Author: Lisa

  • 3 July 2026 – Crossroads Devotion & Divination: Psalm Magic in Daily Practice

    3 July 2026 – Crossroads Devotion & Divination: Psalm Magic in Daily Practice

    Even though I no longer see the Bible as the inerrant Word of God, I adore the Psalms.

    For me, the Psalms are pure magic. They quiet the mind, open the heart and help align my thoughts with the Highest Good. They are prayers, poems, spells, songs and meditations all at once. Whether we approach them as Scripture, sacred poetry or practical mysticism, they have an extraordinary way of speaking directly to our needs.

    I usually begin with a simple prayer:

    “Show me the Psalm that will serve the Highest Good today.”

    Then I use a random number generator.

    That may sound strange, but I’ve found that when I admit I don’t know what I need, Providence usually knows better than I do.

    Once I have the number, I turn to Anna Riva’s Powers of the Psalms. Her book gives a traditional magical application for each Psalm, helping me understand the current I am about to work with. Only then do I go to my altar, light a candle, open my Bible and begin praying and meditating with the Psalm.

    This morning, the random number was 72.

    Anna Riva associates Psalm 72 with attracting prosperity and success, so I had a sense of the magical current before I even began reading and knew which colour candle to use. I chose green for abundance. It just happens to be Friday (ruled by Venus), a perfect day for attracting abundance. I couldn’t have orchestrated it better myself.

    The Psalm

    (King James Version – Public Domain)

    Psalm 72

    Give the king thy judgments, O God, and thy righteousness unto the king’s son.

    2 He shall judge thy people with righteousness, and thy poor with judgment.

    3 The mountains shall bring peace to the people, and the little hills, by righteousness.

    4 He shall judge the poor of the people, he shall save the children of the needy, and shall break in pieces the oppressor.

    5 They shall fear thee as long as the sun and moon endure, throughout all generations.

    6 He shall come down like rain upon the mown grass: as showers that water the earth.

    7 In his days shall the righteous flourish; and abundance of peace so long as the moon endureth.

    8 He shall have dominion also from sea to sea, and from the river unto the ends of the earth.

    9 They that dwell in the wilderness shall bow before him; and his enemies shall lick the dust.

    10 The kings of Tarshish and of the isles shall bring presents: the kings of Sheba and Seba shall offer gifts.

    11 Yea, all kings shall fall down before him: all nations shall serve him.

    12 For he shall deliver the needy when he crieth; the poor also, and him that hath no helper.

    13 He shall spare the poor and needy, and shall save the souls of the needy.

    14 He shall redeem their soul from deceit and violence: and precious shall their blood be in his sight.

    15 And he shall live, and to him shall be given of the gold of Sheba: prayer also shall be made for him continually; and daily shall he be praised.

    16 There shall be an handful of corn in the earth upon the top of the mountains; the fruit thereof shall shake like Lebanon: and they of the city shall flourish like grass of the earth.

    17 His name shall endure for ever: his name shall be continued as long as the sun: and men shall be blessed in him: all nations shall call him blessed.

    18 Blessed be the Lord God, the God of Israel, who only doeth wondrous things.

    19 And blessed be his glorious name for ever: and let the whole earth be filled with his glory; Amen, and Amen.

    20 The prayers of David the son of Jesse are ended.

    The Temple at Lagina

    After reading the Psalm, I pulled a card from the Oracle of the Hekatean Path.

    The Temple at Lagina – Sacredness.

    I smiled as soon as I saw it because the synchronicity couldn’t have been clearer.

    The card reminded me that before we can effectively serve the Divine, we must learn to care for the temple through which we serve.

    Our own bodies.

    That has been a recurring lesson for me recently.

    With a hip replacement on the horizon, improving my diet, prioritising sleep and building strength are no longer just health goals. They have become part of my spiritual practice.

    Sometimes we imagine devotion as something dramatic or mystical.

    More often, it looks remarkably ordinary.

    Preparing nourishing food.

    Going to bed on time.

    Taking medication when needed.

    Doing the physiotherapy exercises we’d rather avoid.

    Accepting help.

    Keeping promises to ourselves.

    These seemingly mundane acts become sacred when we offer them consciously as part of our service to God.

    The Temple at Lagina reminded me that holiness doesn’t begin somewhere “out there.”

    It begins here.

    In the body.

    Why Psalm 72?

    Many people know Psalm 72 as a royal Psalm celebrating righteous kingship.

    I was introduced to it through Ariel Gatoga’s teaching on Psalm magic, where he presents it as a Psalm for prosperity and Divine provision.

    His interpretation goes far beyond simply attracting money.

    Instead, he invites us to recognise prosperity as our natural inheritance as children of the Divine.

    That perspective resonates deeply with me.

    Financial provision certainly matters, but so do health, opportunities, supportive friendships, wisdom, courage and the practical resources we need to fulfil our calling.

    Psalm 72 speaks repeatedly about justice, protection, peace and abundance.

    It reminds us that Divine provision doesn’t always arrive in the form we expect.

