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The Medieval Hours

The world cannot be re-enchanted because it is and always was enchanted, it is merely that human beings gradually lost the ability to see and feel it. We are desensitized, and in this era in particular, our desensitization has become a severe handicap. We are spiritually retarded, nearly completely severed from the perception of our own spirits and the spirits around us.

In 1883, the American magazine Chatauqua asked a variation of the philosophical question “If a tree falls in the forest and there is nobody around to hear it, does it make a sound?” The Earth is approximately 4.5 billion years old. Humans only evolved to have working ears relatively recently. The entirety of human existence represents a drop in the bucket where those 4.5 billion years are concerned. Our species is hideously dependent upon petroleum, which represents the debris of trees, pond scum, and animal remains from anywhere from 70 to 250 million years ago, and someday the next dominant species may siphon our remains to fuel the conveniences of their lives. Viewed from a wider lens, it is quite obvious that the answer to the philosophical quandary “If a tree falls in the forest and there is nobody to hear it, does it make a sound?” is Yes. It made a sound, which after all is simply the reverberation that arises from action on the physical plane, duh. The question itself is boneheaded and stupid and reveals more about the philosophers who ask it than the phenomenon it questions. Hello and welcome to modern science.

The bum rush toward re-enchantment

Right now, a bunch of spiritual retards, myself among them, are desperately trying to reclaim what has been stolen and siphoned away over the last five hundred or so years. We all know something is missing from our lives that has left miserable and terrifying wounds. Though these wounds cannot be seen, we all feel like amputees from which parts have been lopped off or gouged out. In my upcoming book, Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to Tidying, I call this condition spiritual leprosy. I also make the bold claim that spiritual leprosy, along with its twin condition etheric starvation, is the most common set of maladies of our time.

Before the advent of prosthetic everything — the replacement of human tasks and pursuit of knowledge with machines and machine labor — humans were more in touch with the subtle planes. The key to understanding the subtle planes is that they are not separate places. They are superimposed upon us and co-exist with everything we know and perceive. The subtle planes graduate in subtlety from the etheric level all the way to the spiritual level, a.k.a. the Creator or God. The etheric plane, also known as the energy plane, prana, ch’i, ki, vibes, and the Force, is the easiest for us to perceive because it is one dimension more subtle than smell. The astral plane is the next level of subtlety and can be understood as the personal and collective dimension of images and imagination. This level is perceived by animals and plants as well as many others. Even more subtle and therefore expansive, wide, and difficult to grok for a meatbrain stuck on Meatworld is the mental plane, which is the plane of concepts, causes, and effects. Ancient Christians used to have a working knowledge of all of this stuff, whether it was instinctive or from the halls of elite learning. The medieval garden was symmetrical and intentional, full of calculated angles and patterns that acted as demon traps and herbs and vegetables that provided physical medicine and nourishment. Their cathedrals utilized sacred geometry both outside and inside, amplifying the cleansing power of the Missas performed every day, month, and year at the appropriate planetary times. Medieval people were not ignorant about astrology, nor did they dismiss it as demonic like a starving idiot would reject lifesaving food because the texture was “off”. Magic was not exotic to them; it was as plain as the nose on your face. In Eros in Magic and the Renaissance, Ioan Couliano explores the common belief among medieval peoples that individuals and groups could be manipulated via their eros using psychology and the art of memory. Couliano paints a detailed portrait of people who lived deeply and wholly in an enchanted world to the point where they were aware and wary of those who would seek to enchant them. Another aspect of spiritual awareness was the veneration of saints, who are formerly human helpers who have chosen to help humanity despite having the option to do other things. Buddhists call these beings bodhisattvas. You can reject their help, but it is not a good idea as they are going to be the first ones to come to your assistance when you are in metaphysical trouble, and I would argue we are all constantly in metaphysical trouble at the moment.

The evangelical Christian is the pigeon who craps all over the chess board, knocking the pieces off and strutting about as if she has won. She returns to her ignorance like a dog to his vomit. If her medieval ancestors could see her now, they would hang their heads in shame. It is not entirely her fault she lives in a spiritual Idiocracy where any meaningful information from the past has been bulldozed by materialist elephants rampaging in the proverbial china shop. She cannot help that she was raised in an environment where every bit of paradise on Earth was paved to put up a parking lot. She is a materialist because that is all she has ever known. Her food has always been devitalized and from the store instead of the yard and the forest. Her poor brain has always been manipulated by mass media and propaganda. There has not been a moment when she could escape the astral cacophony of other tortured souls and now she is old enough where it has begun to make her a bit crazy. She has been injected with all manner of vaccines that carry the nasty side effect of segregating the subtle bodies from each other. Like her world, she is full of small bits of plastic. Her body’s processes are chronically disrupted from petrochemicals gone wild in the form of phthalates and dioxin. The very air she breathes is inundated with miasmic radiation from cell towers. Yet the worst of her problems and that which lays her bare to whatever demons would like to set up shop in her fragile subconscious is her profound lack of gratitude. Existential fatigue and the exhaustion of living in this incarnation in the early twenty-first century is a recipe for ungratefulness. The medieval peasant had gratitude to God; her modern equivalent does not, despite the lip service she is mandated to provide.

How do we re-enchant ourselves?

We may not be able to re-enchant the world as it is already in a state of enchantment and never left, but we can re-enchant ourselves, and that means removing the malefic enchantments of our materialistic, deadened era and returning to a healthy, balanced state of autonomy that excludes the influence of roving demons and psychological parasites.

The first things I would suggest in the work of re-enchantment is to pick up the three practices of spiritual hygiene aside from prayer that can give us a working tool set with which to combat the grime of our era. These three daily practices take up about a half hour every day. I have written about them in the linked articles and I personally do them, otherwise I would not recommend them:

1. Discursive meditation
2. A daily banishing ritual or its weekly traditional mass equivalent
3. Daily divination

Once you have established a tiny chunk of your day to the practice of spiritual and mental hygiene, it is time to modestly approach a god. In approaching a god, your earnestness and humility will be what determines whether or not you get a demon instead. I believe the arrogant religious end up with demons as reliably as their Satanist or atheist counterparts, as you tend to attract the same frequency to which you vibrate. Continue down the materialist, arrogant, greedy path and you will attract throwaway junk, runaway pride, and insatiable appetites for what you think you need to own. In other words, you will continue to dwell in the heavy, Ahrimanic world of MOAR STUFF and blind obeisance.

If you are humble and forthright, however, you will likely attract a bodhisattva or a saint before you get a god, and that is perfectly fine. You should very much want that to happen, because it will soon lead you to a relationship with a god and eventually God. You have to go at it with the persistence of a small trickle of water that eventually becomes the Grand Canyon. This will not be an easy ride and you are going to need all the help you can get.

In the meantime, and there is a great deal of meantime, you can start where you are by giving thanks for the tiny, good things about your world instead of fixating on the bad. Think gratitude, not worry. Nothing reaches the ear of God faster than gratitude. The reason I suggest taking up the three practices of traditional Western magic before praying or being compulsively grateful is because it can be hard to perceive one’s own gratitude as anything other than fake or gay before the subtle bodies have been at least partially washed of the astral sepsis of our peculiar era. That said, you can cultivate gratitude for little things right now and nothing is stopping you. You can give thanks to your door for stopping the bugs, rain, wind, and human predators who would otherwise get to you and make your daily doings uncomfortable, inconvenient, and deadly. You can thank your shower for making you clean and sweet-smelling and praise indoor plumbing, especially the indoor toilet. When you humble yourself and consider the reality that many do their business outside without the benefit of a flushing commode, you realize how good you have it. You can thank your bed by making it, also setting a rubric that says you are thankful for a safe place to sleep. Yes, you are still going to be assailed by problems, EMFs, people who are jerks, and propaganda but it does not have to be your focus in life.

My upcoming book Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to Tidying, due out from Aeon books in the temperate seasons of 2026, attempts to explain how anyone can connect to the enchanted world and re-enchant themselves by appreciating and maintaining their own living space. Whether you live in a cardboard box or a magnificent chateau, it is daily acts of ritualized gratitude that will provide the key to true satiety of the sort money cannot buy. Enchantment has always been right in front of you and all around you; you were simply trained not to see it and that training comes from a set of generational handicaps. You do not have to go out and find enchantment in the forest or in the exotic fantasy of a book or video game. The whole world is enchanted and waiting for you to escape the evil spell you’ve been under so you may fully participate and begin to truly live.

I am happy to read your Ogham free of charge -- that's how I hone my divination skills. Please limit your reading request to four or fewer Ogham cards: though this can take many forms, here are some common ones (all of them are basically combos of 4 cards):

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

-four questions about four separate items that require one answer (card) per item
-a one card reading to answer a specific question and a three card for a more nuanced question
-Two separate readings, two cards a piece exploring the positives and negatives of two different choices

I am happy to do Ogham readings confidentially via email -- just email me at k steele studio at gmail during the allotted time/before deadline. I cannot answer health questions. If you have a question about health or another sensitive, private matter, provide a bunch of non-identifying information and the Ogham will be able to figure it out even if I don't. I'm serious... the Ogham actually tend to "know" things without me being privy to what is going on.

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from October 23 - November 6.

I take reading requests from whenever this post goes up on Friday night until 8pm US Central Time Saturday.

For a more in depth look into how I read and interpret the Ogham's symbols, please visit my website druidogham.wordpress.com.

I am currently trying to minimize my use of PayPal. If you'd like to make a donation, I would be grateful if you did it here:

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

The Druids knew I was going to get to this one, having covered the other two legs of the Revival Druidry tripod: discursive meditation and a daily banishing ritual (or weekly traditional mass that serves the same spiritual cleansing function). For those who do not already know me, I was raised casually Protestant and became atheist in my late twenties. I began studying Druidry when I was approximately forty five, taking up the standard daily practices of discursive meditation, banishing, and divination about seven years ago. I now believe in many gods, read Ogham for other people, and talk to so-called inanimate objects and spaces as easily as I converse with other human beings. I talk to trees and I talk to my toilet when I clean it every night, and I believe I am far less crazy than when I was an atheist. My book about connecting with the spirits of place, Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to Tidying is coming out in Summer of 2026 from Aeon Books.

