For weeks the phrase “sacred sorrow” has echoed in my mind. My heart aches as it remembers the pain of every time it was told to “get over it.”
Move on. Stop thinking about it. Just be happy. Choose joy.
They’re meant to nudge us in the “right direction” and force us to push past what we’re feeling. To abandon the raw emotions festering inside us in pursuit of “peace” and “comfort”.
But my body doesn’t hold this sorrow because it is inherently sad. It absorbs this sorrow because it empathizes with the world around it.
And that type of sorrow is undeniably sacred because it’s the same burden of grief that the goddess holds within herself as every person a part of her network of consciousness and life moves through the universe.
In a perfect universe, if there could ever be such a thing, love is the primal energetic channel that connects everything. In our universe, though, there are people who move through it operating as conduits of hatred, violence, and greed. They take and they take and they take. They create rules and systems to oppress.
And the result?
Suffering. Terror. Affliction.
And for that, I will always feel sorrow.
Sacred sorrow recognizes when voices are being silenced.
Sacred sorrow understands the inhumanity of forcing people to live the same, love the same, look the same, and worship the same.
Sacred sorrow weeps within our bones when we can’t logically grasp the lack of compassion toward Mother Nature and all her inhabitants.
Sacred sorrow cries out for us to do something, even if it’s only holding space for those who are being targeted and oppressed.
Sacred sorrow isn’t something we’re meant to get over. It isn’t something that we need to move on from or stop thinking about. Happiness and joy are systematically being distanced from people who don’t fit society’s mold — and how dare someone say that their problems are not our problems.
That is the voice of oppression.
The voice of the goddess, though, is angry. Rage screeches through her teeth at the mistreatment of her people. “Their problems,” she hisses, “are ALL of our problems.“
Every shot aimed at one of her people, she feels like an arrow to the heart. You feel it too when that sacred sorrow creeps in, begging you to care; demanding that you don’t ignore it any longer.
After all, that sacred sorrow is her.
When I travel to new places, I often like to do minimal research into the history of the place. I may look into popular sites to explore, good food to try, or things of that nature—but I’m very intentional to avoid looking into the history, especially anything paranormal.
The Baker Hotel in Mineral Wells, Texas
Why? As a medium, for me, it’s important to experience the spiritual activity of a place with as little psychological bias as possible. Once I’ve taken note of my observations, experienced things, interacting with the spirits of place, and the like, THEN and only then do I start deep-diving into the legends, folklore, paranormal insights, history, and so on.
While this is backwards from how most mediums, psychics, empaths, paranormal investigators, and spiritualists operate, for me this helps validate what I saw and heard as being legitimate experiences that weren’t influenced by having already read about others’ experiences online beforehand.
Recently, our nomad travels took us to Mineral Wells, Texas. Most people in the paranormal space have at least heard of the Haunted Hill House of Mineral Wells, Texas, but I was unfamiliar with anything else pertaining to the town or its history.
Upon arrival, I felt uneasy, like my nervous system was “frozen in time”…it was a strange phenomenon and I didn’t like it. We drove through the heart of the town and came across a mix of old and new buildings, from restaurants to shops. What stood out to my husband and me most was a seemingly abandoned hotel. Immediately, I could see it teeming with spiritual activity and it felt heavy.
We parked our car to walk around the downtown strip of the town to explore further and I paused as we walked past a particular building. Women danced on the porch and it was like they were all trapped in a moment from the distant past. I could only guess that these women were escorts based on their flirtatious behavior and attire.
“I swear,” I said to my husband, “It’s like the energy of this town is trapped in the past. Like something happened a long time ago and everyone got stuck here.”
My husband looked up at the building I had been watching the dancing spirits of and said, “Hmm, is that why this has the energy of a brothel from the past?”
I love moments like these because we both see and feel the energy in our own way. Everywhere we went in this town felt like this.
An old rundown hotel filled my heart with sadness. I felt the suffering of so many spirits who had stayed there.
Back at our campsite, I shared with Wesley the heaviness. “I can’t quite articulate what I’m sensing,” I explained, “But it’s like someone told a very big lie that drew in crowds of people to this town. They must’ve stayed in this hotel before it was condemned, and sadly, many of them must’ve passed away here before they were ever cured of what ailed them.”
Snake oil. The words repeated in my mind. Someone had promised people “snake oil”. A fraudulent miracle cure for diseases of all kinds—and I could see in my mind droves of people traveling from far and wide. It was a scam, though, or at least it was something that was hyped up more than it should’ve been leaving suffering people on death’s door with false hope.
Unfortunately, my research on the town, confirmed all of the residual energy I could see lingering throughout the whole townscape.