    Sometimes it comes as healing.

    Other times, as unexpected guidance.

    And sometimes it arrives as the inner strength to keep going until the outer world catches up.

    How I Work with Psalm Magic

    My practice is simple, but if you would like to dive deeper into the history of Psalm Magic and different approaches, you can learn more in my article about Psalm Magic on angelorum.co.

    I begin by reading the entire Psalm aloud without interruption.

    Then I return to it slowly, verse by verse, allowing particular words or images to stand out.

    Rather than analysing every line intellectually, I ask:

    “What is this saying to my soul today?”

    The symbols begin to speak.

    A mountain becomes an elevated state of consciousness.

    Rain becomes Divine blessing.

    The oppressor becomes the fearful ego that insists there will never be enough.

    The needy become the parts of myself still operating from old narratives of scarcity.

    Each reading is slightly different because I am slightly different each day.

    A Royal Inheritance

    One of Ariel Gatoga’s most powerful teachings is the idea of adopting what he calls a Royal Identity.

    Instead of approaching God as a beggar, we approach as beloved children.

    That image echoes something deeply Christian.

    We are invited to receive grace rather than earn it.

    Prayer becomes less about convincing God to bless us and more about opening ourselves to blessings already prepared.

    When Psalm 72 speaks of “the king’s son,” I hear an invitation to remember who we really are beneath all the stories of fear, lack and limitation.

    Children of the King do not need to manipulate life into providing for them.

    They learn to trust.

    The Method I Learned

    The approach I use comes from Ariel Gatoga’s teachings on Psalm Magic.

    In summary, the practice involves:

    • Reading the Psalm aloud in one sitting.
    • Returning to it verse by verse to uncover symbolic meaning.
    • Allowing limiting beliefs to come into awareness without judgement.
    • Replacing thoughts of lack with the consciousness of Divine inheritance.
    • Returning to the Psalm daily until a deep sense of peace and certainty naturally arises.

    I have found this to be a surprisingly gentle practice.

    Rather than trying to force manifestation, it gradually changes the way I see both myself and the world around me.

    As my inner landscape shifts, life seems to respond in kind.

    Trusting the Process

    I don’t know which Psalm the random number generator will choose tomorrow.

    That’s part of what makes the practice so beautiful.

    Each morning begins with a simple act of surrender.

    “Not my will, but Thy will be done.”

    Sometimes the greatest act of faith isn’t knowing which prayer to choose.

    It’s trusting that, when we genuinely ask for guidance, the right words have a way of finding us.

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  • 1 July 2026 – Crossroads Devotion & Divination: Asking Yeshua

    1 July 2026 – Crossroads Devotion & Divination: Asking Yeshua

    The Question I Had Been Avoiding

    During my morning quiet time, I pulled Aconite (Death) from the Oracle of the Hekatean Path. Meditating on the message, I realised I was standing at a crossroads where something indeed had to die.

    For months now, I’ve been immersed in exploring what I have come to think of as my Christo-Hekatean path. My days have been filled with the Gospel of Philip, Jewish mysticism, Greek philosophy and modern writers such as Seren Bertrand and Sarah Iles-Johnston. Every new connection has sent me down another fascinating rabbit hole, and I’ve loved every minute of it.

    Yet, despite all that study, one thought landed with uncomfortable clarity this morning.

    I’d been asking everyone except Yeshua.

    So I asked him.

    I told him, as honestly as I knew how, that if this wasn’t a path he would walk with me, I would choose Hekate.

    I don’t mean that as a rejection of Christ. Quite the opposite: it was my way of acknowledging that I can no longer deny the reality of what has happened through my relationship with Hekate. If following Christ required me to pretend that those experiences were false, then I wouldn’t do it.

    I wanted the answer from him, not from another book or another expert.

    What the Tarot Reflected

    Only after praying did I lay out the Tarot de Marseille.

    altar image of reading with the hekatean path oracle and tarot de marseille

    The 9 of Swords captured the mental agony of trying to get everything exactly right. Crossing it was the 10 of Batons, which felt like carrying far more than any one person could reasonably bear. It wasn’t simply my own uncertainty. It was centuries of theology, historical debate and the constant pressure to make sure every insight could be justified by someone else’s authority. It was the oppressive weight of feeling divided against myself.

    The Queen of Batons appeared as the action card. She has represented Mary Magdalene for me for many years, so seeing her there made me smile. She doesn’t argue for her authority or apologise for it. She simply lives it.

    The quint was Le Soleil.

    For me, the Sun is Christ.

    I smiled again.

    That was my answer.

    The near future cards were the 4 of Cups, the Page of Coins and the Ace of Cups. Rather than seeing four cups, I suddenly imagined the Page discovering four fountains from which to draw wisdom as he continues his journey. I’m still sitting with that image and suspect it has more to reveal over time.

    What Aconite Was Really Asking to Die

    Only afterwards did I understand why the day’s oracle card had been Aconite – Death.

    The thing being asked to die wasn’t my love of study or my fascination with history. It was something much older.

