There is a passage I once read, in Magical Mediumship by Danielle Dionne, that struck me so deeply it felt like it reached into my chest and pulled me still:
​
"I am of bone. I am of blood. I am of stars. We are one in three. Roots, branches, and tree. May this always be."

The first time I read those words, my life was swirling in noise — the chaos of the world outside, and the quiet ache of my own inner world.
Life felt like it was spinning in every direction at once.
​There was stress, chaos, worry—circumstances with my children, my relationships, my work.
I was navigating the endless pull of being a mother, the demands of my work as a medium and card reader, the expectations of partnership and friendship, and the unseen currents of the world — war, hunger, uncertainty, the rising tide of collective pain that empaths like me cannot help but feel.

My work requires that I open myself up.
I keep my chakras as open and clear as I can.
I meditate.
I listen to my dreams.
I listen to my guides.
I do everything I know to keep my energy flowing in alignment.
And yet, I was holding space for others while wondering, in the privacy of my own thoughts, if I was even holding space for myself.

The Soul of Mothering, Partnering, and Being

To be a mother — whether of children born to you, chosen by you, or nurtured in other ways — is to live with your heart and your soul cracked wide open.
You give and you give, not because you're keeping score, but because love calls you to pour yourself out.
And yet, in the quiet hours, there can be a whisper: Am I doing enough? Am I enough?

Partnership is another place where the soul is tested — not in the grand gestures, but in the daily showing up. It's in sharing the kitchen light over morning coffee, in the arguments you work through, the constant changes that come into and leave relationships,  in the laughter you protect.
And still, there's the wondering:
Does my love measure up?
Does my soul feel safe here?

Friendship, too, asks for a piece of the soul — the listening, the remembering, the showing up even when your own inner well feels dry.
Sometimes you give when you're not sure what you have left.
Sometimes you wonder if you've been so busy carrying others that you've forgotten how to carry yourself.

The What-Ifs and the Stillness

When the noise of life finally quiets, we can be left with the "what-ifs."
What if I've given too much away?
What if I've misunderstood what my soul was asking for?
What if I've been speaking in my own voice but not hearing the language of my deeper self?
In the stillness, in the meditation, in the sleepless nights, there can be a realization: maybe you never truly knew your soul the way you thought you did.
Maybe you've only been living with one part of it — the part most convenient for survival — while other parts went silent from neglect.

The Human and the Soul — Partners in Creation

It is essential to know our human self — our boundaries, our values, our truth. If we don't know what we stand for, we will stand for nothing and fall for everything.
But knowing ourselves as only human is not enough.
Our soul is not separate from our human experience — it is the current that runs through it. In tarot, the Magician tells us we already hold every tool we need to create, while the High Priestess reminds us that we already hold every truth we need to hear.
Together, they are the mind and soul in partnership — a mirror of what we are meant to be.
This is not about spiritual bypassing or putting a pretty bow on pain. It's about the deep, raw truth of being alive.
Blood in our veins. Bones in our body. Stars in our psyche.

The Three Parts of the Soul

When I read that passage — I am of bone. I am of blood. I am of stars — I began to see the soul as having three distinct but connected parts.
That line revealed itself to me as a map of the soul.
Not in the literal sense of ancestors or lineage, but in the sense that our soul has different aspects:

The Blood Soul – The pulse of life, the part of you that feels, loves, grieves, and connects in this present, physical world. This is our life force, the part of us that feels deeply and connects in the here and now.
The Bone Soul – The structure and strength, the part that carries your truths, your resilience, your unshakable center. This is the enduring part of us that holds our truths and gives us the strength to stand.
The Star Soul – The infinite part of you that knows you came from beyond this moment and will return beyond it — the dreamer, the seeker, the spark of the cosmos.
This is the luminous part of us that remembers we are more than this body, more than this life, more than this moment.

When one is missing, the others feel the loss.
When all three are present, we are whole.
When they are aligned, we return to ourselves.
When they are scattered or neglected, we feel the absence—sometimes as exhaustion, sometimes as numbness, sometimes as the quiet ache that something is missing.

Loss, Love, and the Places the Soul Fractures

We give away pieces of our soul without realizing it.
We pour ourselves into our families, our work, our friendships, and sometimes we forget to call those pieces back.
Some fractures in the soul are so deep that they become part of who we are.
Others are the quieter deaths — the symbolic endings that ask us to release what was so something new can be born.