Anyways, back to the subject at hand. Divination is something we all do whether we admit it or not, and that is why religious edicts against divination are so silly. The hyper-monotheists for whom divination is strictly verboten tend to be the most superstitious of all, endlessly hoping to stumble upon synchronicities that can be interpreted as direct messages from their remote and distant God. If I had a twenty for every religious fanatic who grasped for predictions of the future in the random events of any given week, I would have no shortage of pocket money. In fact, most of what constitutes “prayer” in modern religions (Buddhism, Christianity, Hinduism, Islam, etc.) is begging God for a sign that everything is going to work out to the supplicant’s advantage. This is also known as casting God in the role of Santa Claus. It is an attempt at gaining control over the uncontrollable, or at least a facsimile of control via imagining that one is favored by those in control.

Why watch the weather?

There are religious people who eschew divination to the point where they refuse to read their horoscopes for fear of being infected with the Satanism of astrology. They freak out if their kids have a Tarot deck. They seem to be in denial about the commonness of divination in early America, when young women marked apples and young men would bob for them at the annual Halloween party to casually predict who would pair off. Another regular, wholesome method of old timey love divination was to pluck a daisy’s petals while asking “He loves me, he loves me not” until the daisy had no more petals. You cannot tell me this is Satanic, and anyone who needs to project such a weird shadow on flowers ought to have their head checked.

So if you are one of the unfortunate many who thinks Tarot cards and palm reading is Satanic, you need to stop watching weather forecasts immediately. Delete the weather app from your mobile phone — actually, burn your phone and toss its gloppy plastic-lithium carcass in the deepest ocean because mobile phones are the Mark of the Beast. You never should have owned one to begin with. Weather predictions are straight up divination, my sanctimonious friend. They involve wanting to know the future via signs provided in the present. The weather app is a divination tool. It is the prognostication of a cabal of so-called experts who take photos and pressure readings of Earth from low orbit. They do this with flying machines made of metals pulled from the innards of caves and pits. If you watch the weatherman or look at the weather app, you clearly trust those mortal experts and the devices that carry their advice more than your God, you apostate freak. Idolater! Satan!

In my own case, I have no religious concerns about meteorology, so I am free to keep my weather app which came pre-installed on the phone and is correct most of the time. There are, however, bad divination tolls that I would suggest all avoid. One of these is Ouija boards.

Hell is a place on Earth

Ouija boards, although cool-looking, should never be used for divination, whether alone or in a group. Ouija was a natural outgrowth of the Spiritualist movement of the nineteenth century, and as its origins imply, it is a way of bringing Spiritualist seances into your living room or children’s sleepover. To my mind, Madame Blatavatsky and the Spiritualist movement were a double-edged sword: though both helped to remediate the state of general spiritual ignorance that plagues modern Christianity and our current demonic age, on the other end, she and they introduced the mass practice of opening the floodgates of the lower astral plane and unleashing demons who used to be kept in check by now-nearly extinct religious banishing rituals and offerings. The Spiritualist urge to communicate with the dead unleashed a flotsam of depravity, sickness, and horror from the lower astral that continues unabated to this day.

The lower astral is not a different place than our own — instead, it is superimposed upon this reality as a vibration that runs through all. In other words, the only way you can escape it is to vibrate much differently than it, and that is easier said than done. To use a Ouija board is to tune your radio to the lower astral station. Once you do this, you open the invisible door to infection. Negative hauntings act like opportunistic pathogens, seeping out of their own confines in order to assail new and juicy targets. Their mission and objective is to reproduce: as above, so below. The subtle planes act like the dense ones and vice a versa; the analogy of fractals is always relevant.

For whatever reason, little lettered boards with planchettes attract lower astral plane vibes. The most common lower astral critter invoked by Ouija board is the mimic or impersonator spirit. Just as certain pathetic human scumbags compulsively posture as larger-than-life — for instance the young man I once knew who claimed his father was secret CIA and/or one degree of separation away from a famous celebrity or world leader — loser spirits like to impersonate important people. They will prey upon your wishful thinking and attempt to manipulate you via your ego and naivete. They will choose people who were close to you in life: your beloved grandmother, your cousin who died tragically, your dead spouse. If they sense you are especially naive, they will impersonate a famous person. Reliably you won’t be talking to Marilyn Monroe or your deceased uncle. No, you’ll be talking to the non-embodied equivalent of the junkie selling illegal substances out of his dilapidated ground floor apartment. He will be under control of a more powerful dealer-pimp, and that dealer-pimp is probably a demon.

Most negative hauntings do not escalate to full demonic possession. Full demonic possession is certainly the goal of most demons but it seldom happens. At any rate, the beings who love Ouija boards have full demonic takeover of persons and places as their ideal. Be glad they seldom get their way. The energy of Ouija is nearly identical to seances, and seances should also be avoided. I plan on discussing Ouija, seances, and the trouble with Spiritualism in a future essay.

All of these dire warnings about Ouija and seances are not meant to dissuade you from taking up a daily divination practice. Ouija boards and seances tend to be the exception to the rule. Divination is a way of talking to the Divine, hence the root of the word.

Refine and sift

There are many ways to divine. The oldest methods involve reading what is already there: clouds in the sky, numbers of leaves or petals on a plant, the lines and creases on the palm of the hand. For instance, I recently had to make a decision about working on Saturdays and I did not bring my usual divination tool, the Ogham, with me. I was in my car en route to work, so I asked the powers to help me decide. There are rose bushes blooming in front of the building where I work at the moment. I asked the spirit to provide an answer in the number of blooms on the bush closest to the door. If they were an even number, I was to work on Saturdays for approximately the next two years. If they were odd, then I would say nothing and continue to enjoy my Saturdays off. They were even and I am now working on Saturdays.

In this particular example, I did not want to work Saturdays. Though I love my job, I am now working seven days a week. As most middle class and lower middle class people understand, it is not easy to mentally or physically handle working every day of the week because the rest of life so easily gets in the way. Also, it is healthy to have a rest day and Saturday was it for me. That said, I am trying to get out of credit card debt once and for all, and in my current circumstances, if I want to be credit debt free, it means working Saturdays for the foreseeable future.

It is important not to vacillate in these matters or interpret signs they way we would like them to be. There were spent blooms on the rose bush that could have counted as five and not four, but I knew if I stretched the answer in such a way, I would suffer the karma of not accurately reading the writing on the wall. Why should the powers give me messages if I am only going to ignore them for what I want to hear? Also, had flowers not been in bloom, I would have found another natural phenomenon to determine my path: perhaps the number of students who cancelled that week or the number of cars in the adjacent parking lot when I arrived besides my own. Numbers are everywhere, waiting to give us a clue even if we have no formal divination method. The moral of the story is you can’t just give up and if you want an answer, you must accept it as it is given.

If I had not fine-tuned my powers of discernment, divination would be useless as it is for most people, even so-called holy people and self-labeled “sensitives”. For instance, there is a Youtube influencer who claims to divine spirit messages from trees, and these messages are always generic, New Age pablum that paints humanity on the verge of a great awakening. In other words, she tells people what she believes they want to hear for prestige, clicks, and clout. In my opinion, she is full of crap and though it is possible she does not know herself to be lying, it is also entirely possible she does.

The only two ways I know of improving discernment are regular discursive meditation and banishing rituals or their traditional mass equivalent, and that is why I recommend having both of those in place before diving into divination. The results of any divination should always be examined in discursive meditation. As far as banishing, it is the equivalent of bathing or of a surgeon scrubbing up before he goes into the surgical theater. Divination is serious stuff. It sure isn’t a party game, despite the protests of Hasbro. Divination takes practice and work. It is something you will get better at with time and experience.

There are three aspects you must bring out of yourself for divination to be effective:

You must honestly admit you could be wrong and your divination inaccurate
You must honestly consider your results in discursive meditation and not game them to say what you want to hear or fear (more on this later)
You must follow up with honest intention of becoming a better person than you were yesterday, if only by the slightest bit

Admitting “I could be wrong”

Too many people think they could not possibly be wrong. They come in all spiritual and non-spiritual persuasions. New Age cornucopians love “fake it until you make it” false transcendence. They pretend they know the Secret and that pretending hard enough will bring them oodles of consequence-free unearned wealth. LOL I think Rhonda Byrne and her devotees are going to be highly surprised about their outcomes in future lives, but then I could be wrong. Atheists insist there is no God because Meatworld sucks and a just God would not sign off on such a sucky world. Never mind they are looking for proof on a stage set of illusions designed to train the soul and not inform it. Whatever… lost cause. Moving on. Monotheists who mislabel and misinterpret the Divine in attempts to get its attention are bludgeons, shutting down their own subtle senses with a far more addictive set of knee jerk reactions. Since the Bible/Koran/whatever could not possibly be wrong, it provides a nice dopamine rush of titillation and self-righteousness to condemn any experience outside the narrow confines of one holy book and demonic and Satanic. If and when they do contemplate the Bible, it is usually in a group setting where they are told what to make of the Bible’s lessons by another garden variety sinner. The blind are leading the blind. The lessons never quite seem real, and the attempts to relate a bunch of Middle Eastern Bronze Age shepherds to modern life are nearly always a reach. If divination comes with help from God and the gods, which I believe it does, the puny human with her six inch meat brain needs to take a back seat and let Jesus take the wheel. This means not putting words into His mouth, earnestly contemplating His words, and accepting His truth over her own.

Meditating on the results

Divination is absolutely worthless without contemplation of its results. Before I began reading Ogham, I did at least three sessions of discursive meditation on each tree card (there are twenty five in the system I use) and I made a project of going outside and finding every tree I could. Because the Ogham and its trees is northern European in origin, I ended up devising my own Prairie Ogham based on my local tree and plant life. Once I started doing readings, I was able to get fairly accurate divinations because I had already laid the groundwork and gained the knowledge the old fashioned, hard way. This is what I believe is meant by “spiritual work” — from my experience, it is similar to effective musical practice. It must happen every day and it must put the ego aside for the slow drip-drip of accumulation that is replete with setbacks. Meditating on a reading involves a great deal of sifting to understand what lessons were being imparted on any given day. As you continue to do daily readings, overarching patterns will emerge and these too will require discursive meditation. Discursive meditation is truly an endless rabbit hole that eventually turns you into Gandalf the White. Not that I am Gandalf the White, but that is the direction it seems I am supposed to go and meditation is slowly and painstakingly helping me to get there.

Intention

As I have said in essays and in Sacred Homemaking, there is but one way drops of water become the Grand Canyon: persistence. Remember that the mighty Grand Canyon was once a pathetic dribble of a stream on a patch of rock. Over great expanses of time that no incarnated human can reasonably contemplate, those drops of water carved a river and eventually became huge. One of the reasons the Grand Canyon is so beautiful is that it represents so many forces aligning for vast, incomprehensible stretches of time. It is larger than life, or at least it is larger than our puny human existences. You are that drop of water and your intention is what will one day make a spectacular natural wonder, if not on this plane and this time, on other planes at other times. You have got to keep going and continue the alchemical process. This is not going to happen overnight.

