Travel Diaries

Swaying with a Snake in Greece...

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Earlier today, I was moving through some dense energy, and decided to face it... breathing into my womb, and then, beginning to dance... activating my 'turn on', and thereby changing my mood, rather quickly.

I was soon after inspired to take a walk, and asked my Higher Self to lead me... as I'm in a city in Greece that is totally new to me. I was guided to walk down to the harbour, and soon passed a woman, holding a snake, and offering photos with it. I passed by, and couldn't stop thinking about the snake. It quickly pulled me back. I was less interested in getting my photo taken with it, and more interested in just spending time with it. Even though I have a snake tattoo, I'd never actually touched a snake.

So I walked back to the woman, who turned out to be Syrian and very lovely. She offered me her snake, and though I was nervous, I Iet her drape it around me. For the first few minutes of connecting with it, I sent it loving energy and thank yous, but didn't take my eyes off it's head. But after we took the photos, and the snake stayed on me, I started to feel very comfortable. Within 10 minutes I was chatting away, to the lovely Syrian snake woman, without needing to check on the snake and where his head was at. At one point I began dancing with him, and he perked up and started moving with me, bringing his eyes to mine and checking me out. Kundalini to kundalini. Many people walked by and were shocked. Most made sounds of fear, and only 2 came over to touch him, none feeling safe enough to hold him.

It's amazing the brainwashing our culture has around snakes. Snakes are powerful creatures, and have been revered through ancient cultures all over the world, including the Minoan culture, a Goddess based society that thrived on the island Im currently on - Crete. After a while, I gave the snake back to his keeper, and told her I'd be back another day. When I left, I felt like something was missing. You know that feeling when you spend a night with a lover, and you can feel their touch lingering for hours after you part - and you long for it? That was what it felt like. Like my body missed the snake. 💗

I'm looking forward to going back to see him soon.

My first night in Avalon...

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After a rainy, cold, and jet-lagged filled first few days in London, I was excited to arrive in my destination. Glastonbury. A small, English town, with ancient roots as the Isle of Avalon - the island famed in stories of King Arthur, and the Mists of Avalon. I was called there, to steep in the energies of the ancient Priestesses and Druids who trained on the lands. But here I was now, a modern day woman, getting off a very modern day bus, being dropped off in the centre of this bustling little town.

The bus dropped me off right in front of a raw chocolate shoppe, which I, of course, had to enter. I treated myself to a ceremonial “welcome to Glastonbury” chocolate, eyeing the sacred geometry clad clothes, and superfoods in the corners, but shooing myself out of the store, so that I could find my Airbnb.

I went the wrong way at first, and had to get help from some friendly locals, who pointed me in the right direction, up 2 hills, to the left, right, and left - and then, I was there. I would be staying as a guest in a woman’s home, my bedroom, having a view of the legendary, Glastonbury Tor.

As I settled in, I felt the stress of being in London fall away, as I allowed the healing energies of Glastonbury seep into me.

My first priority was to gather spring water. There are 2 main springs in Glastonbury, a red one - named for the high iron content and ability to make anything turn reddish brown over time - and a white one, named, in part, for it’s high calcium content. Where these springs rose from the ground, had long been sites for ancient ceremonies, rituals, and initiations. So not only was the water pure and fresh, it also came from places of potent magic and mystery. Clearly, I had to get some, straight away!

After consulting my map, I headed out, walking through charming English backroads that reminded me of the movies. As I passed a farmer’s field, I heard some voices. Taking a peak, I saw a group of women in a circle, with their arms raised high, chanting “Hail the Moon Goddess, Hail the Moon Goddess!” I had arrived to Glastonbury on the the Full Moon, quite synchronistically. And here I had stumbled on a ritual of women celebrating it, and bringing in the lunar energies. Everything about the scene - the farmer’s field, the devotion of the women, the circle they raised their arms in - came together perfectly to elicit tears. I felt the ancient magic, alive and well.

I continued onto the springs, with every intention to turn around, once I filled up. I was still really jetlagged, and nursing an injured knee. But once I filled up with the water, mixing the red and white springs, and offering my gratitude to them, I felt the energy of the Tor pulling at me. St. Michael’s Tor (named for Archangel Michael), is built on the top of the highest hill in Glastonbury, and was the site for many ancient initiations. I hesitated. Should I go back and rest, or should I climb the hill? I asked myself. The lure was too strong, and despite my best intentions to take it easy, I found myself climbing.

