This piece of writing was from a prompt on ‘weather’ by Penrith Writers’ Group. Child of the Sun ©Veronika Sophia Robinson 25th July 2026 I was born for this weather, my soul cast in the sultry, slow heat. Long before I ever knew the shades and shadows of Winter, my story began in […]
As celebrants, we often talk about the invisible threads that bind us to the past. We craft ceremonies that honour transition, nature, and legacy, believing that the rituals we create help people anchor themselves to their own stories. But recently, a breakthrough in my own family-tree research revealed a thread so profound it left me […]
You do not need to set up an altar to create a sacred space; the portal to the mystical is wide open right in the middle of your living room.
Lineage isn’t just found in archives or stark statistics. It’s also found in what has been left behind.
True bravery isn’t the absence of fear. It’s a woman looking directly into the darkest corners of her own history, gathering up her fragmented pieces, and choosing to step into the light anyway.
When women choose to gather and weave their individual stories together, by honouring the sacred spaces they navigate, a collective resilience is established.
Society tells us that creativity belongs solely to the young. But true artistry is an unhurried, wild flowering that occurs only when your life is rich and deep enough to sustain it. Discover why your later years yield the most profound, textured stories.
A channel for the cosmos, and a weaver of the soul,
I use the power of narrative to make the bruised heart whole.
Grief and gratitude, the yin and yang of my emotional climaxes and cleanses, cannot exist in isolation; they flow from the exact same well, each sharing the centre of the other.
Platitudes are the words we wear when we don’t know what else to say. Spiritually, platitudes are a paradox.
