve betrayed myself to feel like I was safe and I belonged, yet with that very effort, I put myself in a traumatic space where being outcasted and ignored was the default story of my life. How to break the cycle?

Many teachers came before us to show us the way, but their messages have been hijacked and distorted to serve the beast, one that craves power and money, forsaking the whole and wholeness, like cancerous cells unaware of its impact on the body.

I claim my right to stand up to those cancerous cells for the sake of the whole.

I claim my right to heal the beast within myself, to pull off such bandaids, sometimes slowly, other times abruptly, calling in my own wholeness.

I wanted so much to belong, but how could anyone give me a chance when I had not given myself a chance?

I was so quick to protect myself with ego, fervently pushing potential belonging away, so disconnected, so much in suffering….

Now, things are starting to feel different. I know that I can’t belong anywhere if I don’t belong inside. I know that I have to champion myself, to speak and live my truth whether it is approved of or not. But mostly, to feel in every cell of my body that I am loved because I’ve done the work of affirming and validating myself, giving myself grace for my own flaws, and rewarding myself for taking baby steps toward growth, everyday.

And still…. I have those moments of residual pain and forgetful regression. I catch a glimpse into a past life, one where everyone had given up on me. I went down dark paths just to prove to myself that the direction of my life can only be determined by me. The weight of such memories humble and balance me.

I am so grateful for the guidance, wisdom, and gentle discipline of my ancestors. I feel their support in my roots, anchoring me to this world. I feel the strength and sovereignty of their love. I feel them nudging and guiding me to the next step in my healing journey.

Religion has never been kind to me. My ancestors, however, love me like I’ve never been loved before.

Creator, I pray for continued healing, not just for me, but for anyone willing and ready to receive this medicine. Please help us to remember who we are, so we can stop playing scripted roles written for us by a sick society. Please help us to integrate our true natures, remembering where we came from, who our ancestors are, so we can bring back the culture that worked for us, before colonization fractured our souls. Help us to remember the profound simplicity of presence, harmony, and the joys of small moments. I pray we realize that we don’t have to destroy the world to start over. I pray for change and justice, for healing and revelation. Most of all, I pray that we find gratitude every day, many times a day, for the simple joys that are right in front of us.

Thank you, so much, for your continued grace, compassion, and support of the evolution of the human race. Thank you for the healing of our beautiful Mother Earth, and thank you so much, for the manifestation of a New World, a world where all of Earth’s children have enough Love, health, and resources.

Bo’matum Yaya, Atabey, y Yuchahu. Bo’matum Caraya y Behike por todo lo que hecho por mi y mi familia, la raza humana.

Han han katu.

New Life, Protective Shadow, and RIP to my friend Sheila

I love you my friend

I’m starting to feel an emergence of new life after a long journey through the Underworld. I saw ghosts and demons, real life monsters in mirrors. I faced self-hatred and pity, shame and selfishness, the most disgusting parts of me. I paid my karmic debt for years of toxic positivity with inevitable passage through the darker realms.

I have gained much through the Temperance of the Middle Way.

Today was especially difficult. I finally went back onto Instagram and found a message from a friend whom had been looking for me. I was also trying to get a hold of her, but lost her number. She passed away and no one had anyway of telling me because I was hiding in my cell. I realized then that my hermetic comfort cost me far more than I’d anticipated.

I was hiding because I’d been hurt by a sorceress, someone who was supposed to be my teacher and mentor. She had hurt so many people in such profound ways, someone had to stand up to her. So I did. As you can imagine, it didn’t turn out well for me. Yet I do not regret my words or actions.

I hid from her as I felt a curse fall like a blanket of smoke over a crowd of young souls. It had happened before in another life, and yet I made the same mistake of running and hiding. It seemed the wisest thing to do, because the truth is, I was in over my head. I didn’t know how to protect myself from such a powerful being.

With great grief in my heart I can see that in my crystal cave I hid from the ones who loved me. I cut out good people for the sake of one. I abandoned a friend without so much of a word of explanation.

I’m so sorry, Sheila. I miss you. I love you. I’m sorry for not being a better friend. God rest your soul.

It was more than that.

I used to spill my guts all over the screen, but now days, I have a Scorpion wife whose privacy is her safe space, and I have vowed to protect that space. Let’s just say that marriage is hard work. I was a fool to think otherwise. My other half is a constant reminder that I myself am not a perfect being, and to love my shadow is the single most greatest challenge of this world, and also the key to a more Divine Union with my wife.

After a long day of seemingly fruitless emotional toil, I sat in the bathtub where I usually baptize myself in the womb of the Divine Mother. Here I cried tears of frustration, of long-suffering, and of being oh-so-fucking-done with the way that I’d been living –the life of a child, ever-expectant, naive and dependent. Angry and entitled.

