Dear reader,

I’m sending you love. Today Venus enters Cancer, Chiron stations retrograde, and I feel less obligated to explain my existence or actions than usual.

In January, I took the first steps towards leaving this platform because Substack platforms Nazis and refuses not to. I felt really frustrated by my efforts to show up in a shape I wanted to be accepted in, because it it still felt like betrayal and I couldn’t figure out why. Turns out, I didn’t actually want to be in that shape. Turns out, my core wounds around agency are simultaneously more complex and simple than fifteen years of therapy let on. Turns out the worst thing I have felt is Knowing—only to being convinced by those leeching from my light that I Don’t Know.

I do know, and it turns out I have done for a long time. Speaking about this with my dear Rory on the phone a week or two ago, they said “yeah, I think everyone knows you’re psychic”. The internet is forever and I’ve been trying to be home here for a long time. I even felt successful at a point, but managed to squash that memory into a corner of my mind clouded by doubt.

I thought my big one was shame—and it is—but in May of this year, a psychic channeled a message about the nature of squares (astrological aspect). She said, “In sign and aspects to planets, squares in your chart are a challenge of the ego in terms of shame, fear, guilt and doubt.” She followed with, “it’s very specific”.

After she had finished channeling, she leaned her head forward and faced me as herself. I asked if there was anyone out there, in the world of mediumship or on the other side of the veil, who could help me solve my crisis of being. She told me, “No—it’s just you. You’ve got to get still.” A few weeks later, I woke up with two words lodged firmly in my chest and throat:

Well, it turns out that stillness creates a lot of room for messages. Acceptance creates room for duality. Shame creates room for compassion like doubt creates room for compassion. Turns out, there’s no timeline where I’m not a channel. Turns out, I did and do Know. Turns out, the people who hurt me best—as in, they did massive damage because of how my deep love for them allowed them to closely calculate their blows were—all knew it about me. Turns out, I Knew. I Know.

Like many things, this morning’s playlist wriggled up from my spine. If you just want it to be okay, it will never be okay.

Okay. I love you. This is a quick dispatch from my work desk—I think the next will not be hosted here. Turns out, a loser stalker can learn enough about me from my extensive online chronicling of my life. Turns out, so can I. Turns out, now that the girls are all bloggers and Substack is supreme, writing blogs since 2010 without going white girl worldwide doesn’t equal the maths that makes me not one.

Turns out, the 18-year-old version of me who bought okayshalom.com with the dollars she was paid for her work as an essayist knew what was up. Turns out she never left. I am turning out of tight corners and sending new invitations to old selves. How lucky am I that they respond? How lucky, and how lovely to have love beget love, for myself.

Be well. See you back on WordPress where it all began, and where it still lives. Enjoy the playlist, and if you have questions, don’t be scared to reach to the past for an explanation—or don’t let the fear stop you. Did you know that from 2011-2017, I didn’t go by Shalom? My old blog is here. It will likely look different in a little while, like you and like me. Lucky us, once again.

Love you + mean it,
Shalom

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Book a reading with me
Support my Palestinian friend Rena and her four children in Gaza