Sleeping Beauty & The Sacred Union Within: Awakening the Divine Feminine Through Devotion

There’s a reason stories like Sleeping Beauty stick.

It’s not the romance. It’s not the magic. It’s not even the kiss.

It’s because somewhere, buried beneath layers of childhood nostalgia and commercialised fairy tale fluff, there’s a code in this story — a sacred map, etched into the mythos of our soul.

A transmission about the feminine.

About what happened to her.

About why so many of us feel… disconnected from her.

And about what it’s going to take — not from the outside, but from within — to wake her the f*ck up.

For years, this story didn’t mean much to me. I knew it, like everyone does. But I didn’t see it. Not until I was deep in my own journey of spiritual crisis, soul retrieval, and waking up from the collective amnesia that had kept me operating in wounded masculine templates, even while “doing the work.”

Then, one day, I heard it again — the Sleeping Beauty story — but through the lens of someone who saw through it, who decoded it as a piece of soul architecture. And it clicked.

This wasn’t a fairy tale.

It was a prophecy.

And like all real myths, it’s not something that happened once upon a time. It’s something happening now — in us, through us, and all around us.

This is a story about the feminine being put to sleep by a spell. And about the masculine finally maturing enough to break it.

Not with force.

Not with performance.

But with presence. With devotion. With sacred fire in the heart.

And this story isn’t just about gender. It’s about the polarities inside each of us. The inner masculine. The inner feminine. And the child within us all who’s still waiting for the world to make sense again.

This is a love story.

Not a romantic one — a cosmic one.

The kind that lives in your bones. The kind you’re here to remember.

Let’s begin.

The Hidden Truth of Sleeping Beauty

We’ve all heard the story.

Princess. Curse. Sleep. Kiss. Wake up. Happily ever after.

It’s been playing in our subconscious since before we could speak. Served up with sugary animation and saccharine endings that distract you from the actual transmission buried inside.

Because if you slow down… if you strip back the glitter… what you find isn’t a love story.

It’s a map.

A coded manuscript on the sacred feminine, the wounded masculine, and the war that’s been raging between them for centuries — inside of you.

So let’s look again, properly this time.

A barren king and queen — representing the dried-up masculine and the forgotten feminine — finally conceive. And of course, it takes a frog (that liminal, watery, intuitive, feminine animal) leaping from the Queen’s bath to deliver the message. That’s divine mother coding 101. The soul’s voice from the depths.

The child arrives — beauty incarnate — and they throw a banquet.

Twelve golden plates. Twelve fairies. Twelve blessings.

But there’s a problem.

The 13th is left out.

And she is the crone, the hag, the dark feminine. She is menstruation and rage, childbirth and grief, sacred chaos and raw power — everything the polished palace can’t deal with. So they don’t invite her.

And like all things repressed, she comes anyway.

Not to destroy. But to remind.

She places the curse: at the height of her blooming, on the threshold of her womanhood, the girl will bleed — and everything will fall asleep.

Sound familiar?

Because that’s what happened.

To her. To you. To all of us.

The feminine was banished, feared, sanitised. And with her exile came a deep unconscious sleep. A slumber of the soul. A kingdom lulled into numbness — dreaming of freedom while choking on control.

One fairy softens the curse. It won’t be death. Just… waiting.

A hundred years. The end of an age.

And then?

A prince comes. But not just any prince — the new masculine. Not the one who conquers, forces, rips the tower apart in conquest. No. He waits. He listens. He is moved by her, even before she stirs. The brambles let him pass. Nature knows. He’s ready.

And he doesn’t take. He offers.

A kiss — not of possession, but of recognition.

And with it, she wakes.

Not because she needs him to complete her — but because he carries the frequency of remembrance. He sees her. He honours her. He holds the field so she can rise, fully, as herself.

And here’s the kicker: when she wakes, the whole kingdom wakes.

Because this isn’t just her story.

It’s the body.

The Earth.

The inner feminine in every one of us — no matter your gender. It’s your body. It’s your soul.

The part that’s been waiting.

Not to be rescued.

But to be met.

And the brambles? They were never the enemy. They were a test. A boundary. A filter. To see who was ready to meet her with reverence, not entitlement.

This is the real magic.

The sacred union within.

The moment when the soul stops outsourcing its power and starts remembering the code written in its own bones.

And the real “happily ever after”? It’s not a wedding.

It’s the return of the King and Queen within.

It’s the end of separation.

And the beginning of creation.

What This Story Actually Means (If You’re Ready to Hear It)

Sleeping Beauty isn’t just a fairytale.

She’s the part of you that went to sleep when the world told you it was safer to be silent than to be sovereign.

She’s not weak. She’s not passive. She’s not lazy.

She was cursed.

Bound.

Cut off.

