At the Threshold of Autumn: What I Am Calling In

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment

Good morning, dear Reader and happy Monday!

As I begin this new entry in my ‘electronic grimoire’ (I absolutely love calling it that– it makes me chuckle), I am with my loyal companion: a cup of pumpkin coffee in my favorite mug: a pumpkin.

  • Do you happen to have a particular cup that you enjoy drinking your coffee or tea out of? For me, it’s like a hug in the morning… or afternoon!

Summer has not yet released us from its heated hell and yet if you pay close enough attention, you can already feel autumn stirring beneath it. Just walking around yesterday, I picked up several red, orange and yellow leaves, signifying that autumn is drawing near.

The sunlight is beginning to change. The evenings are also arriving a little differently than they did at the start of the season. The cicadas sing their ancient songs from the trees, gardens grow heavy with what they have spent the summer creating and somewhere beneath all that green, the first leaves are quietly considering gold.

It is a season between seasons, a threshold. And perhaps that is why the Lion’s Gate feels especially powerful to me this year. I do not want to approach manifestation as though I am standing before the Universe with a shopping list of things I would like to receive. I want to approach it as a declaration.

I am ready: Ready to become, ready to receive, ready to release the versions of myself that were necessary for previous chapters but cannot accompany me into the next one.

There are things I planted earlier this year that have yet to break through the soil. There are dreams I have whispered about, written about, prayed over, worked toward, doubted, returned to and refused to completely abandon.

And as summer begins its slow descent toward autumn, I find myself thinking less about what I want and more about what I am willing to make room for– you see, manifestation requires space. You cannot endlessly call things into your hands that refuse to put anything down.

Beneath the energy of the Lion’s Gate, I am opening my hands:

I release the need to know exactly how everything will unfold.

I release the fear that I have somehow missed my moment.

I release the belief that struggle must always precede abundance.

I release what has exhausted its purpose in my life.

And I make room for transformation.

Not the delicate sort that changes a few things around the edges, but the kind that reaches down into the roots and asks:

Who are you becoming now?

I am becoming someone who trusts herself more deeply. Someone who does not shrink her dreams simply because they frighten her. Someone who understands that peace is not something I must earn after everything is finished. Peace can exist while I am still building. I am calling in spiritual alignment—not because I expect every answer to suddenly become clear, but because I want to recognize the quiet voice within myself when it speaks.

May I know what is mine.

May I recognize what is not.

May I have the wisdom to understand the difference.

And then there is abundance.

I welcome it.

Fully.

Without apology.

I am calling abundance into my work, my creativity and the things I am building with my own hands.

I want my ideas to find the people who need them.

I want my work to grow.

I want the seeds I have faithfully planted to become something tangible.

I want opportunities that align with who I am rather than requiring me to become smaller in order to receive them.

I welcome financial growth.

I welcome creative growth.

I welcome expansion.

I welcome the beautiful surprise of discovering that something can become larger than I originally imagined.

There was once a version of me who might have whispered those desires cautiously and hid them away.

Today, I write them plainly.

I am allowed to desire a life that flourishes.

And perhaps that is the lesson I am carrying from summer into autumn.

Summer teaches us expansion. Everything reaches toward the sun. Gardens spill beyond their borders. Flowers open unapologetically. The days stretch themselves as far as they possibly can.

But autumn teaches something different.

Autumn says: ‘Now decide what you are taking with you.‘

Soon there will be pumpkins on doorsteps and smoke curling from chimneys. The air will sharpen. Trees will turn themselves into fire before surrendering their leaves to the earth. And I will change with them.

I do not fear the shedding.

There are pieces of myself I am ready to leave among the fallen leaves.

Old doubts. Old expectations. Old stories. Old fears dressed as practicality

They may have belonged to me once, however they do not belong to where I am going.

So beneath this Lion’s Gate, standing between the golden abundance of summer and the first whispered promise of autumn, I set my intentions:

May what is meant for me find me.

May what I am building prosper.

May my intuition become louder than my fear.

May I remain aligned with the life I am creating.

May abundance enter my life through doors I have opened and doors I never knew existed.

May I have the courage to walk through them when they appear.

And may I remember that manifestation is not merely asking the Universe to change my circumstances.

Sometimes manifestation begins when I decide to change.

The wheel is turning.

Summer is beginning its farewell.

Autumn waits just beyond the threshold.

And this time, I am not standing still and watching the season change around me.

I am crossing the threshold with it.

Until we meet again, my friends, may your coffee be delicious, your intuition be louder and a little magick find you wherever you roam.

