Love’s Circus

Step right up and see Love at work here. The price of admission you ask? Only your vulnerability – the willingness to fall face first onto the pavement in front of thousands. Can you handle it? Are you strong enough?

Love is not for sissies… She holds no punches in the arena.

You will be pummeled. And oh, you will be adored too. Caressed to the point of aching. Held in a grasp so strong that Safe beats a happy tattoo in your heart. And you never want to move again.

Will you make the investment? Ride the highs? Risk the lows? Are you willing to throw yourself into the great circus ring called Love?

I’m sorry we cannot tell you what you’ll encounter.

There are no guarantees in Love’s Circus. You could draw the straw that is more grief than bliss. You might pull the one that sends you spiraling off into the clouds ecstatic with joy.

There is only a single certainty here and it’s this – once you throw your heart into the arena, there’s no going back, Sister. You’re all in. No refunds. No exchanges. No amount of howling will set you free if you don’t like the lot you pull. Love will take you for the ride you cannot stop. Chew you up, and spit you out, only when she’s ready.

I know you’ve seen the people leaving the arena with bright eyes, and star-kissed smiles. You’ve also seen the ones dragging their disemboweled bellies across the floor, crusted and caked with debris – the ones that hardly seem human after Love’s had her way with them.

And yet, you might be surprised to know those disemboweled folk are our best customers. No matter how many times love kicks their ass in the arena, they return. Queue up here just as you have. Willingly turn over the price of admission. Enter the big tent, step over the railing, and dive headlong into the next adventure. I suspect you’re one of those types. I’d know. I am too. I can tell by a certain kind of steely glint in the eye. Love’s ripped your guts out and you’re back for another hit.

Welcome, Sister, welcome. Let me hold the curtain for your courageous ass as you cross the threshold.

ABOUT SHANNON CROSSMAN

Shannon Crossman learned the hard way that untapped creative energy casts a helluva shadow, so she crafts her sanity with her hands daily. Nothing excites (or frustrates) her more than a blank page, fresh ball of yarn, or pile of foodstuffs, all waiting to be transformed into bits of deliciousness. Words are, and have always been, her way back home. She is a writer, artist, technical wizard, public speaker, witch, priestess, gluten-free baker, time-bender, and COO who happens to possess a degree in Transpersonal & Somatic Psychology. She’s a mama and grandma to a gaggle of wild girls who make her heart happy. When she’s out in the business world she’s figuring out how to make things faster, more efficient, and automating the hell out automating the hell out of sh*t. Shannon still believes in magic, craves the ocean like a land-locked mermaid, and dreams of a life without shoes.