As the Tor came into view, I can’t describe what came over me. Something ancient. A recognition. A meeting of my lineages… I felt Isis, I felt Archangel Michael, I felt Mary Magdalene, I felt the ancestors, I felt more than I can describe or understand with my mind. And I started to cry, from a deep place. People were coming and going in front of me and behind me, so I tried to save my bursts of tears for when the coast was clear. I’m all for crying in front of people, but this felt like a sacred moment, my moment, and I wanted to keep it for myself. I thought to myself, “I can’t believe this place exists!”

Once I got to the top of the Tor, I sat to watch the sun set. There were many people there, who were meditating, or doing ceremony, or just talking, spending time with their friends and family in that beautiful moment. I sat there for a few moments, and then heard drumming coming from inside the Tor. I curiously wandered over, and found a man beating his drum, while a red haired woman danced, her flaming curls spiralling around her body as she moved. 'She looks like Brigid herself’, I thought, an ancient Celtic Goddess of healing and fire.

After taking in the scene, I moved to the opposite side of the hill, preparing for the moon rise, knowing that the Full Moon rises exactly opposite where the sun sets, I chose my spot. After waiting patiently, the moon appeared, as a luminous yellow orb, moving upwards in the sky. The air was full of magic, as I recognized that everyone on the Tor was there for the same reason - to honour the sunset and moonrise as a time to connect spiritually, as a sacred moment.

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And that’s when I heard singing coming from inside the Tor, to compliment the drumbeat. I started humming along - ever the singer, music always comes out of me when I hear people making it. I witnessed myself quietly humming to myself, and I witnessed the longing to be louder, and sing the melodies that were coming through. A part of me tried to get myself to sit still, to watch the moon, to just enjoy listening. But a bigger part of me squirmed, and asked to go ‘play’ with fellow musicians. I recognized a moment to open my throat chakra, and I left my moonrise spot, to join the group.

I started singing along with would-be Brigid, who it turns out, was the one singing. She enthusiastically welcomed my voice, and we started playing off one another, as the drum beat. A crowd had gathered round, taking in the song. And that’s when I just let it all come out. I let the land move through me, I felt Archangel Michael and the ancestors of the place, pulse inside of me, and I sang their vibrations through me. The frequencies took turns between wildly loud, guttoral and primal, and angelic and etheric. My soul beamed as she was able to express what was inside of her, and what was inside of the land.

I stayed there for a few songs, offering the melodies that came though me, and enjoying the beating drum, and the atmosphere. But before long, jet lag crept up again, and I felt it was time. I’d had an amazing night at the Tor, and silently said thank you, before making my way down.

On the way back to my Airbnb, I continued to sing. I sang to the trees, and the ancestors, and the moon, and I felt the spirits rise up in thanks to greet me. The land loves to be sung to.

And that night, as I crawled into bed, I knew I was in the right place. I gave thanks for the synchronicites, and as soon as my head hit the pillow, I was fast asleep, joining the ancestors in the dreamtime.

Entering the cave of Mary Magdalene in France...

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Leaving Israel was full on. I showed up at the airport 3 hours early, and got to my gate when the plane was already boarding. The reason? When I went through security, they asked me questions. I answered honestly. The man interviewing me asked me who I spent time with. I told him I had a Palestinian friend. I think it was that answer that got me flagged, nothing else was suspicious, and I was sent to the high security line.

After a long wait, the people at security scanned me and patted me down at least 3 separate times. They made me take off every piece of jewelry, every article of clothing that wasn’t my base layers. They swabbed everything I owned with fancy equipment. Finally, after what seemed like hours, I was let go. That was such a brief encounter, but I felt it - and I felt it the whole time I was in Jerusalem. Control. A tight grip. A very, very, tight grip. Deep violent shadows lurking. People say that there is wrong done on both the Israeli and Palestinian side of things. I’m sure that is true. But I couldn't help but feel for the Palestinians, as clearly Israel had the upper hand, and was asserting it, forcefully. I couldn't even leave the country easily, because I mentioned I had a Palestinian friend.

