I was twenty-four the first time I truly met my soul.

It began with a meditation—simple, quiet, innocent. Yet, somewhere between breath and stillness, something inside me cracked open. I hadn’t expected a vision, let alone one that would change everything. But Spirit had other plans.

Suddenly, I found myself standing in a golden field of wheat. The air shimmered with sunlight, and in the distance, snow-capped mountains reached toward a sky that felt alive. A woman walked ahead of me, her fingers grazing wildflowers as she passed. She was radiant—rooted, peaceful, free. I didn’t know her, yet she felt achingly familiar.

It wasn’t someone from my past. It was me—the version of myself I was meant to become.

Then, a voice called my name.

I turned and saw an elderly woman seated beneath a great ancient tree. Her eyes, deep as time itself, met mine. She didn’t say much—only, “In time, you will understand.” Then she asked me to close my eyes once more.

When I did, visions began to unfold like chapters of a forgotten story.

I saw myself guiding women through readings, weaving energy into words, helping them remember who they were. I saw circles of light—meditations where souls found their way home. I saw myself doing what I had always been destined to do: serve through Spirit.

Then, another vision appeared. A man, heavy with sorrow.

The elder’s voice explained that his pain reached back to another lifetime—a wound left by a polar bear’s attack, still echoing through his present. As she helped him release it, I felt truth ripple through me: the past lives within us until we choose to heal it.

But then, her gaze turned back to me.

She showed me a loop I had been living—one of love that hurt, of staying small to be loved, of dimming my light so others could shine. A karmic bond. A lesson I had mistaken for love. And in that moment, I saw clearly: staying in that relationship was an act of self-abandonment.

When I opened my eyes again, tears fell freely. The meditation had become my mirror—reflecting not who I was, but who I was meant to be.

So I chose differently.

I left the relationship that had held my soul captive and stepped into the unknown. I no longer feared my awakening. I welcomed it. I was ready.

That vision became my initiation—a remembrance that I wasn’t born to survive simply. I was born to thrive.

And in choosing myself, I understood the sacred truth: that honouring my gifts—and allowing them to sustain me—wasn’t selfish. It was holy.

It was how I would break the cycle, rise from the field of my past, and finally walk as the woman I had once seen in the light.

I was six, almost seven, when my world began to stretch beyond what I could see. My grandfather, whose laughter smelled of old books and warm afternoons, was sick. The air in the family felt different then—soft, heavy, like the whole world was holding its breath.

I would visit his small apartment often. It was cozy and full of quiet magic, the kind that lingers in old furniture and sunlight that moves slowly across the floor. I would play behind his blue chair, building little worlds from imagination, or crawl beneath the table where shadows felt like safe hiding places. That was my space—simple, secret, full of warmth.

But there was one part of the apartment I didn’t wander into—the narrow hallway by the bedrooms. The air there always felt different, cooler, heavier somehow. Sometimes I thought I saw a lady standing just beyond the doorway, or felt a presence that made my heart race—not out of fear, but recognition. It felt like that part of the apartment belonged to someone else, someone who had lived there long ago and hadn’t quite left. Even then, I understood the veil, though I didn’t have words for it.

Then, three nights before he passed, my grandfather came to me—not in the waking world, but in the soft, secret space of dreams.

I found myself in a garden I had never seen, yet somehow knew. The grass shimmered silver beneath a moon that glowed like candlelight. And there he was—sitting on his blue chair, arms open wide, eyes sparkling just for me. That sparkle is etched in my memory even now, like a star that never fades.

I ran to him, climbed into his lap, and he hugged me. It was the purest love I had ever felt—the kind that made my small heart feel endless. “Hello, little one,” he said softly.

“Do not be afraid.”

I looked up at him, confused but comforted. “Are you really here?”

He smiled gently. “I am always here, even when you cannot see me.”

Then he began to tell me something my child self could barely understand but my soul instantly remembered. He spoke of souls, of journeys beyond the body, of life continuing in new forms. “When one life ends,” he said, “it isn’t the end. It’s only a doorway. Every soul is a traveler. We return again, in another time, another story. This is called reincarnation.”

Later in life, during meditation, I would recall the small apartment—its warm corners, the shadows near the bedrooms, and how I used to tell him about the people who “lived there before.” Spirits still close to the veil. My grandfather would listen, eyes twinkling, asking gentle questions about what I saw and heard, while my grandmother would sigh and tell him not to “encourage it.” But he knew. He recognized something in me—the quiet gift I was still learning to carry.

“I wanted you to know this,” he said in the dream,

“so when I leave this body, you won’t feel lost. You’ll remember that we are never truly apart.”

Three days later, he passed. But the ache was softened by knowing. I had seen beyond the veil and felt love in its purest, eternal form.

