From an unpleasant interaction with an awful person that I couldn’t shake. Though I wanted to give them back kindness and love, I ended up mirroring their bitchiness.

And I could see myself falling into that trap, too. Though I did get myself out of it rather quickly…

Anyway, I happened to be at an airport. And there happened to be a 6-hour delay.

Just enough time to pick up a new book. This piqued my interest:

I don’t recall ever wanting to read something like this. It’s never been my vibe.

And when I got to the bottom of the inner sleeve, I felt a pang in my stomach that immediately also stung my eyes.

Eating bitterness.

Wow. Hello old friend.

I always heard it as chī kǔ as a kid. When I hated waking up for swim practice at 5am in the summertimes, my mom would say, “it’s good for you eat a little bitterness.” So I’d learn how to dive into the ice cold water; the trick is to hold your breath before you hit the water, and then kick until it stops feeling like pins and needles.

Or when I didn’t get the part in my school play, and it broke my heart, I’d still smile and laugh and be a good friend and team player to everyone else who got parts.

In silicon valley, we don’t talk about eating bitterness. Just hockey sticks, and KPIs, and shipping things, blockers, roadmaps, productivity.

If something doesn’t go your way, you can retro, escalate, get coached, document, and develop.

Never eat bitterness.

Digestion as alchemy

This time around, with a fresh pair of eyes, and a different openness in my heart, I notice it’s one of the only concepts in the spiritual texts that speaks of transmutation:

After one eats, they must digest.

And digestion is all about absorbing that which makes us stronger, and discarding the exhaust.

How might I digest bitchiness the next time I’m near it?

What kinda appetite and stomach would it take?

I’ll have to sit on that for a bit…

I should be used to the disappointment by now

I was hoping for lessons like “enjoying late hot girl summer” instead I got “eating bitterness.”

Why is that?

I don’t find it particularly hard, but I do wish for an extended period of calm, stability, non-suffering.

Is it possible to eat bitterness and not suffer?

That’s what I’ll be finding out…

A flash of understanding hit me:

Dressing myself. Collages. Writing.

Cooking. Eating. Exercise.

Dying my hair. Doing my nails. My skincare routine.

It reminded me of the minor arcana:

Each suit is a hero’s journey from Ace to King. Pentacles for surviving and thriving; swords for intellectual lessons; cups for learning to pool and release flows (like creativity or abundance); wands for support, protection, stability.

And, of course, our timeless alchemist, a master of all 4 suits:

I could see it so clearly now. And, I wanted to try.

It’s funny, till now I thought the stuff I took joy in doing was a distraction from the work.

Now, I see these predilections are the work.

It began in the bathroom

The bathroom that took 5 months to renovate.

We stayed in hotels nearby, thanks to insurance. Still, I lost my glasses, a purse, and countless cords during the shuffles between rooms, hotels, and apartment.

It went from dark black marble to bright light crystal quartz. And try as we might to push it along faster, it was on the universe’s timeline.

Patience was just about the only thing that worked. Day in and day out. Wondering if I’d ever poop again in my own toilet; trusting that I would.

Five long months.

We skipped our usual winter in Palm Springs, just to be nearby in NYC for questions about pipes, paint, finishes, and metals…

So many materials.

Makes me think of these:

And during this long stretch, the main cards I got (when I asked for how to get through this period) were these:

I can see now that remodeling the bathroom is material work, of the pentacles realm.

All I could think about at the time was my first shower, and how nice that would be.

And, it became a sanctuary when I got the food poisoning. Quartz is a great healing stone. I hadn’t considered that when we chose it, though. It just felt nice to touch.

Lately, it’s been natural as breathing to sink into a skincare routine.

Let the toner pads sit on my face while I massaged my neck. Warming the serums and moisturizer in my hands before patting on my face.

My bathroom counter looked like an alchemist’s table too.

Then, the kitchen

I’ve turned on the stove more times in the last 2 weeks than I have in the past 2 years. Not enough patience until now.

My first attempt was soy marinated eggs, sichuan style. How my dad likes it.

Nine of my first 12 soft-boiled eggs broke when I peeled them.

I thanked the invisible side for giving me 3 unbroken eggs.

The next day, with some vinegar and salt added to the pot of water, I was able to keep all 6 of the eggs I made. They lasted a week as delicious sides or mains in my meals.

And, I just ordered my first bamboo spatula. Can’t wait to use it.

As well as my laptop

Funny how similar cooking in my kitchen and on my laptop are.

Wands and swords.

At my day job, ‘cooking’ means deftly using AI. I hadn’t considered these might all work in harmony. A symphony, greater than the sum of their parts.

It takes a lot of intention to build good AI. For example, here are two recent custom skills I developed:

And it’s not linear.

Recently, I tried to refactor my skill-stack, to be more efficient; use fewer tokens. Two days of learning and refactors. Then testing on golden sets.

The results were remarkably bad.

Worse than out-of-the-box claude or chatgpt.

You know it’s bad when you cut so much that the tower crumbles.

I reverted back to a previous version. Still stewing on a solution there…

Pentacles, Wands, Swords…

The littlest things in my life seem intimately woven with the invisible these days. When the eggs break, I hear my guides laugh with me.

I was sad I might have to sacrifice my long nails. But they bring me so much joy, I whispered into my heart…

During a workout, I found some really cool designs for shorter nails.

Maybe I've been learning materials all along.

I’m only now finding my footing again, nearly 11 days since the event.

It came on as food poisoning.

Projectile vomit, really.

And the doctors couldn’t pin down what I had. You must have whatever’s going around.

It doesn’t really matter. The nausea and projectile vomiting wouldn’t stop.

I couldn’t keep down the tiniest sips of water. The type that only coat your mouth. I wondered if it even hit my belly.

I had 2 virtual calls with my doctor by days 3 or 4. They sent prescriptions. Gave me the list of symptoms to watch for.

Go straight to the ER if any of these happen.

The big one was hydration. I had to keep water down.

That was my only focus for the first days.

On Day 1, I crashed out between vomiting episodes.

Why is this happening to me?

I asked the invisible side when I’d feel relief.

618, is what I got back. I heard it very clearly.

618 618 618

I remember thinking, Great! 6:18pm is only 3 hours away.

When 6:18pm came and passed, and I was still throwing up, I crashed out again.

Why would you do this to me? That’s so cruel…

I usually got the right answers. I had to trust this moment was no different.

When I looked with my third eye, I saw my guides and angels gathered around doing all kinds of energy work to help me.

As if they were attending a birth. Or a death.

No, an exorcism.

Yeah, that’s what it felt like.

But what am I letting go? I thought things were good.

On Day 2, I thankfully discovered hot showers.

I could keep water down when I was laying in my shower.

The hot water hitting my body was very soothing.

I stayed in there for 5+ hours.

So much so that the bedroom ceiling was drenched. Dripping condensation.

My husband grumbled, ‘The paint might chip. Next time, close the bathroom door.’

He used a ladder and wiped down every part of the ceiling. (The paint didn’t chip).

On Days 3 and 4, I thought about my dad.

Stuck in the hospital for 16 days, no where else to be, but present.

He was so positive about it all.

The doctors have treated me with dignity.

It’s great they can get me scheduled so quickly.

I tried to stay positive like him.

I kept water down this past hour.

Just 2 more hours to bed time.

Soon, I could keep water down and stay out of the shower.

By Day 5, I had another crash out: Wtf is happening.

Why is this taking so long?

I promise I’ll be better about my readings schedule.

I promise I’ll be nicer to my colleagues.

Just tell me and I’ll do it.

Please make the vomiting stop.

I was sure I would lose my job. too. I had been invited to give a talk; I was so behind on everything.

If the job and the talk were mine, they’ll stay mine, I reminded myself.

All I could focus on was being with my body. Sitting in a position so I didn’t choke, if I fell asleep on that shower floor.

Trying to stay hydrated so I wouldn’t have to go to the ER. (I decided the ER was far worse than the shower floor).

And, I’d get these little downloads.

A slew of images, and knowingness, about the next step in my career, or what I needed to write about. Crisp, clear. Simple.

Along with it came other changes I don’t fully understand yet...

Images, colors, a different map of the world around me was emerging.

When I looked with my third eye, everything was more detailed.

I noticed energy streams around me, whatever that means.

I’m still trying to figure it out.

Just a little bit each day.

By Day 7, I realized “618” was the date, June 18th.

And that is indeed the first day I kept down solid foods.

I could drink water again.

Mouthfuls of cool water.

I don’t know if I ever appreciated water like I do now.

It’s been 11 days since it happened.

I don’t feel like the old me at all.

I eat differently. I move differently.

Most notably, all this anger I held onto… it was gone.

(I think that’s what the exorcism was).

I used to wake up every day and hear myself say “I’m sad” almost like a bad tick.

Suddenly, I heard myself say, without thinking, “I’m happy. This is nice.”

I don’t even know where it’s coming from.

I just know the part of me that found reasons to suffer suddenly got a lot quieter.

Suddenly, able to share the bench with a lot of other parts of me.

Non-suffering thoughts.

Like, doesn’t this gulp of water taste delicious?

Maybe that's enough.

And there are signs.

An old way of being still hangs in the closet, but I can no longer convince myself to wear it.

My dreams already know who I am, but my waking life is still catching up.

It’s just a few breadcrumbs.

But it all tracks…

The teachers called them ‘growth periods’ in psychic school.

Like energetic colds.

And no matter what, I crash out at one point during these growth periods.

I often meditate on the idea of peace dwelling in me.

I’ve read it in a few spiritual texts; it sounded so nice.

If I’m peaceful within, then I’ll attract peace, too.

But lately I’ve been noticing…

The most peaceful times come after a great big storm.

And there’s no other way around it.

… 🎼 April showers bring May flowers …

The problem is, I don’t always show up to storms my best self.

The crash out is because I don’t want that side of me to dominate anymore.

I can see that now.

Like, before I carried a lot of guilt whenever I’m near my parents for long.

But that feels un-me these days.

I’d prefer to let go of the guilt.

Find out who I am instead.

So, it hangs around like a dirty sweater I’ve left on the closet floor.

Am I throwing it out or putting it back for another season?

Too many days of that discordance and I glitch.

Crash out. Need a rebooting.

These past weeks have been draining

I’ve been sleeping. A lot. Tons.

My dreams have been speaking to me.

I'm on adventures, just looking at stuff.

Happy. Unafraid. At ease.

And I wake up rejuvenated.

Fulfilled.

I can hold onto this blissful feeling for 20 minutes to an hour.

Then my monkey brain sets in and starts looking for things to be unhappy about.

The body lags behind the higher self.

They said it in psychic school; a lot of esoteric texts bring up this topic as well.

What they don't mention upfront, is that it feels like a sudden fog.

Do you find your way through the fog or does it pass?

Maybe both.

I did crash out again. Cried. Screamed at my husband. Made up a fight that was maybe not really a thing once I got to the other side of it.

He was graciously forgiving.

How does he manage to show up so calmly?

He sets his boundaries without running away from me.

I’m grateful for it.

What does a snake do when it’s molting?

And what does she do when it’s time to shed?

That’s been on my mind.

So, I’ve been cleaning more.

And going to the gym every other day.

Feels good to wring out the muscles. Give them a good shake and stretch.

The hardest part is trusting that eventually, the growth period ends

“Wu wei doesn’t mean do nothing…” my Dad started telling me last year.

“Wu wei means, like the seasons, accept things as they are. Accept nature. When it’s spring, be with spring. When it’s winter, be with winter…”

Come to think of it, a storm is kind of like a birthday or a holiday.

No matter who I am, they keep showing up. Every year.

Like illness, too.

Each time I was sick, I tried to treat it like I was not sick.

Worked through them.

Over time, it compounded into me being someone who was always a little sick with something.

Eventually, in a previous growth period, I learned to treat illness with more care and focus.

The body doesn't begin to recover until the mind is at rest.

A physical therapist told me that, and it never left me.

Not that I didn’t care before…

But now, I want the universe and my monkey brain to know, I'm someone who heals.

These days I’ll snuggle up with my favorite movies or book, help myself to generous portions of broth. Rest. Journal.

I'll make slushies, too: fresh fruit, coconut water, and ice. So simple. Delicious. Refreshing.

I like to blend in my cough syrup, sometimes. Pretend it’s a cocktail.

And it turns out A Goofy Movie is just as healing now as it was back in the 90s.

