For years, the serpent has been at the center of my spiritual path. To me, snakes are not creatures to fear—they are teachers, guardians of ancient wisdom, and living symbols of transformation. They remind us that growth is not always comfortable. Sometimes we must shed old skin, old identities, and old wounds in order to become who we are truly meant to be.
That philosophy is what inspired me to create The Living Coil Oracle.
This deck is deeply personal to me. Every card reflects experiences of transformation, shadow work, spiritual awakening, grief, healing, empowerment, and rebirth that I have encountered throughout my own journey. I wanted to create an oracle deck that did more than simply predict outcomes. I wanted something that would guide people inward—to help them confront the parts of themselves they hide away, reclaim their power, and embrace change rather than fear it.
The deck contains 27 cards, each representing different stages of spiritual evolution and self-discovery. Cards like The Threshold, The Shadow Self, Cracking Skin, and The Eternal Coil were designed to speak to those moments in life when everything feels uncertain, yet transformation is already beginning beneath the surface.
The serpent has long been connected to wisdom, death and rebirth, healing, magick, and sacred knowledge across countless traditions. In many ways, The Living Coil Oracle is my love letter to that sacred symbolism and the lessons the serpent has taught me over the years.
Creating this deck has been a labor of passion, spirit, and devotion. Now, I’m asking for your support in helping bring it fully into the world through Kickstarter. Whether you are a tarot reader, witch, spiritual seeker, healer, or simply someone navigating change and transformation, I truly believe this deck will speak to you.
We are living in a time where accusations travel faster than truth. A single rumor, allegation, or social media post can spread across communities within hours, shaping public opinion before facts are ever fully understood. While accountability is important in any community, there is a growing danger in a culture that condemns people before they are given the opportunity to speak, explain, or defend themselves.
This is especially harmful within spiritual communities, where people often speak about compassion, healing, balance, justice, and personal evolution. Yet many of these same spaces can quickly become environments of mob mentality, gossip, and public shaming. The contradiction is difficult to ignore.
One of the greatest spiritual lessons many traditions teach is discernment. Discernment asks us to pause, reflect, and seek truth rather than react emotionally. It reminds us that hearing one side of a story is not the same as knowing the full story. Unfortunately, cancel culture often discourages discernment. Instead, people are pressured to immediately choose sides out of fear that remaining neutral or asking questions will make them appear complicit.
Spiritually, this creates imbalance.
When people rush to destroy someone’s reputation without evidence, due process, or honest conversation, it feeds energies of fear, anger, judgment, and division. Communities become rooted in suspicion rather than trust. Individuals become afraid to speak openly, create authentically, or even make mistakes for fear that one accusation could erase years of work, growth, or contribution.
There is also a profound spiritual danger in believing we are morally perfect while condemning others. Many spiritual traditions teach that shadow exists within everyone. Human beings are flawed. We all make mistakes, misjudge situations, say harmful things, or evolve beyond beliefs and behaviors we once held. Growth cannot happen if people are denied the space to learn, reflect, apologize, or change.
This does not mean harmful behavior should be ignored. Genuine abuse, manipulation, or misconduct should absolutely be addressed responsibly. But accusations alone should never automatically become proof. There must be room for truth, context, conversation, and fairness. Otherwise, justice becomes vengeance disguised as morality.
Reputations are fragile things. Many people spend decades building businesses, communities, spiritual paths, artistic careers, or teaching platforms. In today’s digital world, all of that can be destroyed overnight through rumors, social pressure, screenshots without context, or public assumptions. Even if accusations later prove false or exaggerated, the damage often remains. People rarely remember corrections as loudly as they remember scandal.
Spiritually, we should ask ourselves difficult questions:
Are we seeking truth, or are we seeking someone to punish?
Are we acting from wisdom, or emotional reaction?
Are we helping create healing and accountability, or feeding division and destruction?
Have we allowed social media outrage to replace compassion and discernment?
There is also karma in false judgment. Destroying another person through gossip, exaggeration, or assumptions carries consequences—not only emotionally and socially, but spiritually as well. Words carry energy. Public humiliation carries energy. Participating in collective attacks against others can deeply affect both the person being targeted and the people engaging in the attack.
Healthy spiritual communities should encourage accountability balanced with fairness. They should allow people to defend themselves, speak honestly, and be treated as human beings rather than symbols of collective outrage. Justice without compassion becomes cruelty. Compassion without accountability becomes enabling. Wisdom exists in balancing both.
At the end of the day, spirituality should challenge us to become more conscious, not more reactive. It should teach us to listen carefully, think critically, and remember the humanity of others—even when conflict arises.
