Hey Fam!

If you’re not hustling and bustling through the holidays, I have the perfect event for you to check out — and one that I am featured in! It might just be the thing you need heading into a new year, which will ideally be a year on YOUR terms. Plus, the line-up of speakers and content is kind of insane, which means the value will be the insanest. 💅

GRAB YOUR FREE SPOT HERE

When Nicole Murphy interviewed me for this event, it felt like a refreshing conversation — one that helped restore my faith that creatives haven’t completely lost their way in a sea of proven strategy business coaches. Personally, I’m tired of the same old thing on my feed, and I look forward to the day where more people are standing in their full expression, showing up with heartballs, and creating their way through a life that brings them a huge amount of peace and fulfilment.

I’m one of 15 creatives, experts and thought leaders sharing insights on expression, inspiration, and overcoming self-doubt, perfectionism, and creative procrastination. You’ll also learn about things like nervous system support, AI, brand strategy, marketing, PR & more. It’s seriously so packed — Nicole did a banger of a job with this! 🎉

This FREE summit is for anyone ready to create boldly, authentically, and with purpose. Whether you’re starting a podcast, writing a book, or finally ready to press record and share your ideas, this event will help you gain creative confidence & clarity.

JOIN FOR FREE HERE

Wishing you a safe, happy, healthy & prosperous new year!

Enjoy the Summit,
Sarah

*This is not financial advice. This is simply my own experience, and what I have learned.

Links mentioned:

TAX SHELTERS: Email me at hello@sarahswain.ca if you want to connect about tax-sheltering insurance options for your corporation.

BARTER: Sign up for your FREE Barter it account HERE. Plus if you join now (November 2025) you can buy bits for 50% off. That’s pretty rad. Go load up and start operating outside the cash system. I am currently bartering 1-hour brand strategy sessions on Barter it for 997. Right now, you can purchase BITS at 50% off, which means you can spend $500 to get 1000 BITS, and get my strategy session for half off. WILD.

PRECIOUS METALS: Gold & Silver - easy, affordable, instant liquidation. You can literally buy and sell real metals from your couch with no pants on. Click HERE to get your membership for a ONE-TIME fee and start protecting your money from inflation.

Other links:

Join The Homestead Community HERE

View open Co-authorship Program at Sovereign Acres Publishing opportunities HERE

Shop The Sovereign Acres Merch Shop HERE - Get yourself some values-based gear and wear it proud!

Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/iamsarahswain

Thanks for tuning in!

Sarah

Links:

Sign up for your FREE Barter it account HERE. Plus if you join now (November 2025) you can buy bits for 50% off. That’s pretty rad. Go load up and start operating outside the cash system.

Gold & Silver - easy, affordable, instant liquidation. You can literally buy and sell real metals from your couch with no pants on. Click HERE to get your membership for a ONE-TIME fee and start protecting your money from inflation.

Join The Homestead Community HERE

View open Co-authorship Program at Sovereign Acres Publishing opportunities HERE

Shop The Sovereign Acres Merch Shop HERE - Get yourself some values-based gear and wear it proud!

Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/iamsarahswain

Thanks for tuning in!

Sarah

Comment below as well with your episode topic recommendations. Thanks for listening. 🫶

Mentioned Links:

Sign up for your FREE Barter it account HERE. Plus if you join now (November 2025) you can buy bits for 50% off. That’s pretty rad. Go load up and start operating outside the cash system.

Join The Homestead Community HERE

Other Links:

View open Co-authorship Program at Sovereign Acres Publishing opportunities HERE

Shop The Sovereign Acres Merch Shop HERE - Get yourself some values-based gear and wear it proud!

Gold & Silver - easy, affordable, instant liquidation. You can literally buy and sell real metals from your couch with no pants on. Click HERE to get your membership for a ONE-TIME fee and start protecting your money from inflation.

Find me on Instagram at https://www.instagram.com/iamsarahswain

Thanks for tuning in!

Sarah

So...welcome to The Sarah Swain Show episode 001! 🫠 I did promise I would keep it real, so don’t ever accuse me of being inauthentic. 💅 it’s a heavy one, though, so brace yourself. In this episode I share the dark reality I have been living for the past 2 years. It has given me another layer of relief to share this, and I hope it gives you the same level of relief if you’re going through some hard shit, too.

There may be more episodes like this. There may not be. I won’t know until the mic turns on, so just know that anything goes here. There is no brand, there is just me. It’s me - I am the brand. There is no topic, there is only what I feel inclined to share. There is no strategy...clearly lol.

Thanks for listening!

Find me on instagram at https://www.instagram.com/iamsarahswain

Check out our co-authorship program at https://www.sovereignacrespublishing.com where I am most definitely leading by example here on the importance of sharing our experiences...but over there we just do it in a non-intimidating format of being physically published in books literally forever - it’s no big deal.

Shop at The Sovereign Acres shop at https://www.sovereignacres.ca - if you listened to this episode and as a result, you grow a set of heartballs to share your own truth, you should go get yourself a heartballs hoodie and it’ll be our secret gang sign when we’re all out in the matrix, I mean in public.

Join The Homestead community at https://thehomestead.circle.so/checkout/the-homestead and come learn, connect and grow along side other rad humans in this community-led space. 👆That link will hook you up with a 30-day trial.

In episode 002, I’ll share some of my amazing sponsors and hook you up with some cool opportunities and discount codes with my affiliate links.

Thats all for now, fam. Thanks for being here.

xo

Sarah

We later learned from our Airbnb host that Idaho has a “fence out” law. Which means if you don’t want anyone’s animals on your property, you‘re responsible for fencing your property to keep them out, as opposed to the animal owner being responsible to fence them in.

It was a perfect place to stop for gas, washrooms and breakfast…and, if anyone wanted, a plethora of casino options for your 9 am gambling pleasures. Gas was $3.12/gallon. That equated to roughly $0.83/L USD, or $1.15/L CAD — for premium! I enraged my Canadian followers when I shared this news. Especially since it was probably our oil. Canada is so economically cringe.

There was a bakery attached to the gas station too. Perfect - we were only running on caffeine at that point. It’s pretty much a given that if a breakfast burrito is on the menu, that’s what we’re getting. Just stuff potatoes, bacon, eggs and cheese into a wrap and we’re happy. And oh my, were there ever breakfast burritos on this menu. Like, if you were to see a criminal lineup of burritos and had to point out the American one, it would've been these burritos. Offensively large, cheesy and saucy, looking like heart failure in a tortilla. My ready-to-shed uterus wanted a say at this death-defying breakfast experience, too — and all it saw were cinnamon rolls the size of dinner plates. Why, America? Why? Fuck it. I ordered a huckleberry & cream cheese roll. It came in a full meal size takeout container. I wasn't waiting. Rob stood back in horror as I crushed half of it in line while we waited for the rest of our fatal food.

I’m not one to crave sugar, but catch me right before my period and you might witness me licking it off the floor if I happen to drop some. Back in the Bronco we revelled in the mastery of our breakfast decisions. Turns out at 40, I also admire a good burrito assembly. Rob's had some sort of biscuit gravy, mine had a chunky salsa. We were animals, and we didn't care.

We were Southbound to Idaho, feeling like cardiac ward fugitives. About an hour and a half after leaving Missoula, we drove through this little town that had me instantly whipping out my phone to take a video. I just love it when a town looks like it crawled out of an 1880s western movie...only with pavement...and gas stations.

We were in Darby, Montana. The 406 Saloon would've been a must-stop had it not been morning still. We may have taken it a little too far if we had washed that deadly breakfast down with a cold one. We put Darby in the memory bank of places that would be cool to come back to, and we kept driving. I had my head down in my phone when I heard Rob exclaim, "You just missed that ranch! It looked like the Yellowstone ranch!"

I said, "oh yeah?"

Rob looked at the screen on the dash that had the map displayed, and said "holy shit it was!"

"What?!" I shrieked.

