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You walk through the city, past a church, an old chapel, and think, “Another saint here to protect me.” But what if I told you that many of these saints were originally powerful, ancient goddesses and gods , just wrapped in a Christian guise? On today’s St. Brigid’s Day (February 1st), I would like to take a moment to reflect on the deeper layers of those roots . Welcome to the urban world of saints – where Catholic faith and pre-Christian magic collide. Saints with Ancient R

It’s still early.The city is only half awake.I pad barefoot into the kitchen like into a temple with a kettle, switching it on while yawning so I can prepare my tea. While I wait, I savor this very particular morning quiet — the kind that wraps me in a sense of safety. I light a candle, because before the day really starts moving, I want to use the silence for a gentle invocation. “Brigid,” I say softly, and wait. The flame flickers. I take it as presence. Or as a quiet I’m a

The Patriarchy?  It’s like an old spell that binds us all—only most people don’t even realize they’re tied. It promises power and order, yet distributes both unequally, enforces roles, and harms everyone caught in it. Why does it persist? Because it is deeply embedded in the stories we tell ourselves. And because a few at the top like to keep the spell intact. It’s as if we are acting in a play whose script we never signed. The lead roles are already assigned, and the directo

There’s a moment every year when the light changes. The air still carries winter’s chill, yet something within it feels softer — a promise rather than a warning. It’s subtle, almost secret: buds swelling beneath bark, the first birdsong returning, the faint scent of earth thawing. This is Imbolc , the festival of awakening, light, and fertility  — the quiet heartbeat between winter and spring. Etymology: “In the Belly” of the Earth The name Imbolc  (also written Imbolg  or Oí

Some might ask what Narrative Art Magick even means. It’s not a term that’s widely used in the magickal community, and yet, in my world, it has become one of the most essential forms of spellwork. For me, narrative art magick sometimes starts in my kitchen. Not in a temple. Not in a forest. But between a half-finished cup of chai, a plant that needs water, and a notebook that has seen better days. There is usually a quiet heaviness in the air. Not dramatic. Just the residue o

In previous articles, we’ve already explored the idea of new beginnings—and the fact that the “start of the year” does not coincide with January 1st in all cultures (nor for all people today). Time is not experienced the same way everywhere. And change rarely follows a linear calendar. Personally, I have a rather ambivalent relationship with the idea of new beginnings. For me, they are not a clean cut, not a symbolic reset button, but a process unfolding in several stages. My

Living in a city means being surrounded by countless cultures, traditions, and belief systems — layered, contradictory, vibrant. I love this about urban life. It invites curiosity rather than certainty, observation rather than dogma. I don’t understand everything I encounter, and I don’t agree with everything either — yet there is something profoundly beautiful about this daily coexistence of difference. This is part of what makes a city feel magical to me: its richness, its

There is an idea deeply woven into many nature‑ and earth‑based traditions that feels quietly radical in a world obsessed with self‑optimization: we are born whole . Not perfect. Not finished. But whole . In pagan worldviews, humans do not arrive broken, sinful, or in need of fundamental correction. We arrive as part of a living system — nature, community, ancestors, ecosystems — already belonging. Our task is not to erase ourselves or transcend our humanity, but to learn how

In a modern world that often elevates humans above nature, the pagan worldview feels almost like a counter-model – and perhaps that is why it is so refreshing. Here, humans are not the crown of creation, not divinely appointed stewards, and not distant observers of nature. They are part of it, woven into a network of relationships, cycles, forces, and stories far older than any human culture. Pagan understanding of nature is not just a spiritual stance. It is a life philosoph

Or: Biology, But Make It Patriarchy You’re sitting in your favorite café, the city buzzing around you like a living, breathing organism, headlights glinting off rain-slick streets, the scent of espresso curling into the corner of your nose, your matcha perfectly frothed, and suddenly—you hear it again. That phrase, that tired old whisper of supposed truth: “Biologically, men just prefer younger women.” Ah. Of course. Somewhere, in some dusty corner of evolutionary theory, mal

... It’s About Remembering Why You Create New Year, New ...? No! Fuck that! Let's talk about creativity. Every January, the city fills with mirrors. Shop windows. Gym fronts. Vision boards disguised as resolutions. We are invited to reinvent ourselves. To upgrade. To polish whatever still feels unfinished, unproductive, not quite perfect yet. In tat sense, there is a quiet lie that sits at the heart of how we think about (self-)expression and creativity. Sure, it might sound

I move through the city’s tight, winding streets on the quiet dawn of December 31st, where the world seems suspended, holding its breath between the old and the new. The streets are empty, only the last glasses from the night before clink quietly in the backyards, and I savor this moment of calm. It is a transition, a breath between the old and the new, a pause that the hectic celebrations of the coming evening have not yet reached. But why do we celebrate this day, exactly?

On Psychology, Breath, Art, and the Thread I Didn’t See Until Now For a long time, my work looked like a collection of threads. Trained in counselling psychology, MBSR, and Pranayama, I had the chance to learn — and share — many concepts that support human wellbeing. Each path offered insight, structure, and depth. And yet, taken on their own, they remained exactly that: threads. Psychology taught me how humans make sense of the world. Counselling taught me how stories shape

In modern worldviews, death is often viewed as linear or final. In nature-based, pagan traditions, however, the afterlife is often multi-layered, permeable, and deeply connected with nature, ancestors, and cosmic forces. It is not a distant “end point,” but part of a living web in which everything continues — on different levels and in many forms. Well-known Afterlife Concepts in Paganism What we today call “ paganism ” encompasses a wide variety of traditions, cultures, and

The problem isn’t the darkness. It’s that we’ve forgotten how to listen to it. These days, around the Winter Solstice, I hear the same sentence again and again: “I wish it were summer.” Or at least: “If only there were more light.” And I get it. Light feels generous. Light makes many things easier. Summer often asks less of us (at least in some ways) —it stretches the evenings wide, softens our edges, promises movement and possibility. But I also wonder what we lose when w