SACRED THYME ALCHEMY

RIL ROB TEINA - YOU WERE ONE OF THE REAL GC I’ve been thinking a lot about legacy. Not the grand shiny carved in stone kind. The other kind. The kind that lives in people after you’re gone. I’ve been to a lot of funerals lately. The older I get the more frequent flyer miles I seem to collect. We can’t escape it so why the hekka don’t we talk about it. Why is talking about death so quickly met with~Oh stop being morbid It’s not morbid. It’s inevitable. Hell if we were a littl

My head has been a bit of a fu.king mess lately. I’ve been living in it. Properly living in it. Almost like I’ve been hovering somewhere just outside my own body while my brain runs seventeen different scenarios, conversations, possibilities and catastrophes at once. Meanwhile on the outside Im covering it with she’ll be right mate and that’s just how I roll. There is a lot that can live behind a well practised she’ll be right dont you think. I can put my hand on my heart a

Fifteen years of being a blonde badass. Bright hair. Loud fire. Wild woman energy you could spot from across a room. Now…I’m crawling my way back to my roots. Literally. Back into the dark haired enchantress I was before the bleach before the upkeep the performance of it all. And fuck me I’ve left it way longer between hair appointments this time. Which means the silver streaks are coming through hard now. Not timid little threads either. Proper witch sparkles. Lightning bol

What is so deeply ingrained within us as women no matter how much work we think we’ve done is this underlying shadow. Call it the sisterhood wound, call it internalised misogyny, call it whatever you want… but it sits under our skin like a bruise we can’t stop hitting. Every time we think we’ve healed it, it shows up again. Same wound, different costume. This is the part that guts me, even the women doing the work, the ones who preach it, teach it, live it even we hit that s

......AND THE SHADOWS WE DRAG WITH US. There’s something I’ve been wrestling with.A trigger I’ve felt rising, pulsing like heat under skin. It’s… the ache of longing, of wanting to belong but not knowing where the hell to stand without overstepping. I am a Pākehā woman. I am doing the work, of decolonising not just my mind but the energy I carry when I walk into sacred spaces. Lately I’ve been sitting with a deeper, more uncomfortable truth. That ache to belong can sometimes

I’ve been in a little grief bubble of late, not gonna lie. My little mate Bruce the bully passed months ago. It feels like both a lifetime and a second ago. The days blur, and there are moments where I forget when I still go looking for the fat little snoring sausage, expecting to see him sprawled out , freight train sound of his snore echoing throughout the backyard then it hits me, like a goddamn freight train to the heart. He’s not here any more- still months later it pul

Lately I’ve been watching something that sits heavy in my heart, that a wave of people who once walked a spiritual path, who spoke of energy, intuition, and divine connection, now turning around and calling it all “evil” in their new path of finding Jesus. I’ve seen creators, coaches and even friends who once shared messages of empowerment, healing, and magic suddenly denounce it all in the name of God. While everyone is free to follow what feels true, it’s the need to demo

(This is a small expert out of my book im in the midst of writing. Felt the urge to share) A conversation while at an early morning gym class one morning, cracked something even wider open in me. Hearing another woman, so much younger than me now, walking a path that echoes one I’ve already bled - on being a baby with a baby. It stirred up old embers I hadn’t touched in a while. You see I grew up with my son. I was still a child myself 17, confused, heart bruised from bad dec

A PERSONAL SPELL FOR SOVEREIGHTY There is still fear around the word Witch. Not because it means evil but because it means power without permission. It means devotion without dogma. It means walking a path that answers to the earth, the elements, the seasons not a pulpit, a priest, or a patriarchal book. Witchcraft, for me, is personal. It is not performative. It is definitely not aesthetic for likes. It is not some witchy cosplay built for social media validation. It is the

Do you know what I truly love about writing? It’s the way something deep within your being can pour out through your fingertips and shape itself into letters, into rhythm, into soul music on the page. It becomes something alive something real. It’s your truth, in that moment, made visible. For me the best writing often comes from tiny sparks triggers, nudges, things I see or feel that hit just right. I don’t write for approval. I write because something inside needs to move.

A LOVING CALL OUT TO THE SPIRITUAL COPY AND PASTE CROWD. The reason I’m writing so deeply about this sacred plant medicine is because over the years, I’ve watched its popularity grow and its sacredness diminish. I love my relationship with cacao. It has guided me to open my heart in such a beautiful, tender, potent way. I’ll drink it when it’s offered in ceremony or especially during those heart expanding weekends away with my sisters. Sometimes I sit with it in my rituals,

There’s a rising trend out there especially in the unregulated spaces of the healing, coaching and spiritual industries where blanket statements are thrown around as truth. “Because I feel like that’s the way,” they say. Or, “It worked for me, so it must work for everyone.” Honestly that’s dangerous. There’s zero research behind so many of these statements. Yet we live in an age where followers will cling to a social media post or an unqualified soundbite as gospel, without

As I sit here, contemplating the sacred convergence of the Winter Solstice and Matariki, I feel something stirring. A sense of hope for...

I fucking love my journey with the pen or maybe these days, it’s more like the tippity tap of the keyboard. Either way, it’s sacred. It...

There’s a part of me that wants to scream. I know that scream doesn’t come from bitterness or judgement. It comes from devotion. A raw, bone deep love for Papatūānuku for this sacred land, for the grids, the temples, the rivers and stones that hold our ancestral memory. No matter where our ancestors came from. It’s not just this land sacred places all over the world are being remembered, honoured, and visited. But this whenua… this land… she holds me. She’s where I reside. So

There’s something I’ve been witnessing a lot lately in conversations online, in circles, even within sacred communities. It’s a sneaky pattern, often masked as moral concern or fairness. But underneath it holds a very different energy. It’s called whataboutism. You know it when you see it. Someone shares their lived truth, something real and vulnerable and instead of deep listening or curiosity, another voice jumps in "But what about [this other issue/person/group]?" Suddenl

Maybe it’s my luteal phase talking. Or it could be the pain I’m marinating in lately. Or is it the cosmic shitstorm of things not quite landing where they should or maybe just maybe my spidey senses are on high alert, and I’m feeling feisty as fuck once again. Before anyone gets it twisted this isn’t a meltdown. This isn’t a toddler tantrum, toys out the cot moment. Nah. This is clarity. This is refusing to be boxed in, siphoned, or packaged into some palatable, light and lo

Your laugh is more than just a sound it’s a spell, a weapon, a release, a call to the wild. It doesn’t just express joy it reveals, it disrupts, it transforms. Laughter is primal, magical and an unfiltered expression of the body’s deepest truths. My laugh. It shifts like the wind, bending with my mood, my energy, even the company I keep. It has been called many things infectious, wild, uncontrollable. Today I was told it was sinister. The word rolled over me like a storm clou

Through the sacred medicine of Bufo, I was stripped bare. No illusions, no masks, no stories to hide behind only truth. It did not ask politely. It did not ease me in. It was a wildfire ripping through the undergrowth of my soul, consuming everything that was not real, not true, not mine. I surrendered into the great unraveling, into the void where nothing and everything exists at once. There standing before me, was me. Naked, trembling, infinite. The part of me that had spen

When I was younger, I was always called moody. Angry. Dark. I carried those words like wounds, believing they meant something was wrong with me. That my depth was too much, that my shadows made me unlovable. I learned to hide them. I shaped myself into what I thought would be accepted more light, less weight, more smiles, less truth. But lately, I have been seen. Fully. A dear friend, one who has journeyed deeply beside me, looked into the depths of my beautiful darkness and