Sure enough, "The Dutton Ranch" was marked on the map as a landmark. Rob hit the brakes, and pulled a U-turn on the highway. We crept back up on the ranch, and there was the signature black Y on the big white barn. Holy. Shit.

The driveway was gated off and warned of security. But Rob pulled over on the highway and I got out and started snapping pictures and videos like the paparazzi. Kardashians? Don't know them. The Duttons? I actually ache that they're not real people, and that they’re not our neighbours.

Rob and I aren't television people. And we could give a flying piece of lint about celebrities or the characters they play. We are mostly clueless during mainstream film talk and just nod our heads and smile to support the enthusiasm of others and their fascination of big screen anything. But Yellowstone? That storyline had us hook, line and sinker - and it played a role in influencing the lifestyle we now lead. The plot, the landscape and the characters impacted us in a profound way. I believe it also culturally impacted society, by returning respect back to old ways, ranching, rural living and the complexity of land preservation. We've been described by many as Rip and Beth, a far cry from our former urban selves. Rob just needs to throw on his Ariat bomber jacket, jeans, cowboy boots and his black Stetson. And I just need to wear a dress and walk around our log home ranting about complicated business matters with a whiskey in my hand. This is not far fetched for either of us. We take it as a compliment, despite their glaring personality flaws.

With an extra spring in our step, we hit the gas and kept heading for Idaho.

You'll learn about my fear of heights later on this series, but that leg of this journey started about here, as quiet, single-lane Highway 93 took us through a mountain pass that wound us up to the top of a range before dumping us off down into Idaho.

High enough that puddles were actually snow banks, and I became an absolute mess in the passenger seat, leaning as far away as I could from door as if to ensure my weight redistribution in the Bronco would save us from death by free-fall off a mountain. There were guard rails though, something I took for granted. That'll make sense later in this series, too.

Mountains make land totally unpredictable. You never know what you're going to see next, around any corner, or as you crest any highway hill, because when we landed on the other side of the range it was like we were in a completely different land. Most of the time while we were driving it was just a verbal ping pong of "woah look at that! - woah! Look over there! - Do you see that?!" between us.

I think road trips are so underrated. People are always in such a rush to get to a destination by air that we miss literally everything in between - a metaphor of modern life. And yet still, we felt the same on this trip, even from the road. There were countless places we encountered in our travels that we could've spent a whole week in, just exploring, but we had to keep moving. We were cramming 7 states into 14 days.

Coming into Salmon, Idaho we were winding around the North Fork Salmon River, with rough cut rock tearing through the tops of otherwise soft green, sagebrush-filled rolling hillsides. It was unbelievably stunning land.

Idaho was already blowing our expectations as it was pummelled into our brains through endless Idaho jokes that there was nothing there other than hoes and potatoes there. Like to the point where Rob actually contemplated booking a potato Airbnb for my birthday. I'm not kidding.

And then we arrived in Salmon, Idaho. Another picturesque western town. Be still, my heart.

We found our Chuckwagon! And Oh. My. God. Instantly our brains began to scurry with how we could start a Chuckwagon accommodations business. We also added this to the growing list of businesses to build. Two days in. Two new business ideas.

Once we were settled, rain started to move in so Rob suggested we go for a drive. He found a road recommended for more backcountry style driving so we got back in the Bronco and headed for the hills - literally. This would also be our first of many encounters of land equipped with signs that say "Watch for falling rock". I'll shut up now and just let the pictures and videos do the talking for a bit.

Dang, Idaho. 💅 We made a mental note of that campground too, alllll the way at the top of that mountain with no one else around - which is what made us go "Huh....are these available everywhere?" As I shared in my last entry, Montana's state and federal parks were still closed for the winter season. So when we learned about the Bureau of Land Management (BLM) sites, the camping game changed. We prefer more rugged, off-the-beaten trail camping and to our surprise once we started diving into the world of BLM camping, most of it was free, or at least super cheap...Hugely popular amongst the van life and backcountry adventurists.

Back in town, we hit Bertram's Brewery for post-adventure beers and food.

Rob asked me if I was sure I didn't want a fancier dinner for my 40th birthday, but I was more than thrilled with a plate full of nachos and a pint. When we walked into the pub, we were greeted by an enthusiastic dude named Mike who told us to sit wherever we liked. We grabbed a small table near the window and Mike made his way over, but not without excitably asking us, "is that your rig parked outside?!" Loud enough for the entire bar to hear.

He was referring to the Bronco, which opened the door for a conversation about where we were travelling.

"So where are you guys from?" He asked.

"Alberta!" We proudly stated.

"Canadians! Are we supposed to like each other?" He asked.

We laughed, and we said, "Yeah, we're good don’t worry."

"I wanted to move to Canada once." Mike said. "But then Covid happened, and I didn't want to move there anymore."

We laughed again and shook our heads, feeling a tinge of embarrassment and shame for the atrocities of the Covid era in Canada. We told him we didn't blame him one bit. Happy to be in the presence of a like-minded Idaho local, the conversation flowed about the great outdoors and much to Rob's excitement - elk hunting. The two of them yammered on about outdoors things, and their preferred rifles and scopes. It was evident that Mike loved where he lived, even referring to Idaho itself as a hidden gem. And I'm pretty sure he'd prefer it stayed that way.

Mike reminded me of the quintessential Hallmark movie character. The born-and-raised small town bar server, rugged and charming. Everyone in the town probably loved him. Stubbornly proud of his roots. Likely hesitant of big-city folk coming in with any business that didn't hold reverence for his little slice of heaven. Yet most likely to end up marrying a city slickin' woman who sat down at his bar in an uncomfortable pencil skirt and pantyhose after a stressful day of corporate travel to this little hole-in-the-wall-town, and order a glass of wine, instead of a pint from the plethora of beer selections.

Hallmark Movie: A Salmon Romance. No, that wouldn't work.

The beers were strong (more like boilermakers - geezus) and we were done after 1.5 pints, and queso-covered nachos (The most American day of food of our journey). So we said farewell to our new friend Mike and rolled our puffy bodies out the door, and headed back to our chuckwagon for the night.

Have you ever watched Seinfeld in a chuckwagon? Because I have.

Have you ever woken up in a chuckwagon to the sound of a herb of sheep? Because I have.

As we were packing up the next morning, a gentleman came through the fence from the neighbouring property. He reminded me a bit of the old western actor Sam Elliot. Cowboy hat. Big moustache. It was John, the owner of the chuckwagon airbnb. He had come to apologize for the sheep, because they had broken out of the area they were supposed to be in for the night, and set up shop right beside us…at sunrise. As John introduced himself to us, he shook Rob's hand firmly with eye contact, and as he turned to me, he removed his cowboy hat and held it to his chest as he shook mine with a slight bow of the head and a smile. A gesture so small, but so meaningful. It caught me off guard how that had felt, to be so respected by a complete stranger, simply because I am a woman. Oh how far we have fallen as society, where these simple manners feel shocking when you ‘re in the presence of them.

Salmon. Elk-hunting Hallmark Mike. 1800s gentleman John. Chuckwagons. Idaho was winning big in our books. I was about ready to send a crew of movers to fetch our belongings, dogs, donkeys, goose and figure out American immigration. Idaho felt like home. I did finally got my period that morning, so I was all up in my feels a little extra.

We chatted outside the chuckwagon with John for a while. He told us he was an auctioneer, and also does work for the NRA (National Rifle Association). I couldn't wait to tell my dad. He told us all kinds of stories, and we were thrilled to hear every one. We got to talking about sheep and donkeys too, of course. Rob mentioned he'd love to have a mule one day. And wouldn't you know it, Salmon, Idaho hosts a nationally-renowned annual mule auction every year. Ha! We had a reason to come back already! We said our goodbyes to John, and off came the cowboy hat again for one more handshake and nod. I instantly felt sad that I might never get to see John again. Isn't that wild? How one encounter with a person can make you feel so appreciative of the impact they had on your life? People like John make me want to be a better person.