Buried beneath generations of control, collective trauma, institutionalised guilt, sexual shame, cultural conditioning, and centuries of patriarchal strategy so sophisticated that most people still think this is about a girl waiting for a boy.

No.

Sleeping Beauty is the true feminine — the wild, intuitive, body-based current of aliveness that feels everything and knows the truth without needing proof.

She doesn’t wake herself — not because she’s powerless, but because the curse was cast against her awakening.

And the curse was upheld by systems, beliefs, and inner architecture that still run deep in your psyche.

That whisper: stay small. Don’t speak. Be pretty, be pleasing, don’t bleed too loud, don’t feel too much, and definitely don’t want more.

And here’s the uncomfortable truth:

She can’t free herself.

That’s not disempowerment.

That’s design.

Because this story is a map of sacred union — of how healing actually works. Of how awakening actually happens.

And for her to rise, the other part must come to meet her.

The true masculine.

Not the performative alpha. Not the faux-spiritual “king.” Not the part of you still hustling for worthiness, still trying to control everything it doesn’t understand.

No — the devoted masculine.

The stillness.

The presence.

The part of you that listens, not to fix, but to feel.

That walks through the forest not to conquer the feminine, but to remember her.

That holds her, not to own her, but to awaken her.

He doesn’t charge in with bravado.

He doesn’t need applause.

He walks with reverence.

He waits for her breath.

And when he finds her — he doesn’t grab. He offers.

And the castle lets him pass.

The thorns — which tore the others to shreds — soften into rose petals. Because she knows the difference. Nature knows the difference.

This isn’t metaphor.

This is your story.

It’s the masculine part of you — your own consciousness — finally matured enough to journey back into the parts of yourself that have been exiled.

The parts that shut down when you were too sensitive.

Too sexual.

Too emotional.

Too much.

The parts that curled up and went to sleep because it was safer than being burned for your light.

And this is what sacred union really is.

Not a Hallmark twin flame story with matching tattoos and Instagram-worthy cacao ceremonies.

It’s the inner masculine finally anchoring enough presence… to love the feminine back into being.

To kiss her with devotion.

To meet her with humility.

To let her lead — not because she’s above him, but because they’re equal… and he remembers.

This is the real story.

This is what the fairytale never said out loud.

And if you’re still reading —

it’s because part of you is ready to remember it.

The Feminine Cannot Save Herself

Let’s drop the surface-level interpretation right here.

This isn’t about men and women.

It’s about energies.

It’s about archetypes.

It’s about what’s playing out inside of you — right now — whether you’re in a boardroom, a bedroom, a breakdown, or a forest.

We all carry both.

The divine feminine.

The divine masculine.

And yet… for lifetimes, one has been revered. The other… regulated.

The masculine — at least the distorted version we’ve all internalised — was given the throne.

He was given the microphone, the weapons, the doctrine.

He got to call the feminine “crazy.”

He got to burn her at the stake.

He got to tell her when to speak, how to feel, what to wear, and what parts of herself were acceptable.

The feminine?

She got locked up in the attic of the collective psyche.

She got labelled as “too emotional,” “too intense,” “too loud,” “too wild,” “too needy,” “too slutty,” “too spiritual,” “too soft,” “too sensitive,” “too much.”

She was too everything —

So they told her to be nothing.

And we wonder why she went to sleep?

But here’s what most people miss — and here’s what the story of Sleeping Beauty is trying to tell us:

She cannot save herself.

Not because she’s incapable.

Not because she’s less.

But because the curse is collective — and the curse lives within the masculine psyche.

She went to sleep because he wasn’t ready.

Because his fear still had the steering wheel.

Because his nervous system couldn’t handle the frequency she carries when she’s fully awake.

So she waited.

Not in passivity.

In protection.

Because when the feminine wakes up — truly wakes up — she doesn’t just make pretty gardens and sensual moans.

She remembers.

She remembers her power. Her purpose. Her magic. Her rage. Her tenderness. Her voice. Her ability to channel God through her hips and her hands and her howl at midnight.

And unless the masculine is ready to honour that, to witness that without trying to cage it, sedate it, shame it or monetise it —

She stays asleep.

This is the key to sacred union.

The divine masculine is not here to dominate her.

He’s not here to tame her.

He’s not here to seduce her back into service.

He’s here to set her free.

And that kind of masculine?

He doesn’t show up with a checklist.

He doesn’t ride in wearing armour and needing applause.

He arrives steady.

Humble.

Awake.

Capable of stillness.

Capable of holding space for the full spectrum of life that pours through her.

Capable of kissing her awake — not with lust, not with entitlement — but with reverence.

That’s the masculine the world is calling for.

That’s the masculine the feminine is waiting for.

That’s the masculine you’re here to become —

whether you identify as man, woman, or something far vaster.