I'm back from break! It was very refreshing and productive and looking forward to reading for you all.

I am happy to read your Ogham free of charge -- that's how I hone my divination skills. Please limit your reading request to four or fewer Ogham cards: though this can take many forms, here are some common ones (all of them are basically combos of 4 cards):

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from October 23 - November 6.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

I hate it when I am taken advantage of for my natural gullibility. I have always had two warring sides housed within me: the blackhearted nihilist who wields freakishly bleak humor as a self-defense mechanism and my better, positive half. My lighter side is a gregarious, positive-biased sprite who believes in the inherent goodness within. She’s Pollyanna. She is also desperately naive. She does not see the writing on the wall until well after her dark counterpart.

I fell for the hope/change narrative when it got applied to Trump 2.0. Having lived through the Reagan years, I thought we would be repeating some key aspects of them, including a strong economy. That economy has yet to happen… depending on your class status. For the upper twenty percent stockholder class, everything is fine. They continue to enjoy spring ski vacations and international destination summers, all built on stock dividend money that has essentially been provided for them by Blackrock and other private equity firms. In other words, their comforts originate from the stolen, cannibalized, unearned wealth of the lower eighty percent. For the lower eighty percent, it’s a much different picture. We scramble to hold on in an environment that is financially, emotionally, and spiritually crushing and worsening all the time. We are in the Second Great Depression, where the jobs on Indeed and the like are imaginary, where kids are addicted to little handheld electrified boxes by the age of two, where breaking a leg or having a heart attack means becoming homeless/living out of your car even if you have insurance, and the game of musical chairs to stay afloat becomes faster and scarier every minute of every day. It’s both a wonderful and terrible time to be alive.

To be fair, Trump has made notable positive changes in his short time in office. He and Vance immediately provided real help and shelter for the victims of the Helene flood — a flood that was likely geoengineered by Blackrock to get at North Carolina’s lithium mines, but I digress — where Biden sat on his heels and let young families freeze to death in tents. Trump’s reversal of Woke/DEI initiatives has prevented the now and future transsing of many children and the irreversible mutilation of gender surgeries. Billions of American taxpayer dollars have been saved from being torched by USAID and its grist mill, though it is almost completely certain American taxpayers are not going to see any compensation for the staggering waste they were forced to fund. Illegal immigration has been curtailed for the most part and we are no longer hearing of marauding Venezuelans eating roasted cat on the balconies of commandeered buildings in Aurora, Colorado.

The looney Left’s pyrrhic victory is being broadcast for all to hear. “I told you so!” bellows the lib of TikTok, and her screech is almost glorious enough to raise the donkey/ass party from the dead. Almost, but not quite. Trump’s failure is not good for anyone, including them, because the hope that had begun to emerge out of the collective astral plane has turned to despair. They tend to be more easily victimized by the rampaging egregores and demons of depression, so we get to watch as those descend upon them without mercy. Any renewed faith will now die a quick death of continued gaslighting. “Nothing to see here” about medical malfeasance has morphed into the same about CIA/FBI/Mossad pedophilia. The collective astral was bad and now it gets worse. Nothing creates more collective astral pollution via unadulterated rage than gaslighting.

We are now being gaslighted (gaslit?) that Jeffrey Epstein was innocent as the driven snow. I guess Ghislaine Maxwell is in prison for no reason. I believe Jeffrey Epstein not only did not kill himself but is very much still alive. Trump sold my rantings to Palantir already so I might as well just be out with it. Jeffrey Epstein regularly hosted Hillary Frazzledrip Clinton at his 10,000 acre Zorro Ranch. I’m sure they did fun things there like play monopoly and roast s’mores and that is it.

With this most recent turn of events, the gates begin to yawn as Spenglerian caesars give way to other types of Spenglerian charismatic leaders who aren’t anywhere near as diplomatic or civilized as the ones we have known and loved. There has already been a groundswell of support for the idea of a bunch of disenfranchised manly men marching into to Haiti and taking the island by force. Trump’s failure and continued punishment and gaslighting of the middle class helped that world to materialize out of the more-Martial past. Ares will not be denied, and if soft leaders capitulate to pedophiles, it is only a matter of time before those leaders are swept away by barbarians who can and will sack Rome. Anyone who wishes for this catharsis because they have some limited gun training and a snarky attitude towards authority should probably stop obsessing over politics and get to the gun range when not learning to dry and store food, because not one of us are ready if it all goes to hell in fast mode. All that gold and silver you’ve stored in the walls is about to get your spouse and children brutally tortured and killed in front of your eyes if you get the Apocalypse you thought you wanted, so maybe take a cold shower the next time you get a hard on for it

Might as well relax because prepping is not easy when you are tired. The people are exhausted. So is the economy, trust, and morale. There will be no Morning in America. The fat lady has sung, and xe is a pedophile.

It’s a big club and you should thank heaven you ain’t in it

Pedophiles run the world. Maybe they always have. I spent a couple years in shock from about 2015-2017 when I began to understand that every last celebrity and politician was extremely likely to be embroiled in regular pedophilia and mutilation rituals of unimaginable depravity. I wrote an article about the subject that is behind a paywall, so please allow me to explain out here in the open.

The following is speculation for entertainment purposes only. It is hypothetical and not a bunch of allegations. I have gleaned this information from a talent that I have that is akin to remote viewing as well as deductive reasoning. As I always say, I could be wrong.

Anyone who reaches a certain level of fame, wealth, or influence is forced to assimilate into one or more pedophile elite cabals. Those who resist or who think they can stay at that level without joining have three choices:

Lose wealth and power and go back to being “average” (if you’re lucky)
Be physically, emotionally, mentally, and spiritually broken by elites via their rituals
Die

There are no additional choices. Someone like Trump, who had a great deal of money going in, still never had a chance. Ross Perot, the wildly popular independent who ran against unsuccessfully against Bill Clinton and then-incumbent George Bush in 1992, complained in a 60 Minutes interview that Republican operatives threatened to ruin his daughter’s wedding. I think they got to him, and I highly doubt the threats began or ended with his daughter’s nuptials.

Normie stuff does not satisfy a Wendigo

Actress and white monkey Jennifer Aniston has babbled on many occasions about pizza parties. Is she talking about Italian flatbreads or is she talking about something else entirely? Pizza is known pedophile code for little girls. Aniston’s wide eyed, unhinged stare combined with mostly-successful surgical attempts to look age twenty-eight in late middle age don’t exactly give her a trustworthy or sane vibe. Her constant rictus of a smile has a brittle edge. Perhaps she has become accustomed (addicted?) to certain elite practices. Does she patter on out of guilt or because she does truly enjoy pizza? Ick.

The Pollyanna in me refuses to believe celebrities or nouveau riche who get to a high level such as Aniston have any intention of becoming initiated as pedophiles. Most normal people do not know these clubs or practices exist, though there are plenty of normal enablers looking the other way when sketchy people are placed right in front of their eyes. As for the wannabe stars, sure, some may have been obliged to service Harvey Weinstein and his reeking mangina for a role, but that is as far as they suspected they would have to go. When they are inevitably drugged and wake up in a room full of ravenous Satanist sadists, it is not because they were informed that nightmare was part of the deal.
The two main methods I believe elites use to capture populist upstarts, new captains of industry, rising entertainment stars, and illustrious influencers are:

Forcing them to witness and participate in the rape, murder, and cannibalization of children
Down-under mutilation branding

In order to “grab” the new kid on the block, they begin by drugging that person and/or a member of their family and forcing them to participate in the ritual violation of a child. They might drug the victim at a party as Sean Combs did on numerous occasion. They also might drug them at home. No place is safe and no person can be trusted. This ritual is repeated as many times as it takes: that is why it is called a ritual and not a one-off. Victims who see it enough times learn to associate and splinter into multiple personalities in order to deal with the trauma. Often the victim is raped and tortured alongside the baby or child or forced to inflict suffering. I believe Trump has been compromised in this way, alongside one or more of his children or grandchildren. I also believe something of this nature happened to Candace Owens, whose personality has now split in order to partition a collection of alters who perform functions of her ego. In other words, Trump, Owens, and other victims of this horrific practice may not be aware they have been tortured or forced to do hideous things to children. Disassociation is powerful and is often manipulated as a weapon, especially by shady governments.

The sadists-in-chief who orchestrate the vile levers of power always leave their mark. From what I can tell, they brand the private parts of their victims. They permanently mar parts of celebrities, politicians, and people of influence that nobody will ever see: labia, penises, the inside of the anus. They damage these parts as much as possible so the victim will always think of them when pooping, peeing, or having sex. They want to inflict pain that has been done to them — most of the ritual satanist types who do this were either born into incest/abuse cults or became abusers in the way I suspect Jennifer Aniston may have become an abuser. They want to spread their disease.

In a future essay, I will be discussing what I believe we should do about this predicament. There will be no Fall of the Cabal, in short. There will always be normies who want to believe in innocent celebrities and decent politicians, and no shortage to the power that faith will provide. We can, however, do something about it and as you probably already know, it is going to involve turning inward and shutting them out.

I look forward to your comments. I'm glad to be back.

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from October 23 - November 6.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

I'm currently on a writing and Ogham break until July 11 -- I'll be putting up my usual shingle for Ogham readings the night of Friday, July 11 for Ogham Readings on Saturdays -- so I am putting up this Open Post if anybody wants to talk. The photo is of Cedric the Eastern cedar, a tree I rescued from the back of my building back when I rented a commercial space to teach music lessons. Covid hysteria and fear-mongering ended that incarnation of my business, and though I am glad it gave me the opportunity to collapse ahead of schedule, it robbed my husband and I of a great deal of investment and labor. Cedric was a seedling back when I rescued him (her? whatever) in 2020.

The word “spoil” comes from the Middle English “to plunder”. Though you would think such a word as spoil would mean to corrupt or degrade, the implication is actually far more violent and implies the hide being stripped from an animal. I also find it interesting that people who become intoxicated say “I’m so wasted”. Drugs and alcohol are an attempt at attaining the ecstasy of spiritual achievement without any of the chop wood, carry water work it takes to achieve. They waste the potential of the individual and disguise self-indulgence as self-realization. I’m talking to you, Timothy Leary.