We had loved our 18 hours in Salmon so much that we decided we didn't want to leave Idaho that day as originally planned. We actually found an open state campground (Smokey Mountain) at the very southern end of Idaho so we could experience the state for one more night, before crossing into Utah. And off we went in search of coffee, and a road less travelled. And boy was it worth it.

Until next time,

Sarah

Next up, the Peaks to Crater highway, the debut of the Lug-A-Loo toilet and our first night in the truck tent.

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How to Work With Me

BUSINESS

If you want to turn your idea into an additional stream of income, join my Monetize Your Mind (MYM) Business Mentorship Community. Click here and I’ll see you Tuesday.

If you’re in business and want to level-up your game, join MYM Expanse - Myself and 3 other high-calibre coaches will meet you there to provide you with a full holistic support experience for your business. Click here to join.

Want to discover your Marketing Personality? Click here to have some fun and take my quiz!

AUTHORSHIP

If you want to apply to be an author in our next Sovereign book in series, which will definitely disrupt the status quo, click here.

INVESTING

If you’re ready to stop putting all your faith the banks and their fiat currency and start investing in actual value (like gold and silver), click here to learn more.

Accommodations & Food

Chuckwagon Airbnb - We loved it. It was part of a small lot with one other chuckwagon, and a few cabins. It does neighbour a farm, so be prepared for farm noise like roosters and sheep! We thought it was so great, that we’re strongly considering providing accommodations like this o our own property one day.

I’d link up Bertam’s Pub, but it’s one of those joints with a terrible website and next to no social media. you’ll just have to go to Salmon, Idaho yourself and find out!

And if you ever find yourself in Missoula, Montana, make sure you hit up Wheat Bakery for a heart-stopping breakfast.

I was feeling uneasy about the election. What most people didn’t know was that I had grieved Canada's loss months prior, once I saw the angle they were using to regain momentum as a Liberal party. I had even called it, nearly to a T in a previous Substack entry inDecember, before Trudeau had even “resigned”. I knew Carney was coming before Liberal supporters even knew who he was. And I knew that all the Liberal party needed to do was to dull the blade of the Conservative strategy, which was largely based on the economy and axing the tax. It was something Pierre had an upper hand on with Trudeau, but it left them wide open for a rug pull the moment Trudeau was gone. It was premonition-like, to sense this was going to happen. I also knew how easy it was to manipulate the Canadian voter base, as it was obvious that as a collective nation, we hadn’t learned much over the past 5 years. Side note, if anyone’s looking for a political psychic with an increasingly dark sense of humour—I’m available for parties.

In all seriousness, I think my grief was moreso present that evening because I was feeling the weight of what this was going to mean for countless people and families across the country. Families who hadn’t accepted the fate of Canada just yet, and were hanging onto hope that a Conservative win would mean change — even though Trudeau had stacked the Senate with Liberal senators before he left. Which meant that even in the event of a Conservative win, it would've been unlikely that any bills passed in the House, would've made it through the Senate to achieve Royal Assent. There had been a total takeover of our parliamentary system, regardless of any electoral outcome.

It really was all genius on their part, and for that I give them credit. It's just a shame that Liberal voters failed to recognize a party strategy that knew how to play on their ignorance, and more importantly their fears of the Bad Orange Man. I had really backed off my political dialogue online as a result, wrestling with the inner turmoil of feeling like I had given up, vs making a conscious decision to start focusing more on the quality of my own life, which had also started to show signs of decline. Another part of me just didn't know how to break the news to my social media followers, that we were likely going to see another Liberal win. I didn't know how to share that prediction, knowing the sheer exhaustion millions of us had been feeling for literal years. So I shifted my dialogue more into the "and if they do win again, here's how we live our lives anyway” as a means to keep people (myself included) focused on what’s always within our control - which is the power of choice. I'm sure some picked up on my retreat, but I was immensely grateful for new voices who had risen in the Canadian political scene that lessened the guilt I was carrying for not doing more.

My $14/day US data plan was worth it. I didn't want to skip a beat on socials because of cell phone coverage simply by crossing an invisible man-made line that separated nations. We got the fire going, and we bounced between coverage on CPAC, Candace Malcolm's show and unfortunately, Global — they tend to have the best interactive map during an election. So I broke my rule of no legacy media, for the sake of taking in the election from all angles.

The rain in the forecast was holding off for us, which we were grateful for. Plus, we were in Montana, our cheap beer was cold, and the fire was crackling — I couldn’t think of a better situation to take in a nerve-racking election. There was a glimmer of hope as eastern Canada polls started to close, and a few seats flipped to blue. Rob would get up every now and then and grab his binoculars to peer at deer or wild turkeys roaming through the adjacent field. He’s the guy that can never find the ketchup in the fridge, but can see an animal in the wild with his eyes closed. He’s primal that way.

But by the time Quebec and Ontario started to roll in, my gut was being confirmed. So when CTV called the election a Liberal win, barely after the polls closed in western Canada, there wasn't an ounce of me that was surprised. This time though, 4 years after Trudeau's last gut-wrenching win, my stomach didn't sink. Was I just numb to it all? Was I simply prepared for the result? Did I not care anymore? Was I far too conscious about not letting this government steal a moment more from me? Did I just feel better because I wasn’t even in Canada? Or had I just successfully detached from the perception of government authority? It was likely a bit of all of the above.

We fired up the barbecue and threw our overpriced ribeyes on the grill. There was a pensiveness coming from us so thick that you could’ve cut it with our shitty plastic camping knife. We aren't immune to the human experience after all, for we knew what this meant, far more than we did in 2021. Yet still, there was a sense of peace that sat with us at the picnic table as the internet proceeded to erupt with both anti-Trump cheer, and anti-Liberal elite disdain. We were now shifting into, "what's our next move?" Both Rob and I are problem solvers, and our assemblance of peace was likely derived by knowing that we’d simply figure it out - whatever that meant. We were in America, after all, and no one in America seemed to even know we had an election (how embarrassing, when we pay so much attention to theirs), which thankfully made for a much more chill energy. There we sat chewing on steak as night fell, as two Albertans in the middle of Montana, while millions of Canadians back home faced devastating conversations with their families, and decisions on where they were going to raise their children. Both of our phones were blowing up, and we did our best to keep our focus on each other.

Prior to that evening, I had spent the last 4 years, solidly, raising awareness around politics, providing education, activating Canadians to get involved, and working like hell to wake people up - not to Liberalism, but to NGO agendas that saw the Liberal parties as means to infiltrate nations and gain greater influence and control over the people. Speaking against a publicly supported narrative isn’t for the faint of heart. You come across as crazy and misinformed, which I completely understand as that’s how I saw people like me, before my eyes opened, too. On top of the distance people put between themselves and you, you also face a plethora of name-calling and labels. Racist. Bigoted. Grandma killer. Intolerant. Domestic terrorist. Selfish. Homophobic. Transphobic. Nazi. And more recently, traitor — or to be exact, traitor bitch. Basically, people like me became a human illustration of every phobia invented since 2020 in the eyes of those with their eyes closed. All designed to keep people from listening to us, and to diminish our credibility.

The hardest part to communicate was actually the reality that this wasn’t even about left vs right, or Conservatives vs Liberal. This was about seeing the chilling danger of what's happening so insidiously, far above the heads of the political puppets placed in front of us, vs the strategically curated political speeches and the heavily pointed mainstream media talking points keeping the masses programmed and easy to control. Bad orange man + elbows up = easy win. Carney math. They really did know that their base would gobble it up, and the level of disrespect that showed to proud leftist supporters is shameful. History, if truth ever prevails, will reflect on this era as a true battle of good vs evil, and people will study for decades with total mystification, how so many seemingly good and intelligent people were susceptible to falling for it all.

We went to bed that night, with both of us cuddled up on the bottom bunk in our little cabin. We knew the bed was going to be a short-lived luxury as in just 2 nights, it would be time for us to stuff ourselves into our tiny tent on top of the Bronco. At 1004pm MT, I said "Babe, it's my birthday in Ontario. I'm officially 40!" Turning 40 in Montana was awesome. Turning 40 during an election electrocution, not so much. But it only further highlighted the constant paradoxical state my life had been in for years. Both incredible, and devastating, simultaneously in every moment, of every day. I titled my chapter The Great Paradox in my 2022 anthology publication The Sovereign, for this very reason. So much beauty, and so much chaos.

