Spell Cards, I think I’ve always known…
I think I’ve always known I was a witch.
Not the pointy-hat, bubbling-cauldron kind (though I love a good cauldron), but the kind who instinctively knew that imagination is a form of power. As a child, I wrapped fabrics around my body, turning scraps into capes, shawls, and ceremonial robes. I built worlds out of nothing. I made meaning with my hands, my breath, my stories. Long before I had language for it, I understood that intention plus creativity could change how a moment felt—and how I felt inside it.
That thread has followed me my whole life. The making. The listening. The quiet sense that there’s more happening beneath the surface if we’re willing to pay attention.
This Halloween 2025, something clicked into place.
I received an invitation to a party by dear longtime Burningman friends. I knew it would be the kind of gathering where costumes are expressive and often interactive, and not performative. This is the kind of community where connection matters. Where creativity is a shared language.
I didn’t want to just show up dressed as something. I wanted to offer something.
Inspired by the Burning Man principle of gifting—giving freely, without expectation or transaction—I sat down and wrote a list of spells. Not spells to control or fix or manifest in a flashy way, but spells of intention. Reflection. Presence. Release. Connection. Little doorways into meaningful conversation and inner knowing. I printed them on small cards, simple and witchy, and brought them with me to share.
As I handed them out, something unexpected happened.
I realized I wasn’t dressed as a witch at all.
I realized I wasn’t dressed as a witch at all.
I was stepping out as a witch—on my special day, no less. Not pretending. Not performing. Just claiming a truth that had always been there.
The spells weren’t props. They were expressions of how I move through the world: listening deeply, trusting intuition, and believing that small, intentional acts can ripple outward in ways we may never fully see.
People lingered with the cards. They read them aloud. They talked. They reflected. They connected—with themselves and with one another. The cards became little bridges.
After that night, I printed more. Professionally this time. And I kept gifting them—tucking them into hands, offering them at gatherings, letting them travel where they wanted to go. Then a friend asked to buy several sets to give away as gifts of their own. Not to resell, not to brand—just to pass along.
That’s when it really landed for me.
Creativity and intuition are not solitary practices. They strengthen the web between us. A single idea, shared with love, can move through a community and quietly expand our capacity for reflection, conversation, and care. What started as a Halloween offering became something alive—circulating, connecting, doing its own subtle magic.
Click below to see a fun animated review of all 13 cards.
The small amount of money from that purchase wasn’t the point, but it was meaningful. It affirmed that this work—this playful, soulful, intuitive making—has value. It inspired me to begin creating a Spring set of spells, tuned to movement, growth, and possibilities that we are naturally drawn to in the springtime.
That’s coming soon…
For now, I invite you to sit with the deep spells of winter. The inward season. The listening season. The time when creativity rests, composts, and gathers strength beneath the surface.
Magic doesn’t always shout.
Sometimes it’s a quiet card slipped into your hand, reminding you of what you already know.