Because once a reputation is destroyed, it is rarely restored completely. And sometimes the greatest spiritual harm is not only what happens to the accused—but what happens to the soul of a community that learns to condemn before it learns to understand.
There comes a point on every spiritual path where we are forced to confront the ghosts of our past—not the spirits we call upon in ritual, but the memories we cling to, the wounds we replay, and the regrets we refuse to release. Many people spend years trapped in cycles of “what if,” replaying old decisions in their minds as though suffering long enough might somehow rewrite history. But the truth is this: living in the past can become one of the greatest obstacles to spiritual growth.
Regret has a way of chaining us to former versions of ourselves. We look back at old relationships, mistakes, choices, or even moments of anger and think, I should have done things differently. Yet what we often fail to understand is that the decision we made at that time was the decision we were capable of making with the knowledge, emotional state, and spiritual awareness we possessed in that moment.
You cannot judge your past self through the eyes of who you are now.
Spiritual growth is transformation. Just as a serpent sheds its skin, we are meant to evolve beyond old identities. But many people keep trying to crawl back into skins they have already outgrown. They obsess over old pain, old guilt, and old versions of themselves that no longer exist. In doing so, they prevent themselves from fully stepping into who they are becoming.
Regret also creates spiritual stagnation because it keeps your energy rooted in the past instead of the present. Your spirit cannot move forward if your soul is constantly looking backward. Every lesson, every heartbreak, every wrong turn—those experiences shaped you. Even the painful choices served a purpose. Sometimes they taught boundaries. Sometimes they forced survival. Sometimes they awakened you spiritually in ways comfort never could.
That does not mean every decision was perfect. It means the decision was necessary for the person you were at the time.
There is a difference between reflection and imprisonment. Reflection allows us to learn. Imprisonment keeps us suffering. True spiritual maturity comes when we can acknowledge our past without allowing it to define our future.
Many spiritual traditions speak of rebirth, death, and transformation because growth requires letting go. You cannot carry every old wound into the next stage of your evolution. Eventually, you must stop punishing yourself for surviving the only way you knew how.
Forgiveness is not always about forgiving others. Sometimes it is about forgiving yourself for being human.
The reality is that if you had known better then, you likely would have chosen differently. But you didn’t. And that is okay. The path itself—the mistakes, grief, confusion, and hard choices—created the wisdom you now carry. Without those experiences, you would not be the person you are today.
Spiritual growth is not about becoming flawless. It is about becoming conscious.
So stop standing at the graveyard of your past, mourning old versions of yourself. Honor them. Learn from them. Thank them for surviving what they survived. Then allow them to rest.
The serpent does not mourn the skin it leaves behind. It sheds it so it can continue growing.
A dark goddess is not a figure of evil—she is a force of depth. She embodies the aspects of existence that many fear or avoid: death, endings, shadow, transformation, power, sexuality, grief, and truth. Where lighter or more nurturing divine forms may comfort and sustain, the dark goddess challenges, strips away illusion, and initiates profound change.
Across cultures, dark goddesses appear as guardians of thresholds—those liminal spaces where one state of being dissolves into another. They are often associated with the night, the underworld, the moon’s hidden phases, and the cycles of decay and rebirth. Figures like Kali, Hecate, The Morrigan, and Ereshkigal all embody this current in different cultural expressions. Each stands at the edge—between life and death, known and unknown, power and surrender.
To encounter a dark goddess is to be confronted with truth in its most unfiltered form. She is not concerned with comfort or appearances. Instead, she governs the necessary processes of breaking down what no longer serves. This can manifest as emotional upheaval, spiritual awakening, shadow work, or deep personal transformation. She is the force that demands authenticity—no masks, no denial, no illusion.
The “dark” in dark goddess refers to the unseen, the hidden, and the fertile void from which all creation arises. Just as seeds must be buried in darkness to grow, so too must parts of the self undergo dissolution before renewal can occur. The dark goddess presides over this sacred destruction. She teaches that endings are not failures—they are initiations.
She is also a guardian of power—particularly the kind that has historically been suppressed or feared. This includes feminine rage, sovereignty, sexuality, and intuitive knowing. Dark goddesses often reclaim what has been cast aside or demonized, reminding us that these forces are not inherently dangerous, but misunderstood and potent.
Working with a dark goddess—whether ritually, spiritually, or psychologically—often involves shadow work: facing fears, confronting trauma, and reclaiming lost aspects of the self. It is not always comfortable, but it is deeply transformative. These goddesses do not walk you around the fire; they walk you through it.