Even now, when I close my eyes, I see him sitting there on that blue chair—arms open, eyes sparkling just for me. I remember the safe warmth of his apartment, the unseen lady near the bedrooms, and the way Spirit first began whispering to me through love, memory, and the spaces in between

**This made me Cry to write this story ** - all in love

It happened before the first time I ever meditated. I was so afraid of what I might find—yet instead of darkness, I found her. The experience felt less like floating and more like falling inward, into a stillness where my breath softened and the world around me dissolved into light.

I remember a pull in my chest, a quiet invitation to step beyond the ordinary. When I opened my inner eyes, I found myself standing before a maze made of golden vines and flowers that shimmered as if alive. Their petals breathed, glowing softly with the pulse of the earth itself.

I didn’t know where I was, only that I was being called inward. Somewhere deep within, a presence waited—gentle, radiant, familiar.

The air smelled of rain and wild roses. I took a step forward.

The walls of the maze rose around me, tall and lush, and every turn led to a reflection of myself I had forgotten—a child version of me chasing sunlight, a teenager lost in doubt, a woman dimming her own light for love. Each path whispered, Remember who you are.

As I wandered, the maze began to test me. Shadows of my fears appeared, whispering: You are lost. You are unworthy. You are not ready.

But beneath those voices, I heard another—soft, melodic, ancient.

“Keep walking, little one. The path is alive—it will guide you home.”

So I followed the sound of that voice, my heart acting as my compass. At last, the maze opened into a wide, glowing garden at its center. Moonlight spilled over everything, and in the middle of that silver light stood a woman.

Her hair shimmered like sunlight caught in water, and her gown flowed like mist woven from flowers. Around her feet bloomed spirals of lilies and vines that seemed to bloom from her very presence.

She smiled when she saw me.

“You made it,” she said, her voice carrying the softness of wind through petals.

“Who are you?” I asked, though my soul already knew.

“I am Flora,” she said. “The keeper of this maze, the guardian of your becoming.”

I stepped closer, and my heart felt both tender and powerful, like it was remembering a song it used to know.

Flora lifted her hand, and the maze around us shimmered—its golden walls dissolving into threads of light that spiralled into the stars. “This maze is not outside of you,” she said. “It is you. Every twist, every dead end, every bloom—each is a part of your journey home to yourself.”

I felt tears rise, not from sadness but from recognition. I had walked through confusion, through forgetting, through fear—and still, I had arrived here.

Flora’s eyes shone with compassion.

“Each time you lose your way, remember: the maze was never meant to trap you. It teaches you how to feel your way forward. The path opens when you trust your own heart.”

She reached out and placed something in my palm—a glowing seed.

“When you plant this in your life,” she said, “it will bloom as wisdom, courage, and love. Each time you meditate, I will meet you here—in the garden within.”

Then, with a gentle smile, she placed her hand over my heart. “Now go. The world is waiting for your light.”

The garden faded. The maze melted into gold dust. And I awoke with the faint scent of flowers in the air and the feeling of her presence—calm, patient, endlessly loving—resting in my chest.

From that day on, whenever I meditate, I return to the maze.

Sometimes the paths change, sometimes the lessons deepen—but Flora is always there, waiting at the center, reminding me that what feels like being lost is often the soul finding its way home.

When I call out for help when I feel I am at my breaking point - I alway small flowers in my physical world and I know its her giving me s a sign

My Discovery, Guidance, and Reveal – Soul Work readings are a sacred, layered journey. Each session attunes to your unique elemental frequency, bringing insight and transformation across every level of your being.

1. Fire – Setting Intention & Connection 🔥

Fire sparks the beginning. Before channelling, I ignite your intention, connecting deeply with your energy and requesting permission from your higher self and guides. This sacred flame opens your Records with clarity, courage, and devotion.

2. Earth – Grounding & Delivery 🌱

Earth anchors the revelations. Your reading is presented in a grounded, tangible way—through written messages, channelele voice notes, or guided meditations. Each form carries the essence of Spirit, supporting your integration and alignment with your highest path.

3. Air – Meditation & Attunement 🌬️

Air carries the messages. I enter a meditative, receptive state, sometimes revisiting multiple times, allowing the whispers of your soul to unfold. Thoughts, visions, and insights flow like wind through the chambers of your Records, bringing perspective, understanding, and guidance.

4. Water – Receiving & Integrating 🌊

Water gathers the currents. Every impression, vision, and message from your Guide or Gatekeeper is woven together, flowing into a cohesive stream of understanding. Emotions, intuition, and subtle energies are honoured ,allowing your soul’s story to be fully felt and absorbed.

5. Aether – The Spirit Thread ✨

Aether weaves the unseen magic. Beyond the elements, this subtle current holds the sacred connection to all that is. It ensures that your reading is not just insight, but a luminous transmission, carrying the soul’s voice, the cosmos’ guidance, and the harmony of the elements into your heart.