{ This is Part 4, the final, in a series, read part 1 here: https://tinyurl.com/magda777 - part 2 here:https://tinyurl.com/egypt777 + part 3 here:https://tinyurl.com/israel777 }

When my flight finally landed, the gentle frequency of the Mediterranean welcomed me back. I was in Marseille, in the South of France. It was my 3rd time in France, but I’d last left it’s embrace when I was 14, and I was eager to be back.

It was winter in France, and a stark contrast from the hot lands I’d spent my last few months in. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I’d just entered a 5 week period of introspection and isolation. I found it a lot harder to meet people in the cold weather, when everyone just wanted to rush about, and get to the warm halls of where they were going to. I also chose to stay in apartments, rather than any hostels for those weeks. Apparently, my soul knew I needed to incubate.

And so, I spent my days alone, wandering french streets, spellbound by centuries old buildings, charming details, towering cathedrals, and hints of the Magdalene, everywhere.

After that, I wasn’t exactly sure where I was going.

And so I searched online, for sites that were known to be steeped in the Magdalene frequency. My search lead me to the city of Avignon, which was supposed to be close to a cathedral devoted to Mary Magdalene, as well as an ancient cave, that she was said to have spent her last 30 years in.

When I arrived in Avignon, and did more research, it turned out, the locations I wanted to visit were hours away. I had a decision to make. Did I vouch for not spending more money (I’d already prepaid for my apartment in Avignon), and stay in my cozy flat? Or did I grab a train, and then a bus, to the location I felt really drawn to? I felt Magdalene calling - pulling me. And so, I left most of my things in my Avignon apartment, and went on a mission through the frigid air, to the sacred sites that were drawing me in.

During that time, I remember feeling extremely uncomfortable. Unsafe. I didn’t know why.

I thought, maybe it’s the weather? I didn’t have the right clothes, after packing for European summer, and the Middle East. I was cold all the time. Even after buying more layers. But later on, I knew. Months later, in an Ayahuasca ceremony, I’d remembered that when I was a girl of 9, in France, I’d watched my mother being burned at the stake for being a witch. So even though France felt like home to me, I was fearful the whole time I was there. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wasn’t OK.

But I kept on with my mission. Even though I felt fear, I also felt a deep sense of communion. And so, I traveled many hours to the small town that was home to the Magdalene cathedral.

The morning I got to the charming town, I went in to a cafe, and drank a latté, in the sun. It was a moment of deep gratitude and peace, after my cold, uncomfortable journey.

I usually never drink coffee. Or alcohol. But France had me drinking lattés in quaint cafes. It had me sipping red wine. It had me buying lingerie. It had me flouting red lipstick. And it had me drinking said red wine, while wearing said red lipstick, dancing around in said lingerie, all by myself, in my rented flats. It has that effect on you, France. But anyways, I digress. Back to latté drinking me in a sunny cafe.

As I sat there, enjoying a happy moment, I got out my phone to find out how to get to Magdalene’s cave. I thought it would be a walk, as online it said it was close to her cathedral, which I knew was in town. Turns out ‘close’ meant a 45 minute drive. Some more digging revealed that there was no bus there, I’d have to rent a car, or get a taxi, as the only means there. At this point I was kind of sick of spending extra money. Europe’s not cheap, and I had a budget to stick to. I’d just paid for more accommodation when I'd already rented another apartment.

And now I was confronted with 1.5 hours in a taxi, totalling another 100 or so euros. I had a moment of “Do I go?”

Seriously, the things lack consciousness makes you question. But that question didn’t last long. The answer was - "Obviously". At this point, I felt like I was really going through some loops here, to get to this cave. I felt myself inside an initiation. Things weren’t flowing super easily, but I was determined. (Also I could have done more research beforehand, but that is besides the point haha)

And so - the initiation continued. I asked my waiter for cab numbers. I called them all. I was in a small french town, with no major taxi company. I was just given first names. And in my not-fluent-but-pretty-good french, I asked every single taxi driver if they could take me to the cave. “No”, “No”, “No I don’t have time”, “Im not even in the town right now” - were the answers I got. Finally, after much determination, I found someone who would take me.

When my taxi driver showed up, I breathed a sigh of relief. I was ready to go. I would get to the cave.