Hot showers.

Warm baths.

Time in the sun.

Open questions, till next time

How might I approach an energetic cold, like I do a physical one?

If I don’t nurture this glimmer, this seed, of who I’m becoming, who will?

Do you think seeds enjoy storms?

And suddenly, it’s like a truth that was always there is begging me to see it.

Am I ready?

I feel humbly underprepared.

How do I cook a meal for a man, who’s cooked me some of the best meals of my life?

You don’t need to learn, I’ll always cook for you. That’s what he always said.

Suddenly, the fact that I don’t know how to read Chinese, or I’ve never asked him to teach me how to cook those tasty meals, feels like the only test I forgot to prepare for.

They seemed so incidental growing up.

You’ll have your whole life to learn Chinese, get really good at English. That’s what my parents always said.

My whole life was my dad reading The World Journal, and me reading New York Times. (He read his studiously, wanting to know everything going on in the world. I “read” mine haphazardly, fair-weathered, curious, scattered.).

If you laid them side by side, you could probably trace how far apart we grew all these years.

I spent 20 years in therapy, learning how to navigate no contact with my mom.

It wasn’t a choice, or a punishment.

I just can’t seem to not get hooked into an argument.

It’s a storm I try not to enter anymore.

I don’t like who I become when I’m near it.

She doesn’t deserve all my rage. She is trying her best after all. Some moms try their worst.

Was easier to stay in California all these years.

I remember vividly one day reading r/AsianParents, struck by the sheer volume of one specific story: The parents who put so much pressure on their kids, that now as workaholics, they lowkey relish not contacting their parents. Punishment for all those years of pressure. “Whoops, sorry, now I can’t be home ever.”

It cut deep.

That’s not me though, right?

The answer used to be “no”…

At 38 going on 39, I don’t know though…

Perhaps I’m finally ready to see that the shoe kinda fits…

Of course, I didn’t start out doing it for punishment.

It just got easier to stop trying, when I know I’d lose.

When we moved to NYC, my parents were so happy. That’s 45 minutes from us.

In the pair of years we’ve lived here, the invisible side brought me people who, despite having difficult relationships with their parent/s, power through it for love.

I’m most struck by a new friend. Her conviction in loving (especially difficult people) shook me.

At our first meeting, I could feel it just sitting near her, like a sun burning out from within.

It was hard to keep the conversation going when I felt like I was getting healed just being near her aura.

Somehow, I’m softening to this more courageous kind of love. I don’t have to let go of my senses just to express it.

That felt like the lesson, or part of it…

In the midst of all this, a small dialogue began with my father.

How are you these days? I’m worried about you.

I didn’t hear it like I had for so many years before. It wasn’t “I’m worried about you because you never get anything right.” Instead, it felt more like “hello I miss you, are you ok? I just want to hear from you.”

And I wanted to hear from him, too.

I was going through a lot. It felt nice to talk to him.

Unheavy. Light. Friendly.

We laughed. We shared work stories. Times when things were shit.

I told him about ego death. A light hit his eyes when I said this.

He felt seen and then shared things with me, too.

Suddenly, we were harmonizing.

I’ve always wanted this with my dad.

I looked forward to each of our lunches.

This is great. Let’s do this more often.

Suddenly, it feels like I’ll never get enough.

When did he get so kind and thoughtful?

Was he always this funny?

Wow, that’s such good advice.

After a lifetime of fighting him and my mom (for different reasons). I suddenly just wanted to be near him.

Somehow, without trying we were finally here.

Suddenly, without trying we were having a great time.

Natural as breathing.

Talking like I always wished.

I could die happy if all I did was have lunch with my dad once in a while, work, write, live my life.

“Hello, guai guai” (kinda like “sweetie” in Chinese, he always called me this)

I felt it as soon as I heard his voice over the phone.

Something isn’t right. I felt it right away in my chest, head, and stomach.

Why does he sound like that? Like the wind is knocked out of him. Like he’s lost his voice.

At first they thought it was pneumonia.

He took all the pills for it.

Asked for a double round when things didn’t get better.

The doctor suggested scans.

As a precaution.

It turns out, it’s stage 4 lung cancer.

Spread to his spine, muscles, thyroid.

The primary tumor is so big, it’s pushing up against his arteries. His face and arms are swollen.

Suddenly, he’s turning to me at the doctor’s office. Like I’m a light in a dark tunnel. And the magic I can provide is simply speaking to the doctors on his behalf.

He must be so tired.

Have I ever seen him tired before?

Suddenly, it’s like I have no time with him.

Those lunches feel so far away.

I had read in an old alchemy text that one must burn through our delusions to see the truth.

But what is a delusion and what is a truth?

That’s the trickiest part.

And how does one use fire to burn through it?

In the past few weeks I’ve mostly been feeling how fire burns through falsehoods, and reveals truth to us.

Maybe I have to fight with my mom to get to my dad.

Just a little longer with him.

A vague concept of pursuing fools gold is all I knew beforehand.

Something about it pulled me in.

Beyond the dense, meandering, stubborn aphorisms, there was truth, glinting through the murky texts.

Like sunlight on rippling water. Not quite permanent. Unforgettable.

I felt it in my body, long before I ever understood. It came as a heavy calmness, like gravity. A spell broken once my eyes met the page.

These lines in particular, I returned to again and again.

This realization changed me: Everything is in their own cycle of transformation, from a lower form to a higher form.

Everything, from the tiniest grain of sand, to the solar system itself.

Like a seed ripening into a bud, that flowers, and produces more seeds, for the cycle to begin again and anew.

And what followed was undeniably clear: I must stop begging unopened flowers to bloom for me.

I had spent so much of my life seeing the flowers before they bloomed, wanting desperately for the seeds to see it, too.

I could finally see how the world worked, and my place in it.

I had this sinking feeling that my job was simply to be the butterfly that I had already transformed into, and stop trying to convince caterpillars that we were from the same lineage.

For instance, at this last job I had. The one where I kept getting sick.

There were many moments when I wanted to explain myself. “You don’t understand, I’m normally very good.”

But what good would it do? They’d need me to be more like them, and I needed very badly to be more like me.

If we were meant to match, then we’d already match. They’d see me for who I was, and I would not be getting so sick trying to contain the dissonance I already knew was stewing inside.

Right after I left the job, I wanted to immediately apply for new jobs. Secure my next paycheck.

But I knew that wasn’t the state of my transition. The right thing for me at this point in my growth, was to put myself first.

I didn’t know much, baby steps. I did things that felt true and good, like go to the groceries, cook some nutritious meals. Walk around my neighborhood, just because I could.

I went to the gym, and only did exercises I liked, not worrying about whether it hit all the muscle groups.

I watched Forest Gump on repeat. (It just spoke to me, I have no idea…).

My husband and I went to the MoMA, dressed up, just because.

Two lovely weeks breezed by, felt like days.

“We’d love to speak with you at your earliest,” some friends I made through my last job texted me.

I was not ready for it.

My astrologer had said I needed to learn to integrate myself: Ora the psychic and the tech leader. No more keeping them separate.

But how?

I’d literally have to tell my next job that I’m psychic.

It felt impossible.

Plus, at this point, I had journaled enough to know what I wanted to do next: Write, research projects, travel, keep being psychic, and do my readings.

And there were no such jobs like that in this industry, or economy.

But I was wrong. 👀

It turns out there was one job out there exactly this-shaped for me.

And it was coming for me urgently.

“What do we need to tell you to get you to decide?” they asked on one of our last calls before I joined.

I hesitated for a long time.

Was I really about to say it?

“What are your astrology signs?” I didn’t have the guts to actually tell them I was psychic, but this felt like a reasonable compromise.

If they were stunned, they didn’t show it.

“I’m a Capricorn… and he’s a Virgo.”

Two earth signs for partners. Interesting.

“I need you to know I’m a Libra. And I’m good at what I do, but I don’t think I’ll ever be as consistent as two earth signs.”

Without hesitation the Virgo cut in, “We wanna work with you badly.”

“Yeah. I don’t know anything about astrology. But I think my wife might be a Libra, too.”

The way they both were willing to play ball, and that little bit of synchronicity (my husband happens to be the third earth sign, Taurus), were enough breadcrumbs—glints of sunlight on rippling water—to nudge me along.

Funny how the river works, huh?

I begged for my new path to begin and now I’m scared to jump in.

But if you know anything about me by now, you know I jumped anyway.

Within the first week, they flew me to LA, which meant my husband and I could also spend time in our home in Palm Springs. Something we loved doing, and had nearly halted altogether for the past 5 months.

When I was there in person, I ended up first telling 2 people, then 1 in greater detail, and when they all seemed fine with my psychic journey, I told all of the rest of them by our end of week team dinner (celebrating someone’s birthday).

“Now we all want readings!!!”

“You seem to fit right in.”

It was the warmest most humbling welcome I could have asked for. They had no idea what it took for me to get here. I cried tears of gratitude in my morning meditations that week.

Shipping a study report was also the easiest it’s ever felt.

My husband joined me on the weekend in LA. We went to the LACMA, hoping to see an exhibit that had left, and stumbled onto an exhibit on Buddhist sculptures and art through the ages.

“Omg! I had just talked about Buddhism and how it’s spread and integrated so far and wide” I squeezed my husband’s hand as we were greeted by our favorites (Guanyin ofc) as well as learned about new ones.

Walking through all the rooms, it felt like our angels and guides were welcoming us back to the west coast.

At the museum shop, I stumbled on a book (a forthcoming exhibit) to an answer from a January wish. I wanted to be inspired by women from my own heritage in fashion. Tell me this isn’t a perfect book:

On the drive back to Palm Springs, we stumbled into some shops and found some other treats for us, too, longstanding wishlist items suddenly, shockingly, right in front of us.

To think 3 weeks ago I was crashing out, sobbing in my bed.

Now, it feels as though we’re back in the flow of the river, drenched in abundance and opportunity.

My new job is literally to be bicoastal, write, do fun studies I think up, and now I also get to continue being psychic out in the open.

Where I’m really struggling is the lesson.

What did I let go of, and what did I learn?

I mostly just breathed and stayed with myself.

Is that really all it’s about?

Several end dates.

And they all clustered around the same timeline.

Suddenly, I knew it.

By my next post, I’ll be out of here.

At first, I felt a huge sense of relief.

So you are listening…

(I never know who though… is it me? my guides? my angels? everyone?)

… but if y’all are listening…

Why can’t this torture end right now?

(Can’t it?)

And that’s when I crashed out.

This is the point where I always crash out.

This time was a little different though.

Nothing seemed to staunch the flow.

I hate it i hate it i hate it i hate it i hate it i hate it here.

Suddenly, I felt trapped.

I had to get out.

And yet, there was nothing left for me to give.

Oh no, what do I do?

Laying on my back, staring at the ceiling, I cried rivers.

I had gotten myself into a situation that I had no business getting myself out of.

What kind of assignment is this?

Where most athletes accelerate when they see a finish line, I knew I was no athlete. My knees buckled. I’d much prefer to take off my race number and go home.

What do you mean three more weeks?

Why am I here?

How could you do this to me?

When it rains, it pours, as they say.

Eventually, it got quiet.

The bulk of the sobbing had made its way out of me.

There were only those tiny heaves when I tried to take deeper breaths.

And then I heard her:

We got ourselves here so we’d remember to never get here again.

Now, pull yourself together and show yourself how to make it through.

She sounded like me, but stronger, firmer, more sure-footed.

And, since I had nothing else to go off of, that was enough.

I cried a little. This time, for acceptance of an answer.

I nodded, and then I felt a vibration: A toddler, having a tantrum during a growth spurt, and a loving parent holding a firm boundary.

That was not the solution I was expecting.

And now I cried more. This time, for understanding.

In a hypnotherapy session once, I had said to myself, “tech is a battlefield and you don’t belong there,” and to this very day I rationalize a way to be in tech. Caught red-handed.

What is the allure of this place?

No matter. I was getting out now.

I just needed a way through.

How do I show myself how to make it through?

I guess I make it through by not giving more than I had.

And I had nothing.

So I guess I’m giving nothing. Focusing on recovery.

I did the bare minimum.

Even that felt like a stretch.

So I pulled pack further.

I canceled the rest of the month’s psychic readings, stopped responding to social invites.

Mostly I slept. I journaled. I drank soup.

I spoke to my higher self, my guides, the invisible side.

