Fated Gypsy

In the very last days of 2024, I was in a women’s Shakti retreat. My mentor and dear friend were guiding it, so I went to support. I never knew how this decision would affect my life—or rather, how it would pull me into the current I needed to surrender to, the one that would awaken the life my soul was born to live.

I had just returned from Spain, where I walked El Camino de Santiago in devotion to the Divine Feminine. It was one of the most transformative experiences of my life—and perhaps one day, I’ll share more about it.

When I arrived in Ecuador, I was devastated. I had lost the home of my dreams—the place where I had begun to build my adult life at the foot of a beloved mountain, with a garden, goats, and all the things I once dreamed of.

Homeless, sitting at the table with the women after dinner, I joked, “I have lost almost everything—maybe it’s a sign for me to embrace the gypsy in me.”

My last stop in Spain had been in Andalusian lands, where I confirmed that, indeed, I have gypsy blood. In their wandering spirit, I feel the pulse of Eros—the traveler’s heart, lover of beauty, and patron of the arts.

The next day, I left the retreat to spend New Year’s Eve with my family. Ten minutes into the highway, a sudden thought—as they usually come—crossed my mind: “Today I will witness an accident.” And yes, minutes later, I saw my car, completely destroyed. Fated, I witnessed my own accident.

It was a tumultuous last day of the year, to say the least. And there it went—my last “adult” belonging. Suddenly, the self-prophecy came true. I became a gypsy.

I started to let go of everything I once had. It was incredibly hard. People say things are just things—but the emotions we project onto them are not so easy to release.

“Oh, the first mattress I bought…”
“The Pyrex my mom gave me as a housewarming gift…”
“My plants—the ones fed with my blood, the ones that heard all my silly jokes.”

All had to go.

I had no choice but to keep going. I turned to the most powerful medicine I know—the one I can carry anywhere, as long as I inhabit this human body: Eros.

For twenty-one days and a little more, I began each morning with an Eros ritual: loving self-touch, breath, sound, movement—awakening my Eros in different ways, however my body desired that day. Always reaching that divine, orgasmic space that opens the gateways of prayer.

And so, I prayed every day.
I prayed for support, for guidance, for strength.

Now I can say this: without that devotion to awakening Eros right after the accident, I would have fallen into the deepest hole of despair—something I’ve always been strangely drawn to. Eros pumped life back into my bruised body, reignited the flame of my spirit, and kept my heart beating. I made love to myself back to life—just as in the myth of Isis and Osiris.

As my soul awakened memories I could no longer deny, the call became stronger and clearer. I was to work with Eros and Love as a Priestess—to remember what I already knew and shape it for this new age.

Terrifying. I didn’t want it.
But who am I to deny my body to the work of the Great Mother?
Who am I to refuse devotion to Love, the source of it all?

So I accepted the call and began to piece my soul back together. It was hard to recognize this new me—the gypsy, the medicine woman, the priestess of love.

Ten months have passed since the accident, and I have changed homes eight times. One small suitcase carries all the clothes I need. The hardest things to move are my herbs and books—belongings I still refuse to let go of.

As a gypsy, I’ve learned the sacred art of loving detachment—seeing beauty in every place I inhabit, knowing that if I ever return, nothing will be the same. Loving the here and now, and nothing more.

I began to recognize what is truly important: water, food, nourishment, and a loving community. Oh, and what a loving community I had—souls who opened their homes and hearts so I could live and breathe magic. For them, I am deeply grateful. These are the true essentials of life.

During this process, I kept letting go—even of the little money I had left.
The paradox is that most of the time, I felt incredibly abundant.

I left secure jobs because they didn’t align with the life of a gypsy. I created my own work—something I could do from anywhere in the world. I made plans that changed constantly, but I surrendered lightly to the winds, landing in unexpected places at unexpected times—to serve Divine Love and spread the medicine of Eros.

The lighter the bag, the easier the travel.
And yet—so hard to let go.

As I write these words, I’ve once again retreated to the wooden cabin where I stayed right after the accident. I’m typing at the same desk that was once mine. I’m using the oven where I learned to make deliciuos pizza.

Back then, every Sunday, I’d bake pizza, light the fireplace, open a bottle of red, and watch House of the Dragon with my sister. I didn’t realize how fond I was of that memory until now. Seeing these same objects in a different place, remembering what they once meant, breaks my heart.

Have I done it all wrong? Have I fated myself to disgrace? I live the reverse of what “normal life” expects. I can’t help thinking about my former life in New York—how, if I’d stayed, I might have built a version of success: the apartment, the job, the prestige. But that woman—she would have been deeply unhappy, trapped in achievement, and deaf to the true call of her soul: to be in service to Love and Eros.

I choose not to see myself as a disgrace, even when my mind says otherwise. I choose to believe that I am a brave woman who follows her heart—a gypsy who keeps walking the path.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that the most magical bag—the one that can hold everything you truly need and still have space for more—is the heart.

My heart has grown this past year, filled with experiences and relationships that made it fuller, yet not heavier. I now know this is the bag I can fill with all I need. And when the path feels heavy, I can always let go of what no longer serves.

Sometimes, because the Great Mother loves me, she forces me to release things I thought were essential—but that were only weighing me down.

Now, I have learned that letting go has granted me the precious gifts of time and freedom—treasures beyond measure. I can lift my finger to the wind, feel where it blows, and follow it. How is it that, in this time and age, I am able to live this way? I must be blessed—a blessed fate, no doubt.

I knew it since I was a little girl:
I am a gypsy who walks the path of the heart.

Where will the next step take me?
My guess—closer to Love.

Love,

Arushi

Mi virgen del Sacromonte

entre abadesa y gitana,

para quien llegue hasta ella

con una "duquela" de alma

tiene corazón abierto

la misma que una granada.

Manuela Benitez Carrasco. 1988

Virgen del Sacromonte personal photo Dic 2024.