A few weeks ago, I reached a milestone in my life. A big one—for me. But to the rest of the world, with the exception of a few close friends and cherished mentors, it passed unnoticed. It wasn’t a birthday or a graduation, not a promotion or a career change. There was no certificate, no trophy, nothing to mark the occasion but the quiet closing of a document.
On March 14th at approximately 4:30 pm, I finished the final chapter of what I’ve been calling my “Big Book” —a sprawling, immersive exploration of the relationship between plants and tarot that has been growing for over a decade.
The seed was planted when I was pregnant with my son—training as a community herbalist and hypnotherapist, and immersed in daily tarot readings and self-hypnosis exercises. Herbalism and tarot—two distinct languages—began to intertwine in my dreaming practice, and soon, in my mind, each card carried the whisper of a plant.
After my son was born, I carried him through the wilds on plant foraging walks, writing in the quiet moments while he napped—though those moments were rare. What started as notes and musings from my hypnogogic wanderings deepened into a vast research and imaginal exploration. The wisdom I was gleaning began weaving into my life experiences, surfacing through powerful synchronicities that felt like magic. I wrote down as much as possible: part memoir, part grimoire, part guide to dreamwork and hypnogogic spelunking. Soon, the project became too intricate to fit within the pages of a standard book, let alone the small windows of time I could carve out between life's many demands.
I love this “Big Book” for its depth, its complexity—the way it invites slowness, immersion, and contemplation. In a world of endless scrolling and shrinking attention spans, it feels almost radical to write something meant to be savored. A book that asks something of the reader, that unfolds like a ritual, page by page.
For years, getting to this point felt like a distant, impossible peak I would never reach. And yet—here I am. Now that I’ve arrived, it feels both surreal and strangely ordinary. Underwhelming and fantastic at once. It has me thinking about little rites of passage—the moments of transition in our lives that so often go unmarked.
We celebrate birthdays, marriages, and retirements. But what about the smaller, quieter thresholds? The job left behind. The home relocated. The friendship rekindled—or released. The book completed. The passage through menopause, the decision to start again, or the courage to step into something new. We all endure these passages, often in silence, or alone.
I invite you to reflect:
✨ Is there a milestone in your life that passed without celebration?
✨ A moment of change that deserved more recognition?
✨ If you were to create a rite of passage to honor that moment, what would it look like?
Would it be solemn and sacred, or lighthearted and playful? Would there be music, firelight, a feast? Or something quieter—an offering, a whispered vow, a walk beneath the stars?
I sometimes wonder: what if every village, every community, had a celebrant whose sole role was to notice and honor our thresholds? To say, “This matters. You matter. You’ve changed, and we see you.”
We look to coaches, therapists, religious leaders, or good friends and family to recognize our value and see us in these moments.
But is it enough? Do you feel seen that way—truly seen—often enough?
For me, it is a deep honor to offer this kind of witnessing to those who reach out and choose to work with me. To be a calm, steady presence as they navigate turning points—spoken or unspoken—and to gently say: I see you. This is worthy of honoring.
As for the “Big Book”—Botanica Mystica—I’m still dreaming into how it will be shared. Perhaps it will bloom one chapter at a time on my website, like a choose-your-own-adventure through the garden of the arcana. Or become a guided journey for those called to walk deep into the heart of plant magic. We’ll see.
For now, there’s little time to linger, because next week I begin writing my “Little Book.”
The working title of the Little Book is Dreaming with the Plants: An Enchanted Guide to Botanical Dream Magic. It will be a distilled offering—drawing from the deeper wells of Botanica Mystica—filled with dreamwork practices and plant-inspired rituals to support dream recall, divination, and intuitive connection with the natural world.
My hope is to make these practices accessible, enchanting, and gently transformative. To offer wisdom that awakens the dreaming self, deepens relationship with plant allies, and invites exploration of the liminal spaces between waking and sleep.
Unlike Botanica Mystica, which is designed as a slow, immersive journey, this book is intended for a broader audience. I’ll be seeking a traditional publisher—hoping it finds its way into the hands of those just beginning to explore the world of dreams and green magic.
So, for me, the celebration will have to wait. I still have another book to be born—another journey calling, already tugging at the edges of my imagination. But when the time comes, I’ll be ready to mark the passage—maybe with tears, laughter, or a single flower placed on the windowsill beside a glowing candle, or maybe even dancing a little jig barefoot in the grass. Something to honor not just the completion, but the becoming.
And when you reach your next milestone—big or small, public or private—I hope you’ll pause long enough to feel its weight. To let it matter.
To mark it in a way that feels true.
When I return to office hours, I’ll be thrilled to celebrate whatever little milestones you’ve crossed in our time apart. I can’t wait to hear what you have been navigating, what transitions you are in the midst of, or just emerging from. What long stretch of effort have you endured that no one else could see? If you feel called, reply and tell me: what threshold are you crossing now?
Whatever it is, I look forward to honoring it with you.
Until then, may all your quiet thresholds be honored—by you, by those you trust, and by the wild world that sees everything.
