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Before the year lets its final curtain fall, while the city slips into a shimmering winter dress and even the usually restless streets seem to breathe a little gentler, something shifts. The streets grow quieter, the flow of emails fades, and even the constant hum of everyday life softens. It’s as if the world holds its breath. Time suddenly feels different—denser, softer, more translucent. As though an invisible veil settles over the everyday world and wraps everything in a

The spiral carries an ancient meaning. As a feminine symbol, it is often associated with Mother Goddesses and with Earth herself. It represents intuition, trust, and our connection to the deepest parts of our being. In past years, I’ve written about the Winter Solstice and its many traditions, but today I want to share one that feels especially sacred to me: the walk of the holy spiral, or the sacred labyrinth. I love walking the spiral—whether purely as a mental, meditative

Here’s a truth I’ve been circling around for years: I’ve been practicing magick for over two decades — witchcraft in the truest sense, ritual work as an act of creation. And yet, I never really allowed art , as our society defines it, to be part of that spellwork. Of course, every ritual is creative: a weaving of intention, symbols, and atmosphere. But art as its own form of witchcraft? That side of me remained untouched, quietly waiting — as if I had kept two worlds neatly s

December holds its own magic. The city sparkles with a thousand lights, and yet there is something archaic in the air—something older than any string of lights. Between the asphalt and the snowflakes, we feel a longing for warmth, for meaning, for a light that burns deeper than mere electrical decoration. Did you know? In our previous article, we took a deep dive into the origins of Christmas —long before Bethlehem, long before Jesus. What we celebrate today was once the Wint

Christmas is one of those holidays where many act as if the history is clear — when in reality, it’s anything but. Beneath the fairy lights, the scent of pine, and the kitschy commercials lies a much older narrative, one that was celebrated long before anyone in Europe had even heard of Bethlehem. And the deeper you dive into history, the more obvious it becomes: this holiday was already sacred long before it became Christian. I don’t say this to take anyone’s tradition away

I’ve always thought in symbols. Often, long before I had the right words for a situation, I had images. Signs. Patterns. Archetypes that threaded through my life like tiny way finders. Some people see just an old fairy tale, a tarot card, or an astrological glyph — I see a psychological echo, a map of the human experience encoded in imagery older than any language. This fascination has been with me for as long as I can remember. Not necessarily from some esoteric romanticizin

The old gods have many faces. Some people see strength in them, others danger. For me? For me, they are one thing above all else: a calling. Quiet, persistent, unobtrusive. Certainly not political—but deeply personal. I am not an Ásatrú¹. I never have been. But I felt the Nordic world early on: in dreams, in deep forests, in moments when ancestors suddenly seemed to speak. Odin, Freyja, the Norns – they are part of my pantheon, alongside Celtic, Roman, female, queer gods. But

There’s a certain stillness that settles over the world this time of year — a quiet in the air, a slowing of rhythm, a reminder that even the earth is resting. And yet, most of us rush through these dark weeks as if light could be forced back by sheer productivity. But what if we didn’t? What if we made this time — the waiting before Jul/Yule, before the return of the sun — sacred again? The season leading up to the winter solstice has always been more than just a prelude to

When the nights grow longer and winter evenings arrive, I feel the call of a light.  Not the harsh neon, not the candles in shop windows – but a small, intentional ritual: my Vänt Candle Holder, guiding me week by week until the return of the light. The neo-pagan version of the Advent wreath, gently leading me through the weeks toward the winter solstice . A brief note on the origin of this tradition The Vänt Candle Holder comes from Scandinavia  and is a modern, neo-pagan ta

The first frost on a parked car. The hum of the city under a full moon. The faint green of moss reclaiming a wall. Even in the city, the cycles never stop. For many pagans and witches, life is not a straight line. It moves in circles — in rhythms, in repetitions, in cycles that echo the natural world. Observing these cycles isn’t about following rules or rigid practice; it’s about listening, noticing, and learning to move in harmony with life itself. In this article, I will n

With All Hallows’ Day — also known as All Saints’ Day — just behind us, an interesting thought came to mind. There’s something about this time of year, the thinning veil between worlds during Samhain (Halloween or All Hallows’ Eve), that draws attention to the interplay between the old and the new, the pagan and the Christian. It’s a liminal space — a moment to reflect on cycles, ancestors, and the sacred mysteries that live in both shadow and light. It made me think: many pe

When the fog rolls over the streets and the days grow quieter, a different kind of time begins — not one of loud celebrations, but of honest reflection.November is a threshold month.Between the golden glow of autumn and the deep stillness of winter, it invites us to turn inward.It ’s the time when nature dies in order to renew itself.And perhaps, we too are allowed to release what no longer belongs to us. Shadow work isn’t a dark or gloomy concept. It’s an act of self-care —

A Nature-Based Spiritual Perspective on Shadow Work Candles flicker in the window, somewhere the scent of pumpkin and damp earth drifts through the air. The world grows quieter – yet at the same time, some people feel uneasy. This season of darkness and introspection often reminds us of what we would rather not feel: our mortality, fear, ourselves, and the parts of our being we usually avoid. And that is exactly what the dark half of the year is for. Samhain – Halloween, All

There’s something sacred about this time of year ( okay, granted, I do say that about every season, but autumn to be as a person with SPS (Sensory Processing Sensitivity) autumn really is special to me) . As autumn deepens and the veil between worlds thins, nature invites us to slow down, to turn inward, to reflect. Samhain — the ancient festival marking the transition into the dark half of the year — reminds us of cycles, endings, and the quiet wisdom that comes with lettin

From energetic shielding to mindful detachment — how to survive open-plan offices without losing your sanity. So, I’m not just an Urban Mystic — a witch navigating deadlines, Teams meetings, and fluorescent lighting — I’m also an HSP. A highly sensitive person. Which basically means that while others are vibing with their third coffee and background chatter, I’m silently negotiating with the universe to stop the energy avalanche coming from my open-plan office. You know what