In the emptiness, rage came.

I NEED DATA!!!! I wrote into my journal.

I wanted to analyze data, continue my psychic practice, and keep writing.

And I was angry I wasn’t doing any of it.

Then I slept some more.

I still worked. Gave what was asked.

But I stopped giving like my life depended on it.

One night I was so envious of my husband’s passion, his ability to build, a team coming together after all these years.

I fought him, when I didn’t mean to.

Last week, someone in my network released some data online for anyone to analyze.

You know what? I proclaimed mid-dinner. I can’t live like this anymore.

Suddenly, there was gas in the tank. And not only that, I wanted to give. I wanted to do something, to remind myself I do things for me.

Within 6 hours, I had a microsite of a first analysis up.

I noticed how nice it felt to do this. Natural as breathing. Non-effortful.

All the AI skills I had acquired at this job I no longer fit, applied in a place I loved.

Huh. Interesting.

I had spent so much time doing it for money, for praise, external validation. And somehow, the combination felt like cacophony to hold together inside.

This time, I’d try from internal coherence, and wait.

What kind of signals might come? I wondered.

So far nothing directly related.

But here are a few things I’ve observed:

We moved back to our apartment (after a 5-month long bathroom reno).

I left the job on great terms. “The door is always open,” they said.

I walked around my neighborhood, felt alive again.

We booked tickets to a show.

I reached out to friends I hadn’t talked to in weeks.

Three new jobs sped up their timelines to match mine.

My dreams have been more scattered, like a bag shaking loose.

It’s almost as if I needed that job, to learn AI…

and I can’t make sense of that because why would a psychic need AI ..?

It’s just a tension I’ve been feeling lately…

Productive vs. Alive…

I’m sick again.

With shingles.

That’s twice in six weeks.

At first, I tried to pop them.

Whiteheads never cluster like this though, I pinched in vain.

It was only after drying my face with a towel, the wind settled on the area, and I realized that familiar sensation.

Oh fuck.

Maybe it’s just a continuation of the first case weeks ago, it was a different doctor this time. Just as kind, knowledgeable.

This one had a good sense of humor. My tears dried faster. We laughed.

This time, it’s so close to my eye. Out of an abundance of precaution, she sent me to the ophthalmologist.

It was meant to be, though.

How else would they have caught the glaucoma?

Have you noticed any changes to your vision?

They did ask me that a lot during the visit.

“It may be the shingles. Come back after the weekend.”

Two visits to the eye doctor so far.

They found optic nerve damage.

And I’m responding well to treatment, as if I’m glaucomic…

But she’s assured me it’ll take more visits to confirm if it’s full blown glaucoma.

I’m not sure how Ora from a year ago would respond.

But, this Ora just observes…

So I get shingles twice in 6 weeks. Interesting.

And on the second trip, it’s near the eye, to really tell me something.

An illness in the eyes that’s completely manageable if I start putting myself first.

Daily drops. Morning and night.

Huh. Very interesting.

I wasn’t even that sad this time.

More like a chemist, frustrated with their 5000th experiment gone wrong.

What am I not hearing???!!!

I did manage to get better in the 5 weeks between shingles episodes—better at AI, at scale, at speed.

Evidently, it was a lost cause.

And I could feel it, too.

So much strain, just to hold onto a way of being that I knew was antithetical to my whole existence.

But was it the environment, or me?

Perhaps this is why I speak of the invisible dialogue… when I get really quiet and look back at my life, I mostly observe this very particular dance (one I can just barely make out) between the river of destiny and my agency.

The river brought me here, just so I could see for myself—

This time, it was me holding on a little longer.

The energy, the excitement, the fervor. Hypergrowth. Hockey stick.

The stuff of business school case study dreams. And somehow, I got a decade plus of witnessing them, from the inside.

“You have a track record of always staying on the cutting edge” a former colleague mentioned.

It’s true. Like a moth to a flame, I’m drawn here over and over again.

Sometimes, the alchemist endures the harshest terrains

to harvest the rare flowers of their craft

The only thing louder than my desire to work in tech eddies, is realizing my days of seeing might be numbered.

I want to see myself live a good life while I still can.

When I try to picture what that life looks like… a surprisingly simple image comes to me.

Waking up with the sun.

I’m not sure about much else beyond that…

But here’s a twist I am familiar with:

Most people I know (myself included) hit this point, and suddenly it’s all about effort again.

Efforting our way out of a situation that no longer fits us.

I’ve come to think of it as one long river ride.

If I don’t struggle too much in any given part, it tends to resolve itself.

For instance, I spent so much time hating the job that brought me back to NYC.

So mad that I had it.

“Why did you put me here?” I’d shake my first angrily at the sky.

And then one day—poof—it was over, without me even trying.

Is ‘hate’ the right word? It’s just that the work was so boring.

I found myself finishing it too fast.

Or, they never needed as much as they thought they did.

It turns out, getting too smart for the work can be a total buzz kill.

And now, it’s the opposite.

I’m productive against my will.

In my first few days of rest and recovery from shingles, three new requests for studies came up. “Don’t worry, non-urgent. How about share-outs in the next 2-5 days?”

I couldn’t even wish for one of those boring days if I wanted to.

“I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemies,” my friend said. It hits different when you are the one who recruited them into the company.

And such is the river.

Two posts ago, I spoke of wanting to get caught up in it.

Tbh, I think that’s how I ended up getting shingles.

Just so caught up in it, I forget myself, my health.

So caught up in it, I forget that I cannot sustain such a lifestyle.

That all of me may not even want this.

The river never lets me stay too long in places I don’t belong, anyways.

It was kind to let me have a pit stop here to begin with.

One last look around the place before I leave.

“The truth is, I don’t think you should have a boss anymore…” A mentor said that recently.

It stirred something in me.

Ok, river.

What does it mean to not have a boss anymore…?

Show me…

Even if the river takes me somewhere new, my only commitment right now is to my recovery.

I’ve learned a few things…

First, I can’t abandon myself. My body will revolt, evidently.

Second, I can’t be solely focused on productivity, since that’s the vibration that got me so sick…

Productive. Producing. Always with a point and output in mind.

One must have something to show for all that effort, right?

What is there to show when one does nothing?

What about all the invisible stuff?

Composting. Adjusting. Learning.

Do those look like anything?

Being present. Breathing.

What is there to show when one simply is?

That’s the goal between now and my next post.

To simply be… alive.

If I take it a step further: Enjoying. Savoring. Feeding one’s curiosity.

And if I push it even more: Nothing at all again. A happy existence.

By my next post, let’s see where the river takes me…

Does it begin with the walls?

Our hearts, minds, bodies?

Or still, something deeper?

3-5am used to torment me in my 2010s.

Fuck, why can’t I sleep? Why can’t I be normal even on this dimension?

I’d shout into the void.

(Was it a void?)

2010s me was a different beast.

Headstrong.

I’ll take a course on it.

I learned algebra, why can’t I learn to sleep through the night?

…

In 2018, I was making tech money

I found a wonderful trainer.

Connection to my body. Joy.

Healing, abundance where there once used to be starvation and scarcity.

Pleasure in effort and exercise.

Just when everything was perfect, the sleeping pills stopped working.

It turns out when meds stop working, 3-5am would still be a place of dread.

Oh no oh no oh no.

Biphasic sleeping, it came up so casually, matter of fact, at the next workout.

“It’s rare, because everyone’s on their phones…,” something about my trainer’s discipline, consistency, felt like a form of authority itself that held him, “But that’s how we used to be hundreds of years ago. It’s common in cave people, too.”

We switched me from vegan to paleo diet that week.

He was into dream work, so I got into dream work…

I remember lying in bed, wide awake, convinced I was doing something ancient and enlightened.

I’d find myself in a lot of uncomfortable, impossible, unwinnable, compromising corners like this before the baptism of my mid-thirties.

And the softening I’d paradoxically, necessarily, struggle into…

Months into 2024, it happens again.

“Oh you mean the witching hour?” She says through blue glasses.

The glasses shield from rays emitted by screens.

I’m into energy; these folks are really into energy.

Could they be any more intense or particular than a PM, eng or design partner?

I learned that psychics, mediums, witches, speak fondly of this 3-5am time.

“I get my best downloads at this time,” someone in the circle affirmed, matter-of-factly.

“The Moon speaks to me when everyone else is sleeping,” another fairy-like member chimed in.

Huh. Interesting…

I’d soon learn it as Brahmamuhurta and Amrit Velā, too.

In 2025, it came to me, natural as breathing.

One day in July. It was hot indoors.

Too hot. I couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t sleep.

I kept hearing it whispered: it’s the witching hour, the witching hour.

I sat outside on the roof.

The air was thick. Electric.

Quiet. Easy to read.

Interesting.

It’s a blank canvas. Wide.

Like a dog sniffing an invisible path, in the silence, I could read the city.

People’s stored energy, buzzing… unfulfilled, most of it.

So hot with desire that the smoke from it billowed up, funneled by the buildings, finding release past the rooftops, mingling with the rest of the NYC air.

Am I doing this right?

Somehow it didn’t matter.

It felt like swimming and I love to swim…

I roamed a bit longer. It was fun, I couldn’t resist.

Felt like hours. It was 25 minutes.

Sated, I crept back into bed, and fell sound asleep…

Late 2025

This hour and I found a honeymoon phase.

I’d wake up naturally around 3am.

Jot down whatever I have lingering from the first set of dreams in my bedside dream notebook.

Slide out of bed, into my comfy robe. Glide into my meditation room.

Just me and the navy blue shadows of leaves and hedges, the moon and outdoor lights shining through the windows.

The incense danced around the room; its smell cleared my mind.

I closed my eyes, settled into my psychic space (the “screen” between the eyes).

I take a few breaths.

Something pops on the screen.

He was my professor in university.

Search his name, is all I got. And so I did.

An article he wrote popped up.

Have I ever read this? Guess I will now… I never just went easily. Always with the questions and vigilance.

I felt another metal detector moment.

Something was waking up, remembering.

Specifically these lines:

“… Most of us think of a gift as a vector, something with a point on the end, like an arrow, that travels in a specific direction from one person to another. But look more closely. Who is the giver? Who is the receiver? And just what, in truth, is the gift?

These are stubborn questions unless we recognize that giving and receiving are not two different things at all. They are expressions of one fundamental, directionless force — not a vector but a field. The gift is not something we do to or for each other. It is something that happens to each of us as we enter into relationship.

… Those that are most alive and vibrant have in common a kind of blessed confusion about who is giving to whom…

A doctor enters an examining room, preparing to be cared for. A professor wonders how her students will teach her to understand the world in new ways. A soup kitchen volunteer is ready to find her spirit nourished by the person she is serving.”

The whole article is all of seven humble paragraphs.

And although he’s speaking of giving fields, I heard something from deep within stir:

what if I became a field?

What kind of field would I be?

What is the difference between an observer and a shepherd…?

The questions made no sense.

My whole body responded, yes.

I breathed them in and out.

The incense was done, and so was my session.

I’ve come to find that the best thing for a confusing download is a good second sleep…

Let the seeds settle.

Blessed confusions

That line echoed deepest.

Were there others?

One blessed confusion was my reading spaces and my research sessions.

It’s hilarious and curious that I’d be doing both.

In my tech job, I get into 1:1s with strangers. I ask them questions. They give me answers.

In my psychic readings, I get into 1:1s with strangers. They ask me questions. I give them answers.

In both rooms, I think my job is to get somewhere.

Is it?

I’ve regularly seen my own questions surface in a stranger’s mouth.

And answers I don’t quite understand come from my mouth and be perfectly right for them.

Huh, interesting…

These days, I’ve been thinking

Maybe my job is not to seek anything at all.

Maybe it’s simply to let the truth linger long enough that we both recognize it.

If communion cannot be forced, only hosted…

What kind of host am I?

Which communions do I seek?

I was still wiping away tears.

“It’s exhilarating to work in this space, there is no greater feeling than the joy of building,” I confessed, “but look at me… I’m not well. I managed to get shingles not even 6 weeks in… it’s my head, I’m always anxious. I thought I was meant for growth stage companies, but clearly I’m not.”

The pattern had resurfaced.

I had followed my joy, my yearning, the synchronicities, my tarot spreads, my inner knowing…

And yet, here I was again. Sick and in tech.

I felt panicked. After all this time, was I still hearing my guides wrong?

