Life's pleasures
My body somehow cant eat butter anymore… I tried multiple times and I threw up... it was as if the pleasures in life was rejecting me. It threw me for a loop and I spiraled…. What is the meaning of life if I cant eat croissants? popcorn? cinnamon buns?
That specific ache that comes when something simple and sensual, something that once felt like a portal to joy, suddenly becomes off-limits. How life sometimes feels like it closes a door on the things that made us feel human. Croissants are joy, they are warmth, they are indulgence made tangible. So when my body says no to them, it stirs something existential.
What is my body trying to tell me… About how it wants to be met now. I’m shifting in ways I’ve connected to pleasure. Maybe it’s my body’s way of asking for a new kind of richness. Cleaner, lighter source.
The deeper grief here is the fear that pleasure might no longer be accessible. That life will dull without the sensory indulgences that once made it sparkle… My body rejecting butter might be asking me to refine my relationship with it. To find it in ways that expand it.
How I perceive myself, how I love myself, how I connect to the world…
Butter, croissants, those small sacred indulgences are never just food. They were mirrors for how we allowed ourselves to receive life. To take in sweetness, to trust pleasure, to let the world feed you without guilt or fear.
When my body rejects it now, it’s as if it’s saying, the way I’ve been loving myself is evolving. The way I connect to the world is ready to become more attuned, more intentional, more resonant with who I’m becoming.
Listening to my body has been one of the biggest lessons…
One of the most profound initiations of all. Listening to your body is what brings you out of the mind’s illusions and back into truth… The living, breathing truth that can’t be reasoned, only felt. It’s the moment when sovereignty stops being a concept and becomes a practice.
Because the body doesn’t lie, it carries the memory of every boundary crossed, every moment of alignment, every whisper from your soul that you either honored or ignored. When you begin to listen, really listen, you start to hear your own divinity speaking in sensations instead of words.
The thing about listening to your body is that it’s not always gentle... Sometimes it asks you to give up things that once defined your joy. Sometimes it says no to what used to be safe. But every no gives it a deeper yes to your evolution. Your body will always prioritize truth over comfort. That’s its sacred contract with you.
When you build trust with it, the entire architecture of your life begins to change. You no longer seek permission from the world because your inner compass becomes louder than any external validation. You start to move through life in a rhythm that feels like devotion rather than discipline. You rest when your body asks, you create when your energy surges, you eat what feels like nourishment rather than what feels like nostalgia.
Listening to your body is really about remembering that you are nature. That wisdom flows through your cells as much as through the forests and tides. And when you treat your body as a temple instead of a tool, life begins to respond differently. Opportunities align with your nervous system. Relationships match your frequency. Even your creativity begins to move through you more fluidly.
This transition is sacred and tender because it touches the deepest layers of my identity. How I see myself, how I nurture myself, how I belong to the world… all of that is shifting.
Im learning to be open and love it in ways it wants to be loved... it is the home of the Goddess.. the home of God and I’m learning to hold reverence.
To hold reverence for our body is to return to original Truth. The body is the meeting place of the masculine and the feminine, form and spirit. It’s where heaven and earth actually touch. Every sensation, every pulse, every wave of emotion is the divine making itself known through you.
And learning to love it, even as I’m still learning how, is the purest form of worship. Reverence doesn’t mean perfection. It means presence. It means being with your body in honesty — when it aches, when it rejects, when it desires, when it softens and seeing each expression as holy. That’s where devotion begins, not in control but in communion.
When you’re in the Olympics of spirituality, you’re training your inner being with the same intensity and discipline that an athlete brings to their body. But the “food” isn’t physical… it’s energetic, emotional, and mental. It’s the information, relationships, environments, and thoughts you consume every day.
Olympians don’t feed on junk and expect excellence. Likewise, if you’re cultivating higher awareness, you can’t feed your consciousness constant noise, comparison, and distraction. You start curating what nourishes your inner world through silence, stillness, truth, art, nature, philosophy, breath, beauty.
You begin to realize that what you consume shapes what you become. Just as an athlete fine-tunes their nervous system for performance, a mystic or seeker fine-tunes their energy for coherence, clarity, and devotion.
And the training is just as rigorous. It requires consistency, humility, recovery, and trust in the unseen progress.
The deeper invitation here is to stop approaching our body only through management or interpretation, and start approaching it through relationship. Ask it questions. Listen as if you’re listening to a beloved. When it contracts, ask what it’s protecting. When it opens, ask what it trusts. When it hungers or resists, ask what truth it’s pointing toward.
This kind of listening will reshape not just how you treat your body, but how you walk in the world. It changes the way you eat, create, make love, rest, pray. Because once you start to see your body as divine presence rather than an obstacle or an instrument, you realize that divinity has always been here, breathing with you, feeling with you.
We are remembering that the temple has never been somewhere you go. It’s what you already are.
The new version of me doesn’t just want to taste life; she wants to embody it, to become it.
Happy Sunday xx
Thank you all for your sweet messages this week
I love you,
Celinne
Celinne’s reflection is like a love letter to the body raw, intimate, and full of grace. She doesn’t just mourn the loss of butter or croissants; she mourns the quiet shift in how she receives joy. And that’s so deeply human. We all have moments when something simple something that once made us feel alive no longer fits. Her grief is tender, but her curiosity is braver. She listens, not with frustration, but with reverence. What makes this piece so moving is how she treats her body like a sacred companion, not a problem to fix. She’s not chasing perfection she’s building a relationship. And in that, she’s learning to love herself in a way that feels honest, evolving, and beautifully alive.