It is the moment of Death, the Ten of Swords, that I declared that I could not go on like that anymore. I opened my heart and allowed it all to come to the surface, to be seen by the Ones who guide me, heal me, Love me. Then, I laid down and slept for two hours.

I’ve come to accept that growth is a vital part of my life. Without growth there is no survival. Without healing there’s no point in living. I welcome growth, and all the pains that one finds along this sacred road.

Now, I feel lighter. I’m reclaiming the parts of me that were lost to the sorceress, the parts that protected me with tough skin, a chin held high even though I was dying inside. You see, it’s not healthy to destroy all your personas and defense mechanisms. We have them for a reason.Without my defenses, I was vulnerable to abuse, not just by her, but by people in power in different aspects of my life.

My wounds were on display for any predator to see, as through her training, I adopted the demeanor of a lame deer, just waiting to become some lioness’ prey. I’d lost the survival instincts that I needed to show the world that I was not someone to fuck with. I became a fucking Care Bear, which is fine, but there are times when we need to bare our fangs for the sake of survival.

So, of course, this lame deer found a place to hide.

Back then, it was all a lie. Since the 8th grade, I learned that if you pretend you’re not afraid, no one will fuck with you. If they do, and you can hold your poker face, they’ll stop fucking with you. Sometimes you have to fight, but then they will know.

I’m no one to fuck with.

It’s not a lie anymore. I don’t have to pretend I’m not afraid. I have roots that ground me, integrity that centers me, and an open heart that guides the way. I don’t bother with small-minded haters, and I send grace to anyone who might consider themselves my enemy. Yet I can bare my fangs and I will fight if I have to.

So, here I am. No longer hiding. No longer afraid of rejection. No longer tailoring my words for acceptance and understanding. I feel stronger than I have in a long time.

I’ve come full circle, it seems. A four-year cycle is finally ending, and I can’t believe that I’ve made it this far. I’m so grateful.

To anyone reading this, I pray blessings of peace, clarity, and overwhelming abundance.

Good night. ❤

Gathering My Tinsel and Pearl

This image belongs to the New York Post

I came to Portland with the mind of a curious yet broken child, and I will leave this city with my sovereignty, my peace, and my Truth.

I’ve outgrown those rose-colored shades, for I can’t heal what I can’t see.

I’ve abandoned the illusion of perfection and virtue, for bright lights create shadow, and my soul chooses the Middle Path.

I’m transmuting the lust for money, power, and recognition, the culture of internalized white supremacy.

I’m confronting my fears and reparenting my orphaned inner-children, for this work makes me whole.

I’m accepting responsibility for the pain I’ve caused others, and of course, myself. Here I reclaim innocence and peace.

I’m choosing to sit with my own grief, to channel my rage in beneficial ways, and to give myself grace when I don’t have the strength.

I’m learning to rest, to listen, to receive. Most of all, to be patient.

I’m reclaiming my Divinity. No human on Earth can take this from me.

I’m learning to treat Creation as Creator, a Temple made in Their image.

I’m taking my power back from all man-made institutions, like religion, politics, and the assumptions of my own peers.

I’m learning what it means to love and be loved, imperfect as we are.

The growing pains promise new beginnings, like a wish on a butterfly wing.

The destruction and creation happens simultaneously, thus I embrace both grief and joy, and continue to dance along the sacred red road.

I am gathering these lessons, and letting untruth fall away.

I am grateful for all that has transpired.

I am listening….

The Night My Shadow Came Home

Photo credit: Umberto Shaw

I remember how he used to visit me everynight, holding me in the dark, a cold pistol to my temple.

The rage and pain rocked me like a crack baby, while I spat prayers of peace and silence between the waves of grief and coughing snot.

I’d come to depend on the pain he brought me. I appreciated his loyalty.

How long had I been trapped in that prison?

Between my thoughts, in every silent moment, where the mystics sought Nirvana, I found only Hell.

Of course, I left this world. I escaped this body. Why remain in this tortured state when psychosis is free medicine? And oh, the realms I’ve explored.

But that’s another story.

During the day, I felt the shadow stalking behind, whispering of failure and worthlessness. His pistol to my head, threatening my life with his hatred. After so many decades, I’d come to believe his lies.

I remember the moments he stole, like the time my parents remembered my birthday, and as everyone sang Happy Birthday to me, he whispered of disgust and shame.

Or when I almost had a good time at that party with some people I didn’t know, he took hold of me in front of everyone, called me a worthless slut.

From then on I was the “psycho worthless slut.”

And despite how much he couldn’t stand me, he came, night after night, with the barrel of his pistol to my head.

Why not pull the trigger already?

Then something changed. Over the course of 20 years, or so.

