I shared how a friend once said to me: “I’m so happy with you.”
That one little word—with—changed everything.

It showed me the difference between standing outside someone’s experience and stepping inside it. Between sympathy and resonance.

That, I’ve come to see, is the difference between witness and withness.

Most people think of pain as something to avoid. But here’s the truth I learned long ago: pain is just sensation with a story layered on top.

As an erotic masochist, I trained my body to stay open to pain. To soften into a whip strike instead of contracting. To ride the intensity until my mind rewrote the story: not danger, but aliveness. Sometimes even pleasure.

It was a survival skill. It was also a spiritual initiation.

When I shared my excitement about completing the recording for the Flesh & Flame audiobook, a friend responded with something so simple, yet so profound:

“I’m so happy with you.”

Not for you.
Not at you.
But with you.

That one little word shifted everything.

We’ve all heard of the trust fall. You close your eyes. Cross your arms. Let yourself drop backward and hope—pray—that someone catches you before you hit the ground.

It’s a meaningful exercise for corporate retreats and summer camp, but let’s be honest: it’s also how many of us have been conditioned to experience life.

There comes a point on the path where you stop obsessing over what needs to be healed... and start anchoring into who you're becoming.

Most people are taught to measure their growth by how much pain they’ve transmuted, how many shadows they’ve dragged into the light, or how many hours they’ve spent in the emotional trenches, pulling apart trauma responses and healing the past.

But what if that isn’t the only way?

There was a time I didn’t know how to receive touch without contracting, let alone to receive worship.
Not because it wasn’t offered—but because I had been taught to fear that depth of attention.

When I first started allowing myself to open to deeper pleasure—to really take in the invitation from lovers to receive and be cherished—it felt selfish.
Dangerous, even.

There’s a moment in every good video game when the player realizes they’re not just reacting to the terrain—they’re shaping it.

I believe the same is true in life.

Most people live like non-playable characters (NPCs) in their own storyline—moving through pre-scripted reactions, unconsciously obeying the code handed to them by culture, family, trauma, or fear. But what if this whole reality is a game you designed before you ever hit “start”?

We’ve all heard it: “If it’s not a fuck yes, it’s a no.”

It sounds wise. Empowered. Even spiritual.
And yes—there’s truth in it.
But if I had waited for my body to be a fuck yes in every important decision I’ve ever made, my life would be so much smaller than it is now.

When we talk about pleasure, most people think of the obvious: sex, touch, climax, indulgence. The big stuff. The fireworks.

But pleasure doesn’t always announce itself that way.

Sometimes it whispers. Sometimes it arrives not as heat or intensity, but as relief.
The slow unfurling of a body that finally feels safe to be felt.
The quiet exhale that says, I don’t have to fight right now.

Erotic Mystic. Pleasure-Coded Oracle. Timeline Activator.

I am Sharon Marie Scott.
I am a remembrance embodied. A living oracle of the turned-on life.

I’ve been called many powerful things—healer, mentor, sage, high priestess.
But the deeper truth?
I’m a Timeline Activator.

Maybe you’ve been exhausted lately. Feeling burnt out.

What if those sensations really just mean you’re overdo for reconnection—

With yourself.
With what lights you up. With your turn-on.

They say the body never lies, but mine learned to stay silent by age six.
Not because it had nothing to say—but because every time it spoke, it was punished.

As an adult, I thought there was something wrong with me. I wanted pleasure. I craved intimacy. But every time I got close to it—truly close—my body would short-circuit.

It didn’t matter how loving the partner was, how sexy the moment, or how badly I wanted to feel.