On August 29th, we took the train from London to Paris. 

We sat on the train and drank wine, watched Top Gun: Maverick and made out intensely. The precursor to the sacral and spiritual heart expansion we experienced for 6 days in the UK beforehand. Our honeymoon was officially beginning, whatever that means. 

As many before me, I fantasized about my honeymoon. What would it be like? Would it live up to the expectations I had before when I thought about it as a teenager? Would we have endless sex and lay in bed most of the day and explore the city of Paris in the most intimate way? I had always know my honeymoon would be European esc. We got off the train and we’re met with congestion of baggage and a blockade of everyone speaking French, trying to get out of the train station and find their family waiting. In a slightly drunken stupor, we found a fake taxi after a long walk that charged us $90 for the 5-minute drive to our destination. We splurged on an Airbnb overlooking La Mansion Rose – a very famous restaurant in the heart of Montmartre by the Sacré-Cœu ( the Heart of Jesus Church).  

I was sad that we were duped by the ‘taxi’ and handed over $100 (with a small hesitance) to the man who delighted in our ignorance and apparent means of not arguing with him over the obviously ridiculous sum of money he requested. 

We entered our home – 2 stories, a massive bathtub with a beautiful bookcase and crystal chandelier. To our shock and dismay, the bathtub said “Out of Order”, we almost wanted a refund. Taking baths together felt almost vital to our romantic experience, and yet, we tried to make the best of it as we opened the two massive windows overlooking the terrace and a lot of hanging plants. We could see the cobblestone streets, the tourists and French people drunk, on drugs, laughing and tripping over bikes parked on the slanted street. Although we were off to an imperfect start, we smiled, held each other and decided to go out and experience the closest nightlife even though it was 11 at night on a weekday. 

We walked, we talked, we bought wine, beer and chips at the convenience store and made our way up to the enormous steps of the Sacré-Cœu church to drink, laugh and just be with each other – we saw all of Paris over the ledge as we overlooked the city with such excitement. We explored alleyways and said hi to everyone that walked by. After 2 hours, we decided to go rest and have an early start to all that would await us in our perfect love. 

That night, we explored sexually and did things we had never done before in 3 years in a fun, erotic and kinky way, saying things we had never said, breaking boundaries in the way only true lovers in Paris would. Reinventing the fun, daring and courageous experiences we longed to have with one another, to know each other better. The next day, we splurged on transportation and a beautiful motorcycle to ride around the city together while I ate almost an entire box of pastries, revelling in the pure delight of sugar and euphoria. We hooked our phone up to the new speaker we bought and played our favorite music and playlists – especially rock’n’ roll from the 60s while we woke up drinking wine, smoking cigarettes and laughing hysterically together in all of our freedom. 

Could this have compared to any book I had read or any fantasy, no not at all. With our unbridled lust for one another taking over and hours and hours of intense lovemaking and orgasmic ecstasy ensuing, we really were in bed a lot. One morning, Aeleo slept next to me,  naked with the white sheet over him, I moved it away and hugged his abdomen and said “ I love you”, “I love you”, so intensely it completely melted me to love him that much, to feel that level of connection and safety to speak truth without fear or to somehow hide parts of it out of a resistance of being fully received. His warm skin, the sleep that covered his face, his essence pouring through him to know that he is just loved intensely by me, the person he, in turn, had chosen to love that much. In those moments, all the fears and limitations before this seemed to wither and fall away from the man who lived deep inside my bones and my heart. Commitment and devotion from a man still new to my aching heart even after years of him proving it to me.  

He looked up and said this is love, this is the way I want you to love me, fearless, with God. 

I had never fully gotten that until this moment. So many times before I had held back in our day-to-day life. My confidence, and my hiding had always been a theme in our relationship. Never baring my soul completely out of fear of annihilation that I had only experienced before him since childhood. “Yes, my love”, I exclaimed as we gazed into one another. The beautiful softness and vulnerability he exuded made me high on the promise of our life together. 

The next day, we walked into the Sacré-Cœu together and a massive mural of Jesus overwhelmed my senses. Jesus and his sacred heart, his promise. Jesus promises unconditional love and eternal life in heavenly realms as long as we simply believe in him. The cosmic truth he emanates so purely without threat or fear. I was overwhelmed by this reality. How can I love him so much? Trust him so much? I felt so taken by his love in that moment that I felt no choice but to trust this mural and all that it represented to me personally. I love you Jesus, I love you. I love you as much as I can bare. Is that enough? Because before, no matter how I had loved someone it wasn’t. 

Aeleo and I took 50 pictures with this mural. With our Union energy blending in with him, as one. A similar frequency to anyone close to him. The nuns working there, maybe 90 or 100 years old looked so fitting. Their marriage to him felt by me. Maybe as priestesses who had somehow gotten lost in religious fanaticism, but who am I to judge? It felt utterly perfect in that moment, utterly relevant for them and me in a higher dimension. 

Over the days we went to every restaurant that served duck or foie gras. We tried new things, we tried to start up conversations and smiled politely at bystanders. Every fruit or cheese or bread we could find we purchased with multiple thank yous. Whether it was the general splendour of the moment or the scathing judgment of the French (which we received a lot of) we revelled in the essence of our love and the inspiration to love others as they are. 

When we went to the Louvre art museum, I was downtrodden looking at Paris as we drove through the city in a taxi to get there, listening to “Something in the Way” by Nirvana, seriously contemplating “Paris needs a Batman”, “a Saviour”, which I relayed to Aeleo as he listened in the other ear of his headphones. 