Importantly, dark goddesses are not purely destructive. They are cyclical. For every ending they bring, there is the potential for rebirth. Their power lies in their ability to hold both creation and destruction in balance. They destroy illusion, ego, and stagnation—but in doing so, they clear space for something more aligned, more authentic, and more alive.
To understand the dark goddess is to understand that true transformation rarely comes gently. It comes through confrontation, release, and rebirth. And in that process, there is a kind of sacred empowerment—one that cannot be given, only claimed.
MAMAN BRIGITTE
Maman Brigitte is not a gentle goddess. She is not soft, distant, or politely divine. She is raw, fierce, laughing at the edge of the grave—and it is precisely this untamed, unapologetic power that places her firmly among the Dark Goddesses.
To understand Maman Brigitte as a dark goddess is to first understand what “dark” truly means. It does not mean evil. It does not mean malevolent. Darkness, in the sacred sense, is the realm of endings, transformation, mystery, and the truths most people avoid. It is the place where illusions are stripped away and where the soul is forced to confront itself without comfort or disguise. This is where Maman Brigitte reigns.
She is the lwa of the cemetery, the fierce protector of graves, and the wife of Baron Samedi. Where he governs death with theatrical flair, she commands it with sharp wit, fire, and absolute authority. She is the guardian of those who have no one left to speak for them—the forgotten dead, the unclaimed souls, the lost. There is nothing gentle about her justice. She does not coddle. She corrects. She burns away what is false.
Her imagery alone speaks to her dark goddess nature: red hair like flame, a top hat marking her authority over death, rum infused with hot peppers that burns the throat like truth itself, and the ever-present cemetery—her sacred domain. She drinks, she smokes, she laughs loudly and often profanely, shattering the illusion that the divine must be polished or restrained. Maman Brigitte reminds us that power is not always pretty. Sometimes it is loud, irreverent, and unapologetically wild.
As a dark goddess, she is also a force of transformation. Death, in her hands, is not simply an end—it is a crossing point. She stands at the threshold between worlds, guiding souls, but also guiding the living through their own initiations. When you call on Maman Brigitte, you are not asking for comfort. You are asking for truth. You are asking for the strength to face what needs to die within you so that something stronger can rise.
She is also deeply protective, but her protection is not passive. Maman Brigitte defends fiercely, especially when it comes to injustice, abuse, or disrespect of the dead. She is known to punish those who cross boundaries, particularly those who harm others or desecrate sacred spaces. This aspect aligns her with many dark goddesses across traditions—those who wield both nurturing and destructive power, understanding that creation and destruction are inseparable.
There is also something profoundly liminal about her. Maman Brigitte embodies the crossroads of identity, culture, and spirit. With her Irish associations intertwined with Haitian Vodou, she is a reminder that the dark divine often exists outside neat categories. She is both ancestral and evolving, rooted and fluid, ancient and alive.
To walk with Maman Brigitte is to walk into the cemetery of the self—to sit among your ghosts, your grief, your shadow, and your truth. She does not ask you to be perfect. She asks you to be real. She will strip away illusion, burn through denial, and leave you standing in your raw, authentic power.
And if you can stand there—unmasked, unafraid—she will stand with you.
There is a moment each year when the earth exhales.
It happens at Beltane, when the veil of winter has fully lifted and the pulse of life returns with undeniable force. Celebrated on May 1st, Beltane is a fire festival—one of passion, fertility, and sacred union. It is not subtle. It is not quiet. It is the season of blooming, of heat rising, of life insisting on itself.
And within this ancient celebration lives a powerful, often overlooked symbol of transformation: the serpent.
Beltane has its roots in ancient Celtic tradition, where great bonfires were lit to honor life, fertility, and protection. These fires were not just symbolic—they were portals of transformation. Cattle were driven between them for blessing, and people would leap the flames, shedding the stagnation of winter and stepping into renewal.
This is a liminal time—the space between what was and what will be.
It is the threshold of becoming.
Beltane is not just about growth. It is about ignition.
If Beltane is the fire, the serpent is what survives it.
The snake has long been revered across cultures as a symbol of rebirth, healing, and eternal cycles. Unlike other creatures, the serpent does not simply grow—it sheds. It releases what no longer serves it, sloughing off old skin to reveal something new, raw, and alive beneath.
This act is not gentle. It is friction. It is a vulnerability. It is necessary.
And that is where its magic lies.
The serpent teaches us that transformation is not about adding more—it is about stripping away.
Beltane is often associated with sacred union—the dance of masculine and feminine energies, the intertwining of forces that create life. The Maypole itself, with its spiraling ribbons, echoes the movement of the serpent: coiling, rising, weaving energy into form.
