Altarpiece No.1, Group X - Hilma Af Klint

This week, after reading Emma Gannon’s post Is There Something Psychic About Writing Novels? on her excellent Substack The Hyphen, I couldn’t stop thinking about the question it poses. I’m a writer. Also, I’m a psychic medium. The latter part of that sentence is one I’ve only recently begun to utter to other people, the reason being that despite Oscar Wilde’s belief that, ‘The best work of literature is done by those who don’t depend on it for their daily bread’, writing is a reasonably acceptable thing to say when someone asks what you do for a living.

I have written for almost as long as I remember having ‘psychic experiences’; that is: since childhood. I plugged away at writing, hanging on with grim determination while traversing a jagged career path that veered unsteadily between random jobs and public relations. Occasionally, I would hold aloft the fruit of my endeavours – a degree in English Literature, work listed in major competitions, a book publishing contract – but I hid my ‘spiritual’ work. For somewhere in the region of twenty years, I was at London’s prestigious College of Psychic Studies so often that I practically took up residence there. I studied everything from tarot to crystals to healing, but what I really got my teeth into was developing mediumship. Yes, you read right: I talk to dead people. When I finally chose to acknowledge these conjoined parts of my work, I branded my Substack, and my business, as ‘Words with Spirit’.

Emma’s piece describes how some of her fiction work has turned out to have a precognitive element, and she goes on to wonder whether this might be ‘a thing’. She opens her piece by saying that she has wrestled over whether or not to hit ‘Publish’ (same, Emma. Same.) but something in me felt how important it is that we give recognition to what so many are probably feeling: that writing, or art, and psychic abilities can exist in the same sphere. What if we access something energetic, otherworldly, when we intentionally sit down to create a piece of art?

I run a women’s intuitive development circle and at the start of each new cycle, I always describe psychic ability (which, incidentally, I firmly believe everyone has) as ‘that feeling you get when you’re thinking about someone and they randomly call you’. The writing equivalent, to me, is looking back over something I’ve just scribbled or typed and having a kind of ‘Did I really write this?’ moment. Some would describe this feeling as ‘The Muse’, but it’s rare to find a writer who will admit to being influenced by what we as psychic mediums would refer to as the Spirit World. You have to dig around to find those. But they do exist.

Inspired, I set about doing some research. I was already aware of some writers and artists who embraced a connection with the world of spirit, but I made it my business to find some more. I’ll kick off by mentioning Elizabeth Gilbert’s Big Magic: Creative Living Beyond Fear, in which she explores the concept of ideas as sentient beings searching for a human outlet and inspiration as an energy that chooses its collaborations. If an artist or creator does not act on an idea, it will move on to select another recipient. She references each person’s ability to house a type of divine spirit that works with them to bring ideas into fruition.

Artist Hilma Af Klint (1862-1944) has lurked in obscurity for many years, known only by the sort of people who frequent the College of Psychic Studies, but is now having her moment to shine. An exhibition at Le Grande Palais in Paris brings together a dazzling display of her abstract work; remarkable in many ways but not least as she believed that it was channelled. Her iconic Paintings for the Temple were created, she said, through the guidance of spirit guides she called ‘The High Masters’, who ‘delivered’ the work to her through a kind of psychic dictation: swiftly, with no preliminary sketches and in an automated state.

Having developed alongside psychic artists for many years, I can attest that this phenomena exists. I have seen people who claim to be able to draw no more than a stick figure produce beautiful portraits of spirit communicators with astonishing deftness and speed. Hilma Af Klint was clever enough to suspect that the world was not ready for this type of work during her lifetime and requested that it not be shown until after her death. I like to imagine that she is now the orchestrator of even more beautiful artwork, guiding the hands of other artists from the spirit world.

But back to the business of writing. Ubiquitous artist, poet and visionary William Blake (1757-1827) described his creative process as a conduit for the divine, and described conversations with angelic beings, the spirit of his brother Robert and what he called his ‘friends in eternity’ – the spirits of famous historical figures – all of whom he claimed guided his work. What’s more, Blake preferred the term ‘seer’ to poet and spoke of developing what he referred to as ‘fourfold vision’: a spiritual way of perceiving the world which transcended the limitations of ‘single vision’. He treated spiritual visitors as actual guests in his home and was, unsurprisingly, regarded as mad during his lifetime.

William Butler Yeats (1865-1939) maintained a lifelong interest in the esoteric, beginning with an association with Aleister Crowley and his Hermetic Order of the Golden Dawn. It is supposed that, through this, he knew Pamela Colman Smith, the artist of the world famous Smith Waite tarot deck. Yeats used automatic writing and channelling to connect with spirits, creating over 4,000 pages of notes culminating in his book A Vision, which he described as his ‘book of books’. He referenced channelling in his poem, Fragments, in which he describes truths poured ‘out of a medium’s mouth’. Subconscious creativity? Perhaps. But Yeats believed he was in active collaboration with spirits.

