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Blog
Welcome to my writing page!
I write a blog called 'A Clairvoyant's Diary' over on Substack. Please do join me over there if you would like an insight into the world through a clairvoyant's eyes.
Below you will find a sneak peak of each post to give you a flavour of what I write about.
Subscribe to Substack here here.
A Witches Truth
I have always seen that at some point the world of science and the world of spirit will meet. A time when they no longer hold positions on opposite ends of a spectrum. A time when what is seen by a clairvoyant will be measured and evidenced by scientific instruments. Where the energy field of a human, energy lines, and grids are all accepted as fact. Where clairvoyance is the norm, and clairsentience is a given.
I don’t know quite how, or quite when, but I know these days are coming.
I don’t know quite how, or quite when, but I know these days are coming.
You are Magic
In an Oracle card reading I did today, a beautiful message came through for my sitter:
“You Are Magic. And there is magic all around you.”
“You Are Magic. And there is magic all around you.”
A Man of Light
I have cried for three days this week for a man I have never met.*
An Artistic Monk
Last Substack I talked about the characters I meet when journeying into the Akashic field. The characters that stay with me for days as I wonder more about them, wishing I could ask so many more questions. But the Akashic field isn’t a place for demands or my egoistic desires, it’s a place where only humility and light will get you through the door into truth. Less noble intentions will send you sideways into the astral realms where mischief makers reside. Time is also of the essence, and when working with clients, once a scene has played out and given me what I need, I am moved onto the next one, just like a film.
A Clairvoyant Scientist
Journeying into the Akashic field never fails to fascinate me. In an Akashic reading, I travel with my clairvoyant senses into a quantum field where past, present, and future are non-existent. Where everything just 'is’ in that eternal present moment spoken of by mystics. It is a place where I journey to meet previous incarnations: mine or those belonging to others. (Previous only in linear time, ever present in quantum time.)
20 minutes
Little Sister is used to my pleading calls on a random workday afternoon: ‘Sis! I neeeeeed yyyooouuu! Maths! Arrgghhh!’
Though she is a thousand miles away, she has always been my go to when I find myself in an accounting muddle, and luckily for me, she happily grabs a cuppa and gets stuck into the latest equation that has me tied up in knots.
Maths has always been a foreign language to me. Though I’m perfectly capable with the day to day bits and bobs of life’s accounting, as soon as fractions/percentages/long division rear their unwelcome heads I reach for the phone, because as I try and work it out, my brain squeals in panic, packs a suitcase, and books a flight to the Bahamas.
Though she is a thousand miles away, she has always been my go to when I find myself in an accounting muddle, and luckily for me, she happily grabs a cuppa and gets stuck into the latest equation that has me tied up in knots.
Maths has always been a foreign language to me. Though I’m perfectly capable with the day to day bits and bobs of life’s accounting, as soon as fractions/percentages/long division rear their unwelcome heads I reach for the phone, because as I try and work it out, my brain squeals in panic, packs a suitcase, and books a flight to the Bahamas.
Not the norm
The question always comes eventually doesn’t it, when we meet new people:
“What do you do?”
It’s (for the most part) an easy question that we, as a collective, have decided will tell us all we need to know. Once the answer is revealed, we can then happily place our new friend in the tidy box we think they belong in. A writer for example, may well be put in the ‘a creative so probably slightly depressed and anxious’ box, an accountant in the ‘clever bod with numbers but probably boring’ box, or an IT specialist in the ‘they must be super brainy but I bet they can’t fry an egg’ box.
“What do you do?”
It’s (for the most part) an easy question that we, as a collective, have decided will tell us all we need to know. Once the answer is revealed, we can then happily place our new friend in the tidy box we think they belong in. A writer for example, may well be put in the ‘a creative so probably slightly depressed and anxious’ box, an accountant in the ‘clever bod with numbers but probably boring’ box, or an IT specialist in the ‘they must be super brainy but I bet they can’t fry an egg’ box.
The Providers
“I provide 18 meals a day. That’s my job,” Papa bear once declared proudly. For him, it was his greatest achievement: to be the provider. As long as we had full bellies and a roof over our heads, he was happy.
A healing tincture
Alongside Presence and Simplicity, another saving grace for life as a sensitive bean is Gratitude and Prayer.
Gratitude for me is a ritual of thankfulness not just for the big stuff, but for the little stuff, and mostly, for the bits and bobs of life that I take for granted.
Prayer for me is a ceremony in quiet reverence to a greater force I will never fully comprehend, where I offer supplications for healing, peace, balance, change.
I know that gratitude works because I feel it working. I know that prayer works because I see it working.
Gratitude for me is a ritual of thankfulness not just for the big stuff, but for the little stuff, and mostly, for the bits and bobs of life that I take for granted.
Prayer for me is a ceremony in quiet reverence to a greater force I will never fully comprehend, where I offer supplications for healing, peace, balance, change.
I know that gratitude works because I feel it working. I know that prayer works because I see it working.
The Simplest of Things
I’m a sensitive little bean. Always have been. By the time I hit 25 I was already on my third existential crisis. Life just seemed so bewildering, so difficult. I couldn’t get my head round any of its brutality or injustice, and I felt everything.
The rose frequency
I have always loved roses, (is there anyone who doesn’t?). They are so incredibly beautiful, so charming, and so beguiling in their pristine beauty. They captivate the observer over and over again, whether found wild on the roadside or perfectly manicured in a vase on the mantelpiece.
A spirit boy
A spirit boy visited me once. An awesome being of light that entered my conscious awareness one day to make his presence known. He told me his name, showed me who he wanted his papa to be, and explained that he very much wanted to join us earthside. My love for him was instant, the connection profound, and an overwhelming happiness flooded every one of my senses at the prospect of welcoming him in.