    Growing up, my father taught me that my will didn’t matter.

    If I wanted to know what mattered, someone else had to tell me.

    That pattern followed me into adulthood more faithfully than I realised.

    Whenever something important happened spiritually, my instinct wasn’t to ask whether it rang true in prayer. It was to ask whether I could find an ancient source to validate it. If not an ancient source, then perhaps a respected scholar. If not a scholar, then at least someone who wasn’t a blogger but who had published a book.

    The Resurrection

    Looking back, I can see that I wasn’t really searching for theology.

    I was searching for permission.

    Permission to trust my own encounters with the Divine.

    This morning, I stopped treating prayer as the beginning of the conversation and started treating it as the place where the conversation could end.

    For me, that changed everything.

    It’s not about the need to find the correct belief. That need kept me trapped in the 9 of Swords space. It’s about becoming whole, and this is where the Ace of Cups leads me.

    Want to know what happened when I asked Mary Magdalene the same question? Read Mary Magdalene: Midwife of Souls on the Christo-Hekatean Path

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  • I’m So Full of Shit (And So Are You): The Stories We Tell Ourselves

    I’m So Full of Shit (And So Are You): The Stories We Tell Ourselves

    Yesterday’s post, 29 June 2026: Crossroads Devotion, ended with a prayer.

    Not because I was trying to sound holy. Not because I wanted anyone to think I’d somehow transcended ordinary human frailty overnight. I wrote it because, in that moment, it genuinely reflected where my heart was.

    Then I read it again this morning.

    Oh, good grief…

    If I didn’t know myself better, I’d think I’d achieved enlightenment sometime between my first coffee and hitting the Publish button.

    It was all love, grace, and compassion on the Middle Path. Beautiful sentiments, all of them. Sincere sentiments too.

    The only problem was that I’d accidentally presented one facet of myself as though it were the whole person.

    Fast forward twenty-four hours and I’m sitting here rolling my eyes at my own sanctimony, quietly remembering that I’m also capable of being impatient, sarcastic, judgmental and occasionally spectacularly full of myself.

    That’s not a contradiction.

    That’s just being human.

    Wholehearted, Not Holy

    The older I get, the more suspicious I become of my own attempts to sound spiritually evolved.

    I think that’s one of the reasons the Christo-Hekatean path has felt so liberating. It isn’t because I’ve stopped caring about ethics. Quite the opposite. It’s because I’m increasingly allergic to hypocrisy, especially my own.

    For years, spirituality often felt like a performance review. Was I loving enough? Forgiving enough? Detached enough? Had I responded with sufficient grace? Was my ego showing?

    No wonder shame was never very far away.

    These days, I’m much more interested in wholeness than holiness. I don’t want to spend the second half of my life editing myself into someone who sounds enlightened. I’d rather become more honest about who I already am.

    That means making room for contradictions.

    I can genuinely want peace and still lose my temper.

    I can believe in compassion and still think someone is being an absolute prick.

    Neither cancels the other out.

    A Rabbit Hole Worth Falling Into

    This morning, I stumbled across a video about Dr John DeMartini’s method. I’d never come across his work before, but within a few minutes, I had the same feeling I remember having when I first discovered Byron Katie over twenty years ago.

    It wasn’t that either of them handed me answers.

    They handed me better questions.

    As I listened, I found myself becoming increasingly aware of the stories quietly running in the background of my own mind. We all have them. They help us make sense of the world, until one day we stop recognising them as stories and start treating them as objective reality.

    That made me wonder what narratives I’ve been carrying around for years without ever examining them properly.

    Relationship narratives immediately sprang to mind.

    Not any one relationship in particular. Just the collection of stories I’ve accumulated over a lifetime about love, romance, marriage, commitment, intimacy and what all those things are supposed to mean.

    I’ve no doubt some of those stories are complete bollocks.

    An Unexpected Answer

    One question refused to leave me alone: What do I actually want from love?

    It sounds ridiculously simple, but I realised I’d never asked it without all the background noise of expectation. I wasn’t interested in the answer offered by religion, romantic films or society’s collective script. I wanted to know what remained once all those voices had quietened down.

    The answer surprised me by arriving so quickly: freedom. Not freedom from love, but freedom within love. Freedom to remain curious, to keep growing, and to pursue truth without feeling as though I have to squeeze myself into a role that no longer fits.

    That thought was still rattling around my head when I reached for my astrology dice.

    Saturn in Capricorn in the Seventh House.

    (Sometimes symbolism has all the subtlety of a 2×4 upside the head.)

    There it was: duty, convention, inherited expectations and obligations.

    Then I picked a card from Stephen Fry’s Mythos Oracle.

    Artemis. I smiled.

    I’ve always thought of myself as a hopeless romantic.

    Perhaps I’ve been wrong.

    Perhaps what I’ve really been hunting all these years is truth. All my writing is about romancing the Truth. Yes, capital T.

    Turning the Cards Around

    The biggest gift I took away from DeMartini’s work was the possibility of a more honest divination practice.