And then we have Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930), author of Sherlock Holmes and a member of the Spiritualist movement, which gained particular traction following the staggering amount of deaths in the First World War, among which Conan Doyle’s son was numbered. Parlour seances sprang up all over the country and Conan Doyle was a vocal supporter of mediumship. He claimed that much of his later work was influenced by spirits; an interesting viewpoint from a trained physician, sportsman and politician who invented a fictional character famed for his powers of deduction. He also dabbled in automatic writing during which he said that a guide, Pheneas, directly inspired his work.

Pulitzer Prize winning poet James Merrill (1926-1995) used a Ouija board as part of his creative process, recording hours of sessions in which he claimed to have been guided in his poetry by a 1^st century Greek Jew, Ephraim, and later by higher beings and angels.

The poet Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) shared a hidden occult life with her husband, the poet Ted Hughes. Julia Gordon-Bramer’s excellent book, The Occult Sylvia Plath delves into this in compelling detail, reporting that Hughes and Plath often took out what they referred to as ‘The Talking Board’ (Ouija board) to inspire their life choices and creative work. Plath was intrigued by the symbolism in the work of W B Yeats, owned a tarot deck and wrote to her mother in October 1956 that she planned to study tarot and become a ‘seeress’. Hughes encouraged Plath to use trance-like methods for inspiration, which she felt brought her into contact with her own psychic gifts.

As a practising medium, I wouldn’t personally encourage anyone to experiment with a Ouija board as connecting with the spirit world requires patience, time, dedication and some foundational knowledge. However, I do believe that everyone is in possession of psychic abilities, and for those of us who like to write, it makes perfect sense that we might be connecting to an energy that somehow allows the flow of creativity to happen.

Moving to the present day, journalist and novelist Daisy Waugh took a tarot course during a dry writing spell and never looked back - in fact, I’ve been fortunate enough to receive a reading from Daisy. I’m not sure whether she claims that her writing is influenced by the spirit world, but she’s a prime of example of how writing and psychic abilities dovetail nicely. Two books I have enjoyed recently, Pixie by Jill Dawson and The Tarot Reader of Versailles by Anya Bergman are written by authors who both claim a working knowledge of tarot.

But what of precognition? The inimitable Stephen King has been known to reflect on the idea that fiction can reflect or even predict reality, noting that some of his work, like The Running Man, foresaw elements of modern reality television and technology. Most precognitive examples exist in the realms of dystopian fiction, perhaps the most famous of which is George Orwell’s 1984, which predicted mass surveillance ('Big Brother’) and government propaganda. Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451 describes ear buds and wall-sized televisions and Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson predicted the Metaverse (virtual reality) and coined the term ‘avatar’.

We might argue that perhaps these are all cases of life imitating art, but perhaps the most chilling example of precognitive literature lies in an obscure book named The Wreck of the Titan: Or, Futility written by Morgan Robertson in 1898, in which an ‘unsinkable’ ocean liner named The Titan sank in the North Atlantic after hitting an iceberg, in April, and due to lack of lifeboats. The Titanic disaster occurred 14 years later, in April 1912.

Whether we practise the mediumistic art of automatic writing or simply like to create ritual around the act, I believe that we connect to some kind of energy whenever we intentionally sit down to write. Coming to the desk prepared to open to creativity, to me, bears the hallmark of meditation, or preparation for spiritual work. Think of the obsession with authors’ ‘writing processes’; all of which usually involve some kind of ritual: a particular space we prefer to write in, a special notebook, a favourite pen or ink colour (Virginia Woolf wrote in Waterman’s purple fountain pen ink, which she described as ‘cheap, violet, indelible’). We might choose to light a candle before we begin, draw a tarot card or several for inspiration and we might have images of famous writers we admire, or perhaps their writing spaces, surrounding us in order, we believe, to invoke the elusive ‘Muse’.

I teach a workshop using tarot as writing prompts and once everyone’s relaxed, it always proves very popular. I’m still surprised at the number of people who recoil in fear at the initial sighting of the cards but who soon learn that the images they depict act as a perfect conduit for creativity. Not only does tarot tell a story, it encourages us to delve into the depths of our psyche and our soul, to bring out what lies there and to shape it into words that inspire.

So the question remains, are words ‘dictated’ by helpful discarnate entities, or is it simply a matter of being quiet for long enough to let the whisperings of our soul creep forth onto the page? I’d say that both are possible. I know enough from years of mediumship to suspend disbelief, and in more practical terms, I know from teaching intuitive development that there is a way to connect with ‘the Muse’; the quiet inner voice.

