Rules of Engagement
Redemptive Beauty, Christina Mokwa + Katherine Alt (2025)
Digital collage
Rules of Engagement
(or, about the space)
I'll be honest: I have no idea how the hell to start this blog. I'm not a fan of trigger warnings. I've always felt the meaning and method of art is to affront — that the creation of true art is antithetical to comfort.
The art that moves me most consciously carves out a space — within physical space, but also within the soul and psyche, that serves as a pattern disruptor –– antagonistic to previous ways of thinking, being, or living.
That’s what I’ve always dreamed of making.
But to do that, I realized — as someone obsessed with systemization and lists, perceived limits and structure — I’d have to first create this within myself. A place for transfiguration and transmutation — for solidity and silence, challenge and change — to allow vulnerability to guide my vision.
Equal parts home, stage, and confessional.
That’s what I’m attempting to do, insofar as I can divine what this space may become. I want whoever is present here to understand the rationale behind my writing — what it is in service to, and what it will not stand for. Beyond that, I’ll allow an intelligent population to make its own judgments.
Put another way, I need to delineate the rule set for our time together: what you can come to expect from me, as your simultaneous co-creator and guide.
What I should tell you now is that if you're looking for debaucherous tales of death and desire, prepare to be disappointed –– you've come to the wrong place.
There are myriad places online where you can find that sort of thing — and many do. But that’s not what this place is for: self-aggrandizing, salacious, or sensationalized stories.
This little blog — the one I’ve spent years creating, curating, cultivating — quietly and determinedly — is a hallway in my heart — a gallery for pieces of exuberant expression. And though I wouldn’t say it’s going to be pious, it is, in fact, going to be pure.
What do I mean by pure? I mean unreservedly myself. Parts that matter to me, and I hope, matter to you. My sensitivity in service to myself, and other people.
I sincerely believe our awakening, our anti-fragility, is based on a kind of determined directionality — a conscious confrontation with our ever-evolving soul matter. An innate drive in us –– a force of furious focus –– manifest in the form of voracious curiosity, an irrefutable, inalienable relationship with our own will — that connects us on this plane. A striving that –– at its best, makes those of us possessed by this spirit all the more loving –– all the more compassionate.
I hope this space is enlightened as it is irreverent.
At this juncture, I’m no longer wishing to please anyone. No longer afraid of what anyone will say or do in response to what I share. Frankly and respectfully, reader — not even you.
The truth is, I’ve found this human incarnation equal parts incandescent and excruciating. The cost of my attunement was a deep desire to honor the concerns and considerations of the people around me — to the detriment of my own voice.
I’m no longer willing to make that sacrifice.
This blog will serve as a patch of lightness. A place of joy and humor, of balance and breath, as I take on heavier work behind the scenes. I hope this space: of creation, of femininity, of play — brings you, in small part, something your soul calls for, and calls forth — something of healing. Something you need.
Let's get to the rules — and remember, you’ve been warned. If you're going to be here, you've got to play nicely.
Rule 1: This is a place for telling thE truth
I understand that on some level, any attempt to delineate the nature of truth as fundamental can be debated, objected to, and successfully argued in directions ad infinitum. I feel truth is subjective, at least to a degree — the idea of an agreeable, universal, objective shared moment, or future, is just a comforting lie we collectively comport.
While I can reflect endlessly on the nature of reality –– and its inherent flexibility and changeability as a perspective-based parallax –– what matters in the context of our relationship is that I need you to know, in no uncertain terms, that what you will be receiving will be mine.
My essence, unadulterated. Unaffected by the pursuit of perfection. Sharing as a sacred act.
Sacred does not mean untouchable, or universally flattering. These most precious perennial questions that have defined my life — of sex, death, rebirth, religion, psychedelics, suffering, the nature of love and its myriad manifestations — are up for debate and discussion. And, for the first time, I am willing to engage their immensity with the humility and honesty they inherently demand.
There are few things that bring me to life like the art of intelligent, curious conversation. Détente only made possible through the delicate work of empathetically-directed discourse. But that, specifically, is to be explored via other arenas and avenues of my work.
I have no attachment to any agreement from you, or some shared sense of belief. I’m not here to convert you to my ways of thinking, being, living, or loving. I don’t believe I have that power. Even if I did, it’s not the way I intend to wield my spirit. My truest hope is that my work stewards awareness and awe at the spectacular gift of our aliveness. Radiant, fraught.
