This one time in Salem…

I was in Salem last weekend, wandering through a shop filled with old curiosities and magick when I stumbled across a bottle of wine. 🍷

Not just any wine.
This one came with a story.

It was the kind that, centuries ago, would have taken months to arrive.
Harvested by hand.
Corked with care.
Loaded onto ships that crossed vast oceans, braving storms and salt air, just to eventually — maybe — land at someone’s table.
A slow, sacred journey.
From soil to sea to celebration.

And I couldn’t stop thinking about how different we are now.
How we’ve become numb to convenience.
We tap, swipe, expect, refresh.
We want what we want — yesterday.

Zero labor.
Zero patience.
Instant gratification.

But we weren’t built for this kind of speed.
Our nervous systems still remember the long journey of things.

The tending.
The waiting.
The earning.

We say we want deep love, embodied work, wild magick…
but we’re frustrated when it doesn’t arrive in 2-3 business days.

We forget that the most sacred things — the ones worth sipping slowly — still take time.

May we remember.
May we reclaim our reverence for the long path.
The one that stains our fingers, cracks us open, and leaves us changed.

In a world trained to chase and do everything at light speed, embodiment calls us back into rhythm with the body’s natural pace — slow, cyclical, intuitive.

Just like that wine, our joy, healing, sensuality, and creative fire can’t be Prime-delivered.

They must be cultivated — in the body, over time.