I shut down my Instagram that night, leaving 6000 people watching my coverage of the election, and more DMs pouring in than I'd ever received in my Instagram existence. People were rocked. But I was 40, dammit —and determined to enjoy this trip as much as I could.

I woke up the next morning to pouring rain, a Liberal government and a hint of my period making its debut. It felt like a personal attack. Like I was being emotionally tag-teamed by mother nature, the government and my uterus. This is 40. What a vibe. Rob took off to find us coffee, after we had stared at the jar of coffee grounds in the cabin the night before, and decided not to roll the dice on something so important. I was however, so grateful we weren't packing up a campsite because nothing is worse than packing up a campsite in the rain. We enjoyed our coffees on our covered porch and watched the rain fall, and then we scurried down the trail to the shower cabin where we got cleaned up and ready for our drive. We were Idaho bound, and Rob had surprised me with a night in a Chuckwagon for my birthday. Our time in Montana was only to simply land for our first night on the way down, as we’d be travelling back through on the way back up at the end of our trip.

The rain continued to pour as we hit the road, which was a dang shame because we were driving around the most stunning views of Flathead Lake, but they were blurred by the mist and the rain-soaked windows of the Bronco.

We could feel a good energy there, though — and we banked a mental note that this would be an awesome place to return for a summer getaway. We were both born and raised in Ontario, and the one thing we missed are the lakes. There’s nothing quite like the vibe of cottage country, but Flathead was giving it — and it was just a 6hr drive from home. Yep, we’d be back.

In stark contrast to the peaceful America landscapes, my Canadian DMs continued to roar. There was grief. Agony. Fear. Defeat. But mostly people sending me gratitude for helping to keep them sane over the last few years, and expressing their appreciation for my light-hearted coverage of the election the night prior. That was appreciated.

No one knew it was my birthday and so I thought, what better way to break the political mayhem than by announcing that it was my 40th, and that I'm on a dream road trip with my husband and that I was hellbent on enjoying myself. The vibe instantly shifted to love and celebration and I was so grateful for everyone who sent me good vibes and took time out of their day (and likely stressful states) to wish me a happy birthday. Instagram fam, you really are the best. It helped. That was when we consciously shed the election vibes and committed to focusing on the open road ahead of us.

Sarah

Next up, an accidental discovery of The Dutton Ranch, a night in a chuckwagon, and an introduction to Mike and John — two of Idaho’s hidden human gems.

How to Work With Me

BUSINESS

If you want to turn your idea into an additional stream of income, join my Monetize Your Mind (MYM) Business Mentorship Community. Click here and I’ll see you Tuesday.

If you’re in business and want to level-up your game, join MYM Expanse - Myself and 3 other high-calibre coaches will meet you there to provide you with a full holistic support experience for your business. Click here to join.

Want to discover your Marketing Personality? Click here to have some fun and take my quiz!

AUTHORSHIP

If you want to apply to be an author in our next Sovereign book in series, which will definitely disrupt the status quo, click here.

PURCHASE A COPY OF THE SOVEREIGN

Click here to get a copy of The Sovereign, mentioned in this entry.

INVESTING

If you’re ready to stop putting all your faith the banks and their fiat currency and start investing in actual value (like gold and silver), click here to learn more.

Not because it was sunny. But because a sudden wave of anxiety flooded through me.

Not because I thought we’d be detained, but because I was feeling the stir of a panic attack rising up in my system.

In my not-so-clear mind, I thought maybe if I hid my eyes, I’d be able to keep it at bay. In hindsight, it always fascinates me how my mind irrationally rationalizes things when it goes into survival mode, for no apparent reason.

I’ve been living with chronic panic attacks since the fall of 2023. Late reflections have made me recall similar experiences when I lived on the East coast when I’d get hit with a wave of dizziness and suddenly feel a sense of distrust in my body to keep me standing upright in crowded public places with offensive fluorescent lighting like Walmart. I mean fair — Walmartians can be terrifying. But the experience would jolt me, and I’d feel afraid enough to leave whatever place I was in and get back to the car as quickly as I could. Otherwise, my only reference point to serious anxiety stems from a visceral fear of heights. I discovered this fear as I drove across the Burlington skyway in Ontario for the first time when I was 21 years old, on my way to work in Hamilton. That was 19 years ago. If you know that bridge, then you know what a beast it is in both size and height. The wave of panic hit me about halfway up the bridge and I can distinctly remember feeling like I might pass out, but the terror of me losing consciousness behind the wheel and driving off the bridge and plunging into Lake Ontario below, pumped enough adrenaline through my system to keep me alert until I was finished crossing.

What. The fuck. Was that? Do I have a fear of heights all of a sudden? Where did that even come from? I grew up climbing trees and rocks and building bridges with logs over rivers and streams and freaking my mother out as I leaped around on the glass floor of the CN Tower. Why now?! What is this?!

My adrenaline dumped on the other side of the bridge and I began to shake as both the fear and the relief collided in my system. Heights have never been the same for me since. Whether I’m creeping across the hotel floor on all fours to peer out the window at Niagara Falls, riding up a ski lift in the Rocky Mountains, being the (absolute worst) passenger in a vehicle driving along a cliff-side road, or standing at the edge of the Grand Canyon itself - I lose my ever-loving mind. I disassociate from my body, and I enter into what my brain perceives as a fight for my life, even though I am perfectly safe in every one of those situations.

I digress, but the heights thing does play a role later in our travels as we encountered dicey mountain switchback roads and, well, the Grand Canyon. So hang in there for this weave.

On September 16, 2023 while I was on stage opening my first major event in Kananaskis, Alberta - I experienced a panic attack that would’ve registered a strong 7 on the Richter scale - inconveniently, as I was reading my opening statement, and setting the tone for the guests. Let’s set the example for what entrepreneurship gets to be for the next generation! Let’s heal! Let’s win! If you don’t mind though, I’ll just quietly prepare to die here in front of all of you.

At first I thought I may have tripped myself up because I was reading from our event newspaper, and not free-styling it with the mic like I usually do. That has definitely caused some stage nerves in the past. Nothing major, though. All those experiences did was lead me to just simply trust that whatever came flying out of my mouth during my talks, was exactly what was meant to. And it led me to be an incredibly powerful speaker that could command the attention of rooms full of hundreds of people. I LOVED speaking on stages at events.

This internal earthquake wasn’t that, though. This wasn’t stage fright or speaking jitters. My heart rate shot up so high, so fast, that it took my breath away. I had a flash visual enter my mind of me completely passing out, and having to be dragged off the stage by my team, praying that Mark Groves would know what to do and keep the event alive while I recovered. That didn’t happen though, I didn’t pass out. But as my heart rate soared, and my breath shallowed, my legs began to weaken.

Get closer to the floor, Sarah.

A cue I took from God knows where - probably actually God - but I listened. I knelt down on one knee and kept reading. Nope, it's still happening and it’s getting worse.

Get down on both knees, Sarah - you need the stability.

I listened. To me, it felt like my voice was trembling as I continued to speak, like I was trying to hold a live jackhammer and speak at the same time. The crowd didn't seem to notice, though.

You need to breathe, Sarah.

Breathe. Right! That thing that keeps us alive. Come on, lungs.

And so I let myself pause my reading, and I took a breath.

There you go. You’re going to be okay.

By slowing my breathing I sent a signal to my body that I wasn’t actually in danger, and that it could feel safe again. I finished my reading, somehow managed to stand back up, finish my talk and introduce our first speaker of the day - Alex Weber, my accidental American friend — you had to be there for that epic story — but I just adore him. I got off the stage and motioned for my husband to come to where I was sitting. I let him know what happened and he ran back to our room to whip me up a protein shake. Even he, the one who knows me the best, couldn’t tell from the audience’s perspective, what I had just endured. What a show I must’ve put on…I reflect on the strength I conjured up during those moments, and I continue to be wowed to this day. Still, I thought maybe I just needed food. I had been hydrating and eating well leading into the event though, but I was nonetheless hopeful that a good dose of protein and minerals would cure whatever nightmare that was.