FB.

“Keeping the Hearth- thoughts on Reiki, Rest & Returning to Yourself:”

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment

Good day to you, fair Reader…

I am spending my day in the kitchen perfecting my ‘Dutch baby’ recipe! Ever make one?! Perhaps if I perfect it, I will include it in my next entry for you.

But as I wait for the cold ingredients to become room temperature (trying something new here… you know, you have to experiment with kitchen recipes), I decided to sit down and compose an entry about a topic that was near and dear to my heart.

If you have spent any amount of time wandering through my little corner of the world, you have likely discovered that I wear many hats. Some know me as a witch and at this point of my life, I do not hide it anymore! I have been out of the ‘broom closet’ for more than twenty years! Others know me as a psychic medium, a death midwife, a teacher or simply the woman forever accompanied by a steaming mug of coffee and a curious furry companion. Usually on FaceTime calls or Zoom meetings, it is usual to see Widget or Cleo, lovingly called ‘Baby Moo-Moo’ joining in, dancing in front of the camera.

Today, I would like to introduce you to another part of my path: it is called Reiki.

For many years, Reiki has quietly become one of the most meaningful practices in my life. Yet, until now, I have spoken very little about it. Perhaps it is because Reiki has never felt loud. It has never asked to be in the spotlight. Instead, it has always reminded me that some of the most profound transformations happen in whispers rather than shouts. When people hear the words energy healing, they often imagine something mysterious or difficult to understand. I don’t.

To me, Reiki is one of the simplest expressions of compassion. It is the gentle practice of creating space—space for the body to relax, for the mind to quiet and for the spirit to remember that it is safe to rest.

I often think of Reiki as tending a hearth fire. A fire cannot burn brightly if it has been neglected. Sometimes it needs another log. Sometimes the ashes need to be stirred. Sometimes all it needs is someone willing to sit beside it for a while. We are much the same.

Life asks so much of us. We pour ourselves into our families, our work, our friendships and our responsibilities until one day we realize our own flame has grown dim. We continue moving because we believe we must, even as our bodies quietly ask for stillness.

Reiki offers us permission to stop. It does not promise miracles. It does not replace medical care, nor does it ask us to abandon common sense. Rather, it works alongside the many ways we care for ourselves, inviting deep relaxation and supporting our natural capacity to heal.

As a witch, this philosophy feels deeply familiar. Everything in nature seeks balance. The tides ebb and flow. The moon waxes and wanes. The seasons continually transform. We, too, are part of that rhythm. Yet somewhere along the way, many of us forgot that rest is not weakness—it is part of the cycle.

That is why Reiki found its way into my practice. Not because I was searching for another title. Not because I wished to collect another certification but because I witnessed how profoundly simple kindness, presence and intentional touch could help someone reconnect with themselves.

Over time, my passion for this work led me to become a certified Reiki Master Teacher. The more I learned, the more I realized that Reiki is not about “fixing” anyone. It is about creating a peaceful space where healing can unfold in its own time and in its own way.

I look forward to sharing more about Reiki here in future entries—its history, its principles, the misconceptions surrounding it, and the quiet moments that have reminded me why I continue this work.

For now, I simply wanted to open the door and invite you inside. Perhaps, together, we’ll discover that some of life’s greatest magick isn’t found in extraordinary moments at all. Sometimes, it is found in stillness.

Until next time, may your hearth forever be warm, your coffee be delicious and your spirit always remember the light it carries within.

FB.

“The Sacred Cut:”

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment

Happy Sunday to you, fair Reader!

There comes a moment in every witch’s life when she stands before the mirror: her fingers are wrapped around the length of her hair and she wonders whether she is holding onto beauty… or history.

For many of us, our hair becomes a timeline.

Every inch remembers something.

It remembers the tears we cried in silence, the laughter shared beneath autumn moons, the people who stayed, the people who left, and every version of ourselves that somehow carried us to this very moment.

Long hair has always held a certain enchantment across countless traditions. It has been seen as a vessel of intuition, power, identity, and spirit. Whether truth, folklore or somewhere beautifully in between, I have always felt that our hair carries stories.

Perhaps that is why cutting it can feel so frightening.

It isn’t merely hair falling to the floor.

It is grief.

It is growth.

It is trauma.

It is permission.

There have been seasons where I refused to cut mine, convincing myself that I would somehow lose a part of who I was… stuggling with losing my identity as ‘the witch with the long red hair from Salem’. But lately, I have found myself wondering something entirely different…

What if I am not losing anything at all?

