Randy (TheShiftingBard)
Bio
Author, Gamer, and Designer. Brand name: TheShiftingBard. A single father and outdoorsman who has spent some time traveling and exploring. Always a new place to explore or an adventure to be had! https://kick.com/theshiftingbard
Stories (18)
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Dust and Resilience: The Hardships of Living Off-Grid in the High Desert. Content Warning.
The city had been a cage, its bars forged from fluorescent lights, endless deadlines, and a $1,800-a-month mortgage that felt like a noose around my neck. I was Keri, 25 years old, a marketing graduate with a gym-toned body from daily runs, but my spirit was wilting under the weight of a life I never wanted. Sixty-hour weeks in a glass tower, air conditioning humming at a sterile 68°F, and the constant buzz of notifications on my phone—it was a script I hadn't written, a life of marriage, mortgages, and monotony that society expected me to follow. But I felt the earth's pulse beneath the concrete, a whisper of something wilder, something truer. I was a nature witch, a druid in the making, my magic stirring in my blood, yearning for a place where I could learn from the land itself. The high desert called to me—a rugged expanse near the New Mexico border, 40 acres of sand and sage, close to Indian reservations and the haunting remnants of the Old Salt City ghost mine, where salt had once been king and spirits still lingered. I knew I had to go.The decision to leave wasn't easy. I'd been "successful" by the city's standards—a steady job pulling in $60k a year, a house I'd bought for $260k, a sedan worth $12k, and furniture that had cost me $1,500 (a couch for $150, a bed for $200, a TV for $300). I even had a guitar I'd played in college, worth $300, and a childhood ring, a small silver band with a moonstone, valued at $500. But those things were anchors, tying me to a life that felt like a slow death. I sold it all, liquidating everything in a whirlwind of garage sales, online listings, and tearful goodbyes. The house went for its full $260k, the sedan for $12k, the furniture for $1,500, the guitar for $300, and the ring for $500—netting me $274k after fees. I spent $15k of that on my new life: $10k for the 40 acres, $3k for a beat-up truck that could handle the desert's rough terrain, and $2k on gear to survive off-grid. The rest I banked, a safety net for the unknown, though I knew the desert wouldn't care about my savings. It would test me in ways I couldn't yet imagine.Packing up was an emotional gauntlet. I stood in my stripped-down house, the walls bare, the echoes of my old life bouncing off the hardwood floors. I packed my sketchbook, its pages filled with drawings of forests and moons, a reminder of the magic I'd always felt but never fully explored. The movers came for my cedar chest, a family heirloom I couldn't take, and I watched them carry it away, my throat tight with grief. That last night, I sat on the floor of my empty bedroom, clutching a photo of my mom, her smile a bittersweet anchor to the life I was leaving. I mailed her heirloom necklace back to her—a delicate chain with a jade pendant—knowing I couldn't carry its weight into the desert. I sobbed, the sound raw in the empty space, but as I wiped my tears, I felt a spark of something new: terror, yes, but also a fierce, wild aliveness I hadn't felt in years. I whispered a spell with the small quartz crystal I'd brought, a $10 talisman I'd bought at a metaphysical shop in the city. "Spirits of the earth, give me courage," I murmured, holding the crystal to my chest, feeling its cool energy pulse against my skin. The city faded as I drove away, the skyline shrinking in my rearview mirror, my heart pounding with the promise of freedom.The drive to the desert was long, the truck rattling over highways and then dirt roads, the air growing drier with every mile. I arrived at my 40 acres just as the sun hit its peak, the thermometer in my truck reading 105°F at 2 p.m. The land stretched out before me, a rugged expanse of mesquite and rocky dirt, dotted with sagebrush that shimmered in the heat. In the distance, I could see the crumbling ruins of the Old Salt City ghost mine, its salt-crusted remnants a testament to a boom-and-bust history, the air around it humming with the whispers of spirits. I stepped out of the truck, my boots crunching on the parched earth, and felt the land's energy surge through me—a sharp, ancient pulse that made my magic stir. I knelt, pressing my hands to the ground, and whispered a spell of welcome. "Spirits of this land, I am Keri, a witch seeking to learn from you. Accept me, guide me, teach me." The sagebrush rustled in response, its energy protective and wary, but