I was sitting up in bed, listening to the silence between my thoughts and realized that I was not in Hell. I remembered from whence I came.

As every person I ever hurt, and all of whom have hurt me, came before me carrying a black box. I opened my heart and offered them Love.

One by one, I retrieved my soul and reclaimed by peace, turning enemies into relations. Until he came forward.

His face hidden behind his pistol, his heart behind the words, “I hate you.”

His arm, grotesque with muscle, bulged out of his torn shirt.

While the skinny left arm hung useless, an impotent worm.

I stood, an epiphany opening like a rose bud on a frosty morning, and went to him.

“I remember you, Brother. I know why you hold your weapon out like so. I know why you’re here. Do you remember?”

He shoved his gun in my face, pressing the cold barrel to my head. “To kill you. I hate you.”

The stench of rotting corpses spewed from his mouth, the sewage of his heart.

In the past, I believed him. But now…

I nodded. “Yes. Should I have taken a dark path, should I have been a danger to the people I love, should I have failed at my mission, it was your job to kill me, to spare my soul the burdens of evil. It was me who gave you this task.”

His scowled face melted in understanding, while his tears fell down my cheeks. I reached out to take the weapon from him, but changed my mind.

“You did your job well, Shadow. My soul belongs to me and my body is safe, thanks to your vigilance. I have a new job for you now. Keep the weapon concealed.”

Shadow lowered his arm, and I saw his face for the first time. He was just a boy in need of a bath. “I did good?”

I nodded, “You did good.”

He smirked. “I can eat? I can sleep now?”

“Of course.”

So the Shadow took refuge in the center of my heart, while the others watched and began to ask, “What about me? I can eat now? I can sleep?”

On Purpose, Forgiveness, and Sagittarius’ Lofty Aim

Image credit: Siah St. Clair

I am learning to represent myself in truth. Over the past four years, I’ve peeled off multiple layers of armor and dismantled systems of chameleon-like shapeshifting. These methods of survival allowed me to maintain a certain level of sanity, but stripped me of dignity and relatability. CPTSD lends itself to a hard knock life.

Today, I feel these old ways of being falling away at my feet, like autumn leaves. Like a snake, having molted all winter, it is through fiery movement that I feel the old skin peeling back, defining itself as “not me anymore”, while I find fresh new skin, an opportunity to show the world who I really am.

I sift through old motivations based on root wounds, like wanting to be accepted and celebrated by folks who just can’t wrap their mind around my otherness, folks who might confuse my God-given gifts with sickness. Today I seek the compassion in my heart to forgive the ones who may never realize their error. I call upon my soul to forgive for the sake of my own peace, that my intentions and motivations are purified.

What are the more pure motivations of my heart, and can they ever be executed in a way that represents who I am? Must I continue to study the dominant culture in order to tailor my words for the sake of understanding? Must I build bridges for those who refuse to cross them?

If not, if my sole purpose is simply to be who I am without apology, without explanation, without fear of banishment or punishment, what would that even look like?

I have been blessed with a beautiful spouse who is learning, like me, to make space for the parts of us that have never been seen or loved. In these spaces, I find myself unlearning the ways of the world and wanting a much simpler life.

I see a child in the jungle, singing to the trees and the creatures like in a 90s Disney animation, and I thank God that my prayers of fame and fortune were not manifested. I see celebrities with very little freedom, not even able to maintain relationships without having to account for false pretenses, gold-digging, and fake friends. I feel sorry for them.

I’ve entertained so many dreams, many of these truly grand, and I admit that in the past I’ve held grandiose sentiments about myself and what any human would realistically be able to accomplish in one life. Now that I see myself more clearly, and I find a tangible path to the life of my dreams, right here at my feet, I still channel great visions of creative projects, social service, and world healing. Why?

Steve Jobs said that, “The people who are crazy enough to think they can change the world are the ones who do.”

But what of such ambition?

I know that many of my friends and family have given up on me. I’ve made peace with that. I know that a lot of the people I care about don’t reciprocate my tenderness or desire to connect. I’ve been asked to understand who they are, why they are, and to accept that their state of mind is not about me. I’ve also come to make peace with the fact that I’ve been toxic. No, I mean, really toxic. People do what they have to do for self-preservation, and I am at peace with that.

I’ve come to accept that of the 4k Facebook friends I once had, only a handful are truly down for me, and it’s the same friends who were there when I had nothing to offer but drunken promises of friendship and love.

It’s a sober moment to realize that all I’ve spent my entire life chasing the wrong thing, trying to earn love where it didn’t exist, trying too hard to make friends, compromising too much of my truth, and for what? Nothing.

I’ll take the grey hairs and the crows feet with my pouch of well-earned pearls.