As we spoke on the way there, he told me his wife was a guide for Sacred Magdalene sites. He knew a lot about Mary Magdalene, and about the more mystical side of her story - the one the Catholic church didn’t teach. We talked about Jeshua and Mary’s daughter, Sarah, as I listened to his perspective on the Magdalene. Unfortunately, I couldn’t understand everything he was saying, as we were speaking in French, but most of his stories, got through. I couldn’t help but marvel at the synchronicity, of finding my like-hearted taxi driver.

Once we got to the base of the site, he told me he’d return for me in 3 hours. He pointed out the path I was to take, and then, I was off, climbing a snowy, icy mountain, with my devotion guiding me onwards.

I listened to my Magdalene songs as I climbed the path. I wanted to be in the frequency, as much as possible. When I finally got to the top of the small mountain, after lots of slipping and sliding on the icy path, I felt silence wash over me.

I made it.

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Because most tourists come in the summer, I had the cave to myself most of the time I was there. The cave had been set up a little bit like a church, but with all the natural walls still in tact.

And so - I sat. I just meditated the whole time I was in there. I spoke to Mary Magdalene. I had visions of my time in the cave being this deep psychedelic journey full of visions and a fully focused heart - but honestly - my mind was super active. I would try to get comfy for meditation, and then feel the hard stone cold floors beneath me, which piped my mind right up. For those hours, I went in and out. Mind mind mind. And… Oh, there she is, I feel her. In the moments where I strongly felt Mary Magdalene, she delivered some messages. First, I felt her love for Jeshua. In a very human way. I felt her longing and love for him in my body, as if it was my own longing and love. It was relatable. Not some weird high in the sky disembodied love. A love from a woman, to a man she adored. And then - I felt a strong message from her. She told me: “Women’s wombs are the key to healing the planet”, along with our experience of our sexuality as sacred. Her messages seemed to largely be about being in our bodies. She told me “You’ll find me in the earth.”

When it was time to leave, I didn’t want to. I wanted to be in that cave all day, but my taxi driver was waiting for me. So I climbed down the snowy mountain. As I came to the bottom, and crossed a field to the old tavern where I was to meet my ride, a silence came over the land. I looked around and mist swirled around everything. The land. The trees. The mountain. It was one of the most mystical moments of my life.

I left full. I had committed. I had communed. I had come for a reason.

That night, I was so cold. Cold cold cold, that’s how I remember this time of my journey. The discomfort reared it’s head again. The feeling of not being safe. But I’d just downloaded a new book, that I was longing to read. So I got under the covers, in the unheated room I’d rented (Did I know it was going to be unheated? NO!) and dove in. The book was called Anna, Grandmother of Jesus.

That book was not a book.

That book was a portal to remembrance.

I couldn’t read it fast enough. As I read, I read of all the places I'd just been to, and the places I was now in. Anna told me of her life, her training as a Priestess of Isis. The light conception of Mother Mary, and Mary Magdalene. I felt so close to these beings in those moments. I felt like they were my family too. And I had a vague remembrance of communing with them, before I incarnated. Like I was very much a part of their mission, not some faraway human reading about some ancient people.

The next day, I visited the Mary Magdalene cathedral. I read the book inside the cathedral, feeling connected to Mary Magdalene, and simultaneously turned off by the Patriarchy steeped in the church. There was a skull said to be Mary Magdalene’s in that cathedral. I felt it was not. Much as I’d felt of the supposed relics of Jeshua in Jerusalem. The church tried to feign a closeness to these beings. Like they were the ones who owned them. But they can never be owned. The church's teachings have long been largely devoid of the true messages of Jeshua, Mary Magdalene, and the holy family.

In that cathedral, I saw a portrait of Anna. She looked old, kind of fat, and grey. I thought it was comical. I loved that she still had a foothold in this place, even to this day. They could try to portray grandmothers as worn out, and in the background, but Anna was none of those things. She was empowered, beautiful, and luminous. I was remembering.

My time in France continued, until my last stop before leaving back to Canada - Paris.

I’d been once before, when I was around 12. But this time was different. In my late twenties, and on my own, I discovered the city on my own terms. I loved it. I went shopping on the Champs Élysées. I ate a crêpe in front of the Eiffel Tower. I visited the Egyptian section of the Louvre, and had remembrances I’ve shared about in previous stories.