There is something deeply serpentine about Beltane energy.
It rises like kundalini, the coiled life force at the base of the spine, awakening, ascending, igniting the body and spirit. It is sensual. It is primal. It is alive.
Fire transforms from the outside. The serpent transforms from within.
Together, they create a complete alchemy of change.
Beltane invites you to ask a powerful question:
What must you shed to fully bloom?
Just as the serpent cannot grow without releasing its skin, we cannot step into our next evolution while clinging to what no longer fits.
This may be:
Old identities
Outdated beliefs
Relationships that have run their course
Versions of yourself you have outgrown
Beltane is not the time for hesitation. It is the time to burn and shed.
Write down what you are ready to release. Speak it aloud. Feed it to the fire. Feel it leave your body like skin slipping free.
Then stand in that space—raw, open, and becoming.
To walk the path of the serpent at Beltane is to embrace transformation fully.
It is to understand:
Growth is not always comfortable
Transformation requires release
Power comes from within
Rebirth is cyclical, not linear
The serpent does not mourn its old skin. It leaves it behind without apology.
So must we.
Beltane is a celebration—but it is also a challenge.
It asks you to step into the fire of your own becoming. It asks you to shed what is dead. It asks you to rise, coiled and ready, into the next version of yourself.
Like the serpent. Like the flame. Like the eternal coil.
There was a time—not that long ago—when witchcraft was passed hand to hand, breath to breath, spirit to spirit.
You learned from someone. An elder. A teacher. A guide.
Not someone with a ring light and a trending sound.
So where did they go?
Do Elders Still Exist?
Yes. They do.
But they’re quieter now.
They’re not always the loudest voice in the room. They’re not chasing algorithms or building platforms off aesthetics alone. Real elders are often found in lived experience—decades of practice, mistakes, initiations, spirit work, and deep devotion to the craft.
They’re the ones who:
Tell you “no” when something isn’t safe
Teach you why, not just how
Emphasize ethics over aesthetics
Understand that power comes with responsibility
And here’s the truth a lot of people don’t want to hear:
Elders are not always accessible. And they’re not always easy.
They challenge you. They correct you. They don’t exist to validate you—they exist to teach you.
Titles, Power, and Walking AwayI understand why people take on titles for themselves. It’s actually one of the reasons that, after all these years, I’ve chosen not to rejoin a coven. Being part of a Vodou house is a very different experience. And yes—I’m aware that some people misuse titles to manipulate others, even in harmful ways.
But I still believe there are true elders out there—people with real knowledge who genuinely want to teach. Maybe it doesn’t always happen face-to-face anymore. Maybe it happens through social media, where years of experience can still be shared in meaningful ways.
What I find discouraging is how many young witches are learning from quick video snippets, often from people who don’t truly understand the craft. Witchcraft isn’t something that can be fully learned in fragments—it deserves depth, study, and lived experience.
The Rise of Social Media Witchcraft
Social media has changed everything.
Witchcraft is now:
30-second spells
Aesthetic altars curated for views
“Do this and you’ll manifest instantly” energy
And while accessibility can be a beautiful thing, what we’re seeing now is information without foundation.
Witchcraft is being consumed like fast food.
Quick. Easy. Disposable.
But real practice? That’s slow. That’s layered. That’s earned.
Why Learning Witchcraft Through Social Media Is Dangerous
Let’s be blunt.
Because a lot of people teaching don’t actually know what they’re doing.
And that’s where things get messy.
1. Lack of Depth
You cannot learn protection, spirit work, or ancestral practices in a 60-second clip.
You get fragments—not understanding.
2. No Lineage or Context
Many practices—especially those tied to specific cultures and traditions—require context, respect, and often permission.
Social media strips that away.
3. No Accountability
An elder is accountable. A teacher is responsible for what they pass on.
A random creator? They can disappear after giving bad advice—and you’re left dealing with the consequences.
4. Spiritual Bypassing & False Expectations
“Love and light only.” “Everything is safe.” “Just manifest it.”
That mindset leaves people unprotected, ungrounded, and unprepared.
But Let’s Be Real—Social Media Isn’t All Bad
It can:
Introduce people to the path
Help seekers find community
Offer inspiration
But it should never replace real study, real practice, and real guidance.
Think of it as a doorway—not the temple.
So What Should You Do?
If you’re walking this path:
Read books. Study deeply.
Question everything—even what you’re told online
Seek teachers with experience, not just popularity
Learn protection before power
Understand that this path takes time
And if you can find an elder?