I felt a tentative acceptance, a promise that the desert would be my teacher if I proved myself worthy.I'd packed smart, knowing I'd be far from stores, and as a witch, I'd brought tools for my craft. The truck bed held a 16-foot yurt ($1,200), a 150W solar panel ($150), a car battery for power, six 5-gallon water jugs ($30), a wood stove ($150), a sleeping bag ($50), a mylar blanket ($5), a first-aid kit ($20) with painkillers for cramps, a multi-tool ($25), a shovel ($15), a mallet ($15), a 12V pump ($80) for water, a Sawyer filter ($25), a cookpot ($10), a 50-lb bag of rice ($30), 20 lbs of beans ($25), 5 lbs of salt ($5), a fishing net ($5) for quail, a shotgun ($200) with birdshot, a crate of clothes (cotton tanks, wool socks, fleece, $100), a yoga mat ($10), and a crate of personal and witchy items—my journal ($5), a solar-powered speaker ($20), a discreet vibrator ($30), tampons, pads, a menstrual cup ($30), a hot water bottle ($10), a photo of my mom ($0), a small altar cloth ($5), a quartz crystal ($10), sage bundles ($10), and a copper bowl for offerings ($15). The total came to $2,680, plus the land and truck, a small fortune for a new life, but I knew it would take more than money to survive here.That first night was a brutal introduction to the desert's extremes. I set up a temporary tent, the canvas flapping in a 35 mph wind that kicked up swirling dust, the air thick with the scent of sage and sand. By 1 a.m., the temperature had plummeted to 65°F, frost creeping over the tent flap, my breath fogging in the air as I huddled in my sleeping bag with Luna, my dog, her warmth a small comfort against the cold. I heard a coyote's snarl in the distance, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine, but as a witch, I knew the Paiute lore: Coyotes were spirit messengers, their howls carrying warnings and guidance. I whispered a spell with my sage bundle, lighting it with a match and letting the smoke curl around me, offering it to the wind. "Spirits of the coyote, speak to me, guide me," I murmured, feeling their energy shift, a message of caution but also of welcome.The desert didn't care about my strength, my degrees, or my womanhood—it tested every part of me, from my cramping body to my restless heart. My first period here had hit like a sandstorm, cramps doubling me over at 110°F, no pharmacy for miles. I'd brought a six-month supply of tampons and pads ($50), a menstrual cup ($30) for sustainability, and a hot water bottle ($10) for relief, but the pain was relentless, amplified by the heat. I brewed sage tea from foraged plants, a Paiute remedy I'd read about, the bitter taste grounding me as I sipped it, doing yoga stretches on my mat—child's pose, breathing through the ache, channeling the desert's energy to ease my pain. I whispered a spell with my quartz, "Spirits of the earth, soothe my body, lend me your strength," and felt a faint warmth spread through me, the land's magic a small mercy.The solitude was a double-edged sword—freedom I craved, but loneliness that gnawed at my soul. At 70°F, I carved stick figures into a piece of mesquite wood, imbuing them with protective charms, their small forms a comfort against the vastness of the desert. I brought a journal to pour out my fears, writing by lantern light, the words spilling onto the page: "I'm so alone, but I'm free. Is this what I wanted?" I played music on my solar-powered speaker, old playlists that reminded me of friends, of dancing, of feeling alive, the notes a lifeline in the silence. I talked to Luna, her warmth grounding me as I sobbed into her fur, missing human touch, the ache as real as thirst. I cast a spell with sage smoke to lift my spirits, the desert's magic a balm for my soul, its energy whispering, "You are enough."My body, at 25, was fit and humming with energy, amplified by the desert's rawness—sweat on my skin at 110°F, the wind's howl at 70°F like a lover's whisper. My high sex drive was a challenge in this isolation, the ache as real as thirst, and there was no one to share it with—except for the thought of Damien, my neighbor, a were-panther I hadn't yet met but had heard of, his primal power haunting my dreams. I'd brought a small, discreet vibrator, solar-charged, and used it under the stars, the release grounding me, but I channeled the rest into my magic, dancing under the moon to honor the earth, my body a conduit for the desert's power. I imagined Damien watching me, his amber eyes glowing with feline intensity, his growl a spell that could bind me, a fantasy that made my heart race as I moved through the night.I hadn't met Damien yet, but I'd heard whispers of him—a were-panther on the next plot, 2 miles away, a man of primal power who'd lived