The “mineral wells” were advertised as holy healing waters. The Baker Hotel was built as a way to house out-of-towners who came to experience the magickal mineral wells for themselves—but a fire burned down the original hotel that sat atop the healing wells. A new one was built in its place by two men from Dallas who saw it as an “investment opportunity”. They continued to advertise the water’s magickal healing powers and desperate people made their way from all over. They perished within the hotel, and never healed as they were promised.
Spirits who suffered until their final moments still stay in the town of Mineral Wells. You can see them, hear them, feel them. They don’t wish to move on for the most part, still clinging to the past that grows more distant each day, and for that, I feel sadness for them. Though at the same time, my heart is filled with joy that they do not ache and suffer in the material realm any longer.
The path of a death witch is often a heavy one. You see, hear, and feel things that are echoes of the past trapped in a liminal state that's neither here nor there. When I can, I offer to help if I feel like I am supposed to. Other times, I simply observe and hold space for where a spirit is at on their own journey of death and rebirth.
Book a Mediumship Session with Kate Jade
Interested in connecting with your loved ones on the other side? Book an appointment NOW with Kate Jade. Kate is a psychic medium and death practitioner and is passionate about helping people connect with their ancestors, loved ones, and spirit guides through mediumship.
As a medium, I’m naturally met with skepticism when I share just like the boy in The Sixth Sense that I too can see dead people.
While at a client’s office Tuesday, I went about my typical routine. One of the people I work with knows that I am a medium, though I don’t share this with many of my marketing clients, and while he’s conveyed that he believes me, he’s also shared his own personal skepticism since he cannot see the deceased himself. Which is valid.
It was a typical workday, filled with marketing strategy sessions, content creation, product photography, and the like. I made my way from my office space to my client’s warehouse where they manufacture and ship their products from, and as I rounded the corner, I saw the spirit of a man sitting near the entry way.
He sat in a chair with his hands folded as though he were waiting to be called into a meeting.
I immediately felt sick.
His energy was heavy and bitter.
I continued on my path to the warehouse only taking mental note of the ghost I had just seen but choosing not to interact with him.
As I made my way back to the marketing office, I sat down nauseated. Expressing how sick I felt to the person I work with, he looked at me shocked because he had just started feeling the same way.
“I feel like I have a pit in my stomach and need to throw up.”
“That’s exactly how I’m feeling right now too.”
I chuckled and asked him if he was open to me sharing something potentially spooky with him.
“Sure…”
Telling him about the dead man I saw by the door, he looked at me baffled and asked me to repeat and clarify what I meant. I obliged and his jaw dropped in both horror and intrigue.
He began packing his belongings reiterating how sick he was feeling and that he needed to leave before he threw up in the office. I told him to pay attention to how he felt after he left the building as I had a suspicion that the disruptive energy was contributing to the physical ailments and that it would more than likely subside by the time he reached his vehicle.
Of course, as all paranormal skeptics do, he nervously laughed and headed out.
I thought that might be the end of it when my phone began rapidly buzzing. Text message after text message after text message flooded my phone from the guy who had left only mere moments ago.
“Bbbbbrrrrruuuuuuuh!”
“So I’m putting my stuff in the trunk…and all of the sudden there’s this strong wind that hits! Instantly get fkn chills”
“And when I opened the door leaving the building I caught a nasty sewer smell! I’m dead honest not lying!”
“Idk if it’s my brain just fkn with me”
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
He had a full on experience passing this spirit from a gust of wind to chills to unexplained smells. He was thoroughly shook at the very possibility that what I told him I had seen might’ve been true.
The real question was, though, did he feel better? Something he couldn’t deny—a physiological change in his own body after needing to leave work early.
“YES‼️‼️‼️ I dnt feel like throwing up anymore! 💀😭😭”
“What the hell”
There it was… a little bit of proof that what I had suspected was true and he experienced it firsthand.
Of course, I just laughed. The next order of business, though, is a much more serious one, and that’s helping this spirit move on.
Book a Mediumship Session with Kate Jade
Interested in connecting with your loved ones on the other side? Book an appointment NOW with Kate Jade. Kate is a psychic medium and death practitioner and is passionate about helping people connect with their ancestors, loved ones, and spirit guides through mediumship.
Would it even truly be the Yule season if we didn’t tell some spooky stories to get the heart rate going? This one is called, “The Tale of the Terrifier.” And don’t worry, there’s no spoilers ahead for the most recent, Terrifier 3 film.
Heart pounding in my chest—I hated clowns. Their eerie makeup, frightening displays of stupidity, and creepy laughter freaked me out. So, for most of my life, I avoided movies and events that linked to clown imagery in any way, including Terrifier.