Listen.
Because they are still here.
They just don’t shout over the noise.
Final Thoughts
Witchcraft is not a trend. It is not aesthetic. It is not a performance.
It is a path.
And paths are not meant to be walked through clips and captions alone.
They are meant to be lived.
The elders still exist. The question is—are people still willing to listen?
There’s a phrase that gets tossed around in spiritual spaces like it’s the ultimate truth: “love and light.” It sounds beautiful. Harmless. Safe. But over time, I’ve come to see it for what it often is—not a truth, but a limitation.
A spiritual bypass.
A polite way of telling people—especially those who are intuitive, empathic, and powerful—to make themselves smaller. Quieter. Softer. Easier to digest.
But here’s the truth no one wants to say out loud:
You do not have to be “nice” to be spiritual.
And you certainly don’t have to tolerate disrespect, manipulation, or harm in the name of “high vibration.”
The Myth of “Love and Light”
“Love and light” culture often pushes the idea that anger is bad, boundaries are harsh, and confrontation is somehow unspiritual. That if you’re truly evolved, you’ll always respond with kindness—even when someone is actively harming you.
That’s not enlightenment.
That’s conditioning.
Because real spirituality isn’t about bypassing your shadows—it’s about integrating them. It’s about understanding that you are not just light… you are also darkness, instinct, fire, and raw, primal truth.
The serpent does not apologize for its venom.
The storm does not soften itself to avoid discomfort.
Why should you?
Boundaries Are Sacred, Not Sinful
There was a time when I believed that being spiritual meant being endlessly patient, endlessly forgiving, endlessly accommodating.
And all it got me was drained, disrespected, and walked all over.
Let me be clear:
Being walked on is not a virtue.
It is not spiritual growth. It is not karmic elevation. It is not “taking the high road.”
It is self-abandonment dressed up as enlightenment.
At some point, I stopped believing in the idea that every action must be met with passive acceptance—that if I simply absorbed harm, the universe would reward me for it.
That’s not how power works.
True spiritual power is knowing when to open your heart—and when to bare your teeth.
The Truth About the “Three-Fold Law”
For a long time, I held onto the belief that everything you put out comes back to you three times over. And while there is wisdom in being mindful of your actions, I began to question how this idea was being used.
Because too often, it becomes a tool of control.
A way to keep people docile.
A way to make you second-guess your right to defend yourself, to speak up, to push back.
But here’s what I’ve learned:
Justice is not cruelty. Boundaries are not punishment. And self-defense is not spiritual failure.
You are allowed to say no. You are allowed to walk away. You are allowed to cut ties, call out behavior, and protect your energy.
That doesn’t make you less spiritual.
It makes you sovereign.
You Don’t Have to Be Mean—But You Don’t Have to Take Sh*t
There’s a difference between cruelty and clarity.
You don’t have to become hardened or hateful. That’s not the goal.
But you also don’t have to smile while someone disrespects you.
You don’t have to explain yourself endlessly to people who refuse to understand.
You don’t have to shrink your voice to make others comfortable.
Sometimes the most spiritual thing you can do is say:
“No more.”
And mean it.
Reclaiming Your Power
Spirituality is not about becoming palatable.
It’s not about being agreeable, quiet, or endlessly forgiving.
It’s about truth. Alignment. Integrity.
It’s about standing fully in who you are—light, shadow, and everything in between.
So if “love and light” has ever made you feel like you had to silence your anger, ignore your intuition, or tolerate things you shouldn’t…
Let it go.
You are allowed to be kind. You are allowed to be fierce. You are allowed to be both.
Because real power doesn’t come from pretending to be light—
Every now and then, you come across a moment that makes you pause and reflect on the invisible threads that connect you to the past. Recently, while reading a book that has gained a great deal of popularity, I experienced one of those moments. Within its pages were two names that made my heart swell with pride—Anne Hutchinson and Achsa Sprague.
They are not simply historical figures to me. They are my ancestors.
To see their stories told in a widely read book filled me with a deep sense of reverence. These women were not quiet participants in history—they were revolutionaries. Women who stood firmly in their truth in times when doing so was dangerous, even life-threatening. To know that their blood runs through my veins is both a privilege and a responsibility.
The Courage of Anne Hutchinson
Anne Hutchinson was a bold religious thinker in the early American colonies. In the 1630s, she openly challenged the authority of Puritan ministers in Massachusetts Bay Colony, arguing that individuals could receive divine guidance directly from God without the mediation of clergy.
At a time when women were expected to remain silent in matters of theology and leadership, Anne held meetings in her home where she discussed scripture and encouraged independent thought. Her ideas threatened the rigid religious structure of the colony.