off-grid for years. I imagined him: towering, muscular, his eyes glowing with the intensity of his panther spirit, his growl a spell that could draw me in. I wondered if he'd sense the witch in me, if he'd feel the same pull I felt just thinking of him, our magics entwining in the desert's wild embrace. I journaled about him that night, the lantern flickering as I wrote, "He's a were-panther, a warrior, a man of primal magic. I want to feel his growl against my skin, his strength around me, his magic entwined with mine." The thought of him was a spark in the darkness, a promise of connection in this lonely land.The desert was a crucible of relentless sun, sub-zero nights, ceaseless winds, swirling dust storms, and a wildness that spared no one, but it was also rich with minerals and lore, its plants and animals my allies in survival and magic. I spotted milky quartz chunks scattered across the ground, their energy amplifying my spells, and a turquoise vein near the mine, its protective power perfect for charms and trade ($20/oz raw). I pocketed a piece of turquoise, a talisman for my journey, feeling its cool energy against my skin. The Paiute legend of the Sun and Moon—siblings who fought, creating the desert's temperature swings—echoed in my mind as I whispered to Luna, "We're in their battleground now," feeling the land's ancient pulse, my magic stirring in response.The desert was my teacher, its lessons harsh but true, and I was ready to learn. I layered for the 40°F swings—cotton tank for the day, wool socks and fleece for the night, a mylar blanket to trap heat. For my cramps, I kept my hot water bottle filled, stretching daily to ease the tension, whispering spells to the earth for relief. For my magic, I greeted the land each morning, offering sage to the wind, listening to its whispers, feeling its energy guide me. I was Keri, a witch in the wild, and this was my new beginning—a life unplugged, untamed, where I could find myself in the dust, learn the desert's magic, and maybe, just maybe, find a love as wild as the land itself.
By Randy (TheShiftingBard)10 months ago in Chapters
WerePanthers Protectors of the Forest
Once upon a time, in a dense forest, there was a werepanther pride. The pride consisted of a powerful alpha, several strong betas, and many young and able members. They lived in harmony with the forest and all its inhabitants, hunting only what they needed to survive.
By Randy (TheShiftingBard)3 years ago in Fiction
Why TTRPG's are good to use with Therapy.
Tabletop role-playing games (TTRPGs) have been a popular pastime for decades, but in recent years they have also been recognized as a powerful tool for therapy. TTRPGs, such as Dungeons and Dragons, provide a unique and engaging way to explore complex emotions and personal issues in a safe and controlled environment. This article will explore the many benefits of TTRPGs for therapy for both individuals and groups.
By Randy (TheShiftingBard)3 years ago in Psyche
Is affiliate marketing for you?
Is Affiliate Marketing for you? First and foremost working at home is a full-time endeavor. Do not get taken in by the fast cash short hours hype that is pushed. Don't quit your day job either. You will need 2 to 8 hrs a day working on this to succeed.
By Randy (TheShiftingBard)3 years ago in Education
Balan's Magic Wand! (Chapter 6)
I so did not want to get out of bed, but I needed a shower and to eat before work. It was near impossible to do so without waking them. Oh well, Sasha woke first, smiled at me and jumped out of bed headed over to a closet. She dug out some towels and tossed one at me before waking Sara.
By Randy (TheShiftingBard)6 years ago in Filthy
Balan's Magic Wand! (Chapter 4)
Right at midnight, the lady in red came through the door at the bar looking around at the huge crowd. I quickly went over to her, talking about the hard rock music thumping away as people danced in one area, watched the female strippers in another. We had a great DJ, and in between sets for the strippers, he would have little competitions on the dance floor with the women in small teams for shots or a chance at flowers, and even sometimes small cash rewards.
By Randy (TheShiftingBard)6 years ago in Filthy
Balan's Magic Wand!! (Chapter 3)
Chapter 3 Balan was never so excited to head into work before. He tied his long hair back into a ponytail. Pulling on his tight black leather pants, grabbing his black t-shirt which was now skin tight on him. Then he tossed some vials of other potions he had mixed up into his belt pouch, and put some rings on to look the bad boy part tonight. To top off his outfit he decided to toss on his motorcycle boots and ride his bike to work.
By Randy (TheShiftingBard)6 years ago in Filthy
