You know when you’re in therapy, and you wanna explain why you saw an ancestor arrive in the room during the middle of the night’s dream, but you don’t wanna seem anymore ‘crazy’ than you already are?
So you just write it off, but inside you wish someone would just show up with a drum to bring your soul home because they’re safe and wise and grounded in magick?
But they don’t.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love therapy. My art therapist is a real djedi. Without her I wouldn’t make it through the storms of life to produce my most ecstatic works of art lately that in turn seem to be influencing culture in mega cool ways.
But truth be told, therapy doesn’t always address the spiritual side of life.
The elephant ancestor in the room, ya know?
Same with doctors.
I mean, same, same. I love my naturopath also. She can do all kinds of tests and recommend the right nutritional and lifestyle protocols to feel better. She levels up the game. Her knowledge of anatomy and tech is incredibly sophisticated.
I don’t diagnose or treat people like she can.
But once I brought my owl wing into a hospital. My friend’s mother was in a coma. I guess I was ‘death doulaing’ though at the time I was young and didn’t know there was such a thing.
But I was doing it anyways without knowing it’s name. It’s funny to remember. Here I am in the middle of the intensive care, playing my drum. I remember how we anointed her body in rosewater, dandelion, and the soft wind of the owl’s feathers.
It wasn’t easy to do.
The hospital felt like no place for such woo, even though it’s contradictory because if it were a place of healing one would assume it would be able to provide the most coherent containment for accessing the Wholeness out of anywhere.
It was such a scene really. Seeing us with our feathers amongst the machines and sterility of the world of the white coats. I felt out of place in the cold lighting of the hospital, and also I knew it was so essential that we were there for her Mom in tandem for the balance of all things.
I believe we need to make priority to pray inside our medicine places. And to make space for traditional cultures to practice medicine ways alongside the mainstream roles that have replaced these people’s positions socially.
Even though it feels awkward, and is sometimes misunderstood, I held steadfast in this work because I know without a doubt it’s important. Without art and ritual, we do not have ways to cope with the inevitable trauma of human existence.
It’s a built in mechanism.
We are the Oracles, the Seers, the Witches, the Medicine Ladies, The Baba Yuga folk. Often there is an attempt to silence us and eradicate us by the powers that wannabe.
If you study the past, and get curious about the remnants of what have been, there’s some real ass motherlovin’ trauma there ya’ll. Like WHOA.
Look into it. It’s facts.
We ladies with the owl wings and the dandelions and the rosewater were burned on the pyre for singing our old songs over the body of the dying. We death doulas were called demons and are still being cast aside and sentenced to death for simply calling out for boundaries, consent, and honesty.
For practicing medicine. For exposing our brilliance. For talking with the ancestors in the room.
And it’s not over. This is still happening in our world.
The old indigenous ways are still threatened with annihilation.
There are still those sentenced to death for expressing a call for empathy.
But I’ll tell you. We’re still here.
And we always will be.
And while I’m here in this lifetime,however long, I’m gonna bring my drum, my wing, and my basket of plants to the room. I’ll be the Wyrd Oracle Lady, standing in your circle alongside your health practitioner, your therapist, your business coach.
I’ll be a living spirit guide to join your team of allies, if it’s aligned.
And it’s great because I’ve assembled amazing team around me too of beautiful souls and therapists, coaches, teachers, plant spirit allies, family, friends and spirit guide.
I’ve got an amazing team of support.
We’re all here. All of our roles matter.
And we have your back.
We’re not going anywhere.
The Oracle code may have been broken for a time, and I know we often feel alone.
But I often look gratefully back to the wisdom of my ancestress, the last Pythia at Delphi and her last transmission to the world.
It was delivered at a time when corruption and greed scared away the sacred vapors that once emanated from the cracks in the earth and would invoke her spiraling trance.
I believe It’s one of the most essential and relevant messages of our time.
‘Know Thyself.
Above All Things,
Speak the Truth.
Do Nothing to Excess.
Accept the Gifts the Gods have Given You
Choose Not the Advice of Others
Make Your Own Nature Your Guide in Life
Go tell the King.
The well crafted Temple has fallen to pieces.
Apollo Dwells Here No More
There is No more Oracular Laurel
No Talking Spring
And the Voice of the Water
Has Been Silenced.
All is Finished.
But Hear my Words
The Muse Cannot be Silenced
She sings with Enough Forever
Her Voice Will be Heard Again.
Because do you wanna know who’s the most powerful ally of them all?
The Wholeness in YOU..
This is the truest of guides.
I’m just here to talk to the ancestor.
To be a Talking Spring.