The iconic Julia Cameron, whose cult book, The Artist's Way was one of the first to espouse the connection between spirituality and creativity, puts it best:

It was the Celts who named the first day of May ‘Beltane’, and it stands as one of four ‘fire festivals’ spread throughout the Pagan wheel of the year along with Imbolc, Lammas, and Samhain. According to folklore, Beltane marks the waking of the Green man, or Horned God, from his forest slumber and his sacred union with the May Queen. Together, they represent the union of earth and sun, bringing life back to the land.

To my mind the tarot cards that best embody Beltane are The Empress (fertility, anticipation of abundance), The Lovers (union, harmony, significant choices) and The Ace of Wands (Action! Inspiration! New growth!). My card pull today in my personal practice was The World, which feels a little presumptuous in that it can signify fulfilment, completion and success, but I get it. It also carries a feeling of closing off one chapter before another one begins, which I find appropriate. Perhaps I’m enjoying an early summer?

We also welcome a full moon today in the form of the Flower Moon. This term might be familiar to some as the title of the 2023 film Killers of the Flower Moon, starring Golden Globe winner Lily Gladstone and Leonardo di Caprio. In Native culture, the Flower Moon was also known as the Corn Planting Moon, rendering it especially important as First Nation culture revers corn as the most magical of things. It gives sustenance in the form of foodstuff, it can be planted and tended to yield valuable crops, it is worshipped in the form of ‘corn dolls’ in order to bring a good harvest and represents a sacred symbol of life and creation. When I attended the anniversary gathering of the International Council of Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers last year I was gifted a selection of corn seeds and when I walked on the red rocks of Sedona with a beautiful mentor and teacher, she blessed the drum I had bought with maize and song. The Flower Moon is the time of planting crops and of anticipation of abundance (The Empress), transformation and full expression. On this night, we can set intentions, celebrate growth both personal and botanical and turn our thoughts to emotional healing and renewal.

A combination of these two powerful days can offer an opportunity to meditate among flowers or perhaps create a flower altar with fresh blooms and candles. You might like to write down some intentions or wishes for abundance and burn the papers (in a safe way, obviously!) in the flame of a gold or a green candle.

Today, I have thought and written about my personal wishes for growth and abundance. I planted a beautiful rose given to me for my birthday by a dear friend, and tonight, I will take one of my precious corn seeds from the Grandmothers’ gathering, plant it and water it with the moon water collected from the lunar eclipse earlier this year, in March. I might draw the line at dancing around a maypole, although here in my hometown of Brighton in the UK, we do have a parade tomorrow marking the beginning of a local festival of arts, in which I’ll be taking part alongside my eldest son. If you listen closely in our home in the early hours of May 1st, you can sometimes hear the jingle of many small bells as a collective of Morris Dancers make their way to dance on a nearby green. Their distinctive costume of white clothing (symbolising the newness of the season) adorned with bells, sashes and ribbons, is reminiscent of the maypole with its multi coloured streamers tied from the top and interwoven by dancers.

I love this time of year for its hopefulness, its suggestion of a spark of creativity and its mysticism stemming from dawn celebrations on dew dappled grass and the plethora of mystical characters such as mummers, Jack in the Green, the Green Man and the May Queen. Much is made of the ‘shadow side’ of Samhain, or Hallow’een, but I personally love the misty, otherworldly magic of a time of year when hopes are high and we once again turn our faces to the sun.

Subscribe now

Usually, I am prone to ripping all Christmas decorations down on January 1st or, at the very outside, the 2nd. Despite having celebrated Yule for as long as I can remember, there is always something about the heralding of a new year that makes me want to declutter the house. For Yule, I had made a wreath and a Yule log but, due to needle drop, these had to leave the premises shortly after New Year’s Day and this served as the catalyst for a clearing of epic proportions.

I practised many rituals as the old year waned. I wrote intentions on slips of paper and burned one an evening from the 21st December to the 2nd January; burying the ashes in my garden afterwards. As the new year rolled in, I poured a cup of water out of the front door, opened windows to let the old year out and physically swept old energy out of the door, which reminded me of what a powerful and symbolic tool the humble broom is. Aside from being the transport of choice for any self-respecting witch, new ones sweep clean in many household rituals. Last year, I became immersed in the study of space clearing and I’m already beginning to see some new threads appearing in my life thanks to these practices.

In 2026, I will celebrate 20 years of marriage and brooms also remind me that, in the Pagan tradition we were married in, it is customary to ‘jump the broom’ each year on your anniversary in order to reassert your commitment to each other. I confess that Husband and I have not done this in practice, but the idea of an annual marriage renewal by mutual consent is one that appeals to us both.

I have an established practice of clearing my work space as each new year arrives; sorting through papers, burning out of date material, removing last year’s vision board to make room for the new one; setting intentions in a new journal, charging crystals and tidying bookshelves.