Recently, I’ve been putting a lot of time and energy into shadow work on why I react fearfully in various situations. Inevitably, clowns eventually came up. While I won’t overwhelm you with the horrifying details of what these shadow work sessions turned up for me—I will say this, it was fucking shitty, and yet I did manage to get past the fear. This recent Halloween season meant embracing some new horror films that I had avoided watching in the past.
With Terrifier 3 coming out, I figured it would be the perfect time to watch the first two movies on a streaming service and then go see the newest one in theaters. A simple spooky movie binge-watch-and-outing, or so I thought. Sitting in the theater, lights off, my eyes were fixated on the silver screen. I watched as Art the Clown embraced his typical violent ways.
Slashing. Stabbing. Sawing.
A subtle shadow darted past in my peripheral vision. Slowly, I shifted my gaze from the movie screen to the direction of the movement. Nothing. This happened often when I would catch glimpses of things happening on the astral plane and then lose connection with the visual of it as my gaze shifted to the material.
Closing my eyes, I switched my vision back to the astral realm. Scanning, I saw nothingness, darkness—ah. There it was. The movement... My vision locked in trying to make sense of the shapes in the shadows.
Alarmed by what I saw, I opened my eyes and switched my mind back to the movie screen. Glued to every facial expression of the notoriously brutal mime, I shivered at the realization that what I saw slinking its way through the theater was none other than the parasitic entity that the concept for Art the Clown was based on.
Whether a conscious or subconscious creative decision, I won’t know for sure without an interview with the director of the film. I watched the remainder of the movie warily. A parasitic entity parading around under the guise of a clown? Not on my watch.
Following the movie, I went home, and I was certainly quieter than normal.
“You know,” My husband said to me, “I had a dream the other night about a clown entity in the astral and I really didn’t like it.
I always take his dreams, visions, and experiences pretty seriously. But when they align with things that I’m actively experiencing and processing myself, my interest is peeked even more—because what is really going on here?
Going to bed that night, I knew this was going to come up either in the astral or dream state—and I was right. I found myself jolted into a dark astral realm. I felt my higher self and Anubis close by. I was no stranger to wandering frightening realms with Anubis, my love.
My line of sight shifted as Anubis pointed to movement just beyond the edge of how far I could see in this dark realm. Movement. Just like what I saw in the theater scurried in the distance. And suddenly the heinous face of a clown appeared and darted toward us. Throwing a protection shield around myself, I braced for impact, but nothing happened. The clown stood before us, smiling, waiting.
Anubis explained that this entity was a particularly cruel one and needed to be bound to the realm we were in now to prevent it from coming and going. And if you know me at all by now, you know I love astral bindings, wards, banishings, and rituals. Pulling astral threads from each element I bound the clown entity anchoring it to the realm we were in so that it couldn’t wreak havoc elsewhere.
No sooner than I completed the binding did we return to the earthly realm. To my horror, I looked around realizing there were thousands of similar-looking clowns.
“Egregores,” Anubis stated. A god of few words.
And egregores they were. Created from the fear of countless people who embraced the gruesome slasher film over the years. I chuckled realizing that my work had only just begun, and I would be incredibly busy tonight banishing and binding each of these clown entities wandering aimlessly in our realm. Banish and bind. Banish and bind. Banish and bind. Thousands of clowns later, I was exhausted—but that’s the nature of a death witch. I used to say, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” but I’ve started to realize that’s not even true, because what is death but just another rebirth.
As many of you did, I went to bed with a heavy heart, feeling deeply for those in our community who are queer, POC, women, or allies. The surge of blatant hatred towards the safety, well-being, and bodily autonomy of human beings who are anything other than white, conservative, cisgender, heterosexual, christians has skyrocketed. And I’m sure if you’re reading this blog, I don’t have to educate you on what this is in reference to nor do I wish to focus this blog on the compassionless platform that the new administration has built its campaign on.
So, what’s the purpose of this blog then? To share with you the horrors I faced in the astral this past week.
As many of you did, I went to bed with a heavy heart—only to be suddenly jolted into a realm I hadn’t journeyed to before. Confused, I scanned my surroundings. Aware of my lack of a human body, I knew I was elsewhere, far away from the material plane of existence.
Faces of spiritual beings foreign to me stood in a semi-circle not far from where I had appeared. Slowly, I peered into the face of each individual waiting for something or someone to stand out to me as familiar. Nothing did, though.