This space is where I begin to birth my truth. If you'd like to dialogue, discuss, or debate, I'd welcome an interview request or direct message from you. But this space, the one I’m formally inviting you into, is my home. Behave accordingly.
Rule 2: This is a place of challenge
Unlike the vast majority of the internet, keen to sell you on a polished, predetermined image of perceived success, I am not here under the premise of that false promise.
My own awakening — to myself, to the world, to my spirit — was spontaneous. Though the ground from which it emerged was cultivated and cherished for many years, it is not something that can be given — though it can be shared.
You can explore the warm, beating chambers of my heart through my words, through my work, through the sensitivity and spirit of language — but there’s nothing I can sell you to make it better. This is the one thing the vast majority of those who inhabit and traverse spiritual spaces won’t tell you.
What many will never say, will never admit, is that they are not the way. None of us are intermediaries to the divine. We are each our own way.
The most emotionally and intellectually challenging element of my work is chronicling my own divine unwinding. Waking up to enoughness, to completeness, to wholeness. Which is drastically different than this culture’s penchant for pursuing a constructed idealization of contentment. Packaged and sold wholesale. Static, stagnant, and usually –– sleight of hand.
The truth is — my hands are open with the only true gift I can offer you –– an ancient currency –– my own story. Perhaps creating a container, a spaciousness of soul, a place of peace and presence –– allowing some semblance of clarity to emerge.
I simply will not open my heart for anything less. The tawdry and transactional will not be tolerated.
That’s why I’m never going to sell you, sell us. There is nothing to sell you, teach you. And sure, I might write books. You can pick those up if you’d like. But you should know — I didn’t write them so you would buy them.
I wrote them because they were inside of me — and they needed to be written.
I know this confession goes against all manner of traditional wisdom. It may not be perceived by some as prudent, pragmatic, or practical. But, that does not matter to me, or negate the nature of truth.
There is no singular solution. The gods coming to save us are us. Our courage and compassion are all we have.
The only questions left to us are deceptive in their seeming simplicity –– if we wish to live with open eyes, how penetratingly are we prepared to look? How willing are we to courageously confront what we may find? How, through this divine seeing, can we bear to be in presence with all beings compassionately –– without reservation or exception?
To look is not easy. It requires an adventurer’s constitution –– unflinching and uncompromising in the face of fear.
If you feel called to be here, be here.
Rule 3: I cannot save you
For as long as I can remember, I've been hungry to know –– to understand. And, as much as a diverse framework has held and supported me in the context of my conquest for intellectual consummation –– understanding is utterly different than consumption. In this generation, information, knowledge, and wisdom are often equated. But information is simply data, divest of deeper meaning. Knowledge is understanding connection between diverse, divergent spaces. And wisdom –– the most prized of the three –– often goes unnoticed, perhaps because of its perceived lack of modern utility.
Wisdom, that direct and continual dialogue with the divine, lights me inside. But, restoring it came at great personal cost. And if you, like me, have suffered profoundly –– as much as chosen systems and structures have supported you: those of functional knowledge, of beauty, of art, of communication, of human nature –– there comes a point where we can only consume so much, and are moved to act. This is where things get messy, but this is also where the truest art is made.
Art is made in activity, in living, vulnerably –– bravely. In my case, with a blunt tongue and a clenched jaw. With a forever tight fist and bloody teeth. At least, up until very recently.
This is how I choose to save myself. Through elegant entanglements with the ecstatic. Through the willingness to surrender. Through absolute acceptance of reality. Through facing my most fundamental fear, being seen –– in all of my fallibility and fragility.
My own place in this great cosmic comedy is as speaker, seeker, and storyteller –– and occasional mischief maker –– but never savior.
I refuse the role of the hero –– false, convenient, unidimensional. Not to mention canonically dull and terribly tragic.
My hope is, in the face of the incandescent, insufferable pain of being human, you move to a place where you can also find what saves you.
That you consciously determine the role you play. That you never delegate or disregard the sacred duty of discovering your own dharma. Not to me, or anyone.
Most of all, that you can find the teaching in joy –– a practice that is, arguably, more difficult to master. Where we can find value in all the variations and shades of our human shadow.
Rule 4: I have no interest in performing
The icons that I most admire — Adyashanti, David Bowie, James Baldwin — have no interest in being anyone other than exactly who they are.
No more, no less.