This year, I am embarking on a spiritual development course and this has prompted me to take stock more carefully: looking at each area of my life and ensuring that my space - both physical, mental and emotional - is as clear as possible to allow room for the work I am about to undertake.

However, as I blew through the house removing garlands, taking down Christmas memorabilia and throwing away or donating anything broken or no longer used, something made me stop short at the Christmas tree. Each year, we make a trip to a local Christmas tree farm to select the specimen that will grace our living room for just over a month, squeezing us all into a smaller space and feeling like an additional family member through the dark nights. We have a habit of naming our trees - I am not sure where or when this originated but monikers have ranged from the faintly obvious ‘Chris’ to the cleverer, celebrity-inspired such as Craig Revel-Firwood and Claudia Tinselman (our eldest is a fan of Strictly).

This year, we had Noel Needling, due to the same offspring’s love of The Great British Bakeoff, and he did us proud. Standing at almost 9 feet tall, Noel took up space in the corner of the room where usually I read for clients, festooned and illuminated. Each year, we buy a new tree ornament for Romy, our youngest daughter who passed to spirit and, as reflects the diversity in our family, we never decorate on a theme. If there were to be a theme, it would be ‘chaos’. There is no uniformity in how we place anything but it somehow always looks exactly as it is supposed to.

This New Year’s Day, I made a conscious decision to slow down following a hectic period of visiting and visitors, many hours cooking and baking and very little time to write or work. At the end of that day I realised I had not spent it feverishly stashing away Christmas and I liked the fact that Noel stood proudly still; twinkling away in the gloom. The following day, I removed the tinsel, ornaments and garlands but left Noel adorned with just the lights. My daughter said he looked naked. We both thought that he brought a comforting elegance to the gloom of the first days of the new year.

I’ve often found New Year to be maudlin. It seems somehow to represent a loss, a grieving and a letting go of all that came before and since Romy passed I notice that my sense of loss can be heightened as we go into a new year: another year in which one of our children will not celebrate a birthday and milestones. Reflecting on my habitual haste to tear down Christmas as soon as it’s done, I wonder whether there is any connection with the urge I recognise from the early days of grief, in which I frantically tried to stay busy, to keep moving, to not stop because that would mean sitting with the unbearable. Like ripping off a plaster, swiftly executing the removal of Yule/Christmas reminders perhaps somehow allowed me to continue in this practice of not sitting still; of not welcoming a fallow period of hibernation, which can include grief.

As the years have passed, I have become more comfortable with the ‘going within’ required by January, and when I look at the Pagan calendar which provides the framework of my life, I know that is is customary to keep Yule greenery in the house until Imbolc arrives, around February 2nd. This makes sense. At a time when the land turns inwards and rests, we should do likewise, and the ‘outside’ that we brought in for Yule can be by our side as we do so; reminding us that our connection to nature is permanent, even if cannot see it - just like our connection to our loved ones in spirit.

I started to look at why it is customary to take down Christmas decorations on January 6th. Known by various names across many cultures (Three Kings/Twelfth Night/Epiphany), Twelfth Night itself is popularly believed to be January 5th, the eve of Epiphany, which is when the Three Kings presented gold, frankincense and myrhh to the infant Jesus in Christian tradition. Earlier than that, there was the Roman feast of Saturnalia at the end of December, which celebrated the birth of the sun god, Sol, on 25th December. During this feast, rules were relaxed or reversed, meaning that slaves ate with masters, the masters served and gifts were exchanged. Shakespeare plays with the concept of Saturnalia in his work - notably, Twelfth Night and A Midsummer Night’s Dream, when everything is turned on its head and chaos reigns. When Roman society and culture eventually converted to Christianity, some of these practices were absorbed into the new way of life.

Custom holds that unless Christmas decorations are removed on 5th/6th January, bad luck will be brought upon the household. This might be linked to Pagan ideas which said that goblins and elves used the Yule greenery for shelter from the winter, and would be annoyed, to say the least, if this were not made available to them.

Having spent years avoiding the lingering ‘loss’ of keeping a Christmas tree in the house past New Year, I began to ask myself why I didn’t turn things on their heads and simply keep the greenery inside until the first shoots of Imbolc arrive.

Reader, I took down the Christmas tree on 6th January. But not before I had examined the symbolism of ‘going within’, of ‘sweeping clean’ and the power of ritual. In practical terms, I need the space for readings as my clients begin to book in. As I worked on clearing the space around me, in all senses, something dropped into that space and demanded my attention.

As many of you will know, The Truth Inside is the title of the book I wrote about Romy’s passing and my return to my mediumship work. I associate it with her, with hope after grief and with the idea that we are all born ‘knowing’: our own truth, our purpose and our path. When I work with clients, I always tell them that a good reading should really tell you nothing that you don’t already know, deep inside yourself. A good reading should be full of recognition: of the thoughts, ideas and feelings you hold inside which have not yet reached expression, and also of loved ones in spirit who may come to share guidance.