What if I am simply making room and space for more magick to grow?

As witches, we speak often of releasing what no longer serves us. We cleanse our homes with smoke, bury old intentions beneath the earth, burn petitions beneath the Full Moon, and sweep stagnant energy from our doorways.

Yet somehow, we forget that we, too, deserve to be part of those rituals.

Sometimes the ritual is far simpler than casting a circle. It begins with the quiet snip of a single lock of hair. A shedding… a grand release!

A promise whispered to the woman waiting patiently beneath everything you’ve outgrown.

Perhaps this haircut isn’t about changing how I look. It is about honoring who I have become.

The woman who survived.

The woman who learned.

The woman who finally understands that transformation rarely asks for permission—it simply arrives.

The old witches often understood that power wasn’t found in clinging to what once was. It was found in knowing when to let the old skin, the old stories, and sometimes even the old braid fall away.

So if you find yourself standing before the mirror, scissors in hand, wondering whether you’re making a mistake…

Perhaps ask yourself a different question.

What version of me is waiting on the other side of this cut?

May whatever you choose to release do so with grace.

May what grows in its place be healthier, lighter and more authentically your own.

Until next time, dear Reader…

May your hearth stay warm, your coffee never grow cold and your spirit always have the courage to become someone new.

FB.

“Does Everything Happen for a Reason?:”

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment

Good day to you, fair Reader. I hope that this entry finds you with a warm cup in hand and a peaceful moment to linger.

There is a question that has followed humanity for as long as stories have been told around hearth fires.

Does everything happen for a reason?

It is one of those questions that seems simple enough until life asks it of us.

When the sun shines upon our face after days of rain, it is easy to nod and say, “Yes, of course.” When an unexpected opportunity arrives, when we meet someone who changes the course of our lives, or when a single choice opens a door we never knew existed, we delight in calling it fate.

But what of the moments that leave us breathless with grief?

What of the endings we never asked for?

The people who leave too soon.

The friendships that quietly fade.

The love that never becomes what we hoped it would.

Those are the moments that make this question far more difficult.

As a witch, I have often thought of life as a woven tapestry. Every thread has its place, even the dark ones. Yet, while standing close to the loom, all we can see are knots, tangles and loose ends. We rarely have the privilege of stepping back far enough to see the entire design.

Perhaps that is why this question continues to haunt us.

I have come to believe that not everything happens because it was meant to happen.

Sometimes terrible things simply happen because we are human, because people make choices, because illness exists, because life can be wildly unpredictable.

Yet…

I do believe we have the sacred ability to choose what happens next.

That is where the magick lives.

The reason may not exist in the event itself.

The reason may be born from how we respond to it.

Every heartbreak teaches us something about love.

Every disappointment reveals what truly matters.

Every ending creates space for something we could never have imagined while we were clinging to what was.

It doesn’t erase the pain.

It doesn’t justify suffering.

It simply reminds us that even ashes can nourish new growth.

Nature teaches this lesson every single year. The mighty oak lets go of every leaf without certainty that spring will return. The forest floor becomes cluttered with what once was alive, only to feed what is yet to come.

The witch understands this.

Transformation rarely arrives wearing beautiful robes.

More often, it comes dressed as loss.

As uncertainty.

As silence.

As the long walk through the woods where the path disappears beneath fallen leaves.

Perhaps fate is less about a grand script already written and more about the conversations we choose to have with the Universe along the way.

Perhaps Spirit whispers opportunities rather than guarantees.

Perhaps our ancestors gently nudge rather than command.

Perhaps the Divine hands us the thread…

…and trusts us to decide what kind of tapestry we wish to weave.

So, do I believe everything happens for a reason?

Not exactly.

But I do believe that every experience offers us an invitation.

An invitation to grow.

To forgive.

To heal.

To become softer where we once were hardened.

Or stronger where we once were afraid.

Maybe that is reason enough.

Until next we meet around the hearth, may you trust that even if you cannot yet see the pattern your life is weaving, every stitch you make with kindness, courage and hope is creating something beautiful.

Until next time, may your hearth stay warm, your kettle ever singing and your path be lit by a little everyday magick.

FB.

“When the Mirror Lies: A Witch’s Thoughts on Narcissism:”

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment

Good day to you, fair Reader….

Come closer to the hearth for a spell.

The Keurig is singing, the candles are lit and today’s conversation is one that many of us whisper about but rarely say aloud.

Narcissism.