    For years, I’ve encouraged Tarot clients to ask thoughtful questions when they come for readings. Sometimes I forget that advice applies to me as well.

    It’s remarkably easy to use Tarot and other divination tools as mirrors that reflect whatever narrative we’re already invested in believing. I’ve done it many times. I’m fairly sure everyone who engages in divinatory practices has done it.

    From now on, I’d like to focus more on questions like these:

    • What story am I telling myself that this card quietly refuses to support?
    • Which assumption have I promoted to the status of fact without ever really questioning it?
    • What part of the picture am I conveniently leaving out?
    • If the opposite were also true, what might I be failing to see?
    • What expectation is shaping the way I’m interpreting this card?
    • Am I asking this oracle to reveal the truth, or simply to confirm what I already believe?
    • If I let go of my preferred narrative for a moment, what else becomes possible?
    • What would change if I stopped trying to be right and became genuinely curious instead?

    I’m under no illusion that this will stop me projecting onto the cards at times when I read for myself. That’s probably impossible.

    What it might do is help me notice when I’m doing it.

    And that feels like a worthwhile practice.

    After all, the cards have never lied to me.

    More often than not, I’ve simply been a little too attached to my own BS.

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  • 29 June 2026 – Crossroads Devotion & Divination

    29 June 2026 – Crossroads Devotion & Divination

    29 June 2026 – Morning Journal Entry

    The Sign Given

    Last night I dreamt I was driving a lorry as part of a three-vehicle convoy.

    Almost immediately, I realised three things were wrong. I had never driven anything larger than a car. I didn’t even have the right licence. And the driver’s seat had been adjusted for someone much taller than me, leaving me barely able to reach the pedals.

    Even so, the convoy kept moving. There was no turning back.

    When we eventually pulled into a rest stop, I explained the problem to one of the other drivers. He simply replied that he would adjust the seat for me.

    I woke feeling anxious. How was I supposed to complete the journey without causing an accident or being found out?

    The Sign Confirmed

    This morning, I asked Hekate for a sign and drew Devotee – Dedication from my Hekate Oracle.

    The Devotee – Dedication card from the Hekate Oracle, drawn for morning prayer and reflection, resting on deep red velvet beside a smokey quartz crystal.

    At first, the card puzzled me.

    Then it dawned on me that perhaps I have been answering Her call without fully trusting where it is leading.

    She has called me more than once over the years. I have followed, written about the path and publicly shared my understanding of walking with both Christ and Hekate. Yet there is still a part of me standing at the threshold, hesitant to place my full weight on the path beneath my feet.

    Reflection

    The dream seems to reflect exactly how I have been feeling since the beginning of Cancer season.

    Not a day has gone by without feeling close to tears.

    Yet I honestly can’t remember the last time I cried. Years of masking have taught me how to carry on regardless. I know how to keep functioning even when the emotional pressure is quietly building beneath the surface.

    Looking back, I can see that the latest emotional wave began after I watched Alex Reads Tarot’s video about leaving Tarot. Her journey is her own, but it unexpectedly touched an old wound in me. It reminded me that religious trauma doesn’t simply disappear because we’ve spent years healing. Like any form of trauma, it can lie dormant until something brushes against it.

    The dream gave those feelings a shape.

    I wasn’t driving the wrong vehicle.

    I wasn’t even on the wrong road.

    The problem was that I was trying to drive from a position that didn’t fit me.

    As I sat with Hekate’s guidance, a quiet understanding emerged.

    “You have the power to adjust your own driver’s seat. And if you trust me, I can show you how.”

    Perhaps that is what dedication really means.

    Not proving ourselves worthy.

    Not making dramatic declarations.

    Simply allowing ourselves to be guided into the place where we can finally reach the pedals and drive the vehicle we have been entrusted with.

    Trust also means being discerning about which voices we allow to influence us. When I immerse myself in voices filled with certainty that my path is wrong, doubt naturally grows louder. When I return to prayer, love and lived experience, something steadier and more faithful begins to emerge.

    Prayer

    While praying my Christo-Hekatean rosary this morning, I found myself gently changing the closing words of the doxology:

    May the light of Divine Wisdom illuminate my heart until the only choice I make at every crossroads is the most loving one.

    I hadn’t planned to change the words.

    Perhaps they changed me instead.

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  • Alex Reads Tarot No More: A Lesson in Spiritual Grace

    Alex Reads Tarot No More: A Lesson in Spiritual Grace

    Yesterday, I learned that a popular TikTok Tarot reader with 1 M+ followers quit the world of Tarot. She used to go by ‘Alex Reads Tarot’ and was so successful that pop singer/songwriter Hayley Williams name-dropped her in one of her songs. Before yesterday, I had heard of neither.

    Alex is young enough to be my daughter, and my heart goes out to her. I watched her farewell video after stumbling across someone’s cynical take on why she quit and how that somehow, supposedly makes her a ‘grifter.’