And on one of my last nights, while lying in bed, I felt Jeshua come to me. His presence floated above me, in frequencies of white and gold. And he had a message. “You will lead a circle devoted to Magdalene and Isis. The frequencies will be red and gold”. And then - he left.

And 1.5 years later, I made good on that message. It is … Temple of the Rose.

Doors to this journey, that have been in the making for a long time, close tomorrow night. I hope that if you resonate, you'll join us <3

http://www.bethkatherine.com/temple-of-the-rose

Thank you for reading my Magdalene Pilgrimage adventures. There will be many more to come...

Meeting a Palestinian Lover in the Holy Lands...

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When I was in Egypt, I met someone. It was brief. We met at a little store that sold herbal medicines from Arabia, among other magical things. I introduced myself, because I felt something. I think it was his eyes.

We went snorkelling on our first date, and spent the night making music at one of his friend’s homes. That was an incredible evening. Im a singer, and I’ve jammed with a lot of musicians. But never with Arabic musicians. From the instruments to the vocals, I felt like I’d been transported back to ancient Arabia… it was amazing. The woman who was hosting us that night turned out to be a Priestess sister, I felt Isis in her.

It was this man, that drew me to Israel. He was Hebrew, and just visiting Egypt for a short time.

{ This is Part 3 in a series, read part 1 here + part 2 here }

And so, after he'd left, and it was my time to depart Egypt, I decided to make my way to Jerusalem, and then on to Tel-Aviv, where he lived. Previously, I’d had no plans to go to Israel, but of course, this is how things go. Especially when you listen. Though it was a man that took me to the Holy Lands, I feel it was a much more ancient man underneath it all, pulling me there… Jeshua.

The morning I left Egypt, I packed all my things in my backpack, and hailed a cab to the Israeli border. The cab ride was 3 hours and allowed me to see even more of the arid mountainous landscape of Egypt’s Sinai region.

Once I crossed the border on foot, and took a bus to Jerusalem, I felt like I’d, yet again, entered into another world. It was hard to believe Egypt and Israel shared a border. The culture, the dress, the buildings, were all so different from what I'd just left.

On that bus ride, I’d had some funny feelings. And within a day or so, I understood what they were about. My Hebrew lover told me he realized he was still in love with his ex-girlfriend.

The man I’d crossed a border to see, was out of the picture. And there I was in Israel.
Ok. Perfect.
Good thing it’s magical as fuck.

So I started exploring on my own, in typical Beth fashion.

My first day in Jerusalem, I headed straight for the old city, one of the most enchanting and rich places I’d ever been.

The old city is where Jeshua and Mary Magdalene had walked through, many a time, as well as Mother Mary, and much of their family. The frequency of the place is intense. There is a potent sacred energy, as well as the messiness and shadow that comes from major religions and governments fighting for thousands of years, over a piece of land.

As I wound my way through the small streets, I passed many a shop.

It was in front of one of these shops, that sold Persian carpets, handmade scarves and beautiful fabrics, that I was stopped by a man. He was Palestinian, attractive, and fluent in English. The moment he found out I was travelling alone (most people come in groups, especially most young women) - he was insistent I let him take me out, to show me the old city.

He promised me he could show me things other people couldn’t… his family had owned shops in the old city for generations, he explained.

I told him maybe.

I still had the other guy on my mind, and he was clearly asking me out on a date. It’s not my style to get over someone by being with someone else. I like to take a week, a month, and sometimes even years if Im being honest, to clear my old feelings, before I feel ready to open up again.

And I usually say no to anyone I meet on the street, who asks me on a date.

But I wanted to be polite, and he was charismatic, so I said - maybe.

He made sure we got each other on Facebook so we could communicate.

After winding through a few more narrow streets, once I left him at his shop, I felt tired.

I sat down, and started chatting with a friend on my phone. I explained what had just happened, and through talking to her, I realized… “Im alone in Jerusalem. An attractive man whose spent his whole life here, just asked me on a date to show me things no one else could. My other alternative is to spend the night with white people at a hostel, and maybe go to a bar." (Sorry white people, I love you, I am you, but you know where Im coming from… When in Rome!) So… I decided to say yes.

I messaged the charming stranger, and he was so excited I'd agreed. He told me to meet him at a gate of the old city, when he closed the shop.