Losing my mother when I was just seven years old was one of those deep fractures.
It wasn't just losing her arms around me — it was losing the anchor that a child builds their sense of safety and belonging upon.
That kind of loss rewires both the human mind and the soul.
It seeps into the Blood Soul — shaping how you love and how you trust.
It tests the Bone Soul — asking if you can stand without the structure that once held you.
And it touches the Star Soul — making you wonder why a love so eternal could feel so painfully gone.
Calling that part back takes a lifetime of listening, of loving yourself as fiercely as you wished she could have loved you for longer, and of understanding that her essence still threads through every star in your night sky.

Then there are the losses that ask us to die while we're still living --
watching your child become an adult and learning to step back from the mothering role that once defined so much of your identity.
Your Blood Soul grieves the daily closeness, the being needed in that primal way.
Your Bone Soul must rebuild itself around a new truth: love sometimes means letting go.
And your Star Soul learns that the greatest gift you can give is the space for someone else's soul to fully unfold.

The symbolic death of a partnership follows a similar pattern --
whether through divorce, betrayal, or simply growing apart.
What dies is not just the relationship, but the version of yourself that existed within it.
The shared dreams, the daily rhythms, the future you planned together. Each soul part must find its way back to itself.

The ending of a deep friendship can be just as profound, especially when it happens slowly, through distance or changing life paths rather than conflict.
The soul pieces you invested in that connection — the shared laughter, the mutual support, the understanding that felt irreplaceable — must be called home and integrated into your wholeness.

Then there is the loss you see coming --
like with my beloved Olde English Bulldogge, Roy.
I knew from the start that his heart was fragile.
I knew I wouldn't have him for long.
And yet, I loved him anyway.
For six precious years, he was my meditation partner, my quiet companion, my mirror of unconditional love.
He was a soulmate in fur.
The day he left, I felt a part of my soul go with him.
But here's the truth about animals: they teach us a form of love so pure that it doesn't stay gone. Roy's presence, his loyalty, his joy --
all of it still lives in my Blood Soul, still strengthens my Bone Soul, and still brightens my Star Soul. Losing him broke me open, but it also left me more whole, because I learned that love, when given freely, always returns.

Returning to Wholeness

But this is not a story of despair.
For with the loss, there has also been joy.
With the giving, there has been receiving. I have dear friends, marvelous clients, and relationships that anchor me in peace.
I have a beautiful home, caring neighbors, and moments of gratitude that take my breath away.

We lose people.
We lose animals.
We lose parts of ourselves in the process.
But we can call them back — not in the same form, but in the essence they left behind.
Every soul piece we retrieve makes us more ourselves.
When we bring the Blood, Bone, and Star back together, we remember who we are.
And we can finally stand in the fullness of our being.
Your soul is not just one thing.
It is many.
And the more you know its parts, the more fully you can live in your wholeness. 

"I am of bone.
I am of blood.
I am of stars.
We are one in three.
Roots, branches, and tree.
​May this always be."

This is the first post in a series exploring the Blood, Bone, and Star aspects of the soul. In the posts to come, we'll dive deeper into each part — how to recognize when they're calling to you, how to heal the places they've been wounded, and how to call them back into alignment.
If this resonates with you and you'd like support in your own journey of soul retrieval and wholeness, I offer intuitive readings and guidance through my practice.
​You can learn more and book an appointment at www.energytouchintuition.com.
May you remember all the parts of yourself. May you call them home. May you stand whole.