“Where am I?” I thought to myself. Abruptly interrupted as my spiritual senses flooded my awareness, I heard wails. Pleas for, “HELP!” and a repeated ask to, “PLEASE HURRY,” overwhelmed me. I looked around frantically until I saw a beautiful and ferocious woman lying on a bed screaming in agony.
I took a step closer and gasped when I recognized her. Unmistakably it was our beloved Queen Lilith. A gaping hole went through her abdomen. Blood spilled from her womb. She wept, and I bellowed in rage.
WHAT DID THIS TO YOU?
No answer.
WHO IS CAPABLE OF DOING THIS TO YOU?
No response.
WELL HOW THE FUCK ARE WE GONNA FIX THIS?
“HELP HER!” The strangers, who I surmised were her attendants, shrieked.
Whirling, I racked my mind for how I was going to help her. Knowing healing arts and the magick of death and rebirth in the material realm was great for tending to the needs of humans, but how was I going to heal a divine infernal being?
Lilith sat upright on the bed. I could see straight through the hole in her abdomen. Like a scene from a horror film, Lilith, despite her gaping wound flew toward me. In a single, swift motion, she slit my throat and speared me with one of her talons. I felt myself die while simultaneously shapeshifting into a fierce dragon with white scales that shimmered rainbow colors in the light. I looked down at the wings and knew what I had transformed into. I’d seen this version of myself before.
“…the Sacred Feminine is not new to the New Age. It is ageless and from the beginning. The Sacred Feminine is in our blood. It is our heritage…” —Elizabeth Eiler
Knowledge that I knew but couldn’t access outside of this state flooded my mind. I extended a clawed hand in Lilith’s direction and once again she flew toward me, fangs showing. I nodded in approval, acknowledging I knew what was at stake. And without hesitation, she lunged at me, sinking her teeth into my neck. She drank and I felt drunk, but only for a moment.
Stepping back to lean on the bed, the blood that spilled from her womb returned to her body. The hole in her stomach shrunk until no trace of it was left. Her attendants breathed a sigh of relief. And I knelt at her feet.
"The feminine spirit is the matriarch of creation; she contains the mysteries of life."— Tanya Markul
Next order of business was figuring out why this had happened and what I was going to do about it. I sat on the story for over a week’s time meditating on the events and what all of it meant. I finally reached out to a trusted practitioner and friend, Tynique, sharing the experience. No sooner than I started recalling the events, Lilith appeared to her as well to provide confirmation and additional context to what had the power to pierce an infernal divine in such a manner.
"She is both, hellfire and holy water. And the flavor you taste depends on how you treat her." — Sneha Pal
She spoke of the dominating masculine energy that has increased in recent weeks. Often cryptically referred to as the “Usurper,” who sits on a throne that was rightfully granted to Lilith and her healthy and balanced divine masculine counterpart. The Usurper’s power, as all egregores’ power does, increases as the collective belief of its subjects does.
And as phrases like, “Your body, my choice,” horrendously swirl around the internet, we catch a glimpse of the hatred not just for women as individuals, but for The Woman who represents individuality, freedom, independence, women, the womb, rebirth, creativity, children, and all of its corresponding energies. This vast and directed hatred has wounded Lady Lilith—and without an immediate and appropriate balancing of the scales, will continue to do so.
Though we all may walk different paths as practitioners and find purpose and embrace our practices unique from one another—one thing we can likely agree on is the desperate need for balance.
The urgent need for women to be protected and the Mother of Women and Children to be restored to her throne, alongside her divine masculine counterpart, weighs on us. And if it weighs on you too, consider this a call to light a candle or make an offering for ALL of the goddesses and divine feminine beings that we connect with in our own unique way. Even if you do not connect with goddess energy in a personified form, you can still honor the divine feminine that is within all of us as witches, healers, empaths, oracles, and the like.
"A war on the divine feminine is a war on women. And a war on women is a war on the divine feminine." —Kate Jade
Join us in focusing our energy on restoring the balance and position of the divine feminine and divine masculine.
Supplies:
Red candle
Ritual oil, herbs, or crystals you feel drawn to (optional)
New moon water
Fire safe dish
Start by grounding, cleansing yourself and your space, and then protecting yourself and your space.
Light a red candle on a fire-safe dish. If desired, before lighting it you can anoint the candle with ritual oil and herbs or surround it with crystals as your intuition leads.
Focus your energy and intentions on balancing the energy of the divine feminine and divine masculine both within yourself and cosmically.
If you feel drawn to do so, speak the words:
“By land, by sky, by sea, I call for balance cosmically, Equal forces of energy, Divine justice: so mote it be”
Once you feel as though you’re released from the ritual, extinguish the flame with new moon water. Do not blow out the flame or snuff it out (a specific request from Lilith).