It is a word that has become rather fashionable in recent years. We hear it tossed about on social media whenever someone behaves poorly or lacks kindness. Yet true narcissistic abuse is something far deeper than selfishness or arrogance.

It is the slow unraveling of another person’s reality.

One thread at a time.

As witches, we trust our intuition. We speak often of listening to that quiet voice that stirs within us—that gentle knowing that tells us when something feels right… or terribly wrong.

Narcissistic relationships teach you to distrust that voice.

You begin questioning your memories.

Your feelings.

Your perceptions.

Even your own common sense.

Little by little, the mirror before you no longer reflects who you are. Instead, it reflects the version of yourself that someone else has carefully crafted—a version that is never quite enough.

Not loving enough.

Not patient enough.

Not understanding enough.

Not worthy enough.

Until one day, you hardly recognize the soul staring back at you.

But here is something I have learned.

Your intuition is never truly lost.

It simply becomes buried beneath fear, confusion, guilt and survival.

Like a seed sleeping beneath winter’s snow, it waits.

It waits for silence.

It waits for safety.

It waits for someone—perhaps even yourself—to whisper, “I believe you.”

Healing from narcissistic abuse is not about becoming who you were before.

It is about meeting the version of yourself who survived.

The one who kept going despite being doubted.

The one who continued loving even after love was used as a weapon.

The one who never stopped hoping there was light beyond the forest.

Recovery asks us to trust ourselves again.

That is sacred work.

It is not loud.

It is not dramatic.

It is often found in the smallest moments: saying no without apology, resting without guilt, laughing without looking over your shoulder and making choices without waiting for permission.

Those moments may seem ordinary.

To me, they are acts of magick.

There is another reason this subject rests so heavily upon my heart.

Over the years, I have devoted time not only to understanding the spiritual wounds that people carry, but also to studying the patterns that create them. I became certified in Narcissistic Recovery because I wanted to better understand the invisible threads that bind so many kind, empathetic souls to relationships that slowly dim their light.

One of the greatest misconceptions is that narcissistic abuse is easy to recognize. More often than not, it is subtle. It begins with charm, grows through confusion and leaves a person questioning their own intuition. As witches, healers and sensitive souls, we are often taught to trust our inner knowing—yet narcissistic abuse asks us to distrust it.

To me, that is one of the cruelest forms of magick ever cast.

Not the magick of herbs, candles, or whispered incantations, but the dark illusion of manipulation, where reality itself is rewritten until the victim no longer recognizes the face staring back from the mirror.

That is why I wanted to learn everything I could—not simply to heal myself, but to help others find their way back to themselves. Recovery is not about becoming someone new. It is about remembering who you were before someone convinced you that your own reflection could not be trusted.

So, if these words have found the person who needed them today, allow me to leave you with this:

You are not difficult because you have boundaries.

You are not selfish because you choose peace.

And you are certainly not broken because someone convinced you that your light was too bright.

A witch knows that mirrors can deceive.

Trust the compass within instead.

Until next time, dear Reader…

May your spirit remain sovereign, your intuition grow ever stronger and may you never surrender your truth to someone who profits from your doubt.

FB.

“The Witch’s Morning:”

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment

Good day to you, fair Reader…

Come in, won’t you? The Keurig is already beginning to sing and there is always room at my hearth for one more.

There is something wonderfully sacred about the hour before the rest of the world awakens, especially in my home.

Long before the day’s errands begin, before the endless chorus of notifications and obligations, there exists a quiet pocket of time that belongs only to me. It is in these early hours that I feel closest to the old ways—to the steady rhythm of the seasons, to my ancestors and to the gentle pulse of the Earth beneath my feet.

Many people imagine that witchcraft is found only in elaborate rituals or grand ceremonies beneath the full moon. While those moments certainly have their place, I have found that some of the deepest magick is woven into the ordinary.

It begins with a single breath.

I open the curtains and greet the morning light, no matter the weather it brings. The sun, the rain and even the grey skies each carry their own wisdom. Every dawn is an invitation to begin again.

Next comes the coffee. Ah, my beloved morning companion.

The familiar aroma fills my kitchen as the steam curls upward like the smoke from a tiny cauldron. Before I take my first sip, I pause. I wrap both hands around the mug, whisper a quiet blessing for the day ahead and offer gratitude for the simple comfort it provides. It may seem like nothing more than coffee to some, but to me, it is a daily ritual of warmth, presence and intention.

Not far away, my sourdough starter waits patiently.