Unfortunately, that was only the first of over 40 attacks I endured over the course of that weekend. It’s remarkable that I didn’t get carried out on a stretcher, but it’s a reminder of just how hard our bodies work for us, even when we’re doubting them so hard. But the real primal fear set in when they continued happening while I was in my home, at the grocery store, and behind the wheel of my vehicle - long after my event was done. My body had found its way into a perpetual state of survival mode, as my sympathetic nervous system took over my entire life.

But don't worry guys, I put emotional support sunglasses on for that border crossing and I stayed in my body, even when the officer kindly asked me to remove my sunglasses so he could compare me to my passport photo. Duh, of course he’d ask me to remove them. Dingus.

What they don’t tell you about panic attacks, is the fear you feel in your every-day life, as you worry about having a panic attack. Having them are bad enough, but then the rest of the time you’re living in total fear about having another one, so much so that you actually bring them on yourself, almost willfully. I’ve panicked so hard about panicking that I’ve literally given myself a panic attack. How embarrassing.

The last time I drive down this road I had a panic attack. Will I have one again?

The last time this cashier was working and asked me how my day was, I had a panic attack. Will I have one again?

The last time I sat down in this restaurant, I had a panic attack. Will I have one again?

The last time my family sat down at my dinner table, I had a panic attack. Will I have one again?

The last time I had a bath in the afternoon, I had a panic attack. Will I have one again?

Turns out the answer 9/10 times is YES, you will absolutely have a panic attack again if all you do is panic about panicking. Fuck.

For even deeper context behind the meaning of this road trip, three weeks before we left, I had an attack so bad that my husband took me to emerge. That was the first time I consented to western medical care, nearly 19 months after my dreadful event experience. We had a house full of people I love, and I couldn’t even come out of our bedroom. My legs wouldn’t hold me up every time I tried to be strong and make my way to the bedroom door to head down to our guests. You may read this and think “wtf is wrong with her?” Here’s what I can tell you. A panic attack isn’t anxiety. People joke about having panic attacks as a means to comically describe a stressful situation they were in. If only… True panic attacks are traumatic. It's a mental and nervous system response that is no different than if your life was actually under imminent threat. It's fight or flight. A gun to your head. A grizzly bear chasing you. Being trapped in a burning room. It produces the same response, very much like severe PTSD. An attack will trigger a sky rocketing heart rate that leads to a shortness of breath. This cues the panic because your nervous system now believes that your life is in danger. And when your body responds to a life threatening situation, it sends all of its resources to your center mass to protect your vital organs. This decreases blood flow in your arms and legs, which can lead to loss of feeling in, and control over your limbs. I don’t know how many times I’ve had to drag my body across our living room floor, because my legs went limp during an episode. Oh, and the adrenaline? A tsunami of it. Once it passes, you’re left with an adrenaline dump that leaves you shaking like a leaf, with purple hands and feet as you wait for your blood circulation to return to normal.

I cried in defeat the whole way to the hospital, after Rob cleared our house of our friends and sent them off to the neighbour’s for a bonfire with plates full of smoked ribs that had been on the Traeger all day. I kept saying “I just want my life back” between the sobs, and while I laid there in complete surrender on the hospital bed minutes after we arrived, as they triaged me immediately based on the state I entered in. They ran over 25 tests on me that took nearly two weeks to get all the results back from. Perfect physical health. Both an astonishing relief to see formal lab work which obliterated a growing belief that I was simply dying and wouldn’t even see my 40th birthday. And equally daunting because it meant that I had to face whatever it was that was wanting to make itself known, hiding somewhere in the abyss of my subconscious mind, using my body as its megaphone. A deeper share for another post. But at least I could go on our trip and turn 40, without the shadow of death lurking over my shoulder. That was worth celebrating.

Believe it or not, I’ve done some of the deepest work and healing of my life throughout these last 18 months. I’ve been in what has felt like a tornado of awakenings for the last 5 years. And I’ve gone through great periods where I have truly believed I’ve conquered the beast, only for it to awaken from its slumber from God only knows where inside myself. I'll share more on that process another day.

Side note: For you Astrology buffs out there that are chomping at the bit to inquire about my birth info, I’ll be sharing more on this another time as well. IYKYK.

Back to our border crossing.

We were the only vehicle coming in from Canada. If anyone is curious as to how powerful our Canadian government-funded media is — that should tell you everything you need to know. Yet after only about 90 seconds and a couple of questions, the officer was telling us to enjoy our trip - and just like that, we were in America. Just us, defying the imminent threat of American travel danger while the CBC warned Canadians of certain doom. It was reminiscent of Joe Biden’s threat of a long winter of severe illness and death for the unvaccinated in 2021. I’m so bored by their attempts to scare the shit out of us, in order to gain more control.

While I didn’t want to be in an anxiety-inducing position of having to unpack our entire supply of gear in the back of our Bronco to satisfy border security, part of me did want to show off my Lug-a-Loo — my fancy bucket with a toilet seat fit for places where even outhouses don’t exist. Maybe they’ll ask what’s in the bucket on the way back. Stay tuned in upcoming entries for a video demonstration of this genius invention. #notsponsored

When the Bronco hit American dirt I tossed my emotional support goggles back in the center console, and relaxed as we kicked off our adventure in the stunning state of Montana. Not today, panic. Not today.

Coming across the border in Roosville, BC popped us into a two-lane highway that led us through an hour of dense green, as we drove through the Kootenai and Flathead forests. It was a little surprising to be in such a heavily treed area when you anticipated rolling hills and mountain landscapes to just be everywhere. It's amazing what television and advertising does to our perception. Our first stop for the night was in Columbia Falls, just outside Whitefish. When we drove through Whitefish, I absolutely loved it. Clean. Fresh. A little Western chic. I thought for sure we’d find an epic restaurant on the lake but it turns out those are hard to come by at the end of April. As Albertans, we think anything over -5 is patio season so long as the sun is out. We were surprised that so many locations, campgrounds and park areas were still closed for the “winter season”, even though it was pushing 20C. Wimps. All kidding aside, Whitefish is on our list of places to return to.

Anyway, with no luck in the lakeside patio department, we meandered our way over to Columbia falls, only to find out most restaurants are closed on Monday. Is anyone even alive in Montana on a Monday in April? It was unclear. But like a sunlit temple, there stood a Mexican restaurant with a neon “open” sign. Vaqueros. Praise be. A quick search of customer reviews and off we went inside for tacos and a margarita for me, and a burrito and a Modelo for Rob. As usual when ordering tacos, my excitement is far greater than the size of my stomach, and I could only finish half my meal.

Our next big adventure that day was stocking up on the essentials: groceries, water, and beer, obviously. We found a grocery store and in we went. I’m a grocery store nerd. I love being in new stores and seeing different brands and foods. I was also eager to get a grasp on their grocery prices in contrast to Canadian prices after 10 years of a Liberal government in Canada. Turns out, 4 years of Dems will achieve the same thing. So much for cheap shopping in America. I think we spent $55+USD on 2 ribeyes. And when you're spoiled with Alberta beef, those steaks were nothing to write home about. Have no fear though, the beer was cheap. ‘Merica.🇺🇸

Alas, we arrived at our first destination for the night. Due to campgrounds being closed, and us not discovering the world of dispersed camping through the Bureau of Land Management just yet, Rob made sure we were secured with two Airbnbs for the first two nights of our trip to get us through the “Winter Season” area before heading into warmer climates. We pulled up to a sweet little Airbnb, campground-esque location with little cabins and treehouses. What a dream it would be to build a run a place like that! I mentally added it to the list of businesses I will build before I die.