When I was meditating for this essay, I made a list of the most spoiled people I have ever known in my personal life. I am sad to say there is a long list of them and they all ran neck and neck for the championship. One wrecked her rich parents’ car and blamed her parents for the brakes of the car being too quiet and responsive. Another compulsively cheated on his mate with randos from social media apps and then whined about feeling alienated in his relationships. One had a father who bought her an affordable home and then later became homeless because she refused to hold down a job and could not make the payments. One inherited his grandmother’s house and let it fall into decrepitude while his mother delivered his lunch every day because he either could not or would not cook. He viciously criticized his mother, often saying he hated her guts.

The spoiled think they are owed. They have a belief that wealth appears from nowhere. The last concept they can grok is the idea that wealth does not just appear from thin air, whether it is in the form of mommy and daddy’s money or emotional connection. They are of every intellectual level and they aren’t necessarily rich, though all the ones I knew had more than a little money. Their main common ground is a lack of perspective. When it comes to getting their own needs met, they become sociopaths who will shove anyone and everyone under the bus for the sake of gratification. As you can guess, they fall easily into addiction of various types. They are narcissists who do not improve with age.

I harp on the spoiled because I was insufferably spoiled at at least one point in my life. I am spoiled and in recovery. As a spoiled person, I remember comparing myself to others all the time, including celebrities. I always perceived people as having more than me in some key way. I wasn’t at all able to look clearly at those with less; I was in almost complete denial it was possible to have less than me. Such an attitude of having less than others traps you in its agenda. I vaguely remember Gwyneth Paltrow describing herself as “poor” during her brief friendship with Madonna.

Spoiled written all over her face

Spoiled people, especially women, tend to get caught up in the plastic surgery gamut. Those of a certain income level who can choose from a list of procedures. They amass a list of “things done” and “parts improved” until they become eerie amalgams of the young and flawless — a tiny sculpted nose, plump cheeks, a chiseled jawline, round breasts, concave waist, smooth skin, fattened lips. Each feature on its own would not be jarring, but when they all appear on one person, the effect is jarring. It screams Wendigo! Martha Stewart’s latest appearance is deeply unsettling. She is 83. It is clear that for all her achievements, including surviving an unfair prison sentence, the only thing that mattered to her all along is look doable as a great grandmother. To the spoiled, nothing this planet can offer will ever be enough.

Ingrates and insatiable appetites

No TV show is sadder than Hoarders. I can’t even watch it because if I do, I will immediately have to do a banishing ritual or two, meditate for at least a half hour, and then clean my entire house and yard. Yet I am surrounded by hoarders and hoarding. I have too much stuff and though I have improved a great deal in the last decade or two and written an actual book about minimalism called Sacred Homemaking, I would not call myself a minimalist! The most spoiled people have problems with too much stuff. It tends to go with the territory. The kid I mentioned before who inherited his grandmother’s house let the place become disgustingly dirty and full of junk. I mentioned his vociferous ragging on his mother. The spoiled are terrible to their loved ones. Another spoiled peer of mine went on a multi-thousand dollar shopping spree in the department store because her mother made the mistake of lending her a credit card. One hit his mother as a child when she would not buy him a toy or generally agree to whatever he wanted to do. One adult who lives with his mother refused to walk the dog when the mother was laid up with back surgery. She hired a dog walker. He also let her lug in the weekly grocery shopping despite being perfectly able bodied. Not once in his adult life did he spare her a chore. It goes without saying that he did not mow the lawn; she hired people for that too. No good deed goes unpunished by the spoiled and boy, are they LAZY.

I have lived with my parents many times as an adult with my much-older husband in tow. I believe we lived with my parents four times in total from our marriage in the year 2000 until 2016 when we moved to our small home in a nearby suburb. Living with one’s parents does not have to be a bad arrangement for the parent or for the adult child. The arrangement only turns septic if the parent is toxic (mine were not) or the child is spoiled. In our case, my husband and I pulled our own weight. I cleaned, cooked, bought food and household supplies, and generally left every room tidier than I found it during all of those stays. At no point did I want to be more of a burden than I was as a chronic failure-to-launch.

The rapidly expanding population of autistic and semi-autistic adults along with ridiculous real estate prices and near-Weimar levels of inflation all indicate that the trend of living with one’s parents as an adult is not going to end any time soon. Since so many generations have made a career of spoiling their children (whatever they are on the spectrum) we are looking at a living hell of animosity and people who feel like they are serving a life sentence because they must live with family.

It begins

Autism produces some Class A brats because the urge to molly coddle a damaged child is hard to resist, especially when the child has a meltdown caused by oversensitivity or straight up pain. The reaction of the parent is not to deprive or punish but to continue to comfort and indulge the child. The child soon learns that tantrums pay dividends.

Autistic or not, the brat learns that he can upend his food dishes if he does not like what he is served. He can maraud, scream, and terrorize until he is satisfied, and he is never going to be satisfied. He will demand to have his needs met and his parent (or whoever is unlucky enough to be in charge) will become his servant, providing for him, cooking, cleaning, purchasing, serving his meals, cleaning his messes, all while taking a litany of abuse.

Kids grow up quickly and the spoiled child who is given a choice about doing dishes (she chooses no) or walking the dog becomes an overgrown Baby Huey with no adult skills and far too much time on her hands. She certainly cannot survive on the streets. The one I knew whose father bought an affordable home for her and became homeless is now dead. Heaven forbid the parents cut them out of the will or disown them because they will not do well as wards of the state.

To those of you with young children: the next time your young child throws a tantrum, please, do not give in! Stand strong, deliver discipline, and set limits. A minute of harshness could save your kid’s life forty years in the future. Damn, it could probably save the entire future.

My Summer Solstice break

With the publication of this essay, I am taking a mini-break from new essays until the week of July 6. During that time, I plan on putting up an Open Post on my Dreamwidth blog for anyone who wants to chat. I will be posting excerpts from my upcoming book, Sacred Homemaking: A Magical Approach to a Tidier Home, which is going into production this fall if all goes well and is slated for production by my publisher, Aeon Books, in Spring 2026. I’m not traveling or anything, so I’ll be commenting and generally available over the next 2.5 weeks, just no new essays. Thanks for understanding. I plan on touching grass no matter how hot it is.

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

Please note I take time off during Solstices and Equinoxes for Druid stuff and because sometimes I simply need a break.

My next planned break is from Saturday, June 21, 2025 - Friday, July 11, 2025.

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

I am not all that bright. My creativity and uniqueness are something to behold, but when it comes to raw candlepower, I am a mid at best. I don’t always make smart decisions and that is why I have six cats. There is no reason any person of my lower middle class income level should have six cats. To my credit, only three of the six live inside my diminutive home (three are friendly ferals), however, their food and litter cost more than our human groceries per week. Their care and feeding take up a good thirty percent of any given day. Taking on six cats was not a smart or logical idea… yet here I am. There is meowing in the background as I write this.

I am in plentiful company: humans are not very smart. Our level of intelligence is somewhere between unicellular slime and demigod. The notion that we are the smartest beings in the solar system just because we walk on two feet and build a bunch of junk is laughable. For one, we’re not intelligent enough to do spacetime travel because we don’t have mental bodies sufficient to understand that space and time are illusions. We aren’t smart enough to cooperate on a consistent basis: our systems are fraught with waste, entropy, and unnecessary bloodshed. Our doctors are so stupid, they treat their human patients as if they were cars with interchangeable parts. Our men and women of god are usually hypocrites, hebephiles, and pedophiles. Our politicians and celebrities are slaves to a depraved System that vampirizes children and babies for profit.

Humans are not only stupid, we are extremely lazy. Entire civilizations have checked out where meaningfulness and earnestness are concerned. Their citizens have all but reneged on human decency and diligence and have instead fully embraced mindless egotism and zombified compliance. Going the saner path would require actual work they are not willing to do. We begin to see why the old holy books routinely featured an angry god who wiped the Earth clean with a flood and told a few survivors to start over.

As I mentioned in my previous essay about banishing rituals, I was atheist until about ten years go. Atheists like to think of themselves as super smart and I was no exception. The new atheist movement named themselves “brights” around 2003. Richard Dawkins, who is someone I consider to be more idiot than savant, attended the 2003 Brights movement conference. The Brights, also known as the Godless, proudly flaunted their atheism on the world stage for a hot minute. If you’re cringeing, well, I’m cringeing harder because I actually used to consider myself one of them! At any rate, Dawkins is neither the first nor will he be the last retard to declare his truth to be the only legitimate one.

In my own case, one of the only saving graces I have ever possessed is that I have always known I could be wrong, and that is why I am slightly smarter than “brights” such as Dawkins, Christopher Hitchens, and Sam Harris, as well as any given monotheist theologian or imam. I don’t stake my entire self-worth on being right. I am also at peace with being retarded. I’m comfortable with it. To this day, Dawkins and Harris do not even know they are retarded and poor Hitchens died before he could figure it out.

So long and so very hard LOL

I’m sad I have to say this, but becoming less retarded is one of the key reasons we are incarnated here on Meatworld. Some lessons can only be learned the long and hard way. Some alchemical processes take so long that only a billion or more illusory spacetime years can get them done, for instance evolving the soul of an amoeba into a pianist.

Long ago, a bunch of medieval Catholics refined the concept and practice of discursive meditation. It is an understatement that discursive meditation is one of the great traditions the West has given to the world. Discursive meditation is a procedural method of deliberately limiting thought until the singular subject of that thought has been treated to a thorough amount of expounding, unpacking, and illumination. Benedict of Nursia is credited with putting discursive meditation on the map and making all the monks of his order do it on the regular, but I am confident discursive meditation was practiced throughout the medieval Christian world before he put his stamp on it. Medieval Europeans were a great deal more intelligent than the Progress narrative insinuates. Not only did medieval peasants have vibrant intellectual lives, they were far more connected to the rhythms of the land and the beauty of existence than we are. Proof of their superiority lies in the Gothic cathedrals they left behind. Our peoples will leave islands of ocean plastic waste the size of Alaska, spent uranium, and janky concrete.

The medieval peasant was smarter, braver, and more conversant with the Divine than you because the thought leaders of his time were immersed in discursive meditation even if he personally was not. Limits are power, whether we are talking about the walls and pipes of a hydroelectric dam or the exclusion of inferior ingredients in a treasured soup recipe. Via limits, discursive meditation improves lives. It improved mine and it can improve yours. If everyone on Substack took up discursive meditation for 10-20 minutes a day for a year, we would be looking at a burgeoning revolution in addiction recovery and dramatic collapses in mainstream media far more pronounced than what we are seeing now. Positive infection happens.