Later that night, when I went to go meet him, I was a bit nervous. But when I saw him, I felt more comfortable. He was interesting. Kind. And he had a lot of stories.

He guided me through the dark Arabian streets, most of the shops closed for the night, and up to a set of stairs, with a gate at the top. It turns out, he was taking me up to the old wall, the one that encompasses the city. Strictly off limits to tourists. Except me, apparently.

We climbed up the wall, and once at the top, I had the most amazing view of both the old city of Jerusalem, and the new. We walked around, to a beautiful spot, and my new friend to become lover, rolled a joint, and we smoked it, overlooking all of the magic. He told me about his family, about Palestine, about the hardships he’d faced, the triumphs he’d had, and lost, and about the history of Jerusalem. I was spellbound by his intelligence. His interest in things that actually mattered, like human rights, and taking care of his family.

From that night, we spent a lot of time together.

When I wasn’t with this new love, I was exploring more of Jerusalem, and it’s ancient churches. Most notably, the main Christian church, that is said to be built on the land where Jesus was crucified, and holds the apparent slab of stone, that he was laid on to rest, and arose from.

Honestly, my intuition told me none of that was true. I etherically felt another place where Jesus was crucified. When I saw the stone, that everyone was coming up to, touching, weeping at, going crazy over, my first thought was - that’s not it.

Jeshua is so sacred. I feel that. His legacy is incredible. I work with him all the time, I love him.

But I didn’t feel much of him in that cold, grey, imposing old church.

I felt control. I felt a lack of sunlight, nature, and oxygen.

And I felt a lot of people giving their power away, to a figure they were told was way above them. I felt that if Jesus was in the building, physically, he would have told the crowds to start worshipping their own damn hearts.

After that rich few days in Jerusalem, it was time to leave for Tel-Aviv. I didn’t really want to, but my accommodation had already been booked.

Tel-Aviv is a big city, with sky scrapers, and a much more modern culture. Even though Im a millennial, and was now surrounded by a music scene, hip restaurants, and shopping, I longed for the old quarters of Jerusalem.

And so I spent most of my time there in the old town, by the sea. I walked an hour everyday from my apartment to be there, and kept myself in the frequency of the ancients. My lover came to visit me while there, driving several hours just to see me for a short time. He could never spend the night - always having to return home to a strict Muslim house, where he lived, taking care of his mother.

He helped me on my healing journey with men. He drove all the way to see me, while being broke, and wouldn’t let me chip in for gas. It was a far departure from what I’d been used to.

And of course... Jeshua. I felt him. Holding frequency of the Sacred Masculine, burying his way into my life, and into my heart, in a whole new way - a far cry for the Jesus I had known in my traditional Christian upbringing.

But after not so long, it was time to say goodbye. The holy lands had ignited me. I knew I would return. But Mary Magdalene was calling me, from the shores of Southern France, and I knew I had to go…

…To be continued.

That time I was adopted by an Egyptian family...

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As I arrived to my apartment in Cairo, my host gave me some tips. One of them was to never walk alone at night in the area, and to wear long sleeves and pants. With that, he left, and I was standing alone, in a huge, semi-creepy apartment, if Im going to be real, overlooking the pyramids. 




This is Part 2 of an adventure series, read part 1 here.


I got as settled as I could in the space, and thought that I’d be off to visit the pyramids on foot, soon after. But the toll of the long bus ride was hitting me, and I decided against a big adventure. After all - I could see and feel the pyramids clearly, visiting them up close could wait until I had more energy.



When I was preparing to go outside, and wander around the neighbourhood I’d arrived in, I hesitated. “Do I put long sleeves on?” It was hot. I was in the Middle East after all. I decided against it. Im all for respecting cultures, but sometimes I have to make the call if Im actually respecting a culture, or a patriarchal belief system. My shoulders were covered in the outfit I had on, and so were most of my legs. I thought that was a good compromise, and wandered out of my temporary home, thoughtfully ignoring my Airbnb host’s advice. 

And I tell you… once my feet hit the ground, I’ve never felt more like a celebrity than I did in those 3 days in Cairo. 

People stared. And shouted. And ran to ask me questions. I don’t think long sleeves would have helped. 