Since it was Monday, and Montana was still dead-set on it being winter despite the warm temps, we were the only people on the entire property. We cleaned out the firewood bin, left the required cash in the honour system box and set up shop at the fire pit. It was election night, and as usual, I was set on covering the show.

Next up - The election results, my 40th birthday, the Dutton Ranch and a chuckwagon in Idaho.

Sarah

PS - Scroll down for links for accommodations, restaurants & reviews.

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Restaurants & Accommodations

The Cowboy Cabin. Look up the host’s other listings for a full scope of the property and its options for accommodations. This was a great place to stay. If we had of been venturing into Glacier National Park, this would have been a great location, too. Just aheads up though, there are porta-potties and a separate building for showers and flushing toilets. It’s simple, but sweet. The host was extremely responsive as well. The only thing that was a bit “off” about it, was that it’s not as remote as the pictures lead you to believe. From the Cowboy Cabin, we could see other people’s properties, and the main road was across the field and within our view. So the sight and sound of vehicles was quite constant. That could mean absolutely nothing for the average people, but we live an incredibly remote lifestyle so these things do tend to stand out for us.

Vaqueros Mexican restaurant in Columbia Falls. The service was…meh. The food was good, but not worth leaving a raving review for. If you need a fix of Mexican food, this will absolutely provide, but we’ve had better. However, it was OPEN and for that we were grateful.

My husband Rob and I have been threatening to do a massive road trip through the western USA since we first moved to Alberta in 2012. That was 13 years ago. Thirteen. We've since bought land, built a life, watched our country lose its mind—but Montana? Still a pipe dream. Why are humans like this? Why do we fail to prioritze the things we really, really want to do year after year? Why did we wait until we had exhausted every last national park campground in a 20000㎢ mountainous area before we finally said, “Screw it, let’s go to America”? We had Banffed, Jaspered, and Kananaskised ourselves to death over the years, and while those world-class locations are gorgeous, and even emotional at times with their jaw-dropping jagged peaks and seemingly infinite vastness, they had started to feel more like crowded malls with scenic backdrops. In other words, hundreds of thousands of humans jammed up in road ways, parking lots and tourist traps became a wee bit of a buzz kill. Still beautiful—but also suffocating. Like nature was hosting a Costco free sample day—every day—from June to September. We became like mountain customers sneaking along the back aisles, trying to avoid the hoards of people sampling the latest Kirkland dip.

2020 was our last real hoorah in the big parks. With international tourism basically banned, the park towns were begging Albertans to come visit like a desperate ex texting at 2am.

“…You up?”

Hell yeah we were up. The parks were nearly empty — in the summer! And honestly? It was the best. We camped over 30 nights that season, and bounced around between some of the best hotels. I’ll never forget one trip where Banff was so empty we felt like the only people there. We stayed at the Fairmont for pennies on the dollar. It was peaceful, eerie, magical—and wildly unfair to the small business owners whose livelihoods were crumbling in real time. It was the Canadian Rocky Mountain pandemic paradox: Personal space and economic ruin. We did our best to support them—booked the hotels, ate the food, even signed up for a rafting trip on the Bow River. We didn’t realize we’d get a private rafting tour of the Bow though, until it was time to depart and we were the only two dorks stuffed into life jackets on the raft built for 25. Off we went with our two guides. Yes, two. The guy paddling was being trained — a Banff Taxi driver picking up a new skill because he had no tourists to shuttle around town and he needed more work. Taxis & rafts. Same same, right? The second was a seasoned river cowboy - ponytail and all. He offered us trail mix and fruit from his backpack which was a refreshing change from the fear that was growing in society that we were all somehow going to kill one another with a virus that had cold & flu-like symptoms, but also had no symptoms. River Fabio let us in on some of the local travel secrets, which we vowed never to share. The taxi driver-turned-rafting guide told us if he missed our drop-off point on the river bank, he’d cook us steak at his house in Canmore, because eventually that where the river would flow us to. I was half-hoping he’d miss it. He didn’t, and we got off our raft and boarded the school bus back to Banff - alone.

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The following summer, we moved to a cabin in the woods. Literally. We had been living between Calgary & Airdrie up until that point. While we were fortunate to live in Alberta during 2020 with limited restrictions in contrast to the rest of Canada, we could still sense the weirdness growing. The timing was more than right for us to carve out a little slice of our own heaven on a chunk of dirt. What we didn’t anticipate though, was that rural living would crush our desire to “get away,” because well—we already had. Suddenly, we were living the way that we had once looked forward to as a weekend trip. Turns out we weren’t addicted to camping. We were addicted to peace and quiet. So the once-thrilling idea of scrambling for a campsite in a jam-packed national park quickly lost its appeal. Instead, for our getaways we found ourselves heading deeper into crown land, where the bears are real, the fires are wild, and the cell reception is non-existent. Far from glamping and more like … surviving for fun.

Anyway, I share all of this because it’s like we had to run out of things to do in our own backyard before finally pulling the trigger on our bigger dream of a western America road trip, on a route less travelled, no less. How strange, in reflection. Or maybe it was because the government was warning us not to go to America that made us look at each other this past winter and say, “Let’s go to America.” (If reverse psychology ever had a poster child—it’s me.) While headlines buzzed about Canadian citizens being detained at the U.S. border and treated like enemies of war, we started mapping out our journey like a pair of defiant pioneers. We know propaganda when we see it. Yawn. Same old playbook.

Rob took on the noble quest of finding a rooftop tent for our Bronco—a task made trickier by the fact the Bronco’s roof is basically a steel frame, not a full steel box. As the roof and doors can all be removed, it meant limited weight support compared to regular vehicles. And then there’s us: I’m nearly 6 feet tall and Rob’s built like an oak whiskey barrel with limbs. So the tent had to be lightweight but capable of holding two humans who aren’t exactly small stick figures. When he finally found one that worked, we rejoiced—right before accepting the reality that sleeping together in it would be like cramming two bratwursts into one snack-sized ziplock bag. Very romantic. Very cozy.

Packing for this trip was another saga. Forecasts from Montana to Arizona and everywhere in between ranged from -4°C to +30°C, so we needed to prepare for all four seasons, and possibly a post-election civil war. Rain, snow, heat waves, wildfires, rattlesnakes, scorpions, & media Kool-aid drinking democrats—we were ready. Rob packed his survival bag (because of course he did), and I made sure our cast iron cookware was ready to go - the essentials. The one thing we did forget though, were the cooking gloves for the fire, which we’d later regret. But otherwise, we nailed it, aside from having to buy consumables like food, water, beer & firewood along the way.

And so, on April 28th—also the day of Canada’s federal election—also the day before my 40th birthday, we packed up the Bronco and made our escape. No regrets. No apologies. No fear or being detained by border officers. Just 2 weeks on the open road and an opportune time for an existential crisis. There’s nothing quite like the desert and no cell signal to free up the mind and unearth some deeply rooted fears.

First up: Montana.

Stay tuned. And yes, I’ll share our full packing list and travel routes in another post, because I’m not gatekeeping this level of road trip mastery — considering most mornings we woke up, we had no clue where we’d be sleeping that night.

Sarah

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If you want to turn your idea into an additional stream of income, join my Monetize Your Mind (MYM) Business Mentorship Community. Click here and I’ll see you Tuesday.

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Want to discover your Marketing Personality? Click here to have some fun and take my quiz,

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In a big white sign, framed by fluorescent white bulbs, big black letters read, “World Premiere: Israel Vs Palestine - October 7th, 2023” above a damp urban sidewalk.

The world walks into the theatre, clutching their front-row floor tickets, eager to experience an array of emotions and cognitive stimulation. The concession stands buzz with taps and swipes, as bets are placed and the stock market soars. Side room doors are adorned with signs that say, “Do not enter. Private meeting in progress” as politicians meet to discuss how to best leverage the collective fear and push their policy, under the guise of preserving democracy. Fear, after all, is the ultimate catalyst for bypassing due process as people beg their governments to do something. More government = stronger democracy, right? Silly people. Press galleries bustle with lights, cameras, and AI action as talking heads and battlefield journalists fight for the most terrifying story - because fear sells, and the Pulitzer is waiting.

