Breanna Morandi




Gather up your lost and forgotten names.

The ones whispered in dark annexes of the Self, the names abandoned in the realm of dreams and the imaginarium.

The ones relegated to the volumes of fiction until they became lost as beloved parts of a whole.

The names they used to pull apart and burn you down.
The ones that carry the legacies of lost light and hideaways and self betrayals.

The names that give a quaking to your spine, a quickening to your heart,
that kindle a waking and leave you a counter proposal to the bereft and fragmented self.

Reclaim them. Give them purchase, a foot hold, a living space, a place to expand into.

That you are much.
That you are substantial.
That you have a purpose and medicine to serve with is held and encoded in these names.

Stolen from you. Singed from you. Pared away and forced from you.

Homecoming and healing, frayed edges and heart pining after the unified Self,

Gather these fragments, the lost names, back to you.

Dig down and find them.
In earth.
In the reclusive places in the mind.
In the memory of your cells.
Tucked between tethers of heartstrings.
All the places you’ve been storing these names for safeguarding,

Go in.

Set them loose from the binding of fear and history that keeps them triggering instead of unifying.

Claw it from your belly,
Drum it from your womb,
Howl them out of heart and lungs and the ridges of collarbones.
Bless them with your sweat, your tears and the tidal wave of your breath.

And then step. Step into holding them. Be the embodiment and emanation of them, the storehouse and memoir of them, the truth of them – unconditioned.

Queen. Goddess. Wild woman. Lighthouse. Loudmouth.
Too bright. Too passionate. Too intense. Too fierce. Too soft. Too feeling. Too much.
Healer. Witch. Yogi. Shakti. Divine.
Primal. Tribal. Powerful.


Breanna Morandi