    Watching Alex’s Farewell Video

    I didn’t see a grifter in the 10-minute TikTok video. I saw a tense, responsible young woman trying to make the best of a difficult situation. Before me was someone who felt obligated to let the world know about the internal storm of consciousness that was taking place inside her, and that led to the difficult decision to leave the successful place in the Tarot community she had worked so hard to earn.

    There were no signs of detachment from reality, and I wouldn’t want to attempt to diagnose her with religious trauma. Needless to say, for me, it brought plenty of memories of my two major religious trauma relapses.

    Watching Alex’s video also forced me to confront an uncomfortable memory about myself.

    Why I Judged Doreen Virtue

    In 2017, when Doreen Virtue announced that she had become a fundamentalist Christian and denounced Tarot, I judged her harshly. Like many others in the spiritual community, I assumed I knew what had happened. I believed she had succumbed to fear, traded freedom for dogma, and perhaps found a lucrative new audience.

    When I Walked Away from Tarot

    Then, three years later, around the time of my Chiron return, I found myself walking through a remarkably similar door.

    Not because I had suddenly become irrational. Not because I wanted to deceive anyone. And certainly not because I stopped seeking the truth.

    I was carrying unresolved religious trauma that I didn’t yet understand. When it resurfaced, it demanded to be faced. Looking back, I can see that stepping away from Tarot for a season was part of that process. At the time, however, it felt like the only faithful thing I could do.

    That experience permanently changed the way I think about other people’s spiritual journeys.

    The Spiritual Community Needs More Grace

    Today, I have no idea whether Alex’s decision will last six months, six years or a lifetime. Nor do I need to know. What I do know is that none of us has access to another person’s inner world.

    We see an announcement.

    Nor do we see the years of wrestling that came before it.

    We see a ten-minute video.

    We don’t see the sleepless nights, the private prayers, the fears, the hopes, the conversations that were never filmed, or the questions that refused to leave.

    Yet social media encourages us to fill in all those blanks. Within hours, people were confidently declaring that Alex was either genuinely saved or cynically grifting.

    Perhaps she is neither.

    Perhaps she is simply a human being responding honestly to where her conscience has led her today.

    Life Has a Way of Humbling Our Certainties

    If my own journey has taught me anything, it is that spiritual life rarely unfolds in a straight line.

    Only when I stopped judging myself for the path I had taken did something unexpected happen. The rigid either-or thinking that had trapped me for so long began to dissolve. I discovered that the deepest truths in my own life weren’t asking me to choose between one world and another. They were inviting me into a both-and spacious enough to hold Christ, Tarot, contemplation, discernment and mystery without forcing any of them into a false opposition.

    That doesn’t mean everyone will arrive at the same place I have.

    Nor should they.

    But perhaps, as a spiritual community, we could become a little slower to pronounce verdicts on one another’s journeys. The grace we withhold from others today may be the very grace we find ourselves desperately needing tomorrow.

    Life has a remarkable way of humbling our certainties.

    Mine certainly did.

    Click here for more thoughts on the ongoing Alex Reads Tarot controversy

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  • The Day Hekate Interrupted My Housework: A Clairaudience Experience

    The Day Hekate Interrupted My Housework: A Clairaudience Experience

    Sunlit home office with a vacuum cleaner paused on a wooden floor, surrounded by bookshelves, plants, and a writing desk. Warm morning light streams through the window, illuminating floating dust motes and creating a calm, contemplative atmosphere that reflects the ordinary setting of an unexpected spiritual experience.

    Last autumn, Hekate interrupted my housework with clairaudience.

    I wasn’t meditating. I wasn’t praying. I wasn’t performing a ritual beneath a full moon.

    I was cleaning.

    That probably doesn’t sound very impressive. Popular culture has conditioned us to expect spiritual experiences to arrive with dramatic special effects. If the Dark Mother wants to speak, surely there should be incense, solemn chanting, and at least one mysterious raven perched nearby.

    Instead, I was dusting surfaces, putting things away and moving my hoover rhythmically back and forth across my office floor.

    Then, for roughly half an hour, I had what I can only describe as a god-phone.

    I’ve always been intermittently clairaudient. I don’t have it on tap. I can’t summon it at will. In fact, the harder I try, the less likely it seems to happen. The experiences arrive when they arrive, often at inconvenient or unexpected moments.

    This was one of those moments.

    As often happens with a neurodivergent brain, I slipped into a deeply absorbed state while cleaning. Not in trance exactly. Just focused enough that the constant chatter of ordinary thought had faded into the background.

    Then a voice arrived.

    Not an audible voice in the room. Nothing like that.

    The experience was closer to receiving complete thoughts, fully formed, carrying a distinct personality and presence that felt separate from my own internal dialogue. The answers arrived before I had properly finished forming the questions.

    “Who are you?” I asked.

    “Hekate.”

    The reply was immediate.

    What followed was one of the most unusual conversations of my life.

    Every question seemed to receive an answer. Not just information, but understanding. There was a warmth to the exchange that surprised me. Wisdom without judgement. Clarity without pressure.