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The rows of the carpeted and velvet-laden coliseum are divided by flags. On the left side, the hashtags #freepalestine are plastered on the back of each seat, and on the right, #prayforisrael.

“Pick a side,” the ushers say, “just be sure to pick the right one.”

The balconies, reserved for the directors, producers & casting agencies fill with aristocrats, technocrats, pharmacrats, bureaucrats, republicrats, democrats, meritocrats, and all of their pet parasitic rats that chew on the arms of our cabinets. On the menu: Sadism soup with a glyphosate-free bun. Aroused by a forbidden pleasure, they know the folks down in the front row floor seats will hand them more power soon, without even needing to ask for it.

Behind the curtain, a centuries-old war wages on as the sounds of bombs, rockets and blood-curdling screams of grief and horror flood the room. These crimes against humanity inspire more evil than a deck of cards could ever induce laughter. As media muzzles tighten, and propaganda takes its chokehold, only those with boots on the ground truly understand the fight, generation after generation. Churches ring their bells and loudspeakers boom with the adhan from the mosques as these sacred places of worship fill with people praying to their Gods for peace & protection.

The lights dim, the curtains draw to either side, and the stage appears, opening with a scene that would rival one’s worst nightmare. Hate-filled monsters on homemade hang gliders and their arsenal of rockets, traveling effortlessly through the iron dome and descending from above on the unsuspecting cast, innocently dancing on set, just in time for the audience to take their seats. “Allahu akbar!” cries out from the skies.

The audience looks on with shock & horror as women are stripped, shot, beaten & raped and their bodies are mercilessly dragged through the streets. Hearts bleed across the global amphitheater with unrelenting pain as children are ripped from their families and kidnapped by faceless men, with black iris eyes & machine guns. Fear and blind rage infiltrate the psyches of everyone watching, and the cry for justice turns to righteous revenge and a level of retaliation that will spare no life in its way.

The stage goes dark, leaving the audience grappling with what they just bore witness to as dormant, deeply seeded fears of Islam awake in their veins.

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The battlefield illuminates once again. Equipped with helmets, kevlar, eye protection, and cameras, the media conglomerates take the stage, ready to groom the room with editorial puppet masters shouting orders through tiny mics embedded into every journalistic ear. “Did someone just say 40 beheaded babies?” Run the headlines. Now. Ratings begin to soar. Thousands of newspapers, broadcasting agencies, newsrooms, bloggers, and influencers storm the stage as their fingers and thumbs smash their keyboards and screens to be the first to break the news, from the comfort of cafes, decorated homes & broadcasting studios. The audience erupts as the stage amplifies an agony that only the idea of the image of 40 beheaded babies could invoke. Some with pain so sharp they clutch their chest and gasp for air. Pray for Israel! Others with fear so deep for what 40 dead Israeli babies mean for Palestinians, that their legs buckle and collapse under the weight of impending genocidal doom. Free Palestine! The rulers in the balconies stir in their seats with anticipation as billions in arms deals are approved by federal governments across the entire globe. Sales soar & shareholders smile with glee as they envision their blood-stained dollar bills, a mile high.

The curtains close and the theatre goes dark again.

Sounds of rockets & bombs and smells of white phosphorous gas fill the room. Chunks of concrete and limbs of bodies fall from the sky and land with chilling thuds, scattering across the stage. As the lights return, the audience sees a concrete ghetto. Smoke, ashes, and dust fill the streets as confused bodies wander, in search of their loved ones, buried beneath collapsed structures. Tiny, lifeless bodies are pulled from beneath concrete slabs. One of which is a baby, no more than a year old with his head split in half. The boom of explosions continues to sound, as hospitals begin to overflow, and parking lots and ice cream trucks become morgues.

A banner appears above the stage.

“They don’t care how many of us they kill…”

{Curtains close. Lights out.}

A collective silence fills the front rows and slowly, the collective’s breath begins to accelerate. With each inhale and exhale, it becomes clear that this is much more than war over land, religion, and centuries-old battles that stain the Holy Land with the blood of millions. Generations of unhealed anger, trauma, and pain rage onward endlessly within restless souls, desperate for acknowledgment and resolution.

Dissonance clutches the collective mind, with every ounce of reasoning it can muster.

{Curtains open. Lights on}

MSNBC News War Correspondent Ellison Barber appears at the Israel/Palestine border, adorned in a helmet, and a kevlar vest that says “PRESS”.

“Just in the last 10 minutes or so, we have heard four booms, and then saw the skyline, in the direction of Gaza, light up, as rockets are fired from the Israeli side into Gaza. In the last 2 hours, we have heard jets over in the area, periodically. We have heard an artillery bombardment inside of Gaza, and we have seen rockets fly from inside of Israel, into the direction of Gaza. In terms of the crossing into Egypt, the Rafah crossing, and whether or not it is open, as far as we know right now right now the answer is still no. That is the only option right now, in or out of Gaza for civilians and also for humanitarian aid. The UN says humanitarian aid has not been within Gaza for a week now. The other border crossing that possibly people could use would be the Erez crossing but that goes into Israeli territory. It is not open.

…

“People in Northern Gaza have been told to evacuate into South Gaza. It’s not easy to evacuate South first of all, and if they wanted to then cross through a border into Egypt or try to get into Israeli territories. There are literally no options for them right now. The UN says that Gaza has run out of water and when we’re talking about people moving south, you touched on the fact that there were three convoys carrying people that were targeted as they moved South. There is also a situation there right now where they have run out of fuel. The sole power station there does not have fuel. So if people were trying to get in their cars to leave, that option is gone. Our producer inside Gaza says that 35,000 people are sheltering in the largest hospital in Gaza City right now. Things are likely to get much worse for those civilians, as we have been watching in this area as just a massive amount of military equipment, tanks, and IDF troops all move in the direction of Gaza. There are no civilians in this area here at all. Israel has evacuated just north of the border, all of these communities. But for Palestinians inside of Gaza, civilians, they don’t have anywhere to go, And a lot of them are afraid that if they were to leave, it would be a situation like what happened in the 1940s, what they refer to as the Nakba, where they are not able to come back to their homes.”1

A banner emerges from the rafters.

“Sponsored by Pfizer!”

{Curtains close. Lights dim.}

“Oh my God, they can’t leave…” says a faint voice in the front row.

“This is Hamas’ fault. Not Israel’s!” says another voice, breaking with emotion.

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{Curtains open. Lights on.}

Israel’s President Isaac Herzog takes the stage.

“We are working and operating militarily according to rules of international law. Period. Unequivocally. It’s an entire nation out there that is responsible. It’s not true - this rhetoric about civilians not aware, not involved, it’s absolutely not true. They could have risen up. They could have fought against that evil regime that took over Gaza in a Coup D’etat. But we’re at war. We are at war. We are at war. We are defending our homes. We are protecting our homes. That’s the truth. And when a nation protects its home, it fights. And we will fight until we break their backbone.”2

Western & European politicians one by one, leave their closed-door war rooms & press galleries and make their way to the stage to stand in solidarity with Israel, each taking their turn to stand behind the podium with the blue and white flag just long enough for the press to capture their image. Their public relations representatives rush to create the perfect captions for every social media platform.

Cha-ching.

Orders are placed with central banks. War is the blank cheque every corrupt leader is hungry to cash. Multi-billion dollar arms dealers race to fill staffing and supply needs as billions in weaponry are purchased almost overnight.

A banner appears from the ceiling.

“Blackrock & Lockheed Martin send their gratitude for your purchase.”

{Curtains close. Lights out}

“See! The Israeli government is following international law. They are not committing war crimes!” Yells a voice from the crowd.

“He literally just said the entire nation of Palestine is responsible. That means, he doesn’t see Palestinians as innocent civilians!” retaliated another.

{Curtains open. Lights on}

An Independent Palestinian journalist named Yara takes the stage.