(FWIW, if there was ever a mindset to get someone sick, I think it’s this sense of self-doubt, of “I’m in the wrong place again” right when the journey gets murky).

Back to the nurse’s office…

“May I offer you some advice? I hate to do that, but in this case, I feel compelled…”

I nodded hungrily.

“You’re not too old. I’ve been a nurse my whole career. I’ve had to get certified and re-certified tons of times. Every time they invent new stuff for us nurses to learn. And at some point, all the doctors I work for have become younger.”

Just like that, I felt I understood.

This nurse had re-tuned me.

It’s just a setback, not a sign.

I took her advice and prescription for the shingles, notified my team (who seemed fine with it), and rested in bed.

Rest and recovery was also hard.

My husband missed hanging out with me. I missed the fresh air.

My job still asked that I work some hours, even if from bed.

The first weekend, feeling so restless, I took a 10-minute walk with my husband to the T-Mobile.

The fresh air will be good for us. Plus, I want to see the phone in-person before getting it.

“We don’t carry Motorolas in this location,” the apathetic salesperson told us, as we dripped rain on the linoleum floors. He couldn’t check inventory at other locations either.

The rain felt colder on the walk back.

Stuck in bed, I considered the counterfactual: What if I was meant to take on a quieter life? Be just a practicing psychic?

The very next reading I had was my absolute worst one.

The person wanted me to convince them of my ability.

No, tell me more. That could be anything.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you,” I offered.

“I’m not disappointed, I just want you to be more specific,” They chortled. Some people buy front row seats, just so they can point out the imperfections.

I restated what I saw, firmly; soon enough the reading ended. I asked my guides to remember the tone of that person’s energy, and never let it back in my space again.

The snow continued its chaotic dance with the wind, banging up against my window from time to time, through the night.

Days later, I was on a call with another friend, “chin up… when I joined early facebook… those kids were all younger, too, and I made it.”

It’s interesting who ends up available to me during a crisis, and what they have to say.

When I started the bad work weeks, I never once thought the thing that made them bad was my own mindset.

Yes, I guess this is what aging feels like… one day, everyone gets younger. It’s not the end of the world.

Displacement and loneliness show up sometimes, the dance doesn’t have to be permanent.

I received whatever phone calls, overdue catch-ups, coffee dates came my way that week.

Encouragement breadcrumbs eventually led to practical breadcrumbs.

“Listen,” an exec friend said, “you need to be taking AI seriously… not for editing copy. Consider this: What if there was AI doing work for you 24/7 while you got rest and sleep?”

Bingo. A stirring in my belly.

Huh. What an interesting thought.

Until then I had only ever heard friends rant about slop, and random use-cases myself.

My lived in experience was the opposite: When a survey needs to be shipped to help make decisions the next day, it’s my 11pm brain that’s creating slop.

By the weekend, my husband (an engineer) had taught me how to train custom GPTs. Imagine, mini robot Oras, trained on my own past work, that can spin up surveys, roadmaps, interview guides, in exactly my style, tone and preferences, on the spot.

In an instant, I crushed those 11pm survey slop scaries.

Next up, I may look into agents.

I did wonder if this was the correct nudge from the invisible side…

By Monday, I had a breakthrough.

My boss loved my gpt-crafted updates to her, far better than my human updates.

How remarkable.

More than that, I was able to ship studies in real time, and help my teams make decisions in days. For the past 20+ years, this used to take weeks, months, what felt like centuries.

It dawned on me by that Wednesday that I had been the one who wanted to move at this pace my whole career.

This is what I’ve been waiting for…

I started sleeping again. The shingles is in recovery.

The negative mindset is still there, but I’m composting it faster each day.

All I know is that I am enjoying myself and getting caught up in it again…

But isn’t this what it means to be swept up in a river? I won’t always like it. I just need to make sure this is the river I choose, still.

There are good days, many good days.

And there are days when I’m triggered. Challenged.

Reduced to nothing but my basest instincts.

He thinks I’m too slow and I’m terrible at my job and…

Why do I care so much again what others think?

Why do I care that I care?

I can’t even sulk without meta-analysis thanks to the decades of therapy.

My biggest reflection as of late is that life is long and I hope that when I look back on this life, my biggest reflection won’t be that I spent so much time reflecting.

I’d love to be someone who gets caught up in my life.

Just passionately living it.

So busy living that I lose track of everything.

I’m nearly there.

It’s 8:50pm the night before I like to ship my substack posts. These days I do it to remind myself I’m Ora, still. Not just caught up in this new job.

With nothing planned to write about. That’s pretty good for me.

Recently, I was so in flow that while walking in the busy streets of nyc, I lost my purse! Perhaps it was stolen. I’ll never know.

I was so caught up in work, while walking to a haircut. I was texting and walking, and my purse was on my arm. I was texting and walking. Texting and walking.

When I arrived, my purse was not on my arm. Just like that!

The work felt satisfying, though. And the purse was empty. More than that: I had my keys in my pocket, my two phones on my person (personal phone in my other pocket, work phone in hand).

The only thing in my purse was my empty airpods case (airpods were in my ears). If someone stole that purse off my shoulder, that would be a russian doll of disappointment (though I guess the purse itself might be valuable to some).

I normally would be the type of person to crash out if I lost my purse, and here I was, very ok.

Perhaps it will come back to me someday, I thought. Perhaps it was something I needed to let go of. To show myself how much I’ve softened.

Sure enough, 2 weeks later, a very rare vintage purse I’d had on my wishlist showed up for pennies across my doorstep. I guess it was a trade.

The invisible dialogue feels thickest around the new year

Or maybe I’m just thirstiest to hear something… validation, a sense of direction…?

Lately, when I listen, all I hear is Life is long… What should my days be filled with?

The thing I love most about my job right now is suddenly I’m terrible at it.

I’m at the peak of my experience and career, and yet at the turn of this AI revolution, I’m witnessing a complete turnover.

I planned a project with 3 weeks’ turnaround, and my ceo did a similar project in a day’s turnaround; really showed me my ass that day.

I’m not even sure they’ll let me keep my position long, but I badly want to see it through.

I also find myself unsure on which axes to trust my instincts. Is it ok for me to disappoint my boss? How will I know if I’m doing a good job if I no longer live to people-please?

I feel lucky to have the chance to work all these out, spiritually compost them in the field. I recall the days when there was nothing but desert.

Sprawling grief in every direction.

Suddenly, here I am. Getting lapped by AI and some fresh 20 year olds at something I’m supposed to be good at.

It could end any moment, and perhaps that’s a good thing. Free me to other pursuits.

Interestingly, I’ve had to reduce my reading hours since my work hours have gone up so drastically; and yet I have more bookings now. When it rains it pours, as they say.

To 2026!

As with any other language, immersion helps with fluency. To speak Tarot is no different.

To be more practical, let’s say I ask “When will I get married?”

I shuffle the cards, then I draw The Chariot, The Sun, The Two of Cups. That’s what the invisible side says back to me. (Whether you believe that’s your angels, guides, higher self, or subconscious depends on your preferences…).

I can generally read up on what that means, but I won’t really know it until the event unfolds, right?

In this way, tarot is a life companion and a language, a dialogue with the invisible, and a very personal one, at least that’s what I’ve come to find.

Here’s a few leaves from my recent archives…

The Fool

I resonate so deeply with this card.

So blissfully ignorant. Carefree. In flow.

Every fiber of me dives headfirst without reading the manual and that’s this card for me:

For much of my life, I kept this part of me locked up. We called her “clumsy,” “absent-minded,” “a dreamer.” When it was time for me to get serious about my studies and career, she was the part of me that wanted to join the film making club, befriend the people there. When she wanted to get swept up in different experiences altogether, we gave her diagnoses, pills, forced her into libraries to study harder.

Still, somehow, just as every musical note has a place in the scales, and every color has a place in the rainbow, and everything on the planet has the same right to sunlight for some hours of the day, The Fool belongs in the Tarot, and also is a part of me.

This card reminds me that things aren’t always good, but sometimes they are, and it’s ok and in fact our divine right to savor those times when all we can do is be the lucky fool, blissfully ignorant, along for the ride, not yet sure what’s next…

The Devil

I mean… just look at it. What a hideous face. The card almost begs you to flip it over — ew! Ah! Run away! That’s at least one of my gut reactions to the card, especially when I was really young.

And, look at the classic Rider-Waite booklet description:

For a long time I kinda just skipped this if it came up in readings—pulling other cards, or relying on my third eye to flesh out the messages here.

But, during a recent meditation, I went on a deep dive of it. Obviously, not by choice. In fact, it’s the only time I’ve ever been given a lesson on a tarot card. Later, I’d learn from a friend that The Devil is one of the most central cards in tarot lore.

Here’s what I heard in my meditation:

The Devil is the hardest parts of us to love.

It’s the parts of us that we deem too ugly or unsightly to give sunlight or oxygen to, and as a result, it is the least developed and loved part(s) of us.

If you want these parts to grow, the antidote is in fact to bring them out, stop treating them like ‘the devil’ at all. Give them light. Give them love.

It had me reconsider the card altogether.

More than that, it helped me reconsider all the cast of characters in my life.

When an author writes a story, the villains matter as much as the protagonists: Sometimes, we need people to embody that which is hardest for us to see in ourselves.

And, the people I find hardest to love, might be the parts of me that need the most release… Huh.

The next person to sign up for a reading was, in fact, my very first client years ago.

Within minutes of the session, she tells me she had been drawing The Devil constantly in her own daily tarot readings. 👀

I shuffled my tarot cards. The first card I drew was also The Devil. 👀 👀

I passed on what I knew from my meditation.

She instantly understood how it connected with her life (which I won’t divulge).

But it goes deeper for me..

I shared that story (obscuring any identifying details, of course) with another friend.

She resonated with it right away. Shared a story of her own parenting experience, which brought me full circle:

My friend came home from work one day, and noticed her daughter acting out. Sometimes, they even say, “What in the devil has gotten into you?”

Rather than going with their typical routine of three strikes to time-out, she just sat with her girl and held her. Her daughter cried, crashed out, and eventually softened. Relaxed in her mom’s arms.

Perhaps sometimes, we just need to give the devil inside ourselves the patience and love that someone else (a parent, a family member, a friend, a teacher, a boss, a community, workplace, or other institution…) has never been comfortable giving us.

The Tower

Another one that people tend to hate.

I mean, look at the booklet description:

Can you blame them?

The Tower is another one that came by story, passed on by another Tarot reader. I’ve felt kinship to The Tower ever since:

We build towers of beliefs, systems, lives — brick by brick, story by story, routine by routine, friend by friend, action by action. One day we will look out from our tower and realize, ‘Oh fuck, I don’t like it like this anymore.’

Depending on if you’re the type of person to resist or embrace change, The Tower will feel like a rug-pull or a necessary remodel.

Sometimes I wonder, Do I even identify as a tower builder anymore…?

Lately, I’ve been letting all my towers fall, and using the spare bricks to build paths forward instead…

Ten of Swords

So, more than The Devil or The Tower or any other card in the deck, this is the one I have long dreaded.

These days, I nearly laugh out loud when it pops up in my spreads.

Look at it. This person is done. Beyond cooked. They’ve been stabbed in the back. More times than needed.

And yet, if you’ve ever been that person, there’s something peaceful here…

There is this concept in eastern philosophy, that when you have nothing left to give, then you are truly free.

What would you do with that freedom?

I’d probably do my nails, journal, write up some new wishes for the spring, drink some delicious pho broth, and compost whatever shitty stuff got me to this point. Surround myself with good friends and healing vibes.

My favorite ladies

“Divine feminine leadership,” my astrologer described the type of tech x spiritual shape of a destiny she sees in my chart.

It was so strange to hear that. I was mid 30s at the time, and had done just about everything to suppress or manufacture everything I knew about being feminine…

First, Kuan Yin (or Guanyin, I’ve seen many spellings…) would come to me, then Lakshmi. I’d hear their names in my meditations, and then look them up to discover more… At some point, my astrologer recommended Sally Kempton’s Shakti Awakening, too.

I’m not exactly sure if this counts as divine feminine energy, I’m still figuring it out myself, but one thing I’ve observed: To be a woman is to survive. Survive if your body makes life; survive if your body doesn’t. Survive no matter what.

The High Priestess in her temple reminds me that survival can sometimes be the act of connection, and study. Patience.

