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I didn’t leave organized religion in a moment of rebellion. I drifted, quietly, until one day, I realized I’d simply stopped asking permission to feel close to something sacred. The truth is, I never stopped being spiritual. I just stopped outsourcing it.

For me, real spirituality doesn’t live in stained glass or scripture. It lives in bare feet on wild earth. In a quiet orgasm under a cottonwood tree. In the soft exhale of surrender when I stop trying to earn worthiness. I believe in holiness, but I found it inside my own body, not outside it.

The Quiet Departure from Dogma

I grew up in the South, where spirituality was synonymous with structure. Church pews, recited verses, rules to follow and roles to perform. But somewhere along the way, those rituals began to feel more like performance than connection; more like pressure than peace. I didn’t reject spirituality. I simply realized it didn’t need intermediaries.

The moment I stopped trying to fit into a pre-approved spiritual mold, something tender opened. Without realizing it, I had begun a sacred reclamation of self.

Embodiment Over Escape

Much of mainstream spirituality teaches transcendence; rise above your body, tame your desires, suppress your wildness. But my lived truth is the opposite. My body is not an obstacle to Spirit; it is the portal.

Spirituality, for me, is deeply embodied. It’s in breath, sweat, skin. It’s in surrender; not to a doctrine, but to the divine intelligence of my own nervous system, my own pleasure, my own intuitive knowing.

Whether I’m touching the Earth barefoot or trembling in orgasmic release, I am not separate from the sacred. I am within it. I am it.

Ritual in the Everyday

I don’t light candles in a temple; I greet the sun through the skylight of my vintage motorhome. I don’t kneel in confession; I lie naked on cool dirt and listen to what the wind has to say. I don’t chant what I’m told; I moan what is true.

My rituals are improvised, intimate, and often silent. I ground by walking barefoot over red rocks. I commune by letting silence stretch long enough to feel the Earth hum. I give thanks by honoring my body with touch, rest, and unapologetic pleasure.

My life is not separate from my spiritual practice. It is my spiritual practice.

The Sacred Yes

I’ve learned that sacredness doesn’t require resistance. It asks for yes. A deep, embodied yes to sensation. To intuition. To pleasure. To presence.

To say yes to myself, my body, my path, my desires, is not indulgence. It’s reverence. Especially for those of us taught to fear our power, to mistrust our instincts, or to silence our joy… reclaiming the yes is a holy act.

There is a beautiful strength in surrender, especially when it’s chosen. A powerful devotion in letting yourself be felt, deeply and fully, by life itself.

Defining Divinity for Myself

I no longer identify with any organized religion. My belief system is not defined by scripture; it’s defined by experience. I live off-grid, I travel in solitude, I listen to what my body tells me instead of what culture demands of me.

I’ve stripped away the layers of expectation until what remains is raw, radiant, and real. My spiritual path may look unusual to others, but to me, it’s the most natural thing in the world. It’s barefoot. It’s honest. It’s sensual. It’s sovereign.

Sacred by Design

In a world that constantly urges us to conform, following your own spiritual path is radical. But it’s also healing. There’s peace in no longer performing, and power in defining divinity on your own terms.

You don’t need a guru to be holy. You don’t need a pulpit to be heard. You don’t need permission to feel connected.

Your body is your sanctuary. Your truth is your scripture.
And your life, exactly as it is, is the altar.

Susie Spades, PhD
Sexologist, Barefoot Naturist, Managing Editor