Voice in your head

It’s not that NPCs lack voices in their heads or internal dialogues. We all have voices and internal dialogues. Every person has a unique spiritual ecosystem just as he or she has gut flora. The ecosystem is a mishmash of different selves and outsiders. Beings such as the Holy Guardian Angel (HGA), ghosts, egregores, fairies, demons, feeders, larvae, and a motley array of beings who pass through without interaction are par for the course. You are not alone and you have never been alone. You were conditioned into rootlessness after being born in a spiritual Dark Age of endemic metaphysical handicaps. You were shoehorned into dismissing the spiritual world, and if you were raised in monotheism, you likely had it worse because you were told most of the discernible spiritual world was evil and Satanic.

You are a blind leper in a vicious game of dodgeball, unaware that your nose and fingers have fallen off. You are dimly aware that you in constant pain and that something isn’t right. You need a banishing ritual or its traditional mass equivalent stat. You also need a way of preserving what is left of your own dwindling strength so you can stop wasting your magical energy, otherwise known as intention.

Most of us have problems with intention and again I am no exception. My Achilles’s heel is eclecticism, which is the urge to jam several lifetimes of accomplishment into a single human incarnation. Discursive meditation has been a godsend in discerning which activities I am best suited to spending my time on and which are better left behind. Limits are power.

Where does your mind go?

When I first started discursive meditation about ten years ago, I was still solidly atheist. That said, the skeptic in me had no problem with ten to twenty minutes a day of severely limited thought. My first meditations were deceptively simple. A pencil. A sandwich. The piano. The number five. My daily contemplations grew to include terms or phrases such as “cleanliness is next to godliness” and “middle age”. Only later did I build up the fortitude to tackle problematic subjects such as troubled relationships, my own shadow projection, and past lives. Once I had my sea legs, I was able to gain tremendous insight to most of my own problems. I became my own best shrink. I struck at the roots of my own stupidity, pride, and self-sabotage. There is nothing quite like isolating one’s own culpability in discursive meditation to put an end to one’s own bad behavior. Removing the bullcrap and sanctimony drives an iron pin through the heart of the pale, squirming grub of egotistical complacency. The phrase “everywhere you go, there you are” sums it up: instead of running away as most humans do from self-reflection, discursive meditation exposes you to your own inner workings. Confront the way you think; this is the key to much, to paraphrase Dion Fortune. As Apollo said, know thyself.

Stop waiting for the world to change and change yourself. Discursive meditation is a direct route to self-change. It is unfortunate that some who are reading this will find ways to dismiss what I have said here because I am a non-Christian occultist. Yes, I am both of those things, but I believe Jesus himself wants you to revive the tradition of discursive meditation. I believe He (or someone uncannily like him) popped into my ecosystem a couple of times and said “Hey you… tell them I said this!” He said that gratitude and generosity sublimate to the power of seven. He also said that discursive meditation, a.k.a. the old Catholic contemplation that made the West formidable and great, should be revived. In short, Jesus is no fan of whiners and whining. He would much prefer you use the ancient tradition of His church to clean up your own corner instead of crying about somebody else’s pigsty.

Make of that what you will… I could be wrong!

How to do a discursive meditation:

Choose a subject in the form of a physical object, word, or phrase. Do not choose more than one subject. Limits are power. Christians can use a phrase from the Bible, and you’ll observe the Bible’s verses are conveniently partitioned and numbered for contemplation purposes.
Get a notebook and pen and put it somewhere within reach.
Sit in a straight-backed chair with your feet on the ground and take a few deep breaths. A little discomfort is OK as long as it is not extreme.
Limit your thought to the subject alone. If you’re hungry, too freaking bad. If you’re thinking about a deadline or an annoying person, cancel those thoughts for ten minutes. Only think about the subject and all its aspects.
Once you have thought about the subject, isolate three aspects of it that crossed your mind. For instance, if I meditate on a pencil, I can think about its etymology (pencil means “little tail”), where it was made (likely China), and my own preference for mechanical pencils. Write those observations down in your book.
Quit after ten or twenty minutes. Don’t overdo discursive meditation. It’s actually heavier exercise than you would assume. Once you get good at it, you can go longer.

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

When I began doing a daily banishing ritual almost ten years ago, I had a feeling I would one day preach the need for it in public. Well, here I am. Within that scant decade, I came up with my nascent concept of astral pyramids, which are imaginal structures that develop their own wills and velocities and that want to expand at the base. Now I find myself fulfilling that early prophecy — I am an unpaid advertiser for the banishing ritual’s astral pyramid. From the outside, I know now as I knew then that I appear as a strange and foreign land in my enthusiasm for an esoteric practice that involves ten minutes a day of standing around, drawing shapes in the air, and crooning the names of gods. Appearing to be a weirdo is a risk I am willing to take. I hope people start taking up various banishing rituals en masse, because much like the late Roman empire our era tends to rhyme with, the people are in a state of collective astral sepsis.

One of the troubles with being sensitive is that my consciousness acts like a superhauler net for passing dramas and emotional dirty laundry. I cannot read anyone’s mind, but I can sense where their minds wander with an uncanny accuracy. Most average people have a slew of dark, macabre thoughts they have never once brought to the surface and dealt with in the light of consciousness. Most normies are plagued with grotesque sex and violence fantasies which of course are worse if they watch porn. You don’t need to watch porn, however, to have a festering subconscious mess on your hands — some of the worst and most hideous fantasies I have perceived came from older suburban women who are nothing but kind, pleasant, and helpful in person.

If the nice suburban lady has a snuff film series perpetually running in her subconscious, you can bet anyone born in the porn and digital media saturated generations that came after her is not doing any better.

Where does it come from and why is it like this?

Not only are we not alone when we think we are alone, we are all under constant spiritual attack. We live in a spiritual Dark Age. Never has a group of civilizations been in more profound denial and ignorance of the unseen, non-obvious (occulted) world. To the average person in our day, magic has to be Harry Potter with his fire hoses of lightning shooting from his fingertips or it does not exist. If an animal or tree doesn’t start forming sentences in American English, we claim we cannot understand its language. We are so senseless and numb when it comes to the spirit world, we pave paradise to put up a parking lot. We call an office complex “church” and presume God will give us goodies if we show up there in our cars every Sunday.

Those who think a being powerful enough to have a great deal of authority over our lives and deaths is beyond being pissed off at us would be wrong. I think Jesus has become so frustrated with what has been done in his name that he has all but left the building. He is still around, but he makes himself scarcest around the very people who claim to know him best. Their massive egos don’t leave him sufficient breathing or speaking room. The thing invoked in megachurches is neither Jesus nor God, nor anything like him. Many Christian rituals summon an array of spirits, some of which are benevolent. From what I have sensed in Christian churches, all too many of the spirits are neutral or malevolent. In any given mainstream religious service, I have sensed an array of feeder spirits who eat loosh, elementals, fairies (fairies can be as predatory and malevolent as they come), bodhisattvas, and demons. Yes, you heard me correctly, demons.

Any ritual gathering of people in an unbanished, badly designed, and unholy space is going to attract its fair share of demons. Certain human activities generate potent astral and etheric energy dumps. Religious rituals are no exception. A large group of spiritual insensitives whose members believe God himself is reaching out and touching them are not totally wrong. For those willing to live Jesus’s word via selfless generosity and the Golden Rule, ritual is a pathway to connect to Jesus via their Holy Guardian Angels and higher selves. For the rest, ritual is a socially acceptable method of getting high.

When the Catholic church discarded its traditional mass for the “new” one, it opened the floodgates for sinister spirits to take the mantle once held by the Christian God. Long before Catholics abandoned their own genius, longstanding egregore, Protestants were making a demonic mockery of Jesus via Pentecostalism. Charlatans writhing on the ground and babbling like asylum patients in public while claiming the miraculous healing powers of Jesus gave rise to both Spiritualist seances where other charlatans allegedly channeled the dead and modern televangelist “healing” shows.

By the time I was born in 1973, there wasn’t a serious religious ritual to be found almost anywhere in the world, save a few enclaves where people had instinctively preserved the old ways. Add to this a bunch of zealots who claimed every ghost sighting or non-monotheist synchronicity was demonic and it is no wonder people like me started saying “my church is the great outdoors”. They traded a living spiritual ecosystem for a broken, muted liminal space that looked a great deal like a shopping mall.

Ritual in general is like bathing and serves a similar function on the astral plane. Old Catholic and Orthodox masses were and are full of banishing and cleansing elements such as images of God, singing, chanting, incense, and demon traps in the form of repeating symmetrical designs. Not only does the repetition of a traditional mass strengthen the inner self of the person lucky enough to participate in its pageantry, it simultaneously draws and builds the ancient power of millions who have performed the ritual over time. Time and space are irrelevant on the level of spirit because spirit is so large and time and space are small. There is nothing spirit cannot “see”. Those who choose to enact the ancient mass are like radios that decide to tune themselves to a holy bandwidth. Yes, they could choose to dial in static like everyone else, or they can narrow down their actions to specifically tune into the self-improvement God channel. Of course there are many God channels and many rituals that tune into them. One of these is the Sphere of Protection. Though there are other banishing rituals, the Sphere of Protection is the one I am the most familiar with. It is also considered easier and gentler than other banishing rituals for reasons I do not understand.

Decompression mode

Someday when this incarnation is over for the lot of us, I believe we will look upon this time as very compressed, dense, and pressurized as history goes. Many have tried to cram several lifetimes worth of experience into a single incarnation: multiple marriages, houses, great hoards of possessions, compulsive travel/perpetual tourism, children with multiple mates, and careers that make it clear that nobody can serve two masters. The Sphere of Protection (SoP) is a great separator, unsmooshing disparate intentions so they are no longer tangled and confused with one another. When I first started doing the SoP, I had the instinct as most do to attract monetary prosperity to myself without considering where the wealth was coming from. As years wore on, something happened where I was no longer willing to accept unearned wealth even in the realm of fantasy. What replaced the lust for unearned wealth was a feeling of true security and the notion that my will could sustain me in far worse circumstances. The result was a deep appreciation of the small and large luxuries I have as a lower middle class American and the steady diminishing of the Wendigo to accumulate more, more, MORE.

