Siren: A Daughter of Water

Like cotton candy dipped in water, the prior year has dissolved into nothingness, but I, who have tasted its sweetness, can still feel its strawberry-flavored sugar on my tongue—and its sticky residue.

I’ve been stretched and spun into delicate strands of heated sucrose; body temperature cool, yet internally melting under an eternal, radiant summer sun. I am gooey and compressed, clear, peach syrup.

This past summer, the muse that echoes within me returned to the world—with a pen in her hand and cotton candy sunsets as her backdrop. And now the leaves have turned copper, and under the boughs of complementary hues of red and gold, I’ve written heaps of crumpled “Dear Past Me” letters trying to make sense of the fall-en.

Allow me to share where I’ve been…

I am a child of water. Change, for me, has become an act of dissolution. In the past, my expired selves have combusted—igniting into flames like the sacred phoenix (and rising from the ashes)—but now, I simply diffuse.

I no longer contort my true nature (like a deep-sea, aquatic creature trapped in a glass aquarium) to pacify other’s desires, wishes, or projections, nor do I perform underwater somersaults to appease those who can never be satiated.

I am not a synchronized swimmer – and I will not dance in a pool for entertainment.

The tide retreated with the dissipated version of me, and the sea returned with a new daughter. This time unpreceded by an ego death, I was seduced by the beckoning treasures and pearls underneath the ocean’s depths. I have reappeared wearing the ocean’s touch like wet silk, and with delicate wrinkles in my hands and feet.

I was drawn to the edge of the world by the moon, and now that I’ve been released from its gravitational pull, I collect pieces of strawberry and peach seashells as I emerge from the water and walk upon the sand—towards land.

Allow me to share where I’m going…

As I rise from the undertow, I embrace a cyclical existence of deep, restful retreat (ebbs) and languid resurfacing (flows) when I’m ready to rejoin the world.

My movements are fluid and refined; dancing flamenco (and spinning up foam) with a graceful braceo as I crest above the waves.

The “siren” is an innately mysterious being. Nearly all but the fortunate few who’ve encountered her believe she is a myth. As such, she does not apologize for rare sightings—it is expected. The rarity of her song is part of her allure; yielding either rapturous desire, hard-to-contain inspiration, or delicious ruin.

A siren recalibrates on her own time. She is sovereign, and she moves slowly (and with intention).

And so, commences my siren era. I am ready to walk across the world, leaving wet footprints, and inconvenient grains of sand on every surface (and heart) I touch.

Happy Birthday to the daughter of the sea. A muse, a siren; she who reinvents herself endlessly.

This personal essay is the first in a forthcoming series of creative, multimedia works exploring the ethos, erotic, and emotional psyche of the siren. From voice reclamation to rewiring desire, these reflections live at the edge of artistry and intimacy—and draw from the somatic tools and archetypal frameworks I also explore in my Sacral Alchemy coaching practice.

Subscribe to my newsletter, Muses & Sirens, to receive the full upcoming series—plus audio notes, personal rituals, and invitations to deepen the journey alongside me. If you're called to immerse more deeply, I’ll also be hosting a limited equine-assisted healing workshop for women in January 2026. Further details releasing soon...