Breath is the beginning and the end.
The first inhale brings us to life.
The last exhale releases it.

I have always said I was born with a death breath. I entered this world blue, not breathing. I believe that when I took that first breath, I left one foot in the in-between and one foot here.

That moment began my relationship with the spirit world. It was also the thread that wove grief and death into the fabric of my life. At age three, I began to lose the ones I loved — friends, family, lovers. By thirty, I had walked with grief more times than I could count.

The losses came like seasons: three, eight, thirteen, thirty. I once thought I was cursed. Over time, I came to understand that grief was not a curse but a gift — and that it is a landscape we will all walk.

As a child, I had countless ghostly and otherworldly encounters. These moments shaped my belief in a world beyond what we can see and set me on a lifelong path of spiritual seeking.

My mother was an astrologer. Because of her, I was introduced to different ways of knowing at a young age — including becoming a certified crystal healer at thirteen. Later I studied astrology, Wicca, the occult, tarot, and shamanism.

In my forties, I apprenticed for five years with a shamanic sound healer. There I learned that sound, when paired with an open heart, clear intention, and trusted spirit allies, becomes a carrier wave — a doorway into magic and internal wisdom. It led me to a crossroads where I stopped seeking wisdom around other people's sacred fires.

Instead, I turned toward my own ancestors. And my whole life changed.

I discovered a rich history and a spiritual depth within my Nordic and Celtic lineages — animism, the runes, Seiðr, and ancestral devotion.

Now I walk as a death and grief tender, a seer, and an ancestral ritualist. I carry the threads of artists, musicians, healers, dreamers, keeners, and Völvas. I sit at my own sacred fire, lit by my ancestral elders.

In my ritual healing work I tend to the whole being — mind, body, soul, and the subtle field. I have learned that healing does not come from force. It comes from slowing down. From integration, not overwhelm. From listening, not fixing.

When we work together I meet you where you are. We move at the pace your soul can receive.

This work is not a performance. It is not perfection.

It is soul work. It is sacred remembering.
It is a return — not to who you were,
but to who you have always been
beneath the forgetting.