Now I ask Creator. What will you do with the rest of my life? Am I to live the simple life, a humble yet joyful retirement, or would you send me to the front lines for future generations? Would you have me place my hands upon the Earth for healing? Do you want me to share everything I’ve learned along this path? Now that I don’t care for Hollywood ties, would you sell the stories that have haunted me all these years?

Does the caterpillar know it’s a butterfly? When the metamorphosis takes place, does the butterfly wonder how it will fly? Does it anticipate flight and does it fear a fall? Does it dream about flying? Or does it simply allow death? Completely let go?

This is where I am, my friends. I’m stepping into a new world, a seemingly foreign universe. Deep down, I feel I’m coming home.

In this world, forgiveness and grace starts in my heart. Humbleness is wisdom and happiness is success. The fruits of our good green Earth is abundance, and I already have everything I need.

To those reading, I may not know who you are, but I pray for your health, your happiness, and a deep, everlasting peace.

Bless up,

Kaika ❤

Poem: The Scapegoat’s Heart Along

The River Lethe

image credit: Irma Hudson

The winds fill my sail and

whisper to

my heart.

“Onward, warrior.

Down the River Lethe where your

reflection kept secret

ambitions to wear

the scapegoat’s

scars like stripes upon back or

wrists for the blood

curse they drink in

your honor.


You’re not allowed to pray.

Because their god is not


Not to you, at least.

As if my Father would turn his eyes from me.

As if my Mother would not love me.

As if all of Heaven would not

smile upon my journey

through this Earth


while I accept

All That Is.

Their shadows look


on a old-fashioned model.

A Jonah

A Joan

A Jesus

A Satanist

This has happened before.

It will happen


As the fallen

tree floats

and forks with

every thought

an Angel reaches into

their black bag as I


my youth

scatter like

ash to the dark

waters of unconscious


While the Tower

of martyrdom

rumbles like Jericho

under my feet.

Mama awakens

within me

“Lion rise,”

with my

six swords aboard

this hopeful vessel

in this here


“Onward, sailor.

Gather your Soul

pearl and tinsel

toward deeper seas.

Reject the curses of

rotten roots

and seek sacred


where the trees and the


sing your song

back to you.

Where the lines

disappear and

you never have to explain

who you are.

Onward, child of the Most High.

You will sail to the

place where Heaven

is on Earth

because your heart says

it is so.

Your family

will know you.

You will speak with your

heart and they will

know you

by your



in a moment

the Angel is gone.

The black waters

splash against the barge

and a chill echoes

my heart.

–Kaika ❤

Poem: The Social Ladder

I left my soul down on the bottom rung of the social ladder, burned in wood, a troll’s toll.

The desert mirage no longer glitters like gold.

The palace is but a haunted mansion of putrescent corpses and tormented souls.

How long have I journeyed down this dark path?

All this upward motion led to downward spirals for backward people running from their own shadows.

The premise of our religion is the reason for proposed extinction. Is there not a human alive who doesn’t believe we don’t all deserve to die?

And every rung thereafter reaffirmed self-loathing for the delusion of perfection, for false security, for the American nightmare.

Even as I rejected promises of fame and fortune, for the price of my soul, I chose to climb.

“Little child, striving for the top bunk, you were never an angel, and that’s okay.”

To hell with the ladder. This false ascension has exhausted me.

Dismantle the mechanisms that would motivate me toward that zombie wasteland.

Allow the pain body to step into the light and, dammit, find the strength to look it in the eye.

And breathe….

Keep breathing….

“Little child, don’t you know that love cannot be earned?

You’ve lost your religion, but you still bear the scars on your hands from when they nailed you to the cross.

If they don’t love you now, they will never truly love you, and that’s okay.

It’s okay even when it’s not.”

I found my soul where I left it, on my bedroom floor, where there was

once a wooden ladder.

In the 2nd grade, the night I considered

the question, “what do you want to be when you grow up?”

I don’t “want to be,”

I am.



This is good

enough for me.

–Kaika ❤

Masculine Power, Dancing Polarities, and Jedi Temple Ghosts

This image belongs to Disney. (duh)

I’m beginning to wield masculine power in healthy ways. I’m learning to be patient when I’m angry, confident when I’m afraid.

Easy to fake, not easy to become.

A father to my inner daughter. A brother to my wife.

The light may flood the shifting dark, the darkness fall upon light.

An expansive Love, the edge of my blade, a fierce Rage, its other.

The trick is to stay balanced.

The secret is to dance.


The uninitiated find themselves on deadly tightropes.

The shadow lingers like chamber smoke, inhaling poison and filling the spirit with darkness.

Don’t rush to the dark side upon childish passions.

Take the time to train the mind, to expand the heart, and learn to see both good and bad in everyone.

Along the Middle Path, the Grey Padawan is filled with purpose.