What is the mystic’s work, really? It’s not the crystals on your altar or the sage smoke curling through your living room—though those can be part of it. It’s not the perfectly curated Instagram grid or the well-timed tarot pull that gets all the likes. It’s not even the devotion itself, though devotion matters. The mystic’s work is the practice of becoming so rooted in your own authority that your freedom becomes contagious. It’s the difference between performance and transmission. Between optics and transformation. Between doing the work to be seen and doing the work because it frees you—and in freeing you, opens a doorway for someone else. Aquarian novelist Toni Morrison said it best: “The function of freedom is to free someone else.” That’s the work. Embodiment First You can’t transmit what you haven’t embodied. This is where so much spiritual practice goes sideways. We collect the language, the rituals, the aesthetics—and we perform them beautifully. But if there’s no root system underneath, if the practice hasn’t actually shifted the way you move through the world, it’s just theater. And theater isn’t inherently bad. Performance has its place. But embodiment is the prerequisite of any performance worth witnessing. When you’re anchored in your own sovereignty—when you’ve done the shadow work, the integration, the unglamorous daily practice of meeting yourself exactly as you are—then what you express has weight. It carries something. It lands differently. Not because you’re trying harder or performing better, but because you’re rooted. Performance as Transmission Here’s what Morrison understood: freedom isn’t a solo act. Your liberation—your embodied, hard-won, practiced-every-day liberation—doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It ripples. It reaches. When you stand fully in your authority, you give someone else permission to do the same. That’s what makes performance generative instead of extractive. When your expression comes from an embodied place, it becomes a doorway. People don’t just watch you; they recognize something in themselves. They see what’s possible. They feel the invitation: If they can do it, so can I. This is the mystic’s work. Not to perform for applause or validation. Not to curate an aesthetic that signals depth without delivering it. But to do the practice so thoroughly, so consistently, that when you do show up—whether it’s in your art, your writing, your presence, your business, your relationships—you become the match that lights someone else’s work. Ascension as Revolution So as we journey together, here’s what I want you to hold: Ascension is as aspirational as it is revolutionary. It’s aspirational because the work is yours. Your sovereignty. Your embodiment. Your freedom. No one can do it for you, and no guru can hand it to you pre-packaged. And it’s revolutionary because your freedom doesn’t stop with you. Every time you choose embodiment over performance, depth over optics, practice over spectacle—you’re shifting the field. You’re making it easier for the next person. You’re proving that another way is possible. That’s the function of freedom. That’s the mystic’s work. A Few Questions to Sit With • Where in your life are you performing instead of transmitting? • What would it look like to root more deeply in your own authority before expressing outward? • Who has freed you by standing fully in their own freedom? What did that feel like? • What would become possible if your primary devotion was to embodiment—not to being seen as embodied? Sit with these. There’s no rush. The work unfolds at the pace of practice, not performance. This is the kind of foundational work we do inside the Prosperity Portal—the seasonal containers, the rituals, the unglamorous daily practice of sovereignty. If you’re ready to go deeper, the door is open. [Explore the Prosperity Portal →] Take your time with this one. Let it sit. Let me know what lands. I’m here, Naiya