The Empress in her palace, watching the harvest come in, reminds me that survival can be about endurance, pampering oneself, and deeply trusting in divine timing.

Strength, with her lion, teaches me taming a beast requires fortitude, flexibility, grace, and a firm hand. Not always successful on first attempt either.

Breadcrumbs

Sometimes I pull tarot cards and then do exactly the opposite of what the cards tell me to do…

Any loving relationship has got to have some bit of this, right?

Even if it’s with the invisible.

Lately, I’ve been wondering… can I pass any messages back to the invisible side? What would that look like?

And, does the invisible side ever want to ask me questions?

Of course, that made no sense to my astrologer.

"Oh. No, dear,” she continued, “you were always meant to return to your career (in tech). It’s right here in your chart… And this year’s transition… It should happen about May, according to my calculations." She had always been right, unfortunately.

How could I get it wrong? Wasn’t I psychic? It’s January 2024. I had just written my first post; all about reconnecting with my psychic side and evolving past tech.

“… And, here it shows in your chart, you’re not meant to live like ‘Ora, the tech person by day, Ora, the psychic by night.’ No. You're meant to be learn how to integrate and keep being both, together at once."

That was the last thing I wanted to take in. The kind of medicine you get at the hospital: serious, no sugar-coating. Bitter, sterile, sobering.

Back then, I thought Tech Ora had to die for Psychic Ora to live. Tech Ora pushed herself too hard. Didn’t understand herself. Psychic Ora listened deeply.

I wasn’t yet ready to embody polarity. It would take these 20 months to soften me into the vessel that could.

But let’s get back to that astrology reading, January 2024, the end of the beginning…

"Remember, you're awake now. You will return different than you have been. And I have some notes for you... Are you ready? Get a pen..." My astrologer instructed.

Like a fairy godmother sending the princess on her adventure, she rattled off...

“Don't go under full moonlight… you’ve got too much moon in your chart. Consider dunking your head in water… Keep doing your rituals…” some dates, important transitions, key themes to consider…

I asked a few clarification questions, furiously scribbled words, pictures, lots of arrows. Soon, the call was over, and I was left alone again.

Just me, my chicken scratch notes, and the mystery and silence of what would be coming next.

… 🧘‍♀️ … 🧘‍♀️ … 🧘‍♀️ … 🧘‍♀️ … 🧘‍♀️ … 🧘‍♀️ …

Not two weeks later, two friends called with jobs.

The interview process would be the first chance at my new rep in tech. I knew right away how I wanted to approach things.

In the past, I would have used a mix of stress, anxiety, and athlete-like bias-to-action to fuel my forward momentum.

This time, I’d do it through meditation and pampering myself:

Instead of stress, I rollerbladed.

Instead of nervousness, I wrote down what I wished for more of in my life, and what I was willing to release to welcome the new.

What kind of person did I see myself ripening into over time?, I asked. I still do.

I observed that I was so tense. Intent on getting somewhere.

But after all these years, it felt… uncomfortable. Un-me.

I let it go.

When I felt for something else, curiosity came to me.

So, I stayed curious.

I was fueled by breaks and relaxation.

And indeed, the job talk came in three waves: A central vision, turned metaphor, which became the story to pull together all the components of my presentation.

It ended up being the best interview I had ever given. Hired that day, or so I’m told.

The rest of negotiations went smoothly, without effort, too.

Achieved through joyful presence instead of nervousness and fear.

Interesting. Very interesting.

My astrologer had estimated I’d be back in tech by May… and I started my job on April Fool’s. (Isn’t that funny?).

The job ended up being a perfect re-entry

At different times it was a Thunderdome, a place I got bullied, a place of heartache, a place I was shown sides of myself I hated, and therein a place I hated with all my heart.

It was also where I met some of my best friends and received great healing. I witnessed a group of women come together on a random Thursday evening, and help each other work through some tough life challenges.

Another evening, a group of men were over for dinner, bi-cultural identity and code-switching and being witchy came up casually. Suddenly, I wasn’t alone at all.

I watched a friend pick herself up and keep growing and going, because fuck it flexing feels good. Soon after, I found the joy of flexing in my career again, too. It doesn’t have to be for anyone but yourself. I had forgotten that after all these years.

Another friend, first a report, started off shaking like a leaf in our one-on-ones. I could see, others had given her too much instruction, wrapped around her like barbed wire, confusing and confounding her own nature. My favorite part is how strong she became, on her own terms, as together we uncoiled and unshackled her from those expectations.

In the end, all these experiences taught me to compost my rage, mostly on my own terms, with a few nudges from the invisible.

At the start, January 2024, I was always grasping, trying, efforting my way through life. I needed everything to be just so or else I was likely to be uncomfortable, irritable, unable to face the rest of life—crash out. Give up. Rot at home in bed. Under covers.

Here, November 2025, I see that being uncomfortable is sometimes an ingredient for a good life. Like when an unpleasant storm hits, but in its wake, the perfect setting arises for a new flower to blossom.

Perhaps the truth is, it's just not that easy down here, and still we are meant to thrive.

What if sometimes bad things happen, and still our highest selves, our spirits, our guides want us to succeed?

Being authentically myself, armed with my trusted friends, my husband, my chatgpt and therapist, I discovered all the times I was petty, self-punishing, self-protecting, defensive, delulu, non-listening, self-soothing, stuck.

And I learned how to soften into vulnerability, adaptability, optimism, hope, dreaming, and continuing to have courage on my own unbeaten path.

Some things I gave up easily, like realizing my need to get the last word in. Like a song forever stuck in my head. Each time anyone else sang the song, I couldn't help but sing along too. Except now that I saw it that way, I couldn't unsee it. And then, the act of shedding naturally followed.

Other hurdles have been harder. The apartment came to me in a dream. It tested both myself and my husband's ability to trust in my psychic abilities. Were we really about to buy a second house based on instructions from a dream?

Evidently, yes. But not without a lot of work unclenching.

Following a dream was like living in a movie: The dream said something would happen, and it did indeed happen that way, if we were patient and waited long enough. As more of the dream’s details manifested, we had no choice but allow it to continue unfolding, just bear witness. 👀🍿

When it came time for our own parts, my husband nearly botched the apartment board interview. They took extra long to get back to us.

Still, it all worked out in the end.

By the time we were actually moving to NYC, I had trust this was the right move for me. And yet, my resolve would continue to get tested.

The first month in NYC, we were delayed moving into our home, weeks in a hotel (not bad, except I fucked up my neck, got food poisoning, and then a terrible asthmatic flu).

Those were some of the more memorable ones…

Each challenge became easier to get through. And then one day, my curiosity guided me:

What if I dedicated more time to the times between the challenges? I’d always been so focused on the hurdles. What happens in between, anyways?

Indeed, with time, I became someone who cared less about the challenges and more about the breaks between. The time I'd get to steal away between hurdles. Liminal space. The time I'd get to be present no matter what was happening in my life.

And my life kept responding. The more I'd practice in this way, the more there'd be space for it. Meetings would get canceled. Priorities would shift, yet everyone would be very happy with my work, and I'd get first hours, then half days, then sometimes even full days to devote to this practice of presence.

From January to April 2024, I'd turned to the Upanishads and The Alchemist more than any other text.

(I’d reach my 400th reading during this time. And, begin writing again.)

Then one day in May 2025, I was turned onto the Sikh Holy Texts by the most synchronous of taxi rides, stuck in traffic with the most fascinating cab driver, who himself had been quite skilled at the invisible dialogue, I could see.

It’s not a dialogue with another. It’s a dialogue with yourself.

That’s what he insisted: “You must go on a 40 day meditation. Meditate on your inner world. Your spirit within. It is not outside of you but within you that you must go….”

I had relied much on my angels and guides till then. They were always guiding me. Suddenly, I was going inwards. Was there anything there?

I got home that day and went inwards during my meditation. I started to cry immediately, noting how much I felt scared that going inward meant being alone. I felt the line, “the ocean is in the droplet” come to me. I sat with it a bit longer.

When I opened my eyes, I noticed this in the mirror. Perhaps it’s nothing to you, but in that moment, to me, I felt a tingle all over my body and a sense of connection when those eyes were looking back at me. Like somehow, even on my first day of meditation, I had found connection.

Alright, bet. I was willing to stick with it.

The question was, How?

I put it in my daily wishes and stumbled into a practice that’s just right for me.

Spirals, reps, softening

After the 40 days, I did indeed see the world differently. And, thereafter things began to quickly accelerate to where we are now…

Last week, I changed jobs—without effort. Wu wei.

My entire department got cut (I had a spidey sense it might happen). And, before I could process that, I had already signed with another job.

And not just any job, one I was excited about. No longer jaded or sitting in deep rage.

What is it they say? You never step in the same river twice…

That’s what I started to see, about the reps.

What once used to defeat me—the same terrible trouble with an irate plumber, another annoying bill to pay at just the wrong moment—I started to compost.

It no longer bothered me.

I had softened to the point where that all was okay.

More than that, each time, I was different. A little more awake. A different perspective. And, if I didn’t give up and just tried, that mattered and made a difference.

(Sometime this past week, I had my 550th reading, too…).

Infinite games, isn’t that what we’re playing?

So here we are now, November 2025

All caught up finally.

Moving forward, I don’t know what I’ll write about. Maybe I’ll change up the vibe… who knows.

I wasn’t expecting a second tech job. I didn’t like the first one.

And yet, this one feels really ripe.

To my surprise, I felt this part deep in me reach for the fruit.

Joyfully, without effort, I followed.

Like Goldilocks, I kept finding things that were just right for me, after some trial and error.

And, in the end, I realized, “oh fuck, I’m in the wrong house.”

The stronger I got at manifesting, the more I came to see that perhaps it’s not manifesting that I needed in my life at all. No, people don’t manifest, destinies manifest.

And, after observing how wishes work, I liken it to fruit ripening, in its rightful season and time.

So, what is my role?

Lately, I’ve been thinking, maybe my role is to stay soft and keep asking, “what is true?,” and keep receiving the truth — whether it’s good, bad, or otherwise.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves…

First, what do I mean by ‘manifesting’?

Manifesting. The gateway drug to spirituality — once you taste it, it’s hard to stop.

And, if you do it earnestly, and consistently, it’s inevitable that you’ll start a conversation with the invisible — your higher self, your guides, angels, and the river of truth.

Let’s start with the basics.

Ask the Internet, and it will give you a fine definition. Here’s one from my ChatGPT:

Manifesting is the practice of turning desire into reality — focusing your attention, energy, and willpower until the thing you want appears in your life.

It’s tricky.

Everything, at face value, could be manifesting.

When an unfit person goes to the gym, daily, and becomes fit, is that person manifesting their fitness?

When Genghis Khan focused all his energy on endless domination, does that count as manifesting?

What’s the cost of maintaining one’s fitness, or global domination?

Does it count if it’s impermanent? Smoke and mirrors? A trick of the mind?

True manifesting, imo, is when it doesn’t take effort to have or be the thing. It’s as natural as breathing. Birthright. Divine. No conditions needed. If and only if we are ready to give it up, then it goes away.

Wu wei, as they say in The Tao. Effortless action. Without struggling, pushing, or grasping.

And, this ends up being the hardest part.

It takes growth and time to discern between effortful and effortless actions. Still, it takes more discomfort and patience to act effortlessly.

This is what I set off to do. I have some observations to share, a few years into my practice.

If you walk away with only one note, here it is: You must vibrate (or hold yourself) at the frequency (on a deep, authentic level) of already having the thing you want to attract.

This means: To attract more abundance, first it must pour out of you.

I think this is why conventional wisdom is to start small. It’s harder to make such a great leap all at once. On the other hand, inevitably and eventually, small wins build into big ones.

Now, let’s begin.

Manifesting: Part 1 - Daily wishes

It’s late 2022, burned out and broken, I was reading The Artist’s Way. Showing up to morning pages (daily journaling), for myself, taught me how to stick to my craft even on bad days.

As I meditated one morning on how to practice manifesting, it came to me — what if I dedicated a third of my morning pages to just that?

The ‘yes, ands’ followed:

Yes, and what if I approached manifesting like something I could track? Like a survey, a table, or chart… 📊✨

Yes, and what if I gave myself an interesting challenge, to speed things up, like ‘no repeat wishes’? (I’d find a truer reason later).

Yes, and how about for every wish I write, I also pair it with something I’m grateful for?