After walking through the winding streets, looking for vegetarian food, and not finding too much, I was ready to give up and go back. I was tired from being stared and called after incessantly. When I was trying to find my way back, I saw a man, who looked to be in his late 50s, sitting on a chair at the end of a dusty brown road, with the pyramids rising up from behind him.

The man spoke English, and started engaging with me immediately, asking what I was doing. But this man was different. I wasn’t immediately turned off. My intuition told me it was safe to converse. And that’s when he invited me into his home to see his “dancing horses”. “What now?” I thought, “Dancing horses?”

Normally, I would have blown off an invitation from a strange man in the Middle East to enter into his home. But my spidey senses said… “Go, it’s safe.” And I listened. 

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As I entered into this man’s home, right in front of where I was sitting, I was introduced to many members of his family. Many of his adult children, his wife (actually ex-wife, but that’s a whole other story…), and his grandchildren, all lived in this 2 story house. The women were downstairs in the kitchen, making food. 

This home was very far from what Westerners are used to. On a superficial level, it was kind of dirty. Ok, well it was dirty, but not in a bad way, simply from a lot of dust and sand blown in from the desert. I don’t remember any real glass windows. It was simple, small, and immediately told me “This is the real Cairo.” So, as a travel junkie, I was in love. Out of my comfort zone, slightly wondering what I was doing, and simultaneously, in love. 

And so, this man, Nasir, guided me upstairs to see his dancing horses. 

They were photos. 
Of dancing horses. 

From days long past. 

It was kind of hilarious, but while I didn’t get to see any dancing horses in real life, I stepped into a local family’s world for the next 3 days. A family whose living came from giving people tours of the pyramids. 



These people literally adopted me. They told me that. They said “You are our sister now, our family.” They had me over for dinner. They took me to their son’s wedding reception, and then, to the wedding. 

Ok people. The wedding. That was one of the craziest experiences of my life. 

The night of the wedding, I tell Nasir I’m pretty tired, and he told me we didn’t have to go to the wedding for long. (A lie... :D)

So he gets his sons to pick me up at my apartment, on foot, and I meet up with everyone. Turns out Nasir’s fancy idea is to have me ride his camel, Mickey, through the winding streets of Cairo, until we get to this wedding. 

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Ok, sure. Let’s do that. 

I have never ridden a camel at night through very, very busy streets. I have never had said camel stop traffic to cross the road. Until that point. 

It was great. It was chaotic. I was kind of freaking out internally. But I kept telling myself, “Girl, this is once in a lifetime experience, just go with it.”

So, we get to the wedding. It turns out it’s in the middle of a street. Sort of 80’s prom decoration. And it’s a PARTY. The moment I get there, and people find out there’s a white girl at the party, shit got cray. 

I was the only white person, the only foreigner actually. It was then I understood some of what major celebrities go though. People were tugging at my hair, on my dress, everywhere I turned they wanted a selfie, or were pointing at me. I could hardly walk, I had a trail of people clinging to me. 


And then, they made me dance. I love to dance, so it wasn’t necessarily a problem, but it was quite difficult with children and women tugging on you. I probably should have mentioned that - there were no men tugging on me. So even though I did in fact, feel ambushed, I was surrounded by women and children, so I felt safe. I also had Nasir and his sons watching me from our table. 

And so - we danced. Turns out, Middle Eastern hijab wearing women know how to get DOWN! Kissing before marriage? No. That’s a no no. Grinding and gyrating around like a bellydancer. That’s allowed apparently. It was awesome. We went wild. 

I will never forget that night. 

We finished the night by eating falafel at Nasir’s. I was kind of uncomfortable with that, because the women were serving us, and not eating with us. Somehow, as a white woman, I was able to eat with the men, but not his female family members.

This whole experience lit a fire under me. The pyramids. Which Nasir took me to, on his camel of course. The activations from those structures still resonate through my being. The patriarchy. Which made me so much more aware of why the Divine Feminine is needed in this world. And by life. Amidst different cultures and languages, I still found the women, and we danced. We danced, and we celebrated. 

And shortly after, I left Cairo… back to Dahab, where I would spend a little more time, before taking a cab and a bus ride to Israel, to see a Hebrew lover I had met a long the way… 

…To be continued!


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My Unexpected Magdalene Pilgrimage...

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I didn’t intend to set out on a Magdalene pilgrimage. That summer, before I left, all I knew was I needed to get to Greece. I had booked a Priestress training with my mentor Eden in California, and intended to fly to Europe after that. 