I was so intent on seeing my favorite sculpture, the “Venus De Milo” at the Louvre that we rushed to the area seeking this exactly. When I saw her, I was in silent awe, although I thought of putting on long black gloves and a sheet around my waist with my breasts out and sitting on Aeleo’s face later, saying I’ve got no arms, you can’t stop me. This sculpture moves me beyond words. She is the definition of sacred art, beauty and sensuality – I have been obsessed with her since I was 13. To see her in person was profound and I thought to myself “God is Art” in that moment. 

The line for the Mona Lisa was so long that as we spoke about getting into it, a French woman looked at us and said in English, “It’s not worth it”. We laughed and knew that 4 hours in line just to get closer probably wasn’t worth it, ultimately. We saw every sculpture of Adonis, Mary and Jesus until we were so satisfied and so hot (the air conditioner was not working) that we decided to head home, satisfied and yet unsatisfied. 

We made ecstatic love that night and every kinky thought we had was made real with our desire to explore the soul of each other. 

Multiple days in bed and out at night to the bars – the Moulin Rouge and local hangouts trying to make friends, bond with the French and be completely open to spur-of-the-moment experiences. We didn’t seem to make as many friends as we hoped and would leave disappointed many nights, slightly tipsy and back into our king-sized bed with a beautiful terrace, absolutely, totally satisfied with one another until the sun came up. 

One morning, I awoke and played the album “Honeymoon” by Lana del Rey through our speaker. I would do my makeup and ask Aeleo, “Is this outfit too much?” as we got ready for another mid-day of exploration, every important sacred sight on our checklist and the usual grid work abounding and calling our name. The Norte Dame overwhelming our senses as we experienced the density below, the zero point Magdalene fields and golden Yeshua staff codes guiding us, even though for the most part it was guarded off. 

One day, an entire day directly inspired by Jim Morrison’s grave in the famous cemetery Père-Lachaise (since we both love him and see him as connected to the Christ oversoul) and the last apartment he lived in somewhat nearby that we rode to while It was pouring rain afterward. We walked to his grave and Aeleo sang a powerful song at his exact gravestone on the guitar we brought with us, while after we chatted away with a man who met Jimi Hendrix as a teenager and he enlightened us about music in the 60s that he had been there to witness. 

We felt blessed and after we walked the cemetery while listening to the “Hyacinth House” by the doors. I said in that moment, “I will never forget this song or this moment” as we looked at incredible chapels, tombstones and prayer houses that were as old as maybe 200 years ago honoring the dead and Jim in all his glory as well as rock’n’roll in the 60s when it truly began.

That night, I fell asleep after Aeleo and I had argued over something that feels irrelevant now. In my dream, I saw the Santa Monica pier and all this sunlight moving through the waves of the ocean underneath it, moving into each wooden stick and platform that kept the pier up. Then, I was in the desert as I saw Jim Morrison ascend into the magenta sky of heaven and the red rock lit up with golden light. I was then taken to a massive shamanic cave where I saw the shaman White Navajo carve a white eagle into the rocks, and then Christ appeared shimmering rainbow light and molten lava out of his eyes. I was being healed of all my pain with the masculine and all the boxes I had put myself into, put Jesus into, in this world dissolving, falling away as if they meant nothing. That morning, I transmitted my dream to Aeleo and we both cried and wept in awe of the Christ energy and what it was doing to us in Paris. We made up and made incredible orgasmic love for hours on end, letting the walls to Christ burn and fall away. I don’t think I’ve ever squirted that much…. 

One of the last few days I woke up early and walked nearby to my favorite cafe to get a latte with whipped cream (my fave). I walked the streets of Montmartre while Aeleo slept and I looked for gifts for my daughter in the various shops. It rained on and off and I ducked for cover while watching the rain and feeling lucky to be there, knowing my time was limited listening to my favorite songs, the beauty and pain of it all overwhelming me. Knowing my honeymoon was coming to an end, wondering if things would be as they are now when we got home. 

The art, the food, the sex, the heart expansion, the dreams, the lessons. The inner ego death that was killing the walls to my heart that kept me in agony and away from the true masculine connection I had been longing for. In that moment, I wanted my ego to die. My childhood wounds that fought Aeleo to fall away and dissolve so that my heart and soul could embrace not only our honeymoon but a new timeline that seemed so imminent that my fear had previously blocked. 

Me and Aeleo, for years, has such an obvious intense mission, connection and sexual alchemy that felt like pure love often, but very challenging for me to fully submit to as God was asking me to. There were many situations, topics and boundaries that felt vital to truly hear him on but I had wanted to control through my pain and placate others, rejecting the depth of intimacy and love he wanted to bring to our relationship and the transformation that would call me into. I had done things alone and and as a single mother for so long, his advice was so on point and yet I would be unwilling to budge and this in turn would make him and my union suffer – until my honeymoon and the dream with Christ burning it all away enough for me to be fully clear and capable of trusting myself as I should have done when I was first led by the Holy Spirit into this work as a multidimensional visual. 

My gift was so utterly real that I immediately began using it, ignorant of the level of hatred and rejection I would endure for representing the spirit of Christ Sophia organically without so-called credentials. I have endured that reflection over and over until I’ve been strong enough to see through it and continue with it to heal others to the point of painful honesty and vulnerability that would often cause an intense hangover. 

Before we flew out of Paris, I felt it all, accepted it all and made things right within heart body and soul, and we had a new beginning. 

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