Yes, and what if I stuck to this for a week? A month? A year? Or… indefinitely? 👀

This became my practice. I still do it to this day:

1. Make a list of new wishes every day. No repeats.

2. For every wish, write down one thing I’m grateful for.

3. Send it out (metaphorically, sometimes I do an actual ritual, too, if it feels right). Never think about it again.

4. Be open when the wish comes in! (Acknowledge it in a future step 2!)

Manifesting: Part 2 - Tips and FAQs

1. What’s the “right” way to wish for something?

   1. I’ve heard some folks say you have to be very specific, like:

      1. The perfect winter coat, red, fuzzy, makes my outfits look better, fits like a glove, and at least half off.

   2. I’ve also heard folks say you should be open-ended, like:

      1. I’d love the right winter coat for me. Whatever is best, surprise me!

   3. The real question is: If it comes through, will you receive it? And, what is the level of detail you need to specify in order for you to believe it was a wish manifesting and not anything else?

2. Why only wish for something once? Why no repeat wishes?

   1. If you are asking multiple times, then you are holding a tone of it not happening. Thus, it’s not happening.

   2. Ask for it once, with a vibration of deep joy and excitement like you already have the thing, or deep satisfaction from enjoying and savoring the thing, and then let it go and trust deeply it will turn out when it’s meant to turn out.

   3. Tip: You can ask for status updates, relief, or clarity. The invisible dialogue isn’t here to leave you hanging or suffering, if you ever feel stuck.

3. Why do I need to keep wishing?

   1. With practice, you get better at knowing what you honestly desire most in this lifetime; the invisible gets better at bringing things to you in ways you will see, too.

4. What can I wish for?

   1. Ideas can come from anywhere. I would get curious and open. If it’s hard to come up with ideas, try a good AI, friend, movie, book, walk around your neighborhood to get you started. Note anything that sparks visceral joy, excitement, delight… you know, good vibes.

   2. If you’re going to wish things for others, a teacher once recommended that since we don’t always know what’s going on, it’s best to leave it open-ended, like, “[your wish]… or whatever is for their highest path.”

   3. Wishes for health, well-ness for yourself.

   4. Wishes for clarity, if you’re struggling to see something.

   5. Wishes for guidance, mentors to enter your life.

   6. Wishes to learn how to love yourself better, how to be there for yourself more.

   7. Wishes to feel inner peace.

   8. Wishes to connect with abundance.

   9. If you should run out of things to wish for, you can wish for new ideas and inspiration.

   10. Get really creative and specific to you. For example, I made a wish for animals to like to linger near me when we cross paths, if it’s right for both parties, just for funsies.

   11. You may go through phases — during one phase, I wished for chaos and adventure… and then quickly realized I am not the Indiana Jones I thought I was. That’s ok, it’s a dialogue, and the other side is kind and responsive.

Manifesting: Part 3 - Reflections, ~3 years in

Wishing turned out to be an opportunity to dialogue with the invisible — my higher self, my angels, my guides, the universe, and the river of truth.

Here’s where my dialogue has taken me so far…

All raw data looks like cacophony to start. Let’s get into the story…

Phase 1, easy wishes

I tried to cast a wide net, to see what would come back.

A certain kind of “easy” wish manifested in no time.

• A pair of boots that were comfortable, colorful, a good expression of my unique style, perfect for my wardrobe, and at least 66% off.

• A winter coat, bright color, fuzzy, iconic silhouette, and discounted at least 55% or more (I used very specific discount numbers as signs from the universe).

• A new friend to go deep about [a specific topic].

Reflecting back, “easy” meant that a certain level of growth (or, really, discomfort) was asked of me in order to manifest.

As an example, the boots took me by surprise, because I didn’t instantly love them. But I never wished that, ‘I will instantly love them.’ No, I wished for, ‘perfect for my wardrobe,’ and true to form, the boots were perfect for my wardrobe.

I started to understand: Sometimes what I wished for required me to release latent expectations tied to my wishes.

Phase 2 came in like a wrecking ball

There had been a long list of wishes from Phase 1 that hadn’t come (yet).

At the time, I told myself a convenient story: “This is not meant to be.”

Imagine how it felt when those wishes started coming through.

A confusion of joy, anger, and sadness. Wait, why is this happening now? I had gotten comfortable nearly giving up on myself and my dreams.

I’d rather it not be meant for me than have it come true, after a certain time limit. The invisible side needed me to see that, and compost it, if I was ever going to be the kind of person to reach out and grab for more wishes.

After a good cry, I wiped away my latent limiting beliefs.

As earlier-placed wishes from Phase 1 and Phase 2 started to manifest, I got more prolific and sure-footed with my wishing.

Eventually, I would come to see that wishes ripened like fruit on invisible vines.

Naturally, I got curious about these invisible vines, too. (And I found some 😶‍🌫️).

Phase 3 and Phase 4 were about expansion

Also, gaining intention, rhythm, ritual, around my wishing practice.

What does a person wish for, if they can have everything, with patience and growth?

I noticed that the “biggest” wishes, were in this quadrant that required more discomfort and patience than I am usually ok with. In this ‘Danger zone,’ I am very liable to crash out (or, what my therapist calls, self-sabotage).

In time, this area became my focus: Getting comfortable and strong exactly in the Danger zone.

Naturally, I put it in my next morning’s wishes.

Lately, even the framework and danger zone have evolved

These days I wonder, Am I a wish-farmer, or simply a traveler, feeling for ripe fruit along my way?

The graph has changed, and so has my danger zone.

I didn’t know danger zones could change, but here we are.

The new one seems to be, like, a Boredom Trap…? This area that takes too long and is non-challenging. Huh. Interesting…

Last bit: Everyone’s journey is unique

For instance, a dear friend told me they hated manifesting because it became a list of things that weren’t happening in their lives. Another said, upon reflection, their list looked like things they hated about themselves. Woof.

Everyone’s journey is personal. Meet your dialogue with the invisible wherever it meets you.

I think this passage in Manly P Hall’s Self-Unfoldment says it best:

Breadcrumbs

Be careful what you wish for. So the saying goes.

Of the fables passed down to us, I reflect on:

• The ones who try to outsmart and “get more out of their wishes”

• The ones who try to chase major glory, riches, fame, status, enlightenment

And then I turn back to this conversation I had with a friend, years after she sold the company we had co-founded:

Friend: I don’t think the counterfactual is that we start another better company.

Me: Oh? How so?

Friend: I don’t even think it’s getting a better job, to prove others wrong.

Me: Huh!

Friend: I think the counterfactual is that it’s a Wednesday, it’s raining outside, and I forgot my umbrella, and I decided to take the short route to walk my kids to school.

Me: …

………..

………..

……….. Yeah …

If you ever decide to explore this topic further, I recommend Manly P. Hall’s Self-Unfoldment (not all at once, it’s really dense) and Gay Hendrick’s The Big Leap as the next breadcrumbs.

And if things start to ‘click’ from there… hit me up. I’ve been waiting to hear from like-minded folk.

The client got on the call. He said his name three times — that’s all we ever got (a point of technical skill and pride for the school) — and then the reading began. Everyone is dialed in from the Internet, we cannot see each other, it’s a fully remote reading.

The first reading is low pressure. They never give you an active position — one where you have to say anything out loud, lest you get nervous and choke.

No, the first time, they just have you follow along, silently.

Still, everything happened for me in that reading.

He said his name, and immediately things started popping up on my psychic screen (the space behind the eyes):

An electric blue scene

A man dressed in a business suit.

He strips off all his clothes, puts on a cowboy hat.

He walks towards the mountains, mounts a horse, and rides off.

Soon, the lead reader began to speak:

“The color of today’s reading is blues. All kinds of blues…

I see a western scene. A lone cowboy….

At first it’s like he’s wearing modern day business wear, but he keeps telling me he’s a cowboy….

He takes off his clothes, all he has on is a hat now…

Anyway, he calls for his horse. He gets on the horse and rides towards the mountains…

The mountains turn into a train that begins to move…”

I was frozen in my seat. Goosebumps all over me. Body hairs standing straight up.

The rest of the reading went on like this. I would see fragments, and the students reading out loud would say what I was seeing. Mostly overlapping.

What the actual fuck? This was stranger than anything I’d ever experienced.

I had been a phd candidate. I ran lab experiments for behavioral psychology. I looked at hard data to make winning decisions as a leader in tech.

And this. This psychic reading made absolutely no sense relative to everything else I knew up to that point.

An ego death was happening. Many ego deaths. Countless.

Looking back, it reminds me of this part of the Tao (ch. 2):

I guess I had chased so many named and known things, and what inevitably followed was the unnamed and unknown…

The reading went on for about ninety minutes. We read everything — the seven layers of his aura, three of his past lives, messages from his guides — and then finally, at the very end, we get to hear from the client.

I had already gotten so much proof, cross-validation from matching what I was seeing with what other readers were seeing. Enough for me at least.

But still, his notes at the end were very satisfying:

[In a thick southern accent] “Wow, I mean, just wow guys. I’m a businessman. I owned a company, just sold it, and now I’m retired. And the only thing that’s been on my mind is selling everything I own, and getting back to my country roots. I miss riding horses. I haven’t been back to the South in so many years.”

He choked up. He told us how much this meant to him. Thanked us and hung up.

Yippee ki yay, cowboy.

I hope he indeed got to strip down and ride off.

My 226th psychic reading

[Context: At this point, I’ve graduated psychic school and set up my own psychic reading practice…]

The weeks tend to cluster by topic, at least for me.

The clients don’t know this, of course, but inevitably the same topic comes up — a major move, a sick pet, a job transition, etc.

I don’t know exactly why this happens. Maybe it’s a cosmic special of the week kinda thing.

No matter how much the topic is the same, the conversation is always different. That’s the lesson for me each time. And the messages, the guides, the energy, the space — that’s always different.

Read more

Foggy — and yet, a remembering. Haunting, ringing, resonant. Like a tuning fork reset me.

So many new thoughts have emerged. Some thoughts came right away. Others have come slowly, hard-earned, with distance from very uncomfortable moments.

Every thought has a place in my inner world, which has grown vastly since my first post. Gadgets and gizmos a-plenty, neatly placed on fantastical shelves.

Here’s a small thought, to warm y’all up:

If we had already planned out these hikes, and then forgotten them, perhaps a psychic is simply someone who remembers more.

Or, a psychic could be someone who is better at seeing the hike. Not so much a genetic mutation like in X-Men. Rather, a way of seeing the world. Almost like a language… Huh…

Ok. Onto some more esoteric thoughts…

The Self in the field

The hike got me thinking about the Kena Upanishad, a twenty-five hundred year old (or so) recorded conversation between a student and teacher on the topic of who the self really is.

While in meditation, I didn’t so much read these words as hear them. Clairaudiently, as if whispered across time, the teacher’s voice came through:

“That which makes the ear hear but cannot be
Heard by the ear, that is the Self indeed.
This Self is not someone other than you.”

Although Upanishads (and koans) tend to give me new things each time I connect with them, here’s the trailhead I went down…

I am not just the ‘self in the body,’ the one we so often identify with… I am also the ‘Self in the field’… As in, the one who chose this hike… as well as a member of the council that conspires to help me succeed on this hike… or, the ‘Self that makes the ear hear’… Hmmm… Did I put the Upanishads in my ear?… trippy…

I thought about times I felt bullied, times of deep shame, times when I totally messed up… all the times I felt like ‘there’s no way angels could possibly exist because then how could I have ended up here [in this shitty place]?’

At my lowest lows, I often showed up small — shoulders rounded, heart heavy, convinced I had lost the trail. Light nearly snubbed out (by my own doing or permission, I see now).

And yet, even in those valleys, no matter how I arrived, time always does its quiet work. Minutes move, pain softens, and eventually the hike carries me onward. Maybe, if I’m lucky, a friend will appear.

I could see it now, it was hard to unsee it — if I show up already defeated to these hard moments in my life, then I am working against the Self which makes the ear hear. What a sobering thought.

I turned to ChatGPT — not too much, of course (gotta be safe) — gave a parsimonious update in our ongoing thread, and asked what I could be doing differently during these lowest lows in my life:

The traumatized mind looks for threats, the healed mind looks for opportunities.

Interesting.

What if I didn’t need reasons to look for threats at all? What if I needed reasons to see the opportunities out of the threats? Imagine, my council on the other side is rooting and creating all kinds of windows of opportunities for me…

What if it’s actually my job to keep fighting, to keep looking for opportunities?