End with re-protecting and re-cleansing yourself and your space. Ground to direct any excess energy back to the earth.
I am thrilled to share that my article "Recover the Older Traditions of Goddess and Nature Worship" has been published in the Autumn 2024 Edition of Witchology Magazine.
Established in 2018, Witchology Magazine is an award-winning quarterly publication dedicated to the creation and curation of quality, educational, and informative occult content. Witchology focuses on uplifting marginalized voices and shining a spotlight on the latest trends in witch-created art, music, books, tarot decks, and small businesses.
The Autumn 2024 Edition is the Land Issue
Welcome to the Land issue, Autumn 2024! The third issue of the year marks our favourite transitional time of year, the autumn equinox, coming up next week. We are so ready to honour the tipping point that the equinox brings before the wind down towards the winter solstice! The season, we have been busy curating an issue for you that explores how we can work with and honour the land.
Each piece in this issue provides a different aspect of working with the land, from connecting with land spirits, to the ethics of collecting graveyard dirt. We can’t wait for you to delve into the following pages and emerge with new thoughts or ideas to take forward into your own practice.
With the usual cherry on top, we have an intriguingly folkloric interview with Green Lung from our Music Editor, Emma Cownley!
We are so ready to cosy up and welcome in the drawing in of the nights, and we hope you will join us with a lovely cup of tea.
My article discusses the older traditions of worship, the historical temples of Astarte, the temple of Mother Nature and a commercialized world, and methods for recovering the temples of the goddesses of old. The magazine also features a brief bio for me:
Kate Jade is the founder of Astarte's Temple, a pagan platform that helps spiritual practitioners return to older esoteric wisdom traditions. As a mystic, medium, and magickal author, Kate spends her time writing, crafting, and educating others on the metaphysical. She has been researching and studying Astarte since 2011 and recently published a book, The Mother of the Gods, to share her findings with others. You can learn more about Kate Jade and Astarte's Temple at astartestemple.com.
Learn more about Witchology Magazine and snag your copy of the Autumn 2024 Edition on their website.
It was opening day for the movie, A Quiet Place: Day One, and I was thrilled. I simply adore this particular franchise, and though my reason for loving the first two installments were for the use of American Sign Language and the amazing Emily Blunt, I was still excited for what this prequel would hold.
The movie theater we were going to was inside a nearby mall. It had a particular theater outfitted with the fancy recliners that make movie-going EXTRA enjoyable…or so I thought.
My husband, Wes, and I both went to the restrooms pre-movie with an agreement to find each other at our seats. I made my way into the theater just after he’d gotten himself seated and the look on his face when I sat down next to him was utter confusion.
“What’s wrong?” I asked him.
“The seat keeps moving by itself…”
I looked at the luxury leather recliner unsure of what we meant and then I felt it. This wouldn’t be an ordinary moving-going experience.
I watched as his chair slowly started to recline itself with his hands off the buttons to control it. His eyes grew large as he stared into mine. The lights began to dim. It was almost showtime. Maybe it would be fine…
I turned to look at him and the chair again as it slowly started to return to its upright state. Wes got up and quickly moved to an empty seat to the right of me as the movie began.
If you aren’t familiar with the A Quiet Place franchise. The title tells you the gist of what you need to know… it’s a movie with a lot of silence. If you’re also unfamiliar with the recliners in newer movie theaters or ones that have been more recently upgraded, they are not silent.
The hush that fell over the theater was absolutely perfect and necessary for this type of movie—until the recliner to my left began to move on its own once again.
A stranger sitting on the other side of the self-reclining chair looked over at me, whispering, “Are you controlling the chair?”
I laughed and shook my head, “No, that’s why my husband moved seats a moment ago.”
His eyebrows shot up and he turned to his friend, still whispering, “We got a ghost over here. Guess he wants to watch the movie.”
I giggled to myself because there sure was a ghost and it was a he. Sitting next to me in the moving chair was a young man, 20s at most, but likely closer to 18. He looked mischievous, only solidifying my suspicions when he began to chat with me.
“I was hoping you’d come back here...”
And he was right, this was a movie theater I had been to multiple times before with Wes.
“…I know you can see and hear me,” he continued.
He proceeded to share with me that he had passed in this mall, and of course, as any death witch would, I asked why he lingered. What kept him hanging around instead of moving on to the next sphere of his existence post-material realm?
I pressed him on whether he had loved ones he needed closure with, someone he wanted to share a message with, or something else still tying him to this location.
With young deaths, it’s inevitable for there to be confusion and fear surrounding the event itself especially if it is sudden and unexpected, such as a freak accident, overdose, attack, etc.