2026 marks a year of my fully returning to mediumship and recommitting to a fiction writing project. In 2025, an inspiring new mediumship teacher appeared and answered my call to face my fear of public demonstrations - something which I am working on in the coming weeks. Also in 2025, my historical fiction novel reached the final 150 of over 22,000 entries and I won a place on a novel writing and editing course, due to start in February. I realised a long-held vision of setting up and running a Women’s Circle with a focus on developing intuition and this beautiful space just gets better and better.

The Truth Inside is connected to a chapter of my life which, while always present, is no longer prominent. Returning to mediumship has reinforced my lifelong belief that we cannot die, and that our loved ones in spirit are always by our side. I often feel a connection to Romy when I work with clients, when I sit in the power, when I walk in nature. When I write, I feel guided.

At some point at the end of the summer I heard the title Words With Spirit drop into my mind and this is what I feel best reflects my passions and my purpose now. This is what this Substack will now be known as.

In the spirit of fresh starts: Welcome. I hope that you each find a little something that you are seeking here. Thank you for walking with me.

The Truth Inside is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

And so another Winter Solstice rolls around, bringing to a close a year which seems to have passed inordinately quickly.

I’ve written before about thirteen moons and having now run several cycles of my local women’s circle, I’ve been reading, writing and thinking about this some more. I’ve also become alive to the practice of ‘Rauhnächte’; a period of introspection which runs from 25^th December to 6^th January or for some, the 21^st December to the 2^nd January. I prefer the latter, as I’ve never followed the tradition of leaving my winter decorations up until 6^th January; choosing instead to rip them down on the 2^nd. There feels to me a natural pause at this time; the drawing of a line between the celebration of the returning of the light and the remaining time we must pass before the light returns to us. At this time of year, the veil between the two worlds is again at its thinnest (this also happens at Samhain, on October 31^st, which has become known as Hallow’een), and we can use it to reflect, to plan and to set intention for the coming year.

The Truth Inside is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.

In many indigenous cultures, a traditional calendar was observed based on 13 moon cycles per year. This aligns with the moon’s orbit and with seasonal changes as they occur throughout the earth. Here’s the maths: a lunar cycle is approximately 28 days in length, and 13 cycles (13 x 28 = 364) are more or less in synch with the solar year. Ever heard of a ‘blue moon’? These occur every 3 years or so in order to keep the calendar in synch with the seasons. A woman’s menstrual cycle occurs roughly once every 28 days, making thirteen in a year, perfectly in line with the moon.

Under the old arrangement, there were thirteen moons, in line with lunar energy and the feminine, meaning that there would not have been an odd collection of days (referred to nowadays as Twixtmas) running from solstice to the beginning of January.

When we look at the heavy weight of expectation of what we now know as ‘New Year’, it often feels at odds with how we feel physically and emotionally. If you’ve ever gone all guns blazing into January with a new gym membership, possibly hungover and battling lethargy and a heavy dose of shame, you will know what I mean. In the pagan calendar, January is not meant for action. It is a time of hibernation, going within, reflection and planning before we begin to re-emerge alongside the natural world at the beginning of February, when Imbolc arrives. To me, this is the real ‘new year’, and it is recognised by other cultures as such. In East Asian cultures, it falls around the lunar new year in February. For Iranian/Persians, Kurds and Central Asians there is Nowruz, which falls around the Spring Equinox in mid March, and for Sikhs there is Vaisakhi on March 14^th.

In 45 BCE, it was the Romans under Julius Caesar who first initiated the 10-month solar calendar, which was later adjusted to 12 months, many of which were named for their gods and goddesses. I don’t know about you, but whenever I think of the Romans I think of a particularly patriarchal society, with laws and rigidity and rule, all played out under a blazing sun. When the Romans invented their sun-influenced calendar I doubt that it occurred to them that they were severing a connection to the feminine, to the lunar cycle and to the natural world. Or perhaps it did.

Viewed through this lens, the odd collection of days in between the celebrations of Christmas and New Year now make more sense. In practical terms, these are the days upon which none of us know which day it is, when the bins are being collected, whether we are supposed to be resting, working or socialising -we simply don’t know what to do. Perhaps this is because these days became ‘lost’ when our calendar succumbed to rearrangement. Rauhnächte allows this time to spent fruitfully and thoughtfully and in a time where feminine practices and wisdom are again coming to the fore, they are having, as it were, their moment in the sun.