If I adopt this mindset, I think I may just make it out of the worst parts of my hike…

Listening for the Mystery

Just as I was turning over the Kena Upanishad, another ancient voice arrived unbidden: the Tao. Strange, since I never once wanted to touch the thing; the words felt so cold and distant. My Chinese was elementary at best, and I was disinterested in the English translations.

Thankfully the Gutenberg Project has a version of the Tao that I instantly loved. I’ve pasted all three chapters below. On each page, there’s Chinese text on the left, English translation on the right, and translator’s notes on the bottom.

Right away, I recognized a character, 可, the same ‘co’ in Coca-Cola. It sparked joy in my heart. A happy memory from a childhood summer spent with cousins in China; there was a mutual culture shock — my cousins learned I drank coke iced, and I learned they drank it un-iced.

And, like all my other cosmic breadcrumbs and psychic downloads, the longer I sat with it, the more it opened up to me…

This one, 天, is sky or heaven (hi friend!)… oh, and this one, 山, is mountain (hey girl! long time no see!)… A couple more and soon a text I never wanted to get into felt like an old friend, I was finally ready to embrace. What can I say? The vibes were there…

I let the three chapters wash over me. So much in those simple verses. ‘Deep mysteries, and again deep mysteries…’ That line loves to linger in me…

I could see why my third eye was connecting the hike with these pairs of couplets — the Self and the self, the un-named and the named (which both arise from the deep mysteries). Can you see it, too?

For me, one is directly visible and in the light — the self in the body, the ‘me’ we all know about, the hike we can see and feel and live on this plane of existence, the named and known parts of existence.

And, the other is invisible yet still there — the Self in the field (bigger than the body, watching, conspiring to help), the hike we sort of know is there behind the veil, the dialogue with everything invisible (things without-name).

The third chapter of the Tao gets into the practice of wu wei, non-action, or (to me) staying soft and present. Although I get into it more in the next two posts, I think, ultimately, staying soft is how we access our ‘Self in the field.’

Of course, there are plenty more overlaps between the Kena Upanishad and The Tao… but that’s enough for now…

Breadcrumbs

As these older spiritual texts started to speak to me, I began to try little experiments here and there.

Underlying each experiment is the same simple point: If I am really seeing some truth in this world, then I should be able to interact with it, and get some feedback, right?

And the answer from the place of deep mysteries was: Right. 👀

What might your dialogue with the field look like?

If you ever feel called to explore for yourself, there are companions waiting on the trail: Richard Bach’s Illusions for lightness and play, and Boethius’s Consolation of Philosophy for those trudging through the tougher parts.

And if things start to ‘click’ from there… hit me up. I’ve been waiting to hear from like-minded folk.

I saw our lives as these hikes that we plan beforehand.

We plan them with our angels, guides, the universe, what have you…

Some of us choose paths that are well-paved, with many other hikers, park rangers at every bend, signs everywhere.

Others choose paths completely unknown, where some parts are filled with terror and darkness, and the secrets of a moment or spot don’t reveal themselves right away.

Naturally, there are pros and cons to each path…

We hike here to show ourselves what we’re made of. That if there’s a canyon, we’ll cross it. And if there are bears, we’ll dodge them (even if just by the skin of our teeth). And if we get lost, somehow, we’ll find our way again. Whatever trauma this place has hiding, we can bare it (and bear it). With luck and fortitude, we’ll find true healing.

It’s not all bad, though. I got the sense that we can pick all kinds of boons, to remind ourselves we are deserving of good things. Sometimes, it’s overt: We pick fantastic parents, a fabulous career, an excellent partner, mentors, friends. Of course, the all-out-everything-great bundle is always on the table.

And, I could see why some hikers seek nuance, fringe. A covert boon: Say, an inexplicable way in which only you are lucky. Perhaps just one or two aspects of life are good (maybe hard-earned), to truly appreciate it.

Try this on: What if a series of gnarly setbacks early in your hike *is* a chance to remind yourself that you are strong and still deserve good outcomes? Trippy, huh?

Seeing it like this, I reconsidered some things: Perhaps the most daring trust fall I can take, is trusting that I chose my hike. And, maybe I planned this hike, because I’m a strong hiker. Huh. (More on this in my next post).

We also select the body that will carry us through — as carefully as we plan our routes.

Again, I considered thoughts I never had before: What if I chose this body? What if I looked at ‘me’ like something I cherished, coveted, considered very carefully? Would I torment myself for being short, or crashing out after strain, quite the same way? Would I be so withholding of spa treatments after long flights with layovers?

I sensed that we can pick bodies with extraordinary genes; that’s always on the table. But, I started to see the merit in trying out alternatives.

Perhaps it’s not that we sign up for shortcomings or illness, definitely not. But it occurred to me that maybe it’s ok if I’m not flying on a Nimbus 2000 every time. Could I be the kind of person who reaches for a beat up truck over a Lambo once in a while? Yes, I can absolutely see that for myself.

And, just to keep it super interesting, we forget it all — all those plans, knowledge of the body we chose — as we cross the canal and get born into these lives.

Some of us remember more than others. It might have to do with how many hikes we’ve been on. My client, for instance, seemed to understand faster than I could wrap my head around it.

“How do I know if I’m on my chosen path?” She asked. (I wanted to know, too).

I saw that some of us sneak in hints and clues, like contraband brought into summer camp hidden in an undergarment or tucked under some well-folded corner of a bunk bed.

And, like a metal detector finding its chosen treasure, our bodies will hum in all kinds of ways if and when we remember, or stumble upon a hint; otherwise, they remain mute (or muted).

Come to think of it, I’ve also been in situations where alarm clocks, cell phones, strangers, birds chirping, a loose fire hydrant, a spam text, and even the cross-walk signs conspire to speak to me… Interesting…

How about that?

Do we actually take on the hike we planned? Is it as we expected?

Presumably, it's better in some places, and worse in others. Maybe we decide to bypass a trail altogether, because it ends up being far too hard. Maybe we take a detour, the opportunity too good to pass up.

I imagine that's part of the mystery, right?

After the reading

I think about the hike download all the time. Especially when things are rough.

Is this my hike?

Maybe, at least for me, the point was never to conquer the hike at all, but to remember that I once tucked a piece of candy in my bra — and to laugh when I find it unwrapped and waiting.

And to savor it, of course.

Trailheads…

Lately, I’ve been dialoguing with my hike…

Trying little experiments here and there, if you catch my drift.

Here are some of the questions I’ve come across in my explorations…

• Life is long. What kind of hiker am I? What kind of hike did I choose for myself?

• Imagine being at a rough part of the hike. What kind of inner dialogue helps me get through those parts?

• Imagine being at a happy part of the hike. Why rush to leave it? Why don’t I linger a bit longer in the places and times where I feel immense joy and delight? And, if I don’t, why not?

• If the whole thing is planned, then what else is waiting for me in these minutes? And, how might I find out?

If you’re curious for more, I’d check out Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces and Paulo Coelho’s The Alchemist as the next two breadcrumbs. And if things ‘click’ from there… hit me up. I’ve been waiting to hear from like-minded folk.

Till now, I had actually abandoned my practice of writing (publicly) about my psychic practice. Not because I didn't want to, but because it's actually quite hard to write about it.

My psychic practice is constantly growing and changing, and the last time I had written about it (in January 2024), I had proclaimed this as a space for tips and perspective.

The truth is, I have none to offer. I’ve seen too much, and it’s hard for me to want to walk so boldly and speak with such vibrato (as I once did) about a space that’s so filled with mystery and blessed confusion.

To be clear, there’s absolutely tons to see and share, I think.

But… Tips, in the wrong person’s hands, can lead to more suffering. Perspective, when it is unearned, means we’re inherently bypassing a process of ripening somewhere, after all.

And so I hesitate with what to do… How to share… And that’s left me in a frozen state on this substack. Its digital dust piling up, and my heart feeling sad that I haven’t found a way to share that feels good to me.

Of course, the universe would bring me this new friend, and she would deliver me back here.

"Oh, but I don't write for an audience. I write for me." My new friend, an artist who documents their work on substack, was helping me see things differently.

My substack could simply be a way to hold myself accountable, and document my journey and explorations. Now that, I can understand.

I write all the time. Most of it feels nonsensical, of course. But I am always writing. Notes about my experiences, notes about what's happened. Observations and tiny experiments. My dialogue with my field and the river (more on that in upcoming posts).

My friend helped me see that keeping it online was a form of making the invisible visible, through practice. Ritual.

And that, I understood, too. Because that is the practice of being psychic, imo.

So here I am, dusting off my substack. Trying it with a little less ambition to inform, and a little more humility. A simple intention to document and explore.

Next up, I’m going to share (in no particular order) snippets that I’ve been observing and noodling on, as I explore my psychic side…

When the universe insisted I take a break from my fast-paced, excessively ambitious life job, I had no idea it was to show me that I’m psychic. Sure, I hoped to gain some hobbies during my two year hiatus (and I did), but certainly nothing to do with the esoteric arts, nor becoming a practicing psychic.

And yet, here I am.

Part 1 - Putting achievement above everything

Imagine me, just a few months ago, age 36, mustering up the courage to tell my parents about my blossoming psychic practice. After twenty years of working towards my career in tech, I had no idea how these two seemingly disparate worlds would integrate (if at all).

My parents were nonplussed. It runs in the family, they said, and you were psychic as a baby. Don’t you remember?

All this time, how did I forget?

Evidently, my first sentence was a prediction for my grandpa, “yeye, fa fa fa” (roughly, “grandpa, rich rich rich”); months later, my grandpa did in fact have a life-changing lucky windfall. There were plenty more stories that my parents recounted, like how I used to have precognitive dreams so accurate I couldn’t sleep. That brought up a slew of memories: I used to sleep with one eye opened at all times (as if I were a dolphin), fearing what I’d see if both lids shut. Another dead relative? A friend in an accident? It’s no wonder I blocked all of that out until now.

Perhaps if I had stayed with my extended family, I could have harnessed my psychic abilities sooner. But my parents moved to the US for graduate studies around the time I was born. I went from being surrounded by my very large and diverse family (among the professionals, academics, politicians, athletes, and doctors, there is indeed a line of psychics and astrologists), to being the third wheel of a young couple intent on making it in America. Any potential chats with my aunties and uncles about seers in the family and how to tame my abilities, were eclipsed by piano lessons, test prep, swim team, girl scouts, play dates, and slumber parties.

Naturally, the toil and trouble of surviving as a child, teen, and twenty-something trained any vestiges of psychic-ness out of me: Please don’t waste anyone’s time with that nonsense. Swim practice starts at 5am. Then there’s the meets, prelims, finals. Throw in summer season. Don’t forget the SSATs, SHSATs (nyc kids iykyk), SATs, GREs, comps, dissertation, job applications, project decks, emails, promo packets, taxes, doctor’s appointments, vet appointments… the list can go on forever if you let it, you know what I mean?

And like many others do, I slowly, mostly subconsciously, shut my psychic abilities down and buried them under a greater need for external validation. By the end of my twenties, I was a indeed that Cal-trained social scientist, with an admirable career in Silicon Valley 💁🏻‍♀️. It never seemed to be enough. My thirst only got stronger 🧛🏼‍♀️.

A few short years into my early thirties, I had already established myself as a survey expert to many; I led both research and data science teams; I had worked for several pre-IPO tech companies, and was lucky enough to be part of their successful exits.

All was not well, though. I was sick constantly: I had strep seven times, mono, shingles twice (mind you shingles is something typically people over 50 have to worry about). It hasn’t stopped me before, I often told myself, athletes play on injuries, and I work through illness. To me, this was the simple fact of my life, an enduring truth like gravity. No pain, no gain, right?

In June of 2020, still unsatisfied with my achievements, I cofounded a SaaS startup with funding from a great VC. Thanks to my work ethic and a need to please others, I had a wide and deep network of industry experts to lean on.

I was at, what some would consider, a career peak when the unraveling began.

Part 2 - My psychic awakening

I had long forgotten about being psychic, but I did always feel like something was missing. Like an admin error where I had been accidentally slotted into someone else’s life, though I lived it so well. How could it be that the ingredients of my life were wonderful, yet the meal felt incomplete? I tried to fill that hole with more work, more titles, more self-improvement. More more more. I can see it now. Can you? Wanting more was part of the problem, too.