The balanced ecosystem of the SoP

The Sphere of Protection invoke an ecosystem via the imagination and a bit of dramatization, i.e. hand gestures and body movements. The way it works is via numbers and shapes. You do a series of turns, facing one direction and tracing a circle, facing another and tracing a triangle, and so on. This seems like a bunch of nothing until you actually do it every day for about six months. I went through the motions for a long time. If you’ve ever played a musical instrument, it is a great deal like musical practice. For the first six months to a year, you sound like ass and you are embarrassed every time you hear yourself. Give it enough time and dedication, however, and you sound pretty good.
The Sphere of Protection opens with a mini ritual of essentially drawing a cross in the air. In my own case, I sing the names of the gods I invoke. There are four of them all belonging to the same pantheon. After the cross, the “real” Sphere begins and it involves turning to the East, South, West, and North (clockwise) and invoking one god per corner. The East and West gods are masculine and the South and West are feminine. This can be changed around so the North and South are masculine and East and West are feminine. Monotheists can also adapt the entire invocation to their own, single god. Again, in my case, I sing the Divine names but you can also just speak them. It’s a very adaptable ritual.

The Sphere of Protection ends with drawing a circle for the spirit above and the spirit below and imagining another cross with two extensions going up and down much like a ship with a mast and an anchor. The Sphere is complete when you imagine all the invoked forces meeting and creating a protective ball around you that extends about four to ten feet around your general person. I am a visual learner, so that is why I have made a video of the Sphere of Protection here.

The Sphere of Protection will not make you astrally bulletproof, but it will deflect a large amount of psychic static that would otherwise make itself into a nuisance. In my own case, I am a psychopomp, which is a fancy term for someone who talks to the dead and occasionally helps them cross over. The SoP has helped me filter genuine messages from deceased people who need my help and muted the voices of malicious impersonator spirits. I would highly advise that anyone who struggles with addictive behavior perform the SoP every day. Addictions are commonly the result of being fed upon by nefarious entities who get off on the energy of addictive behavior. In large part, the SoP is a big astral pyramid that is using me to perpetuate itself. I’m fine with that, and if you give it a try, I will try to help as much as I am able.

I have a detailed walkthrough of the SoP here. Good luck!

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

http://buymeacoffee.com/kimberlysteele

Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

I am delighted to announce my second podcast interview with Casual Temple's Merrily Duffy. We had a delightful conversation about my upcoming book, Sacred Homemaking (Aeon Books coming in 2026) and about practical magic in the sacred home. My cats were definitely needing some attention and there are a few cameos from them.

The podcast will be dropping Wednesday, May 28 on all the platforms.

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There are two classes in the US and possibly the world and only a single test is needed to determine which is which: there is the class of people who have had anxiety about affording groceries and the class that has never had to worry about affording groceries. In our current era of remoteness from anyone who grows a hundred percent of their own food, dependence upon the grocery store for daily sustenance is a given. On one side of the divide, we have those who have never skipped a meal for the reason they could not afford it. As much as certain people who used to fall into the Occupy Wall Street crowd want to think the upper crust is a tiny fraction of one percent who spoil outcomes for the remainder of the pyramid, the class of effortless grocery buyers that accidentally ruin everything are more like the upper twenty percent. This level is what I will call the salary class for the duration of this essay. The lower eighty percent is comprised of the lower middle class, the desperately poor, and everyone within that large spectrum. If you’ve never sweated the choice between a fast food meal and the last eighteen dollars in your bank account, it is likely you have never experienced being outside of the salary class.

Food, glorious food

Americans have a particularly warped relationship with food. Etheric starvation is especially pronounced here, hence our armies of diabetics, overweight, and obese citizens. Being dramatically overweight is a regular occurrence even among the wealthy in the US. The rich who are not overweight often go the opposite road of orthorexia, anorexia, and bulimia, enmeshing themselves in diet and exercise culture that hybridizes excessive pride in one’s physical appearance with obsessive lifestyle perfectionism.

I bore witness to an exhibit of this elite perfectionism once during a trip to Whole Foods. A mother and her young adult daughter were in front of me in the checkout line, both in a state of supermodel-esque near-emaciation. They were clothed in athletic gear that probably cost more than my monthly tax, title, and mortgage. They had a huge load of fresh produce on the conveyer belt. It took FOREVER for the cashier to scan all of their fruits and veggies, and to their credit, they were not at all impatient. The total of their groceries ended being over seven hundred dollars. The women expressed some wry amusement at the total, and the mother made a comment about the daughter being hungry.

Never in my life have I spent over three hundred dollars for groceries, and to add insult to injury, there is a supermarket down the street from Whole Foods that sells the very same brands of organic produce for a third of the cost. The two women did not have to care. They had plenty of money to burn.

The salary class

To be truly salary class, your wealth must come from sources outside of the work you do for money, if you deign to work at all. I grew up upper middle class and in my profound naivete, I did not realize that the key difference between my father and my friends’ fathers was that my salesman father earned his commission-based income in the direct, old fashioned way and my friends’ fathers provided mostly via inheritances and dividends. This is nothing new. Most of Jane Austen’s heroines end up marrying men whose “umpteen thousand a year” salaries come from investments. I have only recently come to realize this distinction on the soul level. If I had not been part of the lower classes after getting married, I don’t know that I would have truly understood the distinction.

The salary class kids are largely not OK. I have not seen many examples of salary class parents in my Generation X that have produced well-rounded, emotionally stable offspring. Severe drug addiction is par for the course as is severe depression. One boy I grew up with was obsessed with reliving being bullied in high school twenty years after the fact. His badly-managed trauma turned him into a depressive narcissist and a sex addict. A girl I grew up with name drops compulsively to this day — she has never figured out how to develop apparent self-worth. She is pathetic. Another girl has more substance addictions under her belt than Justin Bieber. Sadly two out of three of the aforementioned individuals has reproduced. These kids all had parents who gave them comfortable childhoods and a lack of financial limits that will last until their parents die and give them umpteen thousand a year from beyond the grave. It’s funny how little they’ve benefitted from never having to worry where grocery money is going to come from.

Meanwhile, back in the hood…

Most of my neighbors in the lower middle class neighborhood where I live are renters. Some of them are the non-conscientious poor, i.e. the “trash” of various races. White trash, black trash, Hispanic trash, etc. The trashiest of the trash depend on welfare, quietly deal drugs, and have lawns strewn with discarded furniture and bikes. Their loud fights are impossible not to overhear from their houses and yards. They are parasites and people like them are the primary reason the poor are so despised.

The backbone of the neighborhood (and thankfully the majority, at least for now) are the conscientious working poor. A single woman lives in a converted house apartment nearby. She has three jobs, one of which is Dollar Tree. Another is disabled and depends on her husband who works at Walmart. There is a family of Mexicans who immigrated a long time ago and raised their kids here: the whole family works. In rare cases where the conscientious working poor own property, they are typically quite house proud, pouring themselves and their strained resources into home improvement and maintenance.

To be the conscientious working poor is to feel you are always drowning. The second you believe you are getting ahead — not Lululemon and seven Ben Franklins at Whole Foods ahead but ahead in the sense you can afford you car payments for a couple of months — the System kicks you in the face and the undertow sucks you into the brine again. If you dare unclench, you are immediately threatened with losing your apartment and being forced to surrender your pets to the shelter. You are always oppressed by the specter of NOT ENOUGH MONEY, and on good days, you numb the consciousness of it by putting your nose to the grindstone and working harder or laughing it off. On bad days, it threatens to swallow you whole and crush you under its weight. It becomes much easier to hate Richie Rich and her clueless, designer-dressed entourage, but that kind of sepsis does not pay your bills so you do your best to shelve it. Besides, the trashy poor person you live next to is more of a direct threat, so any worrying time is usually spent on him. Being conscientious, working, and poor at the same time sucks ass and all of my conscientious working class neighbors know it intimately.

Cost of living is so bad that the average adult’s wage, side gigs and hustles included, equals about 1/17th of the buying power it had for a comparable young adult in 1973. I remember when a small bag of candy was ten cents and bread was under a dollar. A house that cost $150,000 was palatial and there were plenty of dumps comparable to the one my husband and I bought in 2016 that were $30,000 or less. No wonder so many adult children live with their parents: what other choice do they have? Often it is the parents who have nowhere to go. The 92 year old parent of a friend of mine is interred in a nursing home that costs $14,000 per month. Yes, what I just said probably deserves its own essay. I’ll give it some thought. At 14K per month, I have asked myself why the woman’s four children don’t just rent a house and a full-time, live in RN? Wouldn’t such an arrangement cost half the price or less? I guess nobody asked me.

Blame the rich

The rich women in Whole Foods and my salary class classmates are in many ways to blame for the current predicament of the lower eighty percent. When Richie Rich demolishes an already luxurious home or part of that home to build an executive mansion instead of making do in a more conservative, smaller house, it drives all property prices skyward and the taxes make it all but impossible for the conscientious working poor to buy the homes they deserve. When they buy seven hundred dollars worth of already-overpriced groceries, the stores raise their prices because they can. When they hire armies of questionably-documented workers to build, clean, and maintain their homes, the demand for that cheap labor makes it difficult for skilled laborers to compete. Every restaurant, warehouse, and store presents similar competition where poor illegal migrants compete for entry-level jobs. I tried explaining this to my salary class friend once and he did not get it. As Upton Sinclair said, it is difficult to get a man to understand something, when his salary depends on not understanding it.

I am not like the Occupy people. I do not want wealth redistribution. In fact, I eschew and rebuke all wealth that I did not earn. I will never own a single stock, not only because of my lackluster math skills, but because I have grown to hate and despise unearned wealth. To my mind, money made off of investments and stocks is unearned and that means it comes at the price of me having to earn it back in future lifetimes. Nope, DO NOT WANT. You’ll never know if I hit it big (with earned wealth, of course) because I will not live ostentatiously. I hate McMansions and I make no secret of this in my upcoming book, Sacred Homemaking. If unearned wealth somehow comes my way, I will do my damnedest to give it away as quickly as possible to a reputable charity. I think if more members of the salary class were like me, they would actually be better adjusted. There are more important and meaningful things than luxury and jet travel.

All in all, I am glad I was never salary class and I am grateful for my bohemian existence, even with its constant fear of financial drowning. Being thrown into this situation gave me insight into what most people are going through and enabled me to come down to Mama Earth rather than being another bored, depressed, confused, detached, perpetual tourist. I can do cool things I never would have learned how to do if I had been salary class: I can make all sorts of tasty meals from scratch, for instance, and the cost of groceries is closer to seven dollars instead of seven hundred. Little things make me happy and grateful in ways Richie Rich will never understand. Limits are powerful forces and financial limits can be taskmasters. As always, it is up to each one of us to make the best of what we are given, and in a perverse way, that can be easier when what you are given is a bit less.