To participate in Rauhnächte: write out by hand thirteen separate intentions for the year ahead and fold the pieces of paper tightly. Each night from the 21^st December to the 2^nd January take one folded piece of paper, do not look at it, and burn it safely – in a candle flame, or on a fire. If this is not safe or desirable for you to do, you can bury it in the earth. Do this on twelve consecutive nights and on the thirteenth, open and read the final intention before burning or burying it as before. This will mark the main intention for the year ahead. I use this to pinpoint a focus for my journaling; something to come back to and reference each month.

For many years, I have made a Yule log from foraged greenery and placed it in the centre of my table. Other rituals I love at this time of year are to journal my releases and intentions for the past and coming years, and the treatment of January as an opportunity for an introspective journey; a hibernation during which I nourish my soul, look within, take stock and plan my re emergence at the time of Imbolc, around 2^nd February, when the world begins to awaken. I stack up books to read, make sure I have logs for the fire and a good supply of cacao and tea, and look forward to time spent reading, writing and digesting.

Looking back over this past year I am reminded of the year that came before, during which I had the privilege of accepting a magical invitation to visit Santa Fe to attend the 20-year anniversary gathering of the International Council of Thirteen Indigenous Grandmothers (there’s that number again). I brought back with me a beautiful terracotta ‘Grandmother Turtle’ figurine. Turtles have thirteen scales, or ‘scutes’ on the backs of their shells, said to symbolise the 13 moon cycles and reflecting back the connection to the natural world. I bring this Grandmother Turtle to our circle each week and she sits with us, quietly dispensing her magic. She has overseen this year’s major intention: to set up and participate in a women’s circle for development of intuition. I have loved sharing what I have learned over almost three decades of psychic development and mediumship practice.

And so my 2026 will begin with a mediumship development course I have been wanting to participate in for a long time. I am a firm believer that the teacher must always continue to be the student. While engaging in the planning stages for this course I have taken time to ‘clear’ both my physical and emotional spaces. I began with another ritual I’ve often encouraged my children to do before the festive period begins: clearing out old, unused or broken items we no longer use or need. They are either fixed, passed on or recycled. This leaves space for the new. This week, I’ve let go of several chipped mugs I’ve been holding on to (for some reason I get very attached to mugs!), a box of books and some clothing that no longer fits or doesn’t suit me. I also thought carefully about giving myself something talismanic to mark the turn of the year; something connected to my course of study and commitment to my teaching and mediumship work and eventually decided on a circular pendant engraved with thirteen moons. What better reminder of my purpose, respect for the old ways and a calendar better suited to the strength of women.

This year, I made yule logs with women from my circle, which was a real treat. I also had the pleasure of creating wreaths with a dear friend and other women she had invited to her home.

When I reflect on a year in which the world appears to be burning, I emerge with hope: that the continued desire of women to gather, create and share will provide much-needed balance and wisdom. Certainly on a personal level this year, I have learned that ‘womening’ is good for the soul.

To all those who mark it: a joyful Solstice and restful hibernation before the return to the light.

Subscribe now

Thanks for reading The Truth Inside! This post is public so feel free to share it.

Share

I was recently given a book recommendation: The Signs by Dr. Tara Swart (Rider, 2025), in which she shares her awakening following the passing of her partner. Describing how she became alive to the possibility that there are no coincidences and that sending thoughts up to loved ones who have passed could yield a response in the form of recognisable ‘signs’, she suggests ways in which we can learn to recognise and tap into this energy and use it to enhance our everyday lives. What’s more, Tara suggests that we may develop this ability to forge a connection with deceased loved ones and offers practical suggestions on how this can be done. So far, so woo woo. In fact, substitute loss of partner for loss of child and this could be a near description of my own book (The Truth Inside, O Books, 2019.)

When I opened the book and started reading - and it is, incidentally, a very good book- I was both surprised and delighted that a woman from the scientific world (let’s face it, all women in the scientific world should be celebrated) had stuck her neck out to suggest that occurrences that have been dismissed out of hand by said scientific world for many years could actually warrant some consideration.

I read Dr. Swart’s words in a state of some amazement, remembering the time not so long ago when those of us seeking to understand and develop our abilities were obliged to seek out books by mediums, intuitives, seers and psychics in small, esoteric bookshops. Podcasts did not exist, there was no ‘online’ to shop and those of us who practised the healing arts were mostly confined to the back rooms of the small, esoteric bookshops, or our own homes.

I was also immediately struck by its similarity to another book residing on my shelf, which I have read many times. This book is Signs by Laura Lynne Jackson (Piatkus, 2019). Yes, the title is (almost) identical. Laura Lynne –a respected psychic medium who has undergone rigorous blind-testing processes with The Windbridge Research Center–includes a mixture of anonymous case studies from her mediumship work alongside her own life experience to show that there are no coincidences and that sending thoughts up to loved ones who have passed could yield a response in the form of recognisable ‘signs’. She also suggests ways in which we can learn to recognise and tap into this energy and use it to enhance our everyday lives. Wait: does this sound at all familiar?!