Implicit in the idea of performing is the creation of a veneer other than self — a created space of separation, of safety, between self and other. A stopgap of inauthenticity that can be felt, can be tasted — like pressure in the air.
I have never been, and will never be, interested in living my life that way. There may be a thousand preconceived notions of me — more. Though, I don't really even deign to think about them. I don't consider it my concern — what other people think of me.
I am, however, very keenly focused on what I believe to be my responsibility: to see myself — and then to act in accordance with the desires of that spirit. To be myself — unreservedly, unabashedly — with joy, and pleasure, and play — in celebration, but also in grief.
That's who I'm determined to be, while I'm here.
There’s a part of me that balks at this. At its simplicity. At its boldness.
This space is for the child no one would speak to. The one who was almost always alone. Who watched the world go by –– making herself a home within her own mind. The one with an eye ever-turned toward the future –– holding her heart close. Knowing that someday she would tell these stories, if she did not die.
Now, I open the door. I hug her. I sit her in front of the sunshine-stained window. Let her finish the last piece of cake. Allow he to laugh as loudly as she wants — no longer afraid of who will come into her bedroom.
I don’t hide her tears, or the sharpness that kept her alive. Most of all, I let her live.
I let her write — here.
I'm not in the practice of promising false perfection. There's something perverse about it, isn’t there? Something sickly sour about what so many of us are selling each other now. An artificiality. A proxy of true beauty — with noses too straight, smiles too perfect –– so much so that they repel.
I don't find anything interesting in that — or challenging — in that. I don't find anything that intrigues me. And so, that is not what I'm going to offer you.
What you'll see in my work is a diversity and depth of human experience. Places I have fallen and been hurt. Ways in which I've moved through the world — sometimes, with grace. Other times, when I was consumed with wrath and vengeance and an acidic, corrosive kind of hatred — an inner cauterization of mouth, heart, and tongue.
I promise not to hide from you. I don't think that's brave. And, more importantly, I don't think that’s useful. Because I am not performing, you may feel a sense of the uncanny — something disconcerting or not quite right. I ask you not to be afraid. To be open to receive this kind of vulnerability, as I am no longer afraid to give it.
Rule 5: I am subject to change
Fluidity of thought is something I've always valued. Blind loyalty –- to a perspective, to a person, to any former version of ourselves –- digging our heels in just for the sake of continuity –– is not consistency. It’s intractability. It’s idolatry.
I am someone who, naturally, is incredibly polarizing. And who, for this reason, once lived a fundamentally bifurcated life. I now refuse the limitations of such a life –– of shallow, prescribed perspective. Consider this blog an earnest attempt to embrace the grey I once eschewed.
I reject the intellectual laziness of cynicism –– and the contrived, temporary comfort found in black-and-white thinking. My views are quite strong. Informed by a youth cutting my teeth on the edges of my own humanity, seeking out extremes of experience in order to suss out the larger order of things –– who I was, where I fit, and what I stood for.
My feeling was that I would only find my center by exploring the extremes. I've always been obsessed with the idea of limits. Why they exist, who made them, and how they can be elegantly broken. Not for the sake of breaking, but for the sake of something better. My soul is my own to steward, and though I am deeply driven and loyal, I am wedded to nothing –– least of all what is expected of me.
For these reasons, there is very little I am neutral about.
I find tradition, on the whole, tired –– and often lacking in structural value –– an invisible, omnipresent force that does nothing but enslave, repress, or inculcate. Though I hold exceptionally strong views, I leave myself open to the ability to change. To the possibility and presentation of evidence contrary to my own belief.
As an artist, I do not know what I will become –– though I know what my dreams are. I may explore many forms of media –– of creation. I'm invested more in the pursuit than the concretization of any singular product or outcome.
That’s because I know my body, my spirit, my words, my voice, my love –– these are my power. These are my art. These are my legacy.
As such, what I create, and who I become, are subject to change. If any of these iterations of being make you uncomfortable, or are not your cup of tea –– you’re free to exit gently. Take what serves you and leave the rest.
Understand that if you stay, you will be challenged. That this is a place of transfiguration –– my personal place of transfiguration. That what you once held within your heart as immovable may be irrefutably shaken, irrevocably changed –– a part of you unable to unsee.
These are my terms of engagement. These are my requirements of presence. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like. You choose.
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*Written work by Christina Mokwa – © Christina Mokwa/Mokwa LLC/Mokwa Creative Company