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My husband recently bought our cats a tiny stuffed plush unicorn with rainbow ribbons for its hair and a sparkly, fuchsia horn. When I was obsessed with unicorns at age eight in the 1980s, unicorn toys were actually fairly hard to find. There were all of two or three at Toys ‘R Us and my indulgent parents bought me at least two of them. One was a hand puppet. None of them had rainbows, though I would have loved it if they did. Unicorns certainly were not ubiquitous enough to be found in the form of a cat toy and they were not flamboyantly gay.

If there is a year that anyone can pinpoint where gay truly became mainstream, I would place it around 2010, five years before gay marriage was legalized in the US. Politics is always downstream of culture. In my corner of the Midwest, being gay was already no big deal. Around the time when I graduated college in 1994, a young gay man made an attempt to shame me for using the term BFE. (I used saltier language back then!) The term means butt-f***ing Egypt and refers to terrifying backwaters where rubes torment newcomers with brutal, sodomite initiation rites. It’s a funny term and always has been. The young man had no sense of humor — he was Woke decades before it was cool — and he immediately put me in my place. I was younger then and I deferred. The current me would probably not be as kind, and would be quick to point out that anal sex is not the exclusive domain of gay men. As an aside, every straight woman I knew as a young person experimented with butt stuff long before her gay male contemporaries.

Gay used to have a specialness and a glamour about it that made it scintillating and fun. Gay used to mean homosexual and was not an umbrella term for deviants, perverts, autistic sociopaths, and open air pedophiles. Transsexuals were not lumped into the gay spectrum because many gays had no gender confusion whatsoever: some feminine women chose other feminine women, and they were called femmes. Masculine men who preferred other masculine men were not pressured to flip sexes in order to fall into straight stereotypes. There were also boyish girls and girlish boys who had no desire to castrate themselves or obtain mastectomies and hysterectomies. Gay may have been closeted and underground, but it was free of sanctimony. When LGBTQIA+ inclusion coopted gayness, it took with it the joie de vivre that made gay interesting and… well… gay.

The frenetic desire to belong to a tribe is completely understandable. When I first went vegan, I was desperate to find other vegans. Once I did find other vegans, I quickly realized that I wanted to get as far away from other vegans as possible. Just because people share a similar interest does not mean a group of them has any business getting together. I may like horror movies, but that does not mean I will have anything in common with others who enjoy them. I was pretty much born enjoying horror movies. I have loved them since I understood the difference between film and TV and real life. My predisposition does not make me in any way unique.

The drama/attention trap

Theater kids truly do ruin everything. The most dramatic gays are the theater kids who camp it up from an early age. The gay theater kid will often spend the rest of his life confusing reality with the stage, and that means he is a creature of emotional turmoil in every moment except perhaps young childhood. When he is bullied for his gayness at age thirteen, he will spend the rest of his life marinating in the victimhood of that era. Never mind that straight kids are bullied with great frequency too and that girls are turned into victims of sexual harassment or plain old sexual assault more often than boys. The current LGBTQIA+ movement was spawned by the theater gays of the eighties and nineties who were stupid enough to think communism and forcing their cartoonish ideas of gayness down the throats of straights and everyone else would terminate in a Skittles rainbow utopia of free love and hot sex. Instead, they have managed to wear on the general public like a sticky, highly-elasticized tank top on a sweltering summer day. They are annoying and make us long for cooler weather. The theater gays got busy in the wake of gay marriage, paving the way for the erasure of gay women as TERFs and of gay kids as would be straights in the form of trans sex-swapping. The movement has gone far enough now that a swing in the opposite direction is underway. Expect an equally retarded return to “traditional” values soon, with all the crappy caveats for both sexes.

What ever happened to live and let live?

My earliest memories in the defense of gays was the notion of leaving well enough alone. If only the nosiest among us stopped being so morbidly preoccupied with the bedroom antics of Sara and Lisa or Steve and Dan, the world would be much better, I rationalized. Gays were the creative backbone of civilization and unfairly persecuted at that. If only we had a more enlightened society where being gay did not mean prison time and shock treatments, that would be great. Christians seemed especially threatened by gayness, and of course the most vitriolic anti-gay preachers were secretly gay themselves. Jim Bakker was rumored to have numerous same-sex romps. Numerous gay scandals swirl around televangelist preacher Ted Haggard to this day. And let’s not leave out the Catholic church, which is infamous for its gay subculture from the Vatican on down as well as its pedophile protection rackets. The worst behavior among gays used to be associated with Christian hypocrisy until the mid-2010s when drag queens and transsexuals rose from the depths to claim the title.

Desmond Napoles is to the LGBTQIA+ movement what Greta Thunberg is to Davos climate activism. Both have acted as human shields to deflect the wrath of regular people towards a sinister crew of demonic swamp monsters who sit conveniently in the shadows and pull their puppet strings. Greta, now 22, is a laughingstock and a meme. She is a good example of what happens when high-functioning autism goes horribly wrong. Desmond, once known as Desmond is Amazing, is only 18 at the time of this writing. He is sadly on a similar trajectory as Thunberg, doubling down on what made him famous as a young person in hopes of recapturing public attention. Neither of these two know it is over. Thunberg is still yelling at random people and Desmond is still caking on neon makeup and insisting on being referred to as “them”. At least now Desmond is at an age where the advances made upon him by perverted old gay men are no longer straight up pedophilia. At least now there is some sense of him being able to give consent. Seven years ago, however, he was certainly groomed and put in harm’s way by his mother, who ought to be ashamed. He was pimped out from age eight. Who knows when the real abuse began? Infancy? Soon he will also be a meme, put to pasture by an increasingly hostile wave of anti-grooming conservatives.

Had Desmond (is Amazing) Napoles been a one-off incident of a child being thrown under the bus, there would be no backlash. Instead, Desmond’s grooming was symptomatic of a trend that is still trying to take over the world and announcing its intention at every turn.

During the worst possible time — Covid lockdowns — gay theater kids took it upon themselves to announce they were taking the world by storm, via un-ironic fascism a.k.a. being in lockstep alignment with large corporations. Disney’s boardroom was awash with patently obvious gay luxury communist programming agendas. Genderqueer, a nasty, soft porn graphic novel that depicted fellatio among the underaged, was forced into public school libraries while the entire subject of math was being questioned for its racism. TikTok was rife with purple haired elementary schoolteachers going into excruciating detail about their kinks, and they weren’t fired until a decent amount of outrage was stirred by Libs of TikTok, which of course was promptly doxxed. Trans, the idea that a child who is not able to legally drive a car or buy alcohol or cigarettes is able to make lifelong decisions about future fertility and medical dependency, swept the land in waves, drowning many who will never recover from the barbaric amputation of their private parts and permanent chemical sterilization and its attendant side effects.

This, plus the insistence that gay was whatever they felt at the time and that a black woman should and would be able to identify as a genderfluid ostrich, stole the joy and light of gayness. Gone was the acid wit of Oscar Wilde. Its gold was replaced with leaden accusations of pronoun crimes and men cutting off their junk in order to present as perpetually depressed, although pretty women. Drag shows went from impromptu bawdy, underground laughter sessions in dive bars to Story Hours where sick freaks paraded their obvious fetishes for toddler rape.

The mainstreaming of the gay movement and its transformation into LGBTIA+ alphabet soup heralded its erasure and downfall. Gays did this to themselves; don’t feel sorry for them. Gays really were persecuted once upon a time. The 1980s, though far more friendly to gays than the 70s or any era before that, were still marked by vicious crimes against gay people and a general disdain for gayness. When we called someone “gay” back then, it was half joke and half slur. Nowadays it just seems quaint. Gays and the various others who lump themselves into LGBTQIA, however, still operate as if any deviation from the heterosexual norm is still grounds for teasing and bullying if not torture and murder as it was back in the 1980s. Drama queens will always need to see themselves as an oppressed class. This also goes hand in hand with liberalism. They want to be a persecuted class because this helps them avoid thinking about all of their own culpability in macro and micro aggressions against their own victims. Playing the victim means you cannot be the oppressor, or at least it means you have an excuse for being an oppressive bastard.

Gay is neither transgressive, progressive, nor titillating

Nobody cares if you’re gay. Seriously, nobody cares. Mixed race couples used to be scandalous too. Being gay is about as scandalous as having a mixed race relationship. In 1960, mixed race relationships raised eyebrows. Nowadays, they do not. Trotting out gayness, gender fluidity, or whatever is supposedly against normal is actually the new normal. Everyone is a little gay, just as there are mixed race kids running around in every neighborhood, whether it is the slums or McMansion Row. When various pop stars drop hints that they’ve kissed a girl or wear full bondage regalia at their concerts, it’s Dullsville. Show me something I haven’t seen in a while. Show me actual talent. Gay does not shock and it does not appall. I didn’t care what gays did in their private homes then and I don’t care now. Blue and pink hair is not flamboyant when every other person has it. Phallic sex toys are not salacious when old ladies writing books about tidying and organizing mention having a dildo collection. Even Diddy’s hatred of women and his thirty odd year run of sexual blackmail of other males is not shocking. It is as if we knew it all along.

We don’t care if you are confused about your gender. David Bowie and every other glam rocker wore more makeup in a month than most women wear in their entire lives. They wore higher heels too. Though it was fun to watch, drag wasn’t a topic of deep conversation that required loud declarations of identity. It should go back to that.

We don’t care if you were born asexual. Some people never get horny for anyone else, and some people find they never get horny enough to make it worth pairing off with a mate. In the old days, you had the option of becoming a vestal virgin, a priest, or a nun. Nowadays, becoming a priest or a nun seems to be nearly synonymous with truly subversive, demonic crap, so try at your own risk.

We don’t want to hear about your sexual needs and desires. As for losing desire, lesbian bed death is no different than the heterosexual kind. Being monogamous isn’t always exciting, it’s just that heteros in long term relationships don’t feel the need to blab about our sex lives (or lack thereof) to everyone all the time. Perhaps we don’t need as much external validation.

The average straight person has no problem with anything gay unless you make it her problem. Sadly, the last ten to fifteen years have been all about making gay into a cause for consternation instead of cause for celebration.

Thanks for reading! This article is also available with pictures at Substack.