I am not for one minute suggesting that one book has plagiarised the other in any way - this is actually impossible, because both are based on the unique and personal experiences of the writers. They also share one difference: while Laura Lynne explains how she came to be quintuple-blind tested at Windbridge, thus crossing over into the realm of scientific research, Tara outlines the scientific approaches she has employed to put her experiences to the test. The results are fascinating, and compelling.

When Laura Lynne Jackson’s Signs launched back in 2019, none of us knew quite how prescient the timing would be in that we were about to enter a period in time that threw the whole world and everything in it into chaos. Thrust into a maelstrom of confusion, fear and grief, the book became a New York Times best seller and made waves within the esoteric community. I have often wondered whether the timing of its release was serendipitous as our world entered into a phase of mass confusion, pain and loss. It was a small, brightly burning beacon of hope; albeit seen mostly by those who already existed within the world of which it spoke.

In contrast Dr. Swart’s The Signs was, at its recent launch, all over the internet and up front and centre in regular bookshop windows. On the High Street, no less. She has been interviewed by the likes of Mel Robbins, Jay Shetty - former monk turned inspirational internet sensation- and the reception of this book marks perhaps the pinnacle of a recent shift which sees a blending of science and the esoteric. Sometimes, when I sit and think about this, it feels nothing short of miraculous.

It is, of course, currently impossible to ‘prove’ the existence of an afterlife in any truly science-backed way, although I do feel that the scientific world is inching closer and beginning to at least show an interest.

Last summer I had the privilege of listening to a presentation by Dr. Gary Schwartz (Harvard PhD, Yale professor) on his current project, SoulPhone; in which technology is used to attempt spirit communication. Predictably, this has caused division in the scientific world but it’s almost incredible that someone with the credentials of Dr. Schwartz has not only chosen to dabble in this space, but is bold enough to take the stage and talk about his findings.

Like Dr. Gary Schwartz, Dr. Tara Swart (surely the similarity in their names cannot be mere coincidence?) is a PhD neuroscientist and Oxford University trained medical doctor. She must be applauded to dare explore the world so often dismissed as ‘pseudoscientific’ and to write, and speak, so eloquently about her own personal experiences. She follows others, such as journalist Leslie Kean (‘Surviving Death’), neurosurgeon Dr. Eben Alexander (‘Proof of Heaven’), orthopaedic spine surgeon Dr Mary Neal (‘To Heaven and Back’) and psychiatrist Dr. Bruce Greyson (‘After’) who have emerged from science and fact-based careers to publish accounts of near-death experiences and share their own, personal stories which point to the all-elusive ‘proof’ of an afterlife.

There exist a lot of mutterings about quantum physics ‘proving’ existence of an afterlife, but I place quotation marks as I am wary of using such a word in this context. We often describe ‘evidential mediumship’, for example - but proven how, exactly? What kind of proof? Is it quantifiable? How?

We mediums know that we are capable of accessing and transmitting information to our clients that only they and their deceased loved one could possibly know, but I personally cannot explain exactly how I do this. I’m unsure as to how it may currently be scientifically proven so I don’t make those claims. I choose my words carefully. Organisations such as the Windbridge Center are paving the way and slowly but surely creating a pool of talented and certified mediums. Having only recently returned to my mediumship after a long hiatus, I’m not yet at the stage where I feel I could put myself forward for testing even though I have been invited. I am excited that such an invitation exists.

I wait and trust in those like Dr. Swart who are opening their minds to the idea that life isn’t simply fact based, black and white, solid matter and who are comfortable existing knowing that there is much that we cannot see, prove or even understand - and that perhaps we never will, until such time as our soul leaves our physical body.

In my women’s circle this past week, we found ourselves talking about the shift which has been innocuously creeping upon us for some time now, and is beginning to feel louder and clearer. I run my circle for women who wish to learn to connect with, and use, their intuition. I long held a dream to create such a gathering but held off as I worried about how it might be received in my local community. Like many other working mediums, I had perfected the art of presenting a particular face to the world while only sharing my work with a select few once I felt they would be receptive.

In circle last week, we discussed The Witch Wound - a collective and ancestral trauma stemming from the historical persecution and killing of people, especially women, accused of witchcraft. It is believed to manifest in modern times as a fear of being seen, speaking one’s truth, and sharing one’s gifts, leading to self-doubt, a reluctance to be powerful, and mistrust.

In times past, women were respected for their intuition. A ‘midwife’ would be at the hub of every village and settlement as the wise woman, the herbalist, the seer and healer; one who saw in the newborns and ushered out the dying. Women shared their practices, their rites, their recipes for tinctures and formed natural networks of support wherever they gathered, until the witch hunts began and they were torn from their communities, tortured, burned, made an example of as the patriarchal church made a point of exercising its power.