But it wasn’t to be.
But it wasn’t to be.
A spirit meadow
It’s not just human beans I check in on after they have died, I also check in on the beautiful little fur beans of this world. I don’t do this very often, but when I do it is always a revelation. This is what I have seen:
"I'm not dead"
“I’m not dead!”
These were the first words I heard when I checked in on someone I knew after they had died. (Something I like to do to see how my friends are faring in the life beyond, and to make sure all is well with them.) A staunch atheist when living, this particular chum had been particularly vocal about his belief that all mediums were charlatans, that there was no ‘afterlife’, and that anything suggesting otherwise was stuff and nonsense. Though he liked me, he was wary of the work I did and thought that, somewhere along the line, I had been taken for a ride and duped.
These were the first words I heard when I checked in on someone I knew after they had died. (Something I like to do to see how my friends are faring in the life beyond, and to make sure all is well with them.) A staunch atheist when living, this particular chum had been particularly vocal about his belief that all mediums were charlatans, that there was no ‘afterlife’, and that anything suggesting otherwise was stuff and nonsense. Though he liked me, he was wary of the work I did and thought that, somewhere along the line, I had been taken for a ride and duped.
A gift of beauty
Papa bear has forgotten a lot of things. How to open an envelope, how to use a pen, how to open a door. The little things the rest of us take for granted are a mystery to the synapses in his brain. I imagine the signals that once ran in an orderly fashion, knowing exactly where to go and what impulse to trigger, now wander lost, with only scant memory of the important role they once held.
Today, he forgot how to use a toilet.
Today, he forgot how to use a toilet.
A cloud of butterflies
Stepping into the Akash this week I was greeted by a cloud of blue butterflies.
I smiled instantly, surrounded as I was by such delicateness, such beauty, such gentleness and ethereal presence. I felt immense light and immense power. We think of power in this realm as being brute force, but these winged beings were more powerful than a thousand armies. Their frequency was pure, and they brought the mighty force of Divine connection and transformation.
I smiled instantly, surrounded as I was by such delicateness, such beauty, such gentleness and ethereal presence. I felt immense light and immense power. We think of power in this realm as being brute force, but these winged beings were more powerful than a thousand armies. Their frequency was pure, and they brought the mighty force of Divine connection and transformation.
Thank you for being here, beautiful
I’m trying to be telepathic with my dog.
I know it’s possible, because I know we are incredible beings, and we already communicate mind-to-mind all the time without even realising. And I know I can do it ~ I’ve had moments of communication ~ but a continuous parley back and forth with this pooch is not forthcoming as yet.
I know it’s possible, because I know we are incredible beings, and we already communicate mind-to-mind all the time without even realising. And I know I can do it ~ I’ve had moments of communication ~ but a continuous parley back and forth with this pooch is not forthcoming as yet.
The Moon House
Little sis knows a lot more than I do about planetary conjunctions and their shenanigans, so whenever I pick up on an energy in my readings that is affecting us human beans as a collective, she’s my go to for the intel.
‘What’s the moon house doing at the mo?’ I will ask.
Rolling her eyes at my invented astrological terminology, she lets me in on all the comings and goings of eclipse window this and mercury retrograde that. And nine times out of ten, what I’m getting in my reading matches the astrological report she delivers.
‘What’s the moon house doing at the mo?’ I will ask.
Rolling her eyes at my invented astrological terminology, she lets me in on all the comings and goings of eclipse window this and mercury retrograde that. And nine times out of ten, what I’m getting in my reading matches the astrological report she delivers.
Superhumans
One of my favourite things about journeying into the Akashic field is being able to observe past lives, (or concurrent lives if we’re going to be pedantic), and immersing myself for a few moments in times and lives so very different from my own.
My lovely Robin
I'm watching my little robin as he sits on the brown bin. I say 'my' robin. He doesn't belong to me of course, but I have become accustomed to his presence and feel a certain proprietary claim on him. So my robin he is.
Tribal Calling
I didn’t expect to come across the final hours of an ecstatic rave early doors on a Sunday morning, high up in the hills of the ‘shire. The land of Tolkien and hobbits transformed into a pulsating forest dancefloor. The shire folk no doubt hiding away from the deafening beats coming from the oversized speakers.
The warning signs
I slammed on the brakes and stopped in front of him, wide-eyed and frozen. He looked at me in shock, I looked at him in shock. I was half an inch away from him. Had I not being paying attention, he would’ve been under my wheels. He held his hands up in apology (his eyes had been lost to his phone). I held mine up in incredulity. His eyes were wide, face flushed...
Soul remembrance
As the bus rounded the corner and reached the highest point of the hill, a carpet of green with its unmistakeable, snaking muddy river came into view for the first time. The Amazon rainforest. I had dreamed of it for years, and here I was. A visceral reaction blindsided me and I cried solidly, though I didn’t know what I was crying for. I was overcome with its beauty, in absolute awe for sure, but something so much bigger was happening. There was a recognition I couldn’t explain. There was a knowing. A connection. A feeling of home. I had been here before...
The tree that lived
A wisened old Grandpapa tree, a majestic English Sycamore, lived alongside the ancient ruins of Hadrian’s Wall in the north of England for over a century. Battered by wind and rain and scorched by the sun, he gifted shelter and beauty to the many that passed by. Countless travellers would sit with him, finding a moment of solitude and connection to their own English heritage. He enjoyed their company, marvelled in all the changes he saw as each generation drew close, and was held tightly in the hearts of many...
Even with the fire raging, you are not helpless
Like many in recent days, my quiet thoughts have turned to those affected by the fires raging across the lands of Los Angeles in North America. In moments of stillness, I offer up silent prayers to a Higher Force for resolution, healing, and Divine presence; for a softening of winds, cooler temperatures, and water for all...
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