    One of the things she told me was that I needed to learn to trust myself before we could properly work together.

    That landed harder than it might sound.

    At the time, I was still at the tail end of recovering from decades of religious trauma. Much of that journey involved learning to trust my own perception again after spending a lifetime outsourcing authority to other people, systems, and beliefs.

    Trusting a deity is one thing.

    Trusting yourself is another.

    At one point, I asked a question that had been sitting quietly in the back of my mind for some time.

    Are you and Santa Muerte the same being?

    The answer came immediately.

    “We are sisters, and she is handing you over to me now.”

    That answer surprised me.

    Santa Muerte had been an important presence in my spiritual life for some time. I felt extremely devoted to her. Hekate had been calling for even longer, but I had resisted her. If I’m honest, part of that resistance came from the fact that she seemed too popular. Another part came from fear. Public devotion to Hekate felt more vulnerable somehow. There is nearly as much gatekeeping around Hekate as there is around Evangelical Christianity.

    Yet here she was, apparently explaining a transition that was already underway.

    The strangest part is that, looking back now, she was right.

    At the time, Hekate was not the central focus of my spiritual practice.

    Today, she is.

    The shift happened gradually. Hekate Drakaina was born. My understanding of the crossroads deepened. My life (hello menopause) and work increasingly centred around themes of transformation, sovereignty and what I now think of as the World Soul.

    The conversation wasn’t predicting the future in the fortune-telling sense.

    It was describing a process already unfolding.

    That experience also changed the way I think about clairaudience.

    Most people expect spiritual communication to happen during ritual, meditation, or prayer. Those certainly can create the conditions for it. Yet many of the people I’ve spoken to over the years describe receiving insights while walking, driving, gardening, showering, or doing housework.

    There seems to be something about repetitive activities that opens a different kind of space.

    The doorway stands open for a moment.

    Whether you interpret experiences like mine as communication from a deity, the subconscious mind, the higher self, or something else entirely is ultimately up to you.

    I can only tell you what happened.

    I was cleaning the house.

    A conversation began.

    The answers carried a wisdom and warmth that felt unlike my ordinary thoughts.

    And nine months later, the shift she described has quietly unfolded.

    The gods, if they choose to speak, don’t always wait for sacred circles and carefully planned rituals.

    Sometimes they interrupt your housework.

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  • The Chiron Return That Nearly Destroyed Me

    The Chiron Return That Nearly Destroyed Me

    On 12 January 2020, Saturn and Pluto met in Capricorn. It was also my fiftieth birthday and I was in the middle of my Chiron Return.

    At the time, I had no idea that my life was about to unravel. Looking back, however, I can see the pressure building long before the conjunction became exact. My anxiety levels had been rising for months, and every instinct I possessed was screaming that something was wrong. I couldn’t have explained exactly what I sensed, only that something immense was approaching.

    The following day, the COVID-19 narrative exploded across the media. Within two weeks, I was convinced that we were witnessing the largest psyop of modern times. Whether you agree with that assessment is ultimately beside the point. This is not an article about COVID. It is an article about what happened when I trusted my own perception and discovered that the price of doing so was exile.

    At the time, I believed I had found my tribe. I had spent years building friendships within the Tarot and Pagan communities. These were people I admired, respected, and trusted. Many considered themselves intuitive, psychic, spiritually aware, and capable of independent thought.

    Then the fault lines appeared.

    What shocked me most was not that people arrived at different conclusions from my own. What shocked me was the speed with which fear seemed to transform thoughtful people into enforcers of a narrative that could not be questioned. Questions became dangerous. Doubt became unacceptable. Nuance vanished almost overnight. Censorship and cancel culture were used to control those who dared to think for themselves.

    My own body was screaming at me not to take the vaccine. Everything in me said no. Thankfully, I listened. Thankfully, so did my husband. Had he not eventually begun seeing things the way I did, I honestly don’t know where I would have ended up.

    The social consequences arrived quickly. I was blacklisted and publicly attacked. Videos were created with the sole purpose of targeting me, and comment sections filled with accusations that bore little resemblance to reality. I remember scrolling through one thread in disbelief as complete strangers confidently explained who I was, what I believed, and what motivated me. Apparently, I was racist. Apparently, I was dangerous. I was all sorts of things that I had never been.

    The details matter less than the cumulative effect. Years of unresolved religious trauma, complex PTSD, and undiagnosed autism collided at exactly the same moment. The pressure built until my nervous system simply could not hold it any longer.

    What followed was an object lesson in what happens when religious trauma, autism, and a global panic collide.

    At the height of the meltdown, I publicly declared myself a Christian and announced that I wanted nothing more to do with the occult. I packed up my Tarot decks, boxed my books, and loaded statues, ritual tools, magical journals, esoteric texts, and spiritual treasures collected over decades into the car. Then I asked my husband to drive me to the local recycling centre, where I got rid of nearly all of it.