The result was predictable for the era—she was put on trial for her beliefs, condemned for her teachings, and ultimately banished from Massachusetts for her “heretical” views.
Anne Hutchinson stood for spiritual autonomy long before the idea was socially acceptable. She challenged patriarchal authority and insisted that personal revelation mattered. In many ways, she was a proto-feminist spiritual leader centuries ahead of her time.
The Voice of Achsa Sprague
Another ancestor of mine, Achsa Sprague, carried that same revolutionary spirit into the 19th century.
Achsa was a Spiritualist speaker and activist during a time when women were rarely given public platforms. After experiencing what she believed to be a miraculous healing, she began speaking publicly about Spiritualism—the belief that communication with the spirit world was possible.
But Achsa did not stop there.
She used her voice to advocate for women’s rights, abolition, and social reform. She traveled widely, giving lectures that challenged societal norms and encouraged people to rethink the structures of power around them. Historical records also connect her work with support for the Underground Railroad, aiding those seeking freedom from slavery.
At a time when women were expected to be quiet and obedient, Achsa Sprague stood on stages and spoke truth to power.
These were not passive women in history. They were spiritual rebels.
The Blood That Shapes Us
Learning about your ancestors can be a powerful experience. It reminds you that who you are did not begin with you.
We are the continuation of countless lives—people who loved, struggled, fought, survived, and believed deeply enough to shape the future.
When I look at the lives of Anne Hutchinson and Achsa Sprague, I see echoes of my own path. Women who spoke boldly about spirituality. Women who challenged authority. Women who refused to silence their voices even when society demanded it.
It reminds me that our ancestors often live through us in ways we may not even realize.
Their courage becomes part of our inheritance.
Ancestor Veneration Across Cultures
Honoring our ancestors is not a new concept. In fact, it is one of the most universal spiritual practices across human history.
Many cultures recognize that the dead are not truly gone—they remain part of the spiritual fabric of our lives.
In African Traditional Religions and Vodou, ancestors are revered as guiding spirits who watch over their descendants. They are honored through offerings, prayers, and remembrance. The ancestors are believed to provide wisdom, protection, and spiritual grounding.
In Chinese traditions, ancestor veneration has existed for thousands of years. Families maintain ancestral altars, burn incense, and offer food during festivals such as Qingming to honor those who came before them.
In Mexican culture, Día de los Muertos celebrates the return of ancestors to the world of the living. Altars are decorated with photographs, marigolds, candles, and favorite foods of the departed.
In many Pagan traditions, ancestors are honored especially during Samhain, when the veil between worlds is believed to be thin. Offerings, candles, and stories help keep their memory alive.
Even in traditions where ancestor worship is not formally recognized, the act of remembering our lineage—telling stories, preserving family history, visiting graves—is still a form of reverence.
Because deep down, humans understand something important:
We come from somewhere.
Why Honoring Our Ancestors Matters
Ancestor veneration is not about blind worship. It is about connection.
When we honor our ancestors, we acknowledge that our lives are part of a much larger story. We recognize the sacrifices, struggles, and victories that made our existence possible.
It can also be a powerful spiritual practice. Many people believe that ancestors serve as guardians and guides, offering subtle support to those who remember them.
But even beyond spirituality, ancestor remembrance gives us identity. It roots us in history. It reminds us that we are part of a lineage that stretches across centuries.
And sometimes, as in my case, it reminds us that the fire in our spirit may have been burning long before we were born.
Walking With the Dead
To know that Anne Hutchinson and Achsa Sprague are part of my bloodline fills me with profound pride. These women challenged authority, advocated for spiritual freedom, and spoke boldly in times when doing so carried real risk.
Their legacy reminds me that the path I walk today is not entirely my own. It was paved by those who came before me.
And that is why honoring our ancestors matters.
Because when we remember them, we remember ourselves.
The dead are not truly gone.
They live in our bones, our stories, our courage, and our spirit.
And sometimes, if we listen closely, we can still hear them whispering through the generations.
Something that people don’t talk about enough in spiritual communities is burnout. Not just the everyday kind that comes from being busy, but the deeper exhaustion that can happen when your life path involves constantly creating, teaching, holding space, and showing up for others spiritually.
As someone who has walked a spiritual path for most of my life, I have experienced this more than once.
People often see the surface of what I do. They see the books, the workshops, the tarot readings, the jewelry I create, the art, the posts online. They see the role of Witch, teacher, or author. But behind all of that is a human being who is also navigating life, grief, responsibilities, and the constant act of creating something meaningful to share with the world.