I smile every time I remove the lid. It is alive—a tiny world of its own, bubbling away with quiet determination. Feeding my starter has become one of my favorite morning devotions. Flour, water, stir… repeat. Such simple actions, yet they remind me that growth rarely happens all at once. It is built through consistency, care and patience.

Perhaps that is one of the greatest lessons the hearth teaches us.

Life, much like bread, cannot be rushed.

A candle is often the next flame to be lit.

Its gentle glow transforms the room before the day has fully arrived, reminding me that even the smallest light has the power to chase away darkness. Some mornings I draw a tarot card, asking not, “What will happen today?” but rather, “What wisdom should I carry with me?” The answer is rarely loud. More often, it is a quiet nudge toward courage, patience, compassion, or trust.

There is beauty in these small moments.

Sweeping the floor.

Opening up my window to allow the fresh air in enter my home.

Watering the plants.

Greeting my familiars.

Writing a few thoughts within the pages of my ‘electronic grimoire’.

These are not chores to be hurried through. They are acts of devotion. Tiny spells woven into everyday life.

I believe that this is where witchcraft truly lives—not only in ancient books or hidden forests, but in the way we care for our homes, the meals we prepare, the hands we hold and the love we pour into the ordinary.

The hearth has always been the heart of the home.

It is where stories are shared, bread is baked, tears are shed, laughter echoes and generations leave behind invisible threads that continue to bind us together long after they are gone.

Every morning, as I stir my coffee and tend to my little corner of the world, I am reminded that magick does not ask us to become someone extraordinary.

It simply asks us to be fully present.

And perhaps that is the greatest spell of all.

Until next our paths cross, may your coffee stay warm, your bread rise well and may you always find a little magick waiting for you at your own hearth.

FB.

“The Trend I Would Banish from History:”

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment

Good day to you, fair Reader.

Every generation has its fashions. Hemlines rise and fall. Hairstyles change with the wind. We trade one color for another, one song for the next, one curious invention for something shinier.

Those trends? I would leave them be.

But there is one trend that has a lingered through centuries– changing its face, but never its nature. If I could wave my wand, stir my cauldron or whisper an old charm into the wind to erase one trend from history, it would be this:

The trend of making people feel as though they are “less then.”

For as long as humanity has walked this earth, there has always been someone eager to decide who is worthy and who is not.

Too old.

Too young.

Too loud.

Too quiet.

Too strange.

Too magickal.

Too different.

As witches, many of us know this feeling immediately. Our ancestors knew what it meant to be misunderstood. They were labeled before they were ever listened to. Feared before they were ever known.

Yet, this isn’t simply a witch’s burden.

It belongs to every soul who has ever been told they were too much or not enough.

It is woven into beauty standards that convince us that we must shrink ourselves to be loved. It hides in social circles where kindness is mistaken for weakness. It appears online where strangers judge lives through tiny glowing screens, forgetting there’s a beating heart on the other side.

What a curious thing that we’ve made comparison into a pastime.

A flower never apologizes for blooming beside another flower.

The moon never envies the stars.

The raven does not wish to sing like the robin.

Nature understands something we often forget: diversity is what makes the forest beautiful.

As witches, we spend so much of our practice remembering what the world asks us to forget. That every herb has a purpose. Every crystal has a vibration. Every season serves its own sacred work. So, why wouldn’t people?

If I could erase one trend, it wouldn’t be a hairstyle or a fashion statement. It would be the habit of measuring another person’s worth against our own.

Imagine the energy we’d reclaim!

Imagine the healing!

Imagine the magick that would return to the world if people simply allowed one another to exist without judgment.

Perhaps that is the real spell our world needs.

Not one cast beneath a Full Moon.

But one practiced every single day– in kindness, in curiosity and in remembering that every soul has its own path through the woods.

Until next time, dear Reader…

May your kettle stay warm, your spirit stay curious and may you always find magick in the ordinary.

FB.

The Curious Case of the ‘Fire Hazard’:

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment
Daily writing prompt
What is the best excuse you have heard lately?
View all responses

Have you ever noticed that modern courtship comes with a peculiar sort of vanishing act?

Once upon a time, people wrote letters. Then they made phone calls. Now? We have the mysterious art of disappearing into thin air while somehow remaining active on social media.

I have often wondered what the favorite excuse is these days.

“I’ve just been so busy.”

Busy.

It is a curious little word, isn’t it? We are all busy. We work, we cook, we care for our homes, tend our gardens, chase our dreams and somehow still manage to answer the people who matter to us.

So, perhaps it isn’t busyness at all.