    At the time, I believed I was doing the right thing. Today, I see something very different. I see an AuDHD nervous system desperately trying to restore order in the middle of overwhelming chaos. I see a traumatised woman trying to find certainty in a world that suddenly felt hostile and unfamiliar. Most of all, I see someone searching for solid ground.

    Once the worst of the meltdown subsided, I found myself facing an uncomfortable truth. The evangelical Christianity of my youth no longer fit either. I had imagined that I was returning home, but there was very little there for me to return to. The certainty I was seeking did not exist, and the answers I needed could not be found inside somebody else’s belief system.

    And so began the long and often humiliating process of rebuilding. Not only did I have to figure out what I actually believed, I had to do it in full public view after having very publicly burned down the life I had spent years creating. It turns out that humble pie is every bit as unpleasant as people say.

    Recovery was neither quick nor graceful. There was no lightning-bolt moment of revelation and no dramatic return to who I had been before. Instead, I found myself slowly picking through the wreckage, examining assumptions I had never previously questioned. I had to learn how to distinguish faith from fear, discernment from paranoia, and authentic spiritual experience from groupthink. More importantly, I had to learn how to trust my own perception again.

    For a long time, I questioned everything. I questioned my judgement, my intuition, my ability to read people, and even my ability to make sense of the world. Yet that questioning eventually led me somewhere healthier than certainty ever could have. It forced me to become more honest, more curious, more willing to admit when I did not know something, and ultimately more willing to think for myself.

    Only years later did I fully appreciate the symbolism of my Chiron return. Natal Chiron sits at 2° Aries in my 11th House. Aries asks us to become ourselves, while the 11th House asks us where we belong.

    My Chiron return forced those questions together in the most brutal way imaginable.

    I lost friendships. And I lost my sense of community. I very nearly lost my business. For a time, I even lost my sense of who I was. Yet the deeper lesson had very little to do with the people who rejected me and everything to do with the parts of myself I was still willing to reject in order to belong.

    As I write this, Chiron is preparing to leave Aries and enter Taurus. Because Taurus falls in my 12th House, I suspect the next chapter will be less visible than the last one.

    Chiron’s journey through my 12th House will be more about what has been operating behind the scenes all along. The old wounds around belonging, the fear of being too different, the lingering echoes of religious conditioning, and the unconscious survival strategies that once protected me but no longer serve me all seem likely candidates for examination. I also suspect it will bring me face-to-face with a deeper question: why I spent so much of my life searching for somewhere to belong rather than recognising that I belonged to myself all along.

    If Chiron in Aries asked me to stand alone when necessary, perhaps Chiron in Taurus will ask me to become comfortable in my own skin. Perhaps it will be less about fighting for the right to exist as myself and more about fully inhabiting the person I already am.

    Time will tell.

    What I do know is that the wounds remain part of my story. Religious trauma remains part of my story. The public attacks remain part of my story. The meltdown remains part of my story. None of those experiences can be undone, nor would I want to erase them if I could. They shaped me, humbled me, and forced me to rebuild on stronger foundations.

    Most importantly, they taught me that losing a tribe is sometimes the beginning of finding out who you are because there is nobody left to tell you.

    If you’ve been through your own season of exile, I’d love to hear about it in the comments.

    Looking back, can you see a hidden gift in what you lost?

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  • What 20 Years of Blogging Taught Me

    This year marks twenty years since I published my first blog post.

    When I started blogging in 2006, Facebook was still finding its feet, Twitter didn’t exist yet, and nobody was talking about algorithms, content strategies, personal brands, or AI.

    We simply wrote about our interests. Some of us spent an inordinate amount of time writing about our special interests because nobody else wanted to listen to us harp on about them. Looking back, perhaps that should have been my first clue.

    Then we wandered around the blogosphere reading what everyone else had written and leaving comments.

    The internet felt smaller then. More human.

    Twenty years later, I find myself launching yet another website and reflecting on what blogging has given me over the past two decades.

    These are some of the lessons that stand out.

    1. Blogging changed my life

    This sounds dramatic, but it’s true.

    If I hadn’t started blogging, I would never have built the business that followed. I wouldn’t have met many of the people who became friends. I wouldn’t have discovered so much about myself.

    A simple habit of writing online altered the course of my life.

    2. Authenticity is not a marketing strategy

    These days, authenticity is often discussed as though it were another branding technique.

    People can tell the difference.

    I have written thousands of posts. The posts that resonated most deeply were rarely the ones I carefully optimised. They were the ones where I was simply telling the truth or asking a question that others were curious about, too.

    3. You never run out of ideas if you stay curious

    All these years, people have repeatedly asked how I keep finding things to write about.

    The answer is that ideas are everywhere.

    Questions become posts.

    Books become posts.

    Conversations become posts.

    Tarot readings and spread ideas become posts.

    Life becomes blog posts.

    Curiosity is an inexhaustible source of material.

    Not worrying about whether other people will find it interesting helps, of course. It’s the writerly equivalent of dancing as if nobody is watching.

    That is honestly how I’ve been writing my whole life.

    Autistic much?

    4. A blog can become a spiritual practice

    Long before I recognised it as such, blogging became part of my spiritual path.