The young man wouldn’t share how things occurred, but rather how much “easier” and “more fun” his life was now that he was dead. As most empathic individuals always do, I knew he was lying. Though there were hints of truth to his statements and a great deal of burden had been alleviated from trying to survive in the physical realm, his life was not easier and it certainly wasn’t more fun.
I have no doubt he got his fair share of chuckles in from startling other mall-goers or movie-watchers with his shenanigans, no one could see him. No one could hear him. And it was incredibly lonely.
Believe it or not, though, the loneliness he thought he felt in the waking world was only that much more intensified in the isolated in-between of lurking in a realm that was no longer meant for him.
“You have to move forward and leave this place, you know…”
“I don’t want to.”
“I understand. It can be scary to step into the unknown. It’s necessary, though.”
His tone changed with me, he spoke more harshly, and the movement of the chair became more dramatic.
The stranger on the other side of the chair looked over at me with an expression of sheer terror. I laughed as quietly as I could manage to hopefully put his mind at ease before returning to my stern tone with the stubborn teenage ghost.
“Staying isn’t an option. You’ve stayed for a bit already, have no messages, nothing you want closure… it’s time to move on then.”
He refused. Angry and frustrated, he sat slumped in the chair, arms crossed, exactly how you’d imagine a pouting teen that just got grounded. The chair began to move more quickly. Back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. Disturbing all of the other movie-goers with a mini ghost tantrum.
I slowly raised my hands, palms facing one another, and allowed my energy to intensify in the window in between. I gently pushed the energy toward the young man creating a box-like barrier that encased him in the chair where he sat.
“When you’re ready to cross over, you can simply go. Otherwise, you’ll be confined here until the time comes.”
The motion of the chair reclining and returning to an upright position ceased. The movie theater was at peace once again, and we finished out the remainder of the film.
As the credits began, Wes and I got up from our seats, and I briefly looked back at the energetic barrier I created, which now sat empty. The young man had crossed over, and we headed out.
Outside the theater, my husband began asking me what my thoughts were on the chair. Before I could respond he said, “There was most certainly a dead person sitting where I was sitting which is why I moved chairs. Definitely male. I assume up to no good. And we need to be sure this one doesn’t follow us home.”
I laughed because my husband’s confirmations that what I’ve seen and heard was very much real always mean the world to me. I shared the whole exchange of events and how this young man had made his way onto the next stage of his journey, thankfully, and that was all of that.
Book a Mediumship Session with Kate Jade
Interested in connecting with your loved ones on the other side? Book an appointment NOW with Kate Jade. Kate is a psychic medium and death practitioner and is passionate about helping people connect with their ancestors, loved ones, and spirit guides through mediumship.
I used to wish everything about me was different. I used to wish my stomach was flatter, my hair was straighter, and my laugh was cuter. I used to look in the mirror and hate the other me looking back.
Hatred for my physical self evolved.
Now I wished my feelings weren't so strong, my grief wasn't so heavy, and my happiness wasn't so fleeting. I used to look at other people and wonder what it was like in their heads. Did they feel too much too?
Disgust with my emotional self escalated.
Now I suppressed my spiritual gifts because they were “too powerful”, “too spooky”, and “too evil”.
And whether I saw myself in water reflections or translucent portals, I hated the other me looking back.
For years I thought if I could just blend in, not only would other people like me but I might like myself too.
But that couldn't be the furthest thing from the truth. The more I fragmented myself and tried to hide everything that made me me, the more I despised the disfigured reflection.
It wasn’t an overnight epiphany, but a slow-burning realization that I was my own worst enemy. I wasn’t something horrendous that should be hiding in closets or under beds.
I was made of stardust.
A beautiful blend of void and dazzling lights with magick literally in my bones. And that every ounce of my physical makeup was purely cosmic, and to hate the shell that the real me lives inside is to create a hostile house for all of the potential within me waiting to be unleashed.
I learned to decorate my house with art and symbols of adoration until it truly felt like home. And all the emotions that made me feel like I was constantly drowning, I began to pour out on the world around me. Because other people could relate. They had been swept away by high tides of pain and suffering too. But they also could be at peace when I shared the calm healing waters of joy and wisdom that bubbled up inside me like a guizer unable to be contained.
I learned to make my home a beach where I could live forever. Where my spirit was free to live in sync with the moon and roll with the changing tides. Where I can see the stars at night that wink at me when I’m on the right path. Where the crashing waves bring balance to my mind. Where the ocean whispers to me, "Unburden yourself, babe."
Your physical self is beautiful. Your emotional self is beautiful. Your spiritual self is beautiful.