Perhaps silence is simply an answer wrapped in prettier paper.

Not long ago, I found myself enchanted by someone I shall affectionately call “the Fire Hazard.” The nickname seemed fitting– not only because of his profession, but because every conversation carried just enough spark to make one wonder if a proper blaze might follow.

Instead…

Smoke.

One moment there was warmth, laughter and the promise of another conversation.

The next, only silence.

Ghosted.

Now, if there’s one thing I have learned from both magick and sourdough, it is this: you cannot force something to rise that has stopped responding. You may check on it every few hours. You may hope. You may even convince yourself that tomorrow will be different.

But eventually, you must accept what the mixture is telling you.

No bubbles.

No life.

No matter how carefully you nurture it, some things have already decided not to grow.

And perhaps that is the lesson hidden inside the ghost story.

Being ghosted says far more about another person’s willingness to communicate than it ever says about your worth.

The right people don’t leave you guessing.

They don’t make you decode silence or search for hidden meanings between unanswered messages.

They simply show up.

So, to my dear ‘Fire Hazard’, I sincerely hope life is treating you well. May your alarms be few, your coffee be hot and your boots always lead your safely home.

As for me?

I’ll save my energy for those who choose to pull up a chair beside my hearth instead of leaving me to wonder if the fire ever truly existed.

And that, dear Reader, is a far better place to keep the flame alive.

FB.

“Where Flour Meets Fate:”

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment

Good day to you, fair Reader. I hope that this entry finds you well and that a little magick has found its way into your day.

After penning my last entry, I knew almost immediately what tale I wished to tell next. Before long, I found myself returning to these pages of my ‘electronic grimoire’, eager to share another lesson from my hearth.

Whenever one wanders across social media these days, it seems impossible not to stumble upon the wonderful world of sourdough. Some fortunate souls appear to master the craft with remarkable ease, while others find themselves puzzled by the curious science of creating– and keeping alive– a humble sourdough starter.

If you find yourself among the latter, take heart. Every seasoned bake was once a curious baker.

Sourdough is one of the great loves of my life and a Craft that has become deeply woven into my days. My own journey began in 2023 and from the moment I nurtured my very first starter, lovingly named ‘Lady B’, I was utterly enchanted. There was something wonderfully magickal about combining nothing more than flour, water, time and patience only to watch them awaken into a living culture!

It felt less like baking… and more like tending to an old friend whose wisdom had been quietly passed from hearth to hearth for generations.

So, pull up a chair by the ‘fire’, pour yourself a warm cup of coffee or tea and let’s explore together the ancient art of sourdough.

Many believe that a sourdough starter is simply flour and water. While this is true in the most practical sense, I have always thought it deserved a far more poetic description.

A starter is alive.

It breathes, it grows, it changes with the seasons and it rewards the hands that tend to it with patience and consistency. It cannot be rushed, commanded or neglected for long without consequence. In many ways, it behaves much like the oldest forms of magick– it asks for intention rather than perfection.

For centuries, families guarded their starters as treasured heirlooms. They were carried across oceans, tucked into wagons, wrapped in cloth and lovingly passed from one generation to the next. With each humble jar lived not only wild yeast, but stories of home, resilience and the comforting promise that no matter how difficult life became, there would always be bread upon the table.

Perhaps that is why sourdough captured my heart so completely.

In a world that urges us to hurry, sourdough gently whispers another way. Slow down. Pay attention. Learn its rhythm. Trust the process.

Every bubble tells a story.

Every rise is an act of faith.

Every loaf is a reminder that extraordinary things are often born from the simplest of beginnings.

So, before we even mix our first dough or speak of ‘stretch and folds’, let us first become acquainted with the true heart of sourdough- the living starter, the faithful companion that quietly waits upon the kitchen counter, asking only for flour, water and a little kindness in return.

Creating a sourdough starter is a simple act, yet there is something wonderfully enchanting about the process. Within the flour are naturally occurring wild yeast and friendly bacteria, patiently waiting for the perfect conditions to flourish. When flour and water are brought together, a small world begins to form. Day by day, with each feeding, this tiny ecosystem grows strong, learning the rhythm of the hands that care of it.

To begin your starter, you only need a few humble ingredients:

Flour: the foundation of your creation, full of natural nutrients that will nourish your starter.

Water: the element that brings everything together and allows magick to begin.

Time: the most important ingredient of all.

On the first day, you may simply see a mixture of flour and water resting quietly in a jar. Do not be discouraged by its stillness. Much like a seed planted beneath the soil, the greatest transformations often happen before we can see them.