And when that happens?

The inner war ends.

The spell breaks.

The kingdom wakes up.

And love, finally, becomes sovereign again.

The Kingdom Wakes When She Wakes

Let’s drop the surface-level interpretation right here.

This isn’t about men and women.

It’s about energies.

It’s about archetypes.

It’s about what’s playing out inside of you — right now — whether you’re in a boardroom, a bedroom, a breakdown, or a forest.

We all carry both.

The divine feminine.

The divine masculine.

And yet… for lifetimes, one has been revered. The other… regulated.

The masculine… at least the distorted version we’ve all internalised… was given the throne.

He was given the microphone, the weapons, the doctrine.

He got to call the feminine “crazy.”

He got to burn her at the stake.

He got to tell her when to speak, how to feel, what to wear, and what parts of herself were acceptable.

The feminine?

She got locked up in the attic of the collective psyche.

She got labelled as “too emotional,” “too intense,” “too loud,” “too wild,” “too needy,” “too slutty,” “too spiritual,” “too soft,” “too sensitive,” “too much.”

She was too everything…

So they told her to be nothing.

And we wonder why she went to sleep?

But here’s what most people miss — and here’s what the story of Sleeping Beauty is trying to tell us:

She cannot save herself.

Not because she’s incapable.

Not because she’s less.

But because the curse is collective — and the curse lives within the masculine psyche.

She went to sleep because he wasn’t ready.

Because his fear still had the steering wheel.

Because his nervous system couldn’t handle the frequency she carries when she’s fully awake.

So she waited.

Not in passivity.

In protection.

Because when the feminine wakes up — truly wakes up — she doesn’t just make pretty gardens and sensual moans.

She remembers.

She remembers her power. Her purpose. Her magic. Her rage. Her tenderness. Her voice. Her ability to channel God through her hips and her hands and her howl at midnight.

And unless the masculine is ready to honour that, to witness that without trying to cage it, sedate it, shame it or monetise it —

She stays asleep.

This is the key to sacred union.

The divine masculine is not here to dominate her.

He’s not here to tame her.

He’s not here to seduce her back into service.

He’s here to set her free.

And that kind of masculine?

He doesn’t show up with a checklist.

He doesn’t ride in wearing armour and needing applause.

He arrives steady.

Humble.

Awake.

Capable of stillness.

Capable of holding space for the full spectrum of life that pours through her.

Capable of kissing her awake — not with lust, not with entitlement — but with reverence.

That’s the masculine the world is calling for.

That’s the masculine the feminine is waiting for.

That’s the masculine you’re here to become —

whether you identify as man, woman, or something far vaster.

And when that happens?

The inner war ends.

The spell breaks.

The kingdom wakes up.

And love, finally, becomes sovereign again.

Final Thoughts From Stephen James: This Is the Real Work Now

You don’t need to be able to pronounce Sanskrit to awaken your soul.

You don’t need to know your 12th-dimensional light grid from your lymphatic system.

You don’t need a guru. Or a new personality.

But you do need to start listening.

Listening — not with your ears.

But with your body.

With your breath.

With the parts of you that ache and swell and throb and shiver when truth brushes up against you.

Start there.

Listen to the way your body contracts when something is out of alignment.

Listen to the way your tears fall when no one’s looking.

Listen to your dreams — the ones you have while sleeping, and the ones you buried to survive.

Listen to the soft voice — maybe she’s been whispering for years. Maybe she’s screaming now.

She’s not crazy. She’s trying to remember something you promised you’d never forget.

This isn’t about “performing femininity” or “projecting masculinity.”

It’s not about labels or aesthetics or trying to tick spiritual boxes.

This is about dissolving the social theatre — the roles you inherited, the armour you wore — and remembering the original energies.

The divine feminine is not soft for your comfort.

She is fierce for your freedom.

She is chaos with a compass.

She is nourishment and destruction, sensuality and sovereignty. She births worlds… but only when she’s safe enough to open.

The divine masculine is not bravado and bark.

He is presence.

He is integrity in motion.

The one who says:

“I see you.”

“I hear you.”

“I will not run from your depths.”

“I am ready now… not to control you, but to hold you.”

And the feminine — in all of us — responds:

“I have been waiting.”

This is sacred union.

Not just with another… but within.

So no, you don’t need to “master” your chakras overnight.

But you do need to come home.

To your felt sense.

To the intelligence inside your skin.

To the parts of you that have been locked away for too long.

This is not about fighting.

It’s not about fixing.

It’s about feeling — and reclaiming the treasure that was buried beneath the shame.

If you’re ready to walk that path — in devotion, not performance — then you’re ready for this next chapter.

If something stirred while reading this, if something cracked open, even just a little… then I invite you to go deeper.

My book is here for that. So is the path.

Big love,

SJ