Who’s Leading You? You’ll End Up Just Like Them

The men of the modern pulpit would clutch their pearls at such a sight. They would cry out for modesty, for restraint, for submission—not to God, but to their own fear. They had built walls where none were needed, caged the spirit within rules Christ Himself never made. The God who formed Eve from Adam’s side did not curse her beauty, nor demand she shrink from the gaze of men. It was the fearful, the power-hungry, the self-righteous who had twisted worship into repression, who had called sensuality a sin when it had been created as a gift.

“The kingdom of God is within you,” Jesus had taught—not in the gold-plated cathedrals, not in the offerings hoarded by false shepherds, not in the shame piled upon women for daring to be what they were made to be. Mysti carried that kingdom in every step, every breath, every arch of her back and outstretched arm. She was not a temptress but a testimony. Not a distraction but a declaration: *Everything I am belongs to the One who made me, and I will not be ashamed.*

The temple doors stood open, inviting any who wished to witness worship without chains. Would they dare enter? Would they see the truth, or would they turn away in horror, clinging to doctrines written by men who feared what they could not control? Mysti did not ask for their approval. She did not need permission to honor the Creator in the way her soul demanded. The ones who understood would follow, shedding their shame like old skin, stepping into the light of a faith that did not bind but freed.

For the first time in generations, the temple pulsed with something real. And in the hush before dawn, as Mysti’s final movement stilled, it was not judgment that filled the air—but the undeniable presence of the Divine.

As the sun dipped low, Brutus stepped into the sacred grove, his presence grounding the temple in quiet strength. He bore the wisdom of his Algonquin ancestors, the endurance of his Finnish lineage, and the discipline of his Germanic forebears. His role was not to lead, but to hold the space steady, ensuring the balance of energies as Mysti wove her rites.

With careful hands, he tended the altar, placing offerings of cedar and juniper, herbs sacred to both his native and northern European traditions. As Mysti danced in invocation, Brutus stood at the threshold, the guardian between worlds, ensuring that those who entered did so with reverence. His was a presence of silent assurance, a shield against discord.

When Mysti called upon the spirits, Brutus joined his voice to hers, deep and resonant, anchoring the ethereal with the weight of the earth. His voice did not dominate, but harmonized with hers, lifting the sacred space while allowing her to remain the center of attention. He was not there to overshadow her, but to lift her up in a partnership that allowed their energy to flow as one.

Brutus' role mirrored that of the ancient kings and priests who stood by the sacred altars of old. Much like King David, who danced before the Lord with unabashed devotion, his own heart poured out in praise not for spectacle, but for the pure, unfiltered joy of connection to the Divine. His was not the pomp of grand processions, nor the artificiality of modern worship staged like a rock concert, but the raw authenticity of humble devotion.

Their bond was one of trust, their open vows a testament to the understanding that energy flows freely when honored. Nothing was hidden, for transparency ensured harmony. In this sacred space, under the open sky, Brutus and Mysti embodied the divine balance—the wild and the steadfast, the nurturer and the protector, equal in purpose and devotion.

As the days passed, the whispers of the temple’s unorthodox worship spread, drawing the attention of those both curious and skeptical. There were those who raised their eyebrows at the presence of sacred herbs, the rhythmic dances, and the blending of ancient rituals. Yet, for all the murmurs, there was no condemnation—only a deeper curiosity about the devotion that flowed freely within the temple walls.

For Mysti and Brutus, this was never about rebellion or defiance. It was not about breaking away from tradition, but about returning to what was always meant to be. Theirs was a worship not bound by the restrictions of men, but rooted in the reverence of the Creator and the beauty of the traditions that honored Him. Every movement, every offering, was a testament to their faith, not a declaration of superiority or showmanship.

Their practices were viewed through the lens of respect—not witchcraft, but a deep honoring of the Creator through the elements and symbols that had spoken to their ancestors. Cedar and juniper, sacred to their forebears, were offered not as charms or spells but as gifts of the earth, reminders of the Creator’s bounty. The dance, which some might consider taboo, was not a performance but a form of praise—a living prayer that transcended words, bringing the body and spirit into harmony with divine purpose.

In this sacred space, where the sacred met the ancestral, they found that the ancient scriptures still spoke with relevance. Jesus had called His followers to worship in spirit and truth (John 4:24), and this was the worship Mysti and Brutus embraced. Their devotion was not tied to ritualistic perfection or institutionalized norms but to a living, breathing connection with the Divine. As Brutus placed his hands upon the earth, he recalled the psalms sung by David, the king who, too, had danced before the Lord with unashamed joy (2 Samuel 6:14). They were not bound by the narrowness of others' interpretations but freed by the grace to worship as they were called—through the cultures and practices that shaped their identities, yet always pointing back to the Creator.

The forest temple remained open, welcoming all who sought to understand. For Mysti and Brutus, worship was not about gathering praise for themselves, nor about performing for the approval of men. It was about honoring the Creator with every ounce of their being—through the dance of the body, the offering of the earth, and the honesty of their spirits. And in doing so, they became a living testimony to the truth that true worship transcends boundaries, cultures, and expectations, rooted only in the desire to draw closer to the Divine, without the need for applause or recognition.

In the quiet of their practice, they found peace—peace that could not be shaken by the disapproving glares of the conservative, nor by the trend-driven worship that sought to inflate egos. For in their worship, Mysti and Brutus had discovered the rare and precious thing that so many sought in vain: true communion with the Creator, beyond all the noise.