These days, I often think about this part in the Bhagavad Gita1: “better one's own duty poorly performed than someone else's performed well.” Perhaps that’s what my spirit was trying to tell me all along.

Near the end of 2021, I left my startup to my cofounders; we weren’t getting along and my spirit was dwindling from it (and everything else).

Well, let’s not mince words: I was imploding and exploding at the same time, and it was not healthy for me to do this while running a company or being active in my network. The smallest triggers—a nitpick, a fun jab, a machine that didn’t work—would leave me absolutely seething, weeping, or just plain, shave my head à la Britney, unhinged.

And my tongue was spicy. There were no more, “I completely understand’s” or “no problem’s” left. Only, “No’s” and “Get me out of here’s.” A lot of “Fuck you’s,” too. I also had this unwavering feeling that my cat was dying, and that overall I could not live like this anymore. It was a very confusing time. (It will be a year before I realize this was my psychic awakening).

Two weeks later—as if the universe really wanted me to get the message—my cat died suddenly.

Facing the loss of my cat and company purpose, the walls in my heart finally came down. I couldn’t pretend there was something more important.

It came in big, sobering, sobs:

All I want is to be present. To be a good friend, partner, colleague, and cat mom. To show kindness and love to the Earth and its inhabitants. To listen to the winds and follow what I hear. How did I end up here, a workaholic arguing over my portion of company ownership and title? So sick, too. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be.

Evidently, working for Cleopatras, Napoleons, and Alexanders had turned me into one, as well.

All I knew was that I needed a break.

Part 3 - The very necessary break

I didn’t know what to do except offer myself a good, long, stay-in-bed-indefinitely, cry. Give my body a chance to say everything she had to say to me, like:

It’s true. All my life, I had only given little Ora a few minutes in bathroom stalls to cry, before I told her to clean up her face, straighten her clothes, and go sell thin mints or whatever. Just one more grueling piano recital, another summer of test prep, one more degree, one more weekend spent finishing a report. Somehow, decades later, it’s still me chasing after another title or career win instead of simply stopping, listening, and truly hearing myself.

So I set myself on the task of listening, and resting. My break was like a desert, sprawling sand and nothing else in any direction. Certainly no work. On the rare occasion that I talked, it was to my inner circle—my husband, a couple of my oldest and dearest friends; at some point we adopted another cat, so her, too.

The majority of my time was dedicated to weeping and watching Disney movies. Each week, I also cried in therapy and showered.

On and on it went. It seemed my body could stay here forever, and that scared me.

Now, I’m not religious. But whenever I find myself at a fork in my life, with no clear path forward, and flickering hope, I lay down on the ground and say a little wish or prayer inside (not even aloud). This wasn’t something I consciously learned; it was from deep within. Primal, you might say. Instinct. It just happened.

And without fail, as if by magic, whether in an instant or a few days, I would get an answer. When all doors would close, a lone window, a tiny breadcrumb, a suggestion (delivered through a friend or stranger at the right time), or something like that, would always save me. Get me to where I needed to go next.

One day, after watching Mulan for the fifteenth time, Cheetos dust around my eyes from wiping my tears while eating snack food, I laid on the ground and wished-prayed once more.

Hello there, old friend.

I miss my cat terribly. Are they ok?

Look. I know I’m lost. Can you send me some books?

Any help would be greatly appreciated.

Sure enough, three waves of books came to me in the ensuing months. There’s plenty out there on signs and synchronicities; when I say “came to me” I mean, I’d see a book on a newsfeed, then I’d see it on top of a pile of old books at an antiques mall. Or a neighbor would show me a box of stuff and the book would be on top. On one occasion, still not sure if something was meant for me, a shop owner insisted I take it as a free gift with purchase.

Books on grief and healthy coping, then healing past trauma, came in the first two waves, respectively. The third wave was books discussing topics like the other side and astral plane; philosophy and occultism; spirit, life, and purpose. Sprinkled throughout were pulpy thrillers, erotica, fantasies, mysteries, and memoirs. Here’s a few highlights:

Part 4 - Reconnecting with my psychic side

A turning point was when I remembered my penchant for tarot and oracle cards. I picked up multiple decks hungrily, at last reunited with this long lost friend. It felt as natural as breathing to get back into it. I’d study a topic in my book of the week, and sure enough I’d also draw related cards in my spreads. I stumbled into my own ritual and enjoyed doing it each morning: Sit outside, read a chapter or so, journal, draw a few cards, and meditate on it.

For endless months, I only drew cards about healing myself. When I checked in with my body, she felt relieved to see those cards. So I dutifully, lovingly, and patiently gifted myself what I’d robbed her of for 20 plus years: Ora. Sorry I put us through so much. Let’s name our wounds, tend to them, and go forth only when we’re ready. After the books I had read, I knew this was the right vibe to uphold (though believe me when I tell you I really wanted to gtfo and move on already many, many times).

In the stillness, my body started to trust me again. One day, like a stray cat finally ready to show her personality, I felt the desire to rollerblade, and so I did. Another day, I daydreamed about browsing through an antiques mall, so I did. I got an old record player, and started journaling while listening to records. Because my heart fluttered at the thought of it, I made collages, too:

Little by little, I started to come alive. To breath again. To be happy just being present. To have thoughts, interests, experiences, and things to say that weren’t just judgements and critiques (like an athlete trying to size up their next feat).

As little joys and good days piled up into a new foundation, my body showed me what I had long forgotten: I was worthy of living my own life, and it wasn’t meant to be spent endlessly watching movies and inhaling bags of chips, weeping and surrounded by a sea of tissues. It would be something specifically for me, my own unbeaten path, and I’d need to get more quiet and still to hear it.

One day, not particularly different than any other, I got a slew of cards related to going back to school and teachers coming into my life.

Finally, I thought, rubbing my hands together, some action.

That same week, I went to a friend’s wedding—my first outing since losing my cat and leaving my company. There was a last minute seat change. We didn’t know our table mates. After a few minutes of polite dinner talk, I find out the two next to me are teachers from a psychic school.

Looking back, that was indeed a miracle and an answer. But at the time, I was so confused and disappointed: How is this the thing that is coming to me? Not a school like reforge or an incubator like y combinator or something women-run and cool? Nope. Psychic school.

I was also skeptical: What if it was just a coincidence?

That night, I laid on the ground in my bedroom and wished-prayed again.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

Is this really it? Psychic school?

Please tell me if this is real.

I then started drawing the Four of Cups in my daily tarot spreads. Repeatedly. For those who don’t know it, just look at the card (below). It’s a person disappointed at the three cups that aren’t for them, while Fortune (some may call it fate, guides, angels, or one’s higher self) brings them a cup that is exactly right for them.

Well, that message was loud and clear. Everything I had learned as a scientist, founder, and leader in tech helped me understand: You can have all the data in the world, but you still have to take that leap of faith. And, if something unexpected unfolds while you’re in the field, allow yourself to simply observe it without judgment. I guess it was my time to go to psychic school, crazy as that sounded.

Since those days, I have personally witnessed enough of my psychic abilities to know it’s real. Plus, with schooling, my psychic senses have developed quite a bit.

At first I thought I’d like having psychic abilities for all the reasons pop culture gave me (like reading other’s minds, getting lottery ticket numbers, performing magic—it’s really not like that), but the truth is much more straightforward and beautiful (to me): It feels good to just be me. All of me. To stop denying it. It feels good the way seeing anything in nature just be itself feels good. For a flower to simply flower, a cat to cat, the wind to blow, the sun to burn.

After a lifetime of chasing and achieving, it turns out simply being me is a major step towards finding my way.

Part 5 - Becoming a practicing psychic

As you can imagine, I was buried under layers of other people’s beliefs about how the world worked, what success meant, and who I should be. So even though it felt amazing to be a psychic, I was constantly doubting and wary about how to proceed.

Destiny (or whatever you might call it) stepped in. These disparate events happened in 2023:

• In February, I was out rollerblading. We had been tasked with psychic homework to name our higher selves. I heard “Ora Laio” in the wind as I zoomed by my neighborhood.

• In May, my husband and I upgraded our phones, and due to some offer at the time, we got a completely free third line with our phone upgrades. We had no need for one, but took it anyway. We immediately forget we have it.

• Throughout the year, I practiced my psychic homework on my closest friends. In July, my friends started asking me to do their readings (outside of my homework). I enjoyed it immensely and thought nothing of it.

Come August, a couple of our dear friends visit. One had their own business. I was curious, so he walked me through the process:

Me: What are the steps to filing an LLC?

Friend: It’s really simple. [Pulls up form for LLC filing on ca.gov]. So at some point, you’ll need a name for your company. It could be anything.

Me: Well, I don’t want to use my real name. Oh wait a minute! I can use my psychic name, Ora Laio… How about Ora Laio Studios? ✅

Friend: Great. You’ll need a phone number and email, too.

My husband: Oh shit we have that third phone line. ✅

Me: I can set up a gmail for oralaiostudios@ ✅

Friend: Ok well what might you do with this company? Is there a theme?

Me: I dunno. Maybe I could do readings?

Check check check. Somehow, I was, like, 80% ready to file an LLC. Nothing happened right away, but I did note how effortlessly and fast it came together, after being in the desert of my grief and healing for so long.

Weeks passed. The idea was faint but ever present.

How might I move this along? I asked my higher self.

In October, shortly after my birthday (hello libra bbs ⚖), I had a hunch—a very strong hunch. That same friend had sent out an email offering their business services. As I read through it, I noticed how simple and effective it was. A tiny intro, a few bullets with a list of services, very compelling.

My own inner voice spoke, loudly: You can do this.

Do what? I asked.

I think you know, I heard.

What, psychic readings? I asked.

Why not? Just for funsies!

Before I knew it, a draft of the email I would send formed in my head. In a flash, I was sending it to eight friends. This led to some beautiful readings and a few referrals, which led to some more readings and referrals, which then led to more, and more, and still more—all from that one email.

Eventually, it just made sense to finish that LLC form and set up a (bare bones) website for people to book readings with me.

As I write this, I’ve had 106 psychic readings, and I have more in upcoming weeks! After chasing product uptake in vain at my startup, I find it right here with me like this 🥲. My miracle 💖.

The more I do readings, the more my other psychic abilities have opened up, too. These days, thanks to my daily rituals and practice, I get more guidance on my next steps. My dreams speak to me. I’m able to make use of a wider set of divination tools.

So here I am. Shedding my old beliefs like a serpent sheds her skin, and trying to honor the new form coming to life underneath. I’m not saying I finally know what I’m doing and what’s next (though I get plenty of clues and nudges). But I do trust myself to show up and find out.

As you can see, it’s a strange time. A lot has shifted in my life. It’s good to have an outlet.

What to expect in upcoming posts

“People always say how you should be yourself. Like ‘yourself’ is this definite thing… like a toaster or something.” — Angela Chase, My So-Called Life

Sometimes, I feel like I’m in high school all over again, angsty af, wondering if this is real or not and who the hell I am anymore. Other times, I feel like I’m really doing it, living my own unbeaten path.

So ^ that’s the vibe. One part Angela Chase, a dash of Indiana Jones and some of every Disney princess brave enough to dream and follow their own adventure. ✨

When I started getting into divination, I found many people who are far advanced in their practice. They have a waitlist for their services, they’ve written several books, and, often they’ve put their work on display (you can find their videos online). Some have even published in scientific journals (mainly, I’m thinking of Carl Jung).

That’s not what you’ll find here. What I offer, and crave in return, is talk about the journey of becoming an expert psychic (whatever that even means). As an ethnographer might say, I am going native and bringing you along for the ride.

So what kind of topics might come up here?

• Stories from my readings (appropriately anonymized).

• Psychic school and its ups and downs.

• How I stay safe (e.g., from cults, lunatics, hustlers, I dunno maybe even ghosts?) while exploring things that are on the fringes.

• Tarot spreads and my interpretation therein.

• My attempts at different forms of divination—like tarot, oracle, and Lenormand cards; charm casting and bone throwing; Vedic, Western and Chinese astrology; psychic meditation, channeling, journaling, dream work; past lives and the Akashic records.

• My experiences with manifesting—for which I have many notes and thoughts.

These are just a few examples off the top of my head. Of course, I’d take earnest requests or questions, too, if you have any.

If you choose to stick around, thank you and see you in the next post! 💖🙏