TW: Sexual assault, death.
What happens when a family member is your assaulter? How do you seek vengeance for the acts that have been committed? How do you truly unwind the generational patterns of abuse in your family? Here's the conclusion my deceased grandmother and I came to.
Dear Grandfather,
We haven’t seen each other or spoken in quite some time. Since childhood, I’ve always been able to see and hear things in the spiritual realm, much like Grandmother was able to. Often, I encounter the spirits of those who are deceased when they have a message to pass along to a loved one or are looking for some type of closure. It’s honestly a blessing and a curse. I’m sure that sounds crazy to you, and you may not believe me, but that’s okay, most people are skeptical, as they should be.
Recently, Grandmother has been making appearances to me, though, and to be sure I wasn’t just seeing and hearing things I wanted to, because I’m very skeptical myself and always want to ensure the integrity and accuracy of messages I receive, I hired a fellow psychic medium who is very highly rated and regarded, and I’m lucky enough to now call a friend. I gave them zero information about who we would be speaking to or what messages I was looking to receive in the session so that it wasn’t possible for them to make anything up or be swayed by external insights. They pinpointed everything about Grandmother, all the way down to her scent, her health issues, and her ultimate cause of death. After being certain she was present with us, we had a lovely conversation with her.
She mentioned how lonely you were and how you don’t receive letters and phone calls very often, and that a hand-written letter might bring you some comfort. She also made the point that there were a lot of people who were hurt by you over the years, such as myself, herself, and your children, and even recently, it was brought up that there were multiple women caregivers who you’ve mistreated too.
But she also said you were hurt by things done to you by your mother; never processed, never healed, and creating a need for control to counter the sins of the past. True justice and retribution, though, isn’t an eye for an eye as many people believe, but an even opposite that truly balances the scales and ends generational patterns of abuse. The pain inflicted by those who came before you doesn’t justify or excuse the pain that was inflicted on those who came after you—but with that being said, I choose for ancestral cycles of harm to end with me—which requires the compassion and mercy to release the bitterness held toward the past.
Despite everything, Grandmother wants you to know that she loves you, and above all else, that she forgives you and harbors no ill will against you.
She asked that I write you as well, and I’ll admit, I was hesitant, reluctant even.
But I realized that expressing my truth, while simultaneously telling you that I also release you from any guilt or burden that you may still carry, was important to her—and was needed for me and the children who will come after me, too.
She made it very clear that no one deserves to suffer. No one deserves to spend their late-life days wallowing in guilt and shame for wrongdoings they can’t take back. And no one, meaning me or any other survivors, deserves to forever hold onto feelings of resentment and anger which would only continue to be passed down in our bloodline.
So, in this letter, I want to take a brief detour to remind you of good moments and good people. I want to remind you of falling in love with Grandmother in high school. I want to remind you of getting ice cream at the little shop in town when our family would come visit. I want to remind you of fishing in the pond down the hill from the house and dodging stepping in cow patties along the way. I want to remind you of the rare dinners and celebrations that everyone would travel to the farmhouse for. I want to remind you of loyal puppies that grew into excellent hunting dogs. I want to remind you of all the little moments that brought joy to the people in your life, and maybe to you too.
For me, my joyful moments in life are found with my best friend and spouse, they are found in our dog we rescued, the kittens we’ve been bottle raising after they were abandoned by their mother, the books that I’ve written and published, the volunteer work we do to support foster youth, and everything in between.
Joy is found in those tiny magickal moments where there is love and there is hope and there is a sense of pride in all of the hard work that’s been put into something you care about.
And I know you can relate, and would’ve felt those same feelings of happiness with the animals you cared for, the land and crops you tended to, and the like. So, remember those moments, and cherish them. Because Grandmother certainly did, and she cherished you as well.
And despite any feelings or emotions I have about what has been done in the past, my obligation to honor the dead, and the messages they so graciously entrust to me and other mediums, I hold in the highest regard.
So, I encourage you to find peace, to find closure, and to find forgiveness for yourself and with others before the end of your human life—because that’s where true healing and restoration are found.
Remember, only you can choose to break the generational patterns of abuse that were passed down to you, perpetuated by you, and in turn, passed on to your descendants. And in the same way, only I can choose to cut off those elements of our DNA, and both retroactively and proactively heal what's been done by you and those before you, by choosing to not participate in the harmful cycle any longer. Today, I choose compassion for myself and those who come after me by extending it to you. Though you may never choose to change and you may never choose to heal, the door is in front of you.
