I gave my brain free rein for too many years. It led me to big jobs that depleted my soul: corporate media lobbyist, director of communications, director of outreach for a congresswoman, director of government relations, vice president of a business leaders’ organization. I mastered the tightrope strung for females in our male-dominated world, and drove spiked heels through the heart of my own rogue spirit.

Over 11 brief months in 2011, I watched my friends shot and killed and my soulmate brother die suddenly from an undiagnosed brain tumor. Frozen with grief and drowning in pain, I had a choice: succumb or learn to trust my rouge instincts. I chose the rogue path. She took me in hand and inspired me to live loud and ferocious in my female body.

Terror of female passion runs rampant in our culture and has deep roots in cultural and religious history both ancient and modern. My sexual passion felt separate from my soul and self, and I bumbled forward for years, a Picasso-print of a female, split and splintered. Smart? Sexy? Slutty? Satisfied? I am all that, rogue-energy insisted. Female passion is not synonymous with sin but is the fire and juice of soul and self.

Rogue insisted I learn to love myself deeply. My heart has been broken, loved, fractured, shriveled, adored and rejected. Rogue guided me through these minefields and taught me how to live enriched, not dominated, by my emotional palette.

I have always hungered to know the truth of my family history and my rogue led me to learn also the truth of world history. I studied with divinity scholars Meggan Watterson and Cynthia Bourgeault. These gifted women led me to the Gospels of Mary Magdalene, Philip and Thomas, which opened my awareness of my divine female body. I found a host of female rogues throughout cultural history who unleashed inside of me an abundance of inspiration. Female Rogue is a powerful archetype eager to be fleshed out by female imaginations.