When the Soul Cries: Listening for What Words Cannot

​There comes a moment — maybe more than one — when life quiets just enough for us to hear something deeper.
Not the chatter of the mind.
Not the pull of the outside world.
But something ancient.
A subtle ache.
A whisper.
A cry.
It’s not a sound anyone else can hear.
And often, we don’t recognize it ourselves.
But if you’ve ever felt frozen in place, unable to move forward no matter how much you wanted to — if you’ve ever felt like you were watching your life but not living it — then you’ve heard it.
That’s the cry of the soul.
As an intuitive psychic medium and card reader, I witness this all the time in others.
But I also know it from the inside.
I know what it feels like when your soul is crying out for relief, for change, for truth — and your conscious mind doesn’t know how to understand the message.
The soul doesn’t cry the way the body does.
It doesn’t always speak in words.
It shows up in other ways — fatigue, grief, tension, tears, anxiety, numbness.
It shows up in the strange silence inside you when everything seems fine on the outside but nothing feels right within.
Sometimes, the pain of our life — whether from trauma we’ve endured or situations we’ve chosen — becomes so heavy that we stop moving altogether.
We feel stuck.
Paralyzed.
Like being awake inside a coma — watching, hearing, sensing, but unable to move or speak or break free.
That’s not laziness.
That’s not weakness.
That’s not a failure of effort.
That’s soul exhaustion.
And in those moments, the mind tries to take control. It tries to "help."
It labels.
It dismisses.
It says:
“This isn’t a big deal.”
“You’re overreacting.”
“Other people have it worse.”
“Just think positive.”
“Everything happens for a reason.”
“You just need to move on.”
This is what we call spiritual bypassing — and it’s one of the most harmful things we’ve been taught to do.
Spiritual bypassing wraps pain in platitudes.
It uses light language to cover dark wounds.
It tells us that if we just stay positive, everything will be okay — and in doing so, it erases the soul’s cry.
We are taught not to cry.
Not to speak of pain.
Not to go deep.
We’re taught to override, suppress, affirm it all away.
But we were never meant to bypass pain.
We were meant to witness it.
To feel it.
To touch it.
To honor it.
Spiritual bypassing keeps us locked in patterns and chaos. It disconnects us from the truth that could set us free.
Because underneath that forced peace is a soul crying out:
“This hurts.”
“Something must change.”
“Please hear me.”
That ache in your chest?
That lump in your throat?
That feeling of being lost, hollow, or unable to breathe deeply?
That is sacred.
That is the soul begging to be heard.
And when the soul cries, it often speaks not in words — but through tears.

The Sacred Language of Tears-

Tears are not weakness.
Tears are not failure.
Tears are not a breakdown.
Tears are the voice of the soul when the voice cannot speak.
We cry when the truth is too big for our body to hold.
When the pain is too old or too confusing to name.
When the grief has nowhere else to go.
And sometimes — when our spirit is remembering something we thought we’d forgotten.
People say “the eyes are the windows to the soul,” and maybe that’s why tears come from the eyes — because the soul is speaking through them.
When our voice closes up, when our throat is tight, when we can’t explain the ache — tears say it for us.
Tears are truth made visible.
They are sacred water.
Streams of clear, crisp soul language — softening the jagged edges of our wounds like rivers shaping stone.
Over time, tears reshape us.
They smooth us.
They awaken us.
They cleanse the soul’s sight, not just the eyes.
They come to say what was never said.
They fall in the places where our voice failed.
They are part grief, part prayer, part release, part rebirth.
So let them come.
Let them fall without apology.
Let them carry the truth you were never allowed to speak.
Let them say: “I’m still here. I still feel. I still remember.”
Because after those tears fall, something beautiful happens:
We begin to see clearly. Not through illusions or spiritual gloss — but with soul-clarity.
Not from a place of performance.
But from the raw, holy space of truth.

The Way Forward Is Through

Healing doesn’t come by avoiding the ache.
It doesn’t come by numbing ourselves with work, distraction, or “positivity.”
It comes by going through it.
Through the silence.
Through the discomfort.
Through the stillness that the mind wants to avoid.
To know where we are — and where we need to go — we have to be willing to be with ourselves.
Not fix ourselves.
Not force ourselves.
Just be with what is real.
And that takes space.
Stillness.
Listening.
Meditation.
Journaling.
Card reading.
Sitting with Spirit.
Letting the body speak.
Letting the soul cry.
Letting the tears say what you cannot.
This is the sacred work.
This is the path to becoming whole.
You are not broken.
You are not lost.
You are waking up.
And your soul? It’s not trying to hurt you.
It’s trying to bring you home.

If Your Soul Is Crying Right Now…Know this:

You are not alone.
You are not too much.
You are not weak for feeling so deeply.
You are becoming.
You are remembering who you are beneath the chaos.
And you are worthy of hearing your own truth.
The tears that fall are sacred.
The ache is the invitation.
And the journey through it is where you will find your power.
I am here to hold space for that journey — through spirit communication, through the wisdom of the cards, through intuitive guidance and soul listening.
Not to fix you.
Not to save you.
But to remind you that your soul already knows the way.
It’s whispering.
Crying.
Speaking.
And when you are ready to listen --
You will find yourself again, because even when we are lost, our soul always knows where we are.