Today, the world is burning and I can’t help but think that some women’s energy might bring some healing to the situation. It’s no surprise to me that books such as (The) Signs stand alongside the resurgence of interest in folklore, tarot, witchcraft (‘WitchTok’ is a thing!) and plant energy as a return to the knowledge that our ancestors relied upon to navigate their lives.

The strapline of The Signs alludes to ‘the new science of how to trust our instincts’. New to the world of science it may be, but this practice is as old as time itself. However, I am full of gratitude to Dr. Tara Swart: a female scientist who has spoken up about a collection of ideas and experiences which are all too commonly relegated to the world of witchcraft. In doing so, she creates space for conversation about the possibility that energies unseen play far more of a role in our lives that we have been lead to believe.

I say again: thank you, Dr. Swart, for daring to straddle the worlds of science and spirituality. Each time this happens, the Witch Wound diminishes slightly, and we all move a little closer to the light.

Today, October 15th, is International Child and Infant Loss Awareness Day. It is also the tenth birthday of our youngest child. The irony is not lost on me that, little more than a year following the death of our youngest daughter, Romy, her brother-the youngest of our four children-chose October 15th as the day of his arrival.

Several decades ago, my au…

Read more

Why is it that just as we let the last days of summer slip through our fingers and watch as the trees begin to die off in a blazing display of colour, I find myself fizzing with fresh energy, inspiration and renewal? Under the old Julian calendar in the Roman East, the start of a new year was marked on September 23rd, the birthday of the Emperor Augustu…

Read more

I seem to have been talking a lot lately about Signs. The important, capitalised Signs that some of us notice, comment on, live our lives by; at which others might smirk knowingly. ‘It’s a Sign!’ we shriek, tucking the image away smugly in our minds, adding it to the bulging mental file of other Signs that….what? What do they do, actually?

For people lik…

Read more

Photo credit: Jane Looker Photography

Like many people, I love a new notebook. Clean and unsullied, brimming with the promise of ideas, inspiration, lists efficiently crossed through, dreams placed into words. Productivity.

While preparing for a forthcoming circle I’m hosting, I recently unearthed no less than twelve notebooks. Twelve! Some of them are un…

Read more

I’ve never considered myself much of a gardener. Both of my grandmothers possessed a knack with planting, as does my mother, and so it has often felt a little shameful that the family gardening legacy has withered on the vine somewhat with me.

When I was pregnant with my oldest daughter, however, it was as if a gardening demon overtook my soul and I beca…

Read more

Read more

It is a truth universally acknowledged that cats are fantastic. Charles Dickens - whose world, thanks to some writing research, I currently inhabit on a daily basis - said, ‘What greater gift than the love of a cat’, and with this, I agree.

My son informs me that all cats are on the autistic spectrum. They do share similar characteristics: affection on t…

Read more

The two-headed Roman god, Janus, who kindly lent his name to that which we call ‘January’.

The irony isn’t lost on me that the post I commenced writing at the beginning of January has largely lain dormant until now, the penultimate day of the month I intended to write about. It has come back to life just as January is eking out its final, cold, pale sunl…

Read more

There is an over-quoted Leonard Cohen line, ‘There are cracks in everything. That’s how the light gets in.’ I always find myself thinking of this line at this time of year as we approach Yule.

According to Pagan tradition, Yule is a time when the light is at its most frugal, the days are short and the nights are long. In times past, we would bring the o…

Read more

Credit: the back of a card from the Tabula Mundi tarot deck, by M.M. Meleen

Manifesting is a thing at the moment. Every few days I come across an article, a social media post or a book telling us how to manifest a perfect life. A couple of weeks ago, I attended a very special gathering in Santa Fe at which someone said, ‘Spirituality is being…

Read more

In tarot, the thirteenth card of the major arcana (the named picture cards) is, of course, our old friend, Death.

Here he is, depicted in this stunning deck (credit: Tabula Mundi tarot by M M Meleen, my newest obse…

Read more

Today, 18th July 2024, marks ten years to the day that our daughter, Romy, died. I am amazed, both at how much time has passed and also at how slowly it has trickled towards this date.

Talking with our children recently about Harry Potter and the Cloak of Invisibility, it struck me that this is exactly what my experience of grief has often felt like ove…

Read more

The above image shows cards from the stunning Tabula Mundi tarot by the insanely talented M M Meleen.

Thanks for reading The Truth Inside! Subscribe for free to receive new posts and support my work.

I’ve listened to, and read, many people over the past few years discussing the particular brand of unkindness encountered online - where there is no face to …

Read more

This year, lured by online promises that this was The City to Visit in 2023, we booked Warsaw. I think we were imagining a charming, centuries-old town s…

Read more