    Writing helps me clarify what I think, what I believe, and what I am willing to question.

    Many of my most important spiritual insights arrived while trying to explain something to someone else.

    Then there is the light trance that sometimes settles in while I’m typing. Time disappears. The words seem to arrive more quickly than conscious thought. It feels less like constructing an argument and more like receiving one.

    I’m curious whether other writers experience this too.

    Whether we call it flow state, inspiration, or channelling, some of my most meaningful writing has emerged from that space.

    5. The internet remembers everything

    This can be comforting and horrifying in equal measure.

    I’ve published things I’m proud of and things that make me cringe.

    Both remain part of the record.

    I’ve learned to make peace with that.

    When I happen across the cringey bits, I think, “Phew. At least I didn’t turn that into a book.”

    6. Starting over is not failure

    I’ve started over more than once.

    New websites.

    New directions.

    New beliefs.

    New identities.

    Every reinvention taught me something.

    The willingness to begin again may be one of the most valuable skills I’ve learned.

    7. Every successful blog is built one post at a time

    It’s easy to look at an established site and imagine it appeared fully formed.

    It didn’t.

    Every successful blog begins with a blank page and a single post.

    Then another.

    And another.

    Sometimes, the Tower strikes. Twice, I’ve had websites simply vanish overnight, without explanation (WordPress.com both times). Gone forever.

    Yet the foundations remained. The projects that were meant to last kept growing gradually.

    8. Community matters more than follower counts

    One thoughtful comment is worth more than a hundred anonymous likes.

    The relationships formed through blogging have often been more meaningful than any traffic statistic.

    These days, thoughtful comments are like gold dust, but they are still what keep me going.

    9. The comments section used to be the social network

    I miss this.

    Before social media took over, bloggers visited one another’s sites, left comments, and built genuine communities.

    The internet felt less like a marketplace and more like a village.

    Part of me would love to see that return.

    10. Burnout can disguise itself as ambition

    This is one I learned the hard way.

    At one point, one of my websites was attracting thousands of visitors per day and generating an excellent income.

    From the outside, it looked like success.

    From the inside, I was exhausted.

    At the time, I didn’t know I might be AuDHD. Looking back, what I called dedication may have contained a substantial amount of burnout.

    Achievement is not always evidence that something is sustainable.

    11. Making money from blogging is still possible

    People have been declaring blogging dead for at least fifteen years.

    Meanwhile, bloggers continue to build businesses.

    The landscape changes. The opportunities change. The methods change.

    But valuable content remains valuable.

    My prediction is that genuinely personal writing will become even more valuable in the age of AI. Facts and information are becoming increasingly accessible. What remains scarce is lived experience, individual perspective, and the courage to share both honestly.

    12. SEO is a tool, not a purpose

    SEO helps people find your work.

    It should never become the reason for creating it.

    Whenever I worried more about search engines than my readers, the writing suffered.

    13. Your blog grows as you grow

    Every website I’ve created is a snapshot of who I was at the time.

    Looking back through old posts is like opening a time capsule.

    The blogs changed because I changed.

    14. Writing helped me heal

    Blogging has accompanied me through spiritual transformation, religious trauma, grief, joy, reinvention, and countless periods of uncertainty.

    Sometimes the writing itself became part of the healing.

    15. Some of my biggest breakthroughs happened in public

    Not because I intended them to.

    Simply because I was documenting the journey as I went.

    There is something powerful about allowing people to witness growth rather than presenting a polished version after the fact.

    16. Plagiarism hurts

    There is no point pretending otherwise.

    Seeing your work copied without permission is frustrating.

    Over time, I’ve learned not to dwell on it.

    The original source of the work remains with the creator.

    17. Social media is rented land

    This may be the most important lesson of all.

    Platforms come and go.

    Algorithms change.

    Accounts disappear.

    A self-hosted blog is still one of the few places online that genuinely belongs to you.

    18. To AI or not to AI?

    As Dr Angela Puca writes in an excellent essay on Substack, the question is not if we use AI, but how.

    Used carelessly, AI can regurgitate information and platitudes.

    Used thoughtfully, it can help us brainstorm, organise ideas, edit drafts, and explore new perspectives.

    The challenge is remaining human while using increasingly powerful tools. I shared my own thoughts on how to use AI without losing my voice in this article.

    19. My blog became the foundation of a business

    When I published my first post, I had no business plan.

    Years later, blogging became the foundation of the work I do today.

    Not because I set out to build a business, but because I kept showing up and writing.

    20. Twenty years later, I still love blogging

    That may be the lesson that surprises me most.

    The platforms changed.

    The technology changed.

    The internet changed.

    I changed.

    Yet somehow the simple act of sitting down with an idea and turning it into words still feels like magic.

    Twenty years ago, I started a blog because I was curious.

    Twenty years later, despite all the changes in algorithms, social media platforms, SEO updates, AI tools, successes, failures, reinventions, and false starts, the reason hasn’t changed.

    I am still curious.

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