Once I got to Europe, I began my travels through the south of Spain, and after a few weeks, finally landed in Greece. 

Greece was beyond anything I could have imagined. I fell so in love with the lands and waters… remembering them as home from other lifetimes. 

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But the wifi in Greece was not the best. I was trying to run my online based business, and had run into difficulties with the internet in both Spain and Greece. When I searched for help, few people could understand my need for fast wifi, and I started researching. I wanted to find a space where I could commune with other entrepreneurs, who lived a similar lifestyle as I did. I needed fast wifi to do live videos and ceremonies. 

And that’s when I found Dahab, Egypt. 

So, funnily enough, it wasn’t the temples or the pyramids that brought me to Egypt (consciously anyway…), it was a co-working space, set on the shores of the Red Sea. It promised fast wi-fi, a community of entrepreneurs, and views of the sea from our desks. Dahab was an ancient outpost of the Bedouin tribes, and was now attracting a lot of free spirits to experience it’s snorkeling, scuba diving, and laid-back energy. I was in!

My last stop in Greece, before I flew to Egypt, was Delphi - an ancient mecca of Priestess consciousness, and the spiritual centre of Ancient Greece. 

As I sat there in Delphi, activated and full of remembrance of ancient times, I waited for the very modern bus to take me to the airport in Athens. As I sat at the bus stop, I couldn’t believe it. Previously, I had no plans to visit Egypt on this trip. But here I was, mere hours away from returning to the Middle East, a place I’d lived as a child, and a place I remembered deep in my bones from lives past. 

As I landed in Egypt, the Middle East radiated through me. From the moment I arrived, everything was potent. It was challenging to be there. There was so much energy moving through me, so much activation. It felt really intense. It was also strange and sad to remember the magic of the ancient times, juxtaposed with the profound Patriarchal culture that had woven it’s way through the deserts and mountains. 

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While in Dahab, I had no plans to leave. I thought I was simply there to work on a project, and soak up the Middle East. I thought the pyramids and the temples would be for another trip. In some ways, I didn’t feel ready. 

But then… 

I watched a video of a spiritual teacher I follow. It was from years ago, but in it, she was standing in front of the pyramids, describing the frequency, and the power of the structures.

I felt it. 
I knew it. 
I had to go. 

Within 24 hours I was on a night bus to Cairo. 

And that’s when my Magdalene Pilgrimage began. 

I went alone, as I often do. 

I sat on the bus for 8 hours, crossing many gateways with guards carrying machine guns. 

Coming into Cairo was one of the strangest experiences of my life. Groggy from an overnight bus, I looked out the windows to see the lands come into view, in the morning light. 

Sand, dust, grey, beige, everywhere. And then - Cairo. Derelict buildings stood, in the same desert colours, washed out by sand. But these buildings were still inhabited. The levels of poverty I witnessed were profound. 

The city had a sort of chaotic desert madness to it. I’ve been a lot of places. I’ve traveled to South Africa on my own, Asia, South America, Central America, Australia, Europe, the States… and I’ve never experienced culture shock like I did when I got to Cairo. I felt like I was in another world. 

I felt a mix of being extremely uncomfortable, and like I was on a supreme mission. Im a nature girl. The chaos of the city, and the lack of any green life overwhelmed me, coupled with the fact that I was in a very conservative place as a solo female. 

And yet, I felt a sense of rightness. A magnetic pull to be in the frequency of the pyramids. 

Once I got off the bus, my Airbnb host picked me up, and took me to my apartment for the next 3 days. 

And that’s when I first saw the pyramids. 

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Nothing can really prepare you for seeing the pyramids. Especially if you’ve always felt a connection with Ancient Egypt. 

My apartment looked over a golf course right under the pyramids, and for 3 days, I had a very close, direct view, of them. 

Jeshua and Mary Magdalene were initiated in the Great Pyramid
, as well as many other initiates of Isis and other sacred orders. They carry a frequency that goes well past the 3rd dimensional reality we can see. 

And quite frankly, they activated the shit out of me. 

… To be continued. 


In part 2 and 3 of my Magdalene Pilgrimage adventures I will continue my journey through Egypt, and then through Israel and the South of France. 


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