And sometimes, the well runs dry.
When your spiritual path is also part of your work and your creative expression, the lines can blur. What once felt sacred and exciting can slowly start to feel like something you have to produce rather than something that flows naturally.
You may feel pressure to keep creating. To keep posting. To keep teaching. To keep inspiring others.
But creativity and spirituality were never meant to function like a factory.
They move in cycles.
I’ve learned that even the most devoted practitioners need seasons where they step back from being the guide and simply return to being the seeker again.
Another layer that many spiritual practitioners carry is the emotional and energetic labor of helping others.
As a tarot reader and intuitive, I spend a lot of time holding space for people who are going through some of the most difficult moments of their lives. I’ve always considered this work sacred, but sacred work can also be heavy.
There are times when you realize you’ve been pouring your energy outward for so long that you haven’t taken the time to replenish your own spirit.
That realization can be humbling. Working with snakes for over twenty years has taught me something profound about transformation.
A snake cannot grow without shedding its skin.
But the shedding process is not instantaneous. There is a period where the old skin becomes dull, cloudy, and uncomfortable before it finally releases.
I’ve come to recognize that creative and spiritual burnout can be a kind of shedding. A moment where the old version of ourselves, our work, or our direction is loosening so something new can emerge.
It’s not a failure of the path. It’s part of the path.
When burnout appears, I’ve learned that the answer is rarely to push harder.
Instead, the medicine is often much simpler:
stepping away from social media for a while
spending quiet time with my snakes
creating art with no intention of selling it
reconnecting with the spirits and ancestors in private
These are the moments when spirituality becomes personal again instead of performative.
And that is where the real magick lives.
If you are someone who walks a spiritual path, especially one where you serve others, I want you to hear this clearly:
You are allowed to step back. You are allowed to create less for a while. You are allowed to protect your energy.
Burnout does not mean you have lost your gifts. It simply means you are human, and even the most devoted practitioners need time to return to themselves.
One of the reasons I resonate so deeply with serpent symbolism is because the serpent reminds us that life is not a straight line.
It is a coil.
There are moments when the energy expands outward, when we teach, create, and share. And there are moments when the coil tightens inward, when we retreat, rest, and transform.
Both are necessary.
Both are sacred.
And if you find yourself in a quiet season right now, trust that it is not the end of your creativity or your spiritual connection.
It may simply be the moment before the next shedding.
And when the old skin finally falls away, you may find yourself stepping forward stronger, clearer, and more aligned with your path than ever before.
For over twenty years, ball pythons have been part of my life — not just as animals in my care, but as constant companions and spiritual coworkers. They are more than family to me.
Like most keepers, I housed them separately. Why? Because that’s what we were all taught. The standard message echoed through forums and Facebook groups was clear: Do not cohabitate ball pythons. We were told that keeping them together would inevitably cause stress, aggression, competition, and illness. Solitary by nature. End of discussion.
But emerging research is beginning to challenge that long-held belief.
New studies suggest that ball pythons — particularly females and juveniles — may be more socially tolerant than previously assumed. In fact, research indicates that juvenile ball pythons may voluntarily cluster together, spending over 60% of their time in physical contact with one another (Skinner, M., Kumpan, T. & Miller, N., 2024). This behavior suggests that, under certain conditions, they may not be as strictly solitary as the reptile community has long maintained.
Now, first let me preface this by saying that I do continue to house my ball pythons separately. I use a rack system because, in my experience, it provides the most consistent control of heat and humidity — two of the most critical factors in proper ball python husbandry.
That said, separation does not mean isolation. All my snakes receive outside time, enrichment, and what I lovingly call “family time.” They are handled, observed, and engaged regularly. My approach has always been rooted in both practical care and deep respect for their well-being.
And yes. I have seen the infamous image of the ball python ingesting another after being together for an exorbitant amount of time. That situation was not based on housing two pythons together in a large tank. That situation was completely different.
Temple of Pythons Benin, Africa
However, during my research, I was unable to find a single peer-reviewed study explicitly stating that housing ball pythons together is inherently dangerous. Instead, I was repeatedly directed to an article written by Thomas of NW Reptiles. In that piece, several references were provided regarding the physiological effects of stress — but those studies were conducted on humans. The justification given was essentially, “the studies were done on humans, but the findings apply to all animals.”
That is a broad and problematic leap.
Reptiles and mammals have fundamentally different physiological systems, stress responses, and social behaviors. While cross-species comparisons can sometimes offer insight, if research on human stress automatically applies to reptiles — without reptile-specific data — is scientifically unsound. Citing mammalian studies as definitive proof of reptile outcomes oversimplifies biology and does not constitute direct evidence.