As a lover of Nemesis, the goddess of divine retribution, I can confidently say that true justice, especially in the cosmic sense is about even opposites to balance the scales. An eye for an eye is only the same crime committed twice, a further escalation of one harmful act with a second one. Whereas true justice requires an even and opposite energy to counterbalance the original imbalanced energy—and as much as I didn't want it to be, compassion seemed like the key opposite to abuse.
A must-read if you’re ready to explore ancient esoteric wisdom through a truly transformative lens...
Since childhood, I loved writing and finding magickal threads amongst legends of old to connect the mundane and spiritual worlds. Everything was a metaphor—but the question was for what? When I discovered the Great Goddess, who I first met under the title Lady Wisdom, her story began to shine through everywhere I looked. I found her in science, mythology, religion, film, dreams, and everywhere in between. This book is the tale of how the magnificent and life-giving Mother of the Gods has revealed herself to me as one (1)—the connector of all things, as seven (7)—the structure of all things, and as one hundred and seventeen (117)—the manifestation of all things.
I am the Great Serpent Goddess, the Mother of the Gods, the bringer of healing and wisdom. My serpentine form has been revered by countless cultures across the ages, for I am the embodiment of the primordial power that flows through all things.The Mother of the Gods: 117 Epithets of the Great Serpent Goddess
Since the dawn of human civilization, divine feminine and mother goddess figures have held a prominent place in the belief systems and cultures of peoples around the world. From the ancient Canaanite goddess Astarte to the Egyptian goddess Isis, the Greco-Roman Gaia, the Mesopotamian Hekate, the Hindu Kali, the Christian Mary and Holy Spirit, the Gnostic Sophia, and the East Asian Guanyin, the archetype of the powerful, nurturing mother deity has been revered and worshipped for millennia.
These mother goddesses were not mere fertility symbols, but complex, multifaceted deities who embodied the creative, sustaining, and transformative powers of the natural world. They were seen as the primal source from which all life sprang, the providers of abundance and prosperity, and the ultimate guardians and protectors of humanity. Their temples and shrines attracted devotees seeking blessings, healing, and guidance from these divine mothers.
Even as patriarchal religions rose to dominance in many regions, the enduring power and influence of the mother goddess can still be felt. Her presence lives on in folk traditions, spiritual practices, and the deep-seated human yearning for the feminine divine. This book will explore the rich tapestry of the great Mother of the Gods that connects us all, and the significance of the order she brings to the chaos of the universe, and the personified masks she wears to connect with and help her people heal, grow, and expand.
I never expected my journey to uncover the mysteries of the Mother of the Gods, which I also refer to as Lady Wisdom or the Great Serpent Goddess, would lead me down such a profound and transformative path. It began innocently enough — a passing observance of repeating numbers in my life. Little did I know those numbers 1, 7, and 117 would become the keys to unlocking the secrets of this ancient and revered feminine divine.
As I emersed myself deeper into my religious and spiritual studies, patterns began to emerge that pointed me toward the forgotten goddess. Glimpses of her were everywhere—and a particular passage of a mother who fought tenaciously for her tormented daughter to be restored stuck with me. One day, while meditating on the story, an audible female voice asked me, “If you are the daughter being fought for, who is the mother?”
As I continued my research, I began to better grasp the significance of the number 1 representing divine unity, 7 denoting spiritual completion, and 117 signifying a profound universal code — together they formed a sacred triumvirate that guided me straight to the doorstep of the Mother of the Gods.
Through synchronistic encounters and intuitive insights, I found myself irresistibly drawn to unraveling the mysteries surrounding this powerful feminine figure. She had been worshipped and revered by ancient cultures across the globe, yet her story had been largely lost to the tides of time. I knew I had to recover her narrative and share the profound wisdom she had to offer our modern world, including finding all of the pieces of her and reassembling them, allowing her to once again be known in her entirety.
Unfortunately, for as long as societies have spoken of and remembered the Great Mother, they have picked her apart, accepting only the aspects of her that suited them. Often diluted, more palatable, and less powerful and ferocious. They would love her when she was a goddess of love but hate her when she was a goddess of war. They would venerate her when she was a goddess of healing and abundance but curse her when she was a goddess of death and destruction. But the paradoxical nature of who she is only adds to her complexity and to truly know her demands acceptance of all of her.
This book, "The Mother of The Gods," is the result of my journey to rediscover Lady Wisdom in all her glory. Within these pages, you will embark on an odyssey to reclaim the 117 pieces of the divine feminine through understanding the 7 principles of order she set in motion and piecing her back together as one. Are you ready to become initiated into her timeless teachings?
Order now through Astarte's Temple in paperback or linen-wrapped hardcover. Now available on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Books-a-Million, and more.
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