Each day, you will offer your starter a little more flour and water– a small ritual of care and consistency. In return, your starter will begin to show signs of life. Tiny bubbles may appear. A pleasant aroma may develop. The mixture will slowly rise and fall, whispering that the unseen work has begun.

There may be moments when you wonder if anything is happening at all. Trust the process.

Sourdough teaches us a lesson that modern life often forgets: beautiful things cannot be hurried. Growth requires patience. Creation requires trust. And sometimes, the most magickal things are happening quietly beneath the surface.

When your starter is ready, you will know it. It will be lively, bubbly and eager to help you create your first loaf of bread.

And when the moment arrives, remember this: you did not simply make a starter. You welcomed a piece of the ancient art of bread making into your home.

May the hearth forever be warm, the kettle ever full and your bread always rise with blessings.

Until our paths cross again, dear Reader…

FB.

Magickal Housekeeping 101:

/ Freya Bishop / Leave a comment

Hello Friends and Happy Thursday!:

Come sit with me for a while. Pour yourself a cup of coffee– or tea, if that is more your style– and let’s talk about how to magickally cleanse, care for and protect your home.

The techniques and practices within this little ‘electronic grimoire’ are simple, accessible and beneficial for anyone looking to reset the energy of their space, whether you’re just beginning your path or have been walking it for years.

This is one of my favorite classes to teach. When I offer it in person, I dive much deeper into these practices and share many of these little techniques, traditions and discoveries I’ve gathered throughout my own Craft. There is always something new to learn and there is always another layer of magick waiting to be uncovered.

For those who are interested, I will be offering a Zoom class this autumn that explores these topics in greater depth. It’s still in the works, but I’ll be announcing the details soon, so stay tuned!

So, without further ado…

A Gentle Disclaimer:

Magick is a practice, and like any Craft, it grows stronger through consistency, patience and intention. It isn’t an instant fix or a quick solution. Rather, it unfolds overtime as your relationship with your practice deepens. Trust the process. Stay committed. The more intention you pour into your work, the more naturally your practice will begin to flourish.

“Breathe with your home.”

In a book that I am currently writing (aye, yes– a book! I have been a busy witch!), I talk about the relationship we share with our homes.

I truly believe that our homes absorb our energies. They witness our celebrations, hold our tears and quietly stand besides us through seasons of uncertainty. When we are grieving, our homes grieve with us. When we are joyful, they seem to glow a little brighter. Our living spaces become extensions of ourselves, collecting the emotional echoes of our daily lives.

Because of this, it’s important to give your home opportunities to breathe and release what it has been carrying.

One of the simplest ways to do this is by opening your windows and doors for a short while each day. Invite the element of Air into your home with intention, asking it to carry away stagnant, heavy, or unwanted energy while welcoming clarity, renewal and fresh possibilities.

On a practical level, you’re improving the ventilation throughout your home. On a spiritual level, you’re allowing yesterday’s energy to leave for today’s blessings have room to enter.

To deepen this simple yet powerful ritual, put on a favorite song- or three that empower you. Burn a little incense if it aligns with your practice. Dance while you tidy the room. Laugh. Stretch. Let your home witness your joy just as it has witnessed your hardships.

When you’re ready to close the windows, ring a bell to signify that the cleansing is complete. Bells have long been associated with clearing spiritual residue and marking sacred transitions, making them a beautiful way to conclude the ritual.

If you feel called to do so, speak an affirmation aloud. It can be as simple as:

“Only peace, love, abundance and blessings may dwell within these walls.”

Or create words that feel authentic to your own practice. This is your magick. Your home. Your relationship with spirit.

There isn’t a strict time requirement for this practice but I find that leaving the windows open for about 10 to 15 minutes is usually enough to allow both the physical air and the energetic atmosphere to refresh,

“Caring for your thresholds:”

Pay close attention to your doorways and windows! If you look carefully, you might find leaf carcasses from season’s past, dead bugs, salt from this past winter– yeah, you can say that I am reaching but am I far from the truth?

Also, if you’ve experienced conflict with former friends or lost someone you once envisioned as a potential lover, even if they’ve completely walked out of your life their energetic imprint can still linger in your space. Think of it this way: they entered your world, moved through your energy and then left– but traces of that connection may remain. It’s time to clear out what no longer belongs, release their lingering energy and make room for peace, renewal and the life that is meant for you.

Keep these areas free of dirt, clutter and debris. Your entryway is the first point of contact between your home and the outside world, so treating it as a sacret threshhold can make all the difference.

