Twice a month, when the moon turns, I pull a card and read the cycle through the compass.

At the new moon, I pull an I Am — and hand you the questions to carry into the weeks ahead. The ones that cross you from the fear into the longing.

At the full moon, we read that same I Am again, fully lit — through the four fires, to see what's grown, what's ready, what's asking to be released. Same I Am. Different woman. You're never the same by the time the moon is full.

Questions, not answers. The answers were never mine. I just hold the compass while you find your own.

No flood. No pressure. No pitch. Just a note from me when the moon turns — and the questions to take to your journal.