“Today marks the 8th day of the aggression on Gaza. Israel has killed as many Palestinians in this one week, as they killed in 2014 which was an attack that lasted 52 days. Of the 2,200 Palestinians killed this week, 800 of them are children. Children. Not only that, but there are more than 8000 injuries. What’s happening right now is a complete catastrophe. Israel is trying to starve 2.2 million Palestinians in Gaza.3

[What I don’t know yet, as I share this with you, is that within the next 24 hours, I will be hospitalized. 15 of my family members will be killed in Gaza and I will lose consciousness as my heart won’t be able to take the pain.]”

{Curtains close. Lights out.}

The audience begins to erupt in a jumbled brew of reactions. Confusion. Disbelief. Horror. Anger. Grief.

In the darkness, the sound of vomit hits the floor. The thumps of hands walloping against chests as they grasp to hold their shattered hearts together. Pulses pound against the inner ear like war drums as dissonance makes every effort to keep its hold. Moans of grief rise up from the depths of hell itself. Choking sobs pierce the air as people attempt to breathe through their tears. Everyone disrupting in a desperate panic to discern between what’s real and what isn’t.

The parasites in the balconies squirm with discomfort as they exchange glances of concern that perhaps the puppets were seeing something they weren’t supposed to. They put a call to Meta & Big Media to ramp up the censorship and shut down the internet in Gaza. They check their stocks and media ratings. Still okay. For now…

A voice from a corner in the front row seats belts out, “Death to the Jews!” which is quickly rebutted by “Flatten the Gaza strip!” from across the room.

The theatre explodes.

“This is a Pogrom!”

“This is a Nakba!”

“800 dead children are worse than 40 decapitated babies!”

“The 40 decapitated babies was a lie!”

“ANY child harmed or killed in senseless war is inexcusable!”

“This is the result of 75 years of oppression in an open-air prison!”

“This is the result of Palestinians allowing for a terrorist group like Hamas to take form!”

“Jewish children are terrified to go to school!”

“Muslim children are terrified to go to school!”

“America knew this was coming. They bought their stocks!”

“Israel would never willfully allow this to happen to their own people!”

“It was Israel that created Hamas! Just like America created Isis!”

“Hamas are just freedom fighters!”

“So you are okay with the mutilation and rape of women?!”

“What do you think breeds terrorists? Evil! The absence of God! The absence of humanity!”

“Censorship, lack of significance, displacement & a visceral sense of not belonging will always remain at the root of radicalization!”

“Palestine doesn’t even have a basic democracy! They’re like animals!”

“Resistance should never be violent!”

“You’re sympathizing with terrorists!”

“The silence is deafening on social media! I can’t believe it!”

“What would you do if you were imprisoned for 75 years with no one to hear your cries for help?!

“The Jewish community has been through enough!”

“Zionists!”

“Jihadists!”

“Are you even awake?! I thought you were a freedom fighter!”

“Oh, here you go with the #alllivesmatter shit. White people never learn.”

“Why would anyone willingly stay and raise their families in such a ghetto?!”

“A 1st world government would never harm its own people.”

“Where’s your tinfoil hat, you Q Anon freak?”

“Shut up, sheep!”

…

The audience battles with one another in the theatre amidst tears, rage, and a pitiful level of any tangible solutions, other than an attempt to prove the other side wrong and deepen the divide. Some stand up and cross the floor to the opposing section, and start fighting against the people they just shared the same views with only moments prior. Others became quiet because they no longer knew how to defend what they thought they were standing for.

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Quietly, a handful of people from both sides intuitively stand up and take a step back. They meet behind the front rows where they watch the ravenous display of righteousness grip the minds and hearts of the most beautiful, yet unhealed souls, who all actually want the same thing. They exchange looks that communicate without the need for words.

A common understanding.

A knowing.

They glance up at the balconies where the goons are slurping their soup.

“They’ve desensitized us so deeply, that we’re willing to accept genocide as a plausible resolution. Fighting violence with violence, in the name of obliterating violence, only begets more violence.” says one conscious soul.

“They want our sense of normalcy to be rooted in pain and solitude, so we don’t know what it is to come together and thrive in unity.” says another.

“They don’t want us to know that we can heal and that by healing as individuals, we change the future for the collective.”

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The beasts in the balconies settle back in their seats with relief as they see that even a humanitarian crisis of epic proportions and real-time genocide wasn’t enough to unite the world. They carry on chatting about what piece on the chess board to move next if Iran decides to get involved.

One of the beasts pipes in and says, “Silly puppets. They still think these battlefields are over war and religion when all we’ve ever been after are their minds. And of all the weapons they accuse of us purchasing for these wars, they haven’t yet figured out that it’s their hearts we weaponize the most.”

“That’s why we keep them numb and plugged into terror, isn’t it? If they come to know that consciousness is the only way to dismantle our power, we’re all screwed.” Chuckles another beast.

“No, they sure haven’t. How could they, though? We keep them so angry and controlled, that they don’t have the time or space they need to heal. And if they never heal, they’ll never be able to meet their brothers and sisters in the world with neutrality. They’ll just keep begging their governments to do something to make their pain go away, so they don’t have to face their pain on their own.”

“Works like a charm. Can you pass the butter?”

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A note from the author:

This war will flip everything obscure as we know it into the land of lucidity, at a quantum rate of speed. Right now, down is up. Up is down. Right is left. Left is right. Awake is woke. Woke is awake. We’re all a muddled, intersectionalized civilization of unhealed pain and righteousness. But because the veil is lifting, and it is registering en masse, that none of it matters if we don’t right the wrongs within our own hearts. This cycle will continue for the entirety of time itself if we don’t collectively come to this knowing. The hypocrisy of this war is undeniable and even the slickest politicians and state-funded media outlets are beginning to feel the burn of their words and positioning, as their typical supporter bases are upended and inverted in a way that will stump even the most qualified publicists, producers and speech writers. This is providing the ultimate opportunity for open, respectful dialogue, with unlikely groups, that you may all of a sudden see a glimpse of commonality with. Follow this light.

To be awake doesn’t cut it anymore.

Leading from the heart is the new standard.

Consciousness is the standard.

Humanity is the new standard.

While I will always turn my head away from a narrative with curiosity for the story that isn’t being told, to simply awaken to the truth behind a lie, is no longer enough. This is a war on our hearts. It’s those who find their way back to a place of humanity through the deepest levels of healing (even when they discover the most painful truths) who will prevail and lead this new world. If you feel this in your heart, let me know in the comments below. I will keep the comments on.

To conclude, know that I am willing to be misunderstood, particularly by those who have not understood what it means to open one’s heart. That’s okay. I signed up to be a protector of the earth’s children. And so I have to challenge myself with how my actions today, contribute to their world tomorrow.

I respect your view if you believe this will all go away when Hamas releases its hostages. I respectfully share that I believe this will only end once Palestine is liberated from their occupation. As it is this occupation, that has bred these radicalized monsters. We can banter back and forth about what happened in 1948, what countries or governing bodies were involved, what was offered and what was accepted or declined, etc. We can even banter back and forth about how the blood-ridden conflict extends even centuries prior. None of it matters because the cry of liberation is what’s at the root of the Palestinian rage. Even if none of us outside the barbed wire fences that surround Palestine correctly understand history, it is liberation they have been pleading for, and decades of suppression have resulted in violent lunacy. It doesn’t make it right, I know…

But the truth is, regardless of where I feel the logistical root of this war lies, I see only one side to stand in solidarity with.

Humanity.

Terrorism is wrong.

Genocide is wrong.

If you perceive my writing as anything other than being rooted in love, and calling for peace and ceasefire across the board, then I can only hope you recognize the pain in your own heart, so it can be given the opportunity to heal. We’re being called to lead, live, and love on a new level. I can only hope to meet you there.

XO

Sarah

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https://www.msnbc.com/msnbc/watch/death-toll-in-the-thousands-as-israel-hamas-war-hits-one-week-mark-195399237894

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