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

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Yesterday I had a rare chance to stop by one of my favorite chain thrift stores. As Murphy’s Law would have it, I was sifting through racks of short sleeved shirts when a revolting, sour stench wafted through the air and curled my nose hairs. It wasn’t so much of a scent as it was a violent assertion — I AM HERE AND YOU WILL NOTICE ME AND ONLY ME. The odor was urine, feces, and something far worse: rot. The smell of suppurating, decaying flesh, old blood and pus, and urine soaking an eldritch, dripping diaper was obscene and beyond mere language to adequately describe. The source of the stench was an old woman who was apparently alone standing fifteen feet away. She was disheveled and seemingly unaware of her own state. I went to a different section of the store, which is quite large. The smell followed me as if it was trying to infect me too, bursting unexpectedly out of clothes she had touched. Waves of decay bounded forward through the store with invisible, unfurling tentacles, seeking new senses to offend. She could be smelled from fifty feet away. I am confident that every person in the store smelled her. I feel sorry for the employees who not only would be forced to personally interact with her but also who would smell her stench hours after she left. Fortunately for me, I was able to leave the confines of the store, though sadly neither I nor any other customer got much shopping done.

Bad smells are typically more pungent to women, who are more sensitive to the etheric plane. For this reason, it is more common for a man to neglect himself into a state of reek, though I have smelled my fair share of women like the one above. If I had to use one word to encapsulate the way the woman smelled, it would be “neglect”. As much as her etheric assault irritated me and likely others in the store, I think we all tacitly acknowledged how very sad it was that she was clearly not a person who had loved ones to care for her. As she shuffled around perusing sale items, questions rose in my mind: How did she get to the store? Did she drive herself? Does she know she smells that bad? Isn’t she in pain from the urea burns and the open wounds down there?

I have yet to know an elderly person who doesn’t spend the end of his or her life waging a battle with incontinence. Obviously the woman in the thrift store had long since lost the battle — I can imagine the poor store employees had to clean up a dripping mess from the floor once she left. I hope that did not happen. I didn’t step in anything that I knew of so perhaps she was in a fairly dry state.

How it happens: the demise of the urinary tract

When I was a child, I was able to go six hours without having to pee. When I did pee, my urine stream was robust and strong. This trend did not reverse until I became sexually active in my late teens, and from then on, it all went to hell in a hand basket. Frequent urinary tract infections meant I had to urinate often within a few minutes of seemingly having emptied my bladder. Any kind of action down there resulted in a UTI, and my obsession with condoms triggered a lifelong latex allergy. Not wanting to become pregnant, I found that I had a choice: constant UTIs that I sporadically went on antibiotics to ameliorate or no sex at all, which meant no boyfriend as those two things went hand in hand.

My urinary tract, despite being relatively healthy compared to most people my age, is never going to be as solid as it was when I was seven years old. Living life to its fullest wrecks the urinary tract: this is just a fact we humans have to put up with. Men end up losing continence to prostate issues. According to the American Cancer Society, eleven percent of men end up with prostate cancer. I would guesstimate the number is actually much higher. When the prostate has problems, it exhibits itself through urinary frequency. The same thing happens to women sans prostate, especially if they have gone through childbirth. Even women like me who have borne no children end up with problematic urinary tracts.

The medical profession: nothing to see here!

Of course modern allopathic medicine has zero solutions to chronic urinary problems. A dear friend of mine who is approximately old enough to be my mother suffers from the belief that her doctors have her best interests in mind. My father suffered from the same belief and luckily his decline was fast compared to most. His relatively swift demise in his mid-eighties did not save him from spending hundreds of thousands of dollars in the name of saving his “health” via allopathic treatments. My friend is going the same route, but because women typically linger in pre-death states longer than men, it is likely she will suffer far more than my father and be roped into larger outlays of resources as age takes its toll.

Just think for one second of how the tremendous assets of the Boomers could have benefited society if they had not been spent on various medical triage in old age. Had Boomers possessed the grace to forgo stupid and brutal medical treatments that were hardly life-saving, such as vaccinations, the biopsy/surgery mill and endless “wellness” scans that invariably ended in a bevy of pills and shots, perhaps there would have been money leftover for the average young person to afford a modest home and a decent living from a job that did not involve the medical profession in any way, shape or form. All of this stuff is connected, but I digress.

The thing is about believers in allopathic medicine is they cannot be led to alternatives to allopathic medicine, much like a proverbial horse to water. The facts on the ground are that allopathic treatments do nothing to support the urinary tract. All allopathic treatments, including antibiotics, lead to a soggy diaper lifestyle and there are no plans to correct course. My friend is on a type of pill that numbs the urgency to pee and stains the urine bright orange. I have taken this pill before and though it is said not to have side effects, it has plenty of them. Every time I take it for more than a few days, I end up with a weird form of pinkeye and flareups of cystic acne. What this means is that the orange pee pill is causing inflammation, and I will bet it is doing the same in my friend though she is loathe to admit it. Despite it flat out no longer working, she takes a hefty dose of the orange pee pill every night. Like other allopathic “remedies”, the orange pee pill does absolutely nothing to address the root of the problem, which is the health of the urinary tract or the lack thereof.

Care and maintenance of the system

In order to save the urinary tract, you have to maintain it. For some, this may mean periodic celibacy. Another friend of mine in her forties is plagued by autoimmune disease and despite great diet and exercise habits, she has pee problems that are a straight road to incontinence. She is not willing to be celibate for longer than one or two days, so her problems will likely continue.

Urinary function is intimately tied to bowel function. If you’re not crapping once or more times a day, you probably have urinary woes. Constipation is a silent killer and it is a terrible way to go (or not to go), especially in older people. Allopaths shrug and prescribe laxatives and sometimes surgery; that is their “solution” to constipation. Nope. Number one, if you are constipated, you need to be more active, full stop, and the more frequently and vigorously you can get your body moving, the better. Stretching, calisthenics, and yoga are also great movers of energy in the body that help you to poop. The internet has a gazillion stretches and yoga moves you can do to help move your body’s energy towards happy pooping. Investigate hip-opening stretches and anything designed to increase flexibility. Flexibility means blood flow and blood flow means pooping. This is not rocket science.

You also need to overhaul your diet. Dairy products are a huge constipation culprit. If you are constipated, try replacing cheese and ice cream with nuts and sunflower seeds and various desserts made with dates or bananas. When I have severe constipation, usually caused by stress in my case, I bake up some savory crackers made of flax and chia seeds. Fiber is your friend. Processed sweets, snacks, and meats are not. When I go to my local grocery, the pastry display is haunted by Boomers who should probably steer clear. Refined sugar causes inflammation and so does excessive fat. That said, avoiding all sugar and/or fat is a stupid idea. Apollo, god of health, said “everything in moderation” and that means tee-totaling is as boneheaded as bingeing.

It’s not just a matter of drinking more fluids, though that obviously helps. In my own case, I have found that designer sodas that contain inulin such as Olipop pretty much guarantee a crap a day… maybe they should change the name to Olipoop for truth in advertising. Massaging the belly every night works wonders for me. At some point, I suppose I will make a video on it. Abdominal massage involves applying gentle pressure on skin to stimulate the digestive tract. I use castor oil and essentially push it deep into my skin from the area of the beginning of the large colon on the right side all the way around to the left side hip.

Lastly, herbs are the secret weapon to urinary health. I have improved my own urinary tract immensely with daily intake of several herbs.

Cranberry — Even allopaths know that cranberry prevents UTI bacteria such as E.coli and staph from attaching to the urethra. Take up to four cranberry capsules (typically 500mg of powdered herb) every morning with or before tea or coffee and every night with an evening meal or snack. When your body turns fluid into pee, cranberry goes along for the ride, disinfecting the urinary hose and kicking out pathogenic bacteria before it can set up shop. D-mannose is a sugar derivative isolated from sources like apples and cranberries that is basically a more potent version of cranberry. If you have an active UTI, D-mannose pills often relieve pain within a few hours.

Stinging nettles — Every person who has frequent pee or urine issues needs to take nettles. Again, I prefer pills but if stinging nettles grew in my area, I would dry and pulverize them and drink them as nettle tea. Nettles lose their sting once dried or steamed, and are one of the most nutritious vegetables on the planet. Urinary problems are usually a sign that the diet needs to be more nutritious, and nettles are a fantastic way to address both nutritional and urinary inflammation issues at once.

Dandelion — also known as “piss the bed”, the common weed is one of the world’s oldest and well known bladder and liver tonics, which means it tones both and whips them into shape. In short, dandelions make you pee. Peeing small amounts frequently is a sign of urinary heat or inflammation. Dandelion cools the heat. Despite it increasing pee production, it ameliorates and lessens pee frequency as the pee becomes more efficient at its job of excreting waste and toxins. Dandelion is also extremely nutritious and oddly enough the little yellow blossoms are the most nutritious part of all. In my case, I absolutely love the taste of roasted dandelion root tea. It has coffee vibes and as someone who can no longer handle the amount of caffeine that even decaf coffee delivers, I find a cup of dandelion tea to be a soothing treat regardless of its health benefits.

Uva ursi — also known as bearberry, this common ground cover and woodland dweller is a powerhouse when it comes to strengthening and improving urinary function. Anytime my urine has a smell, I take uva ursi pills or tea and within a few hours, the coast is clear.

There are many, many more herbs not listed here and I would encourage anyone with urinary problems to experiment with the ones that are known to be safe even in large doses like dandelion and nettles. Every human being is vastly different and no one diet, exercise regime, or herbal supplement will be right for all. That said, the manufactured, compliant helplessness of allopathic cultism needs to end. In this age of sham doctors, and I would argue most of them are either willfully or naively ignorant about human health, we need to have an arsenal against disease so we can treat ourselves. An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of the cure. Endless, invasive tests, ineffective drugs, and expensive surgeries are a choice to a large degree. I refuse to believe a soggy diaper is an inevitable terminus in old age.

-a single three card reading for the week or month and a one-off, one card reading

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Your prayers of blessing to the deity/deities of your choice are welcome whether or not you can donate.

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Kimberly Steele

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December 2025

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Kimberly Steele

Recent Entries

The World Cannot be Re-enchanted

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Y'All Need Divination

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The Great White Disappointment: Meet the Old Boss, Same as the New Boss

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Open Post

Spoiled: Utterly Wasted

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Y'All Need Discursive Meditation

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Y'All Need a Banishing Ritual

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New Podcast Dropping Tomorrow: Casual Temple with Merrily Duffy

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Make Gay Gay Again: Why so serious?

Ogham Readings on Saturdays

Urine: What a Stinky Old Woman can Tell Us About Managing an Old Human Body

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December 2025

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