Real as Magic
Ollantaytambo, Peru | October 2025
Ahhhhh, Beautiful Ones.
Caves. Roads.
When I was climbing one of the smaller hills toward a ruin in Ollantaytambo, I was pulled toward a small alcove — a cave.
Something about it… as if I had absolutely been there before.
The energy was otherworldly.
The echo and sound vibration of that space are still with me.
The sounds I spoke. The love I sang to the walls of the mountains… I sang to sooo many mountains while I was there.
Last week, in one of the Stellar sessions with a woman in the Mentorship, she was brought into what I was clearly told was the Cave of Persephone.
I had never heard of the Cave of Persephone.
At first, it seemed like a vision about learning to trust what can’t yet be seen — and all the layers of what a cave can symbolize.
But it became clear very quickly that this wasn’t just metaphor.
The cave was alive in energy. Real.
The Holy Woman appeared and shared that she was being prepared to see not just through her eyes, but through the totality of her being.
Then, the “Iridescent Ones” arrived.
Whoever they are, I’m not sure.
I heard their name as clear as a bell.
(If it comes to you who the Iridescent Ones are, please let me know.)
It was one of those moments when the mystery becomes real — when spirit, ancient story, and the body all begin speaking together.
Sometimes it is real.
And sometimes, it’s symbolic.
I remember in grad school, I put myself into therapy for those three years.
It wasn’t required, but I thought — if I’m going to be working deeply with others, I’d better be willing to wrestle with myself and anything shuffling around in me.
I worked with this incredible Jungian analyst who was a former nun.
I would tell her the wildest dreams sometimes — but one in particular, I knew, wasn’t meant to be analyzed for symbology.
It was real.
In the dream, I stood with three of my sisters — witches, all of us.
And in a moment of anger, I lifted them up and dropped them.
There was more to it, but what stayed with me was that it was just us, and white space.
No room. No walls. Nothing else.
Dr. Simon wanted to dive into the symbolism and my feelings.
But I told her, “This one’s different.”
Our weekly sessions became dances — me learning to sense what was real, and what was metaphor.
The texture of a psychic dream versus what I called a psychology dream.
For years, I tried to unravel my childhood — thinking that if I could just smooth out all the knots, my life would become normal.
That if I did enough healing, enough therapy, I could finally be “healthy.”
But eventually, I learned that my life wasn’t about unraveling the history so that all the holes would smooth out and disappear.
It was about accepting and embracing me. Holes. Smoothness. All of it.
And that same kind of living magic — that blend of the symbolic and the real, the human and the mythic — is what we are.
Real as the mountains, soft as our soul.
Love you to the moons of magic and mountains of miracles,
Christine
