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.
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.
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.
I recently taught a Reiki class where I asked my students to reflect on the Five Reiki Principles. As they shared their insights, I decided to do the same, choosing “Just for today, I will be grateful” and “Just for today, I will work honestly.” Both are deeply rooted in mindfulness — in being present, sincere, and aware. But as I went about my workday, I found myself struggling. While my energy felt high and my spirit aligned that morning, my vibration began to dip as the day went on. I realized it was because I had become acutely aware of how often people move through life without mindfulness — how easily words are spoken without intention, and how rarely people are truly present in their interactions.
We live in a world where words have become automatic. Greetings are mechanical, eye contact is fleeting, and the simple act of listening seems to be fading into memory. How many times have you walked past someone who says “hello,” only to watch them keep walking before you can even respond? Or how often has someone asked, “How are you?” but their attention is already elsewhere — eyes on their phone, mind on their next task, spirit completely detached?
These small moments reveal something much deeper — a collective loss of mindfulness. We rush through our days in a haze of distraction, forgetting that every interaction, no matter how brief, is an opportunity to truly connect with another human being. When we ask someone, “How are you?” we should mean it. We should pause, look up, and make space for a genuine answer. Sometimes, that simple question might be the only kindness a person receives all day.
Being present in that moment — really listening — can make a world of difference. It can even save a life. As someone who lives with depression, I know how powerful a few mindful words can be. There are days when I want to answer honestly, to say, “I’m not okay,” but the person asking is already gone — lost back in their phone or their own thoughts. True mindfulness means holding space for others, not just speaking, but listening. Because sometimes, the act of listening is the greatest healing of all.
Mindfulness isn’t just about meditation or stillness — it’s about presence. It’s about seeing the person in front of you, not as background noise, but as another living soul sharing this moment in time. If we all slowed down just a little — if we truly listened when others spoke — imagine how much warmer, kinder, and more connected the world would feel.
So next time you say “hello,” mean it. And when you ask, “How are you?” — stop and listen. You might be surprised by what you hear.
Cauldrons & Crossroads 