Once a week, I like to cleanse my foyer (or “foy-ay”) with a mixture of Florida Water and Holy Water to wash away stagnant energy and refresh the spiritual atmosphere. I’m fortunate to have a small ledge where I keep protective statues, LED candles and carefully chosen crystals, each serving as another layer of spiritual protection and intention.

For an added layer of defense, I’ll sprinkle black salt along the doorframe. I allow it to sit for about a day, giving it time to absorb any heavy or unwanted energy before sweeping it out of the front door. As I do, I also remove the crystals so everything can be cleansed, refreshed and returned to its place with renewed purpose.

Above my front door hangs a small bell that chimes whenever someone enters or leaves. Before hanging it, I programmed it with intention: each ring clears away unwanted energies that may try to cross the threshold while inviting blessings, protection and peace into my home. Each chime serves as a gentle reminder that only what is for my highest good is welcome to enter.

A game changer for me was bringing in some old school moon magick and seasonal cycles in my cleaning rotations as I magickally enhanced my home.

“Incorporating the Moon and the Seasons into your Home Practice”

Working in rhythm with the Moon and the changing seasons is one of the easiest ways to keep your home spiritually refreshed. Just as nature moves through cycles of growth, rest, release and renewal, so can our homes– and so can we!

New Moon: Declutter and Setting intentions:

The New Moon is the perfect time to clear away both physical and energetic clutter. Sweep away the cobwebs, organize your spaces and create room for new blessings.

As you clean, as yourself: What am I making space for?

This is an excellent time to tidy your altars, refresh your sacred spaces and reconnect with your intentions.

Offer fresh water, flowers, herbs or whatever is customary within your own practice to your spiritual council, ancestors, or the Gods and Goddesses you work with. Wash your altar cloths, cleanse offering bowls, candle holders and ritual tools. Give everything a fresh start.

Full Moon: Celebrate and Release:

The Full Moon invites us to pause and acknowledge how far we’ve come.

Spend a little extra time at your altar reflecting on the victories– both big and small– you’ve experienced throughout the month. Sometimes simply making it through a difficult week is something worth celebrating.

Stay grounded.

Take inventory of the blessings that surround you.

Gratitude is a form of magick all on it’s own.

Then ask yourself: What am I ready to release?

Write it down. Speak it aloud. Offer it to your altar. Offer it to the Moon. Allow yourself the permission to let it go so that it no longer occupies space within your heart or your home.

Creating Moon Water:

Moon water is one of my favorite magickal tools because of its versatility.

Charge a clean container of water beneath the Moon according to your own tradition and intention. Once charged, you can use it in countless ways throughout your practice.

I love using moon water for:

  • Floor washes to spiritually refresh the home.
  • Simmer pots to add another layer of intention.
  • Cleansing ritual tools or altar spaces,
  • Drinking during personal reflection or meditation (provided you’ve prepared it safely with clean, drinkable water with a covered container– safety first, friends!)

As you sip your moon water during these quiet moments, spend time journaling. Notice what thoughts arise. Pay attention to the messages that seem to flow effortlessly from pen to paper. Often, our greatest guidance arrives when we simply create the space to listen.

Welcoming the Seasons:

Each change of the season is an invitation to renew your home.

Rotate your decor, donate items you no longer use, clean forgotten corners and refresh your living space. Just as Earth transforms with each season, our homes benefit from these intentional moments of transition.

A seasonal refresh isn’t simply about decorating– it’s about allowing your environment to evolve alongside you.

“Let it Simmer:”

One of my favorite weekly rituals is crafting a simmer pot.

There is something deeply comforting about a home filled with fragrance of herbs, fruits, spices and intention. As the steam rises, I envision it carrying blessings into every room while gently lifting away stagnant energy.

Depending upon the ingredients I’ve chosen, I’ll sometimes reserve a portion of the cooled liquid to use as a floor wash. If you decide to do this, craft with care. Some simmer pot recipes contain sugars, fruits and spices that can leave behind a sticky reside, so always test a small area first before using it throughout your home.

There are countless other techniques we could explore– and trust me, I happily could– but why overwhelm you?

Magick is meant to be experienced, not rushed.

Takes these practices one at a time. Experiment with them. Adapt them to fit your own path. Discover what resonates with your spirit and your home. After all, the most powerful practice isn’t the one that looks the most elaborate. It’s the one you’ll return to, again and again, with intention, presence and love.

May your path be guided by wisdom, wonder and a wee bit of magick.

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