Aside from that, the only other scholarly source I was able to locate was a 2021 study titled “Animal-appropriate housing of ball pythons – Behavior-based evaluation of two types of housing systems” (Hollandt, T., Baur, M., & Wöhr, A. C., 2021). However, this study did not address cohabitation at all. Instead, it focused specifically on comparing rack systems versus terrarium housing to evaluate which environment better supported species-appropriate behaviors.
In other words, the research centered on enclosure type — not on whether ball pythons should or should not be housed together.
As with all husbandry practices, nuance matters. But it’s fascinating — and humbling — to realize that even after decades of keeping and working with these sacred beings, we are still learning who they truly are.
And who they truly are may not be exactly what we’ve long assumed — or what we were taught to believe.
Science is not meant to reinforce dogma; it is meant to evolve our understanding. It challenges us to reexamine assumptions and refine our perspectives as new information emerges. Perhaps our long-held view of the ball python as strictly solitary deserves closer scrutiny. It may be that our collective understanding has been shaped more by repetition than by evidence — and that it’s time to look again, with curiosity rather than certainty.
The first was published on May 8, 2024: “Socially-mediated activation in the snake and social-decision-making network,” in Behavioral Brain Research. This study found that when female ball pythons were placed together in an enclosure with separate hiding spots, they did not simply remain isolated. Instead, they actively sought one another out, using scent cues to initiate social contact. Their interactions appeared to be intentional rather than incidental.
This research was followed in November 2024 by a study titled “Intense Sociability in a ‘Non-Social’ Snake,” conducted by Morgan Skinner. In this experiment, Skinner and his colleagues placed six ball pythons into a spacious enclosure for ten days, providing ample individual shelters for each snake.
Twice each night, researchers cleaned the enclosure and rotated the snakes into different hides. It was during one of these routine shelter changes that Skinner observed what he later described as a “python cuddle” — multiple snakes voluntarily choosing to rest in physical contact, even when given the option to remain separate.
Curious whether the clustering behavior was simply about the shelter itself rather than social preference, the researchers removed the shared hide. The result? The pythons regrouped and congregated under a different shelter. Their behavior suggested that it wasn’t the structure they were attached to — it was each other.
To further strengthen the credibility of the findings, Vladimir Dinets, a specialist in reptile social behavior, reviewed the study and reportedly could not identify any methodological flaws. His assessment added significant weight to the research, reinforcing the idea that these observations were not incidental, but indicative of genuine social tendencies.
Together, these findings challenge the long-standing assumption that ball pythons are strictly solitary, suggesting that under the right conditions, they may display a level of sociability previously unrecognized.
In conclusion, will I continue to house my ball pythons separately? Yes — at least until someone can convincingly demonstrate that tanks provide better overall environmental stability than the rack systems I currently use.
However, with this emerging research in mind, I can’t help but wonder: is it really so far-fetched to consider that ball pythons might benefit from occasional, carefully supervised social interaction? If studies are showing that certain females and juveniles actively seek one another out, perhaps the conversation isn’t about abandoning responsible husbandry — but about remaining open to the possibility that these snakes may be more socially nuanced than we once believed.
Maybe it’s not about rewriting everything we know overnight. Maybe it’s simply about allowing room for the idea that even a “solitary” snake might enjoy a play date now and then.
References:
Skinner, M., Kumpan, T. & Miller, N. Intense sociability in a “non-social” snake (Python regius). Behav Ecol Sociobiol78, 113 (2024). https://doi.org/10.1007/s00265-024-03535-7
Skinner, M., Kumpan, T. & Miller, N. Intense sociability in a “non-social” snake (Python regius). Behav Ecol Sociobiol78, 113 (2024). https://doi.org/10.1007/s00265-024-03535-7
Morgan Skinner, Dania Daanish, Chelsey C. Damphousse, Randolph W. Krohmer, Paul E. Mallet, Bruce E. McKay, Noam Miller Socially-mediated activation in the snake social-decision-making network, Behavioural Brain Research,Volume 465, 2024, 114965,ISSN 0166-4328,https://doi.org/10.1016/j.bbr.2024.114965.
Hollandt T, Baur M, Wöhr AC. Animal-appropriate housing of ball pythons (Python regius)-Behavior-based evaluation of two types of housing systems. PLoS One. 2021 May 27;16(5):e0247082. doi: 10.1371/journal.pone.0247082. PMID: 34043634; PMCID: PMC8158952.
Cauldrons & Crossroads 