From Intuition To Ritual: A Witch’s Journey Through Identity, Energy, And Song
Identity sits at the heart of today’s conversation, but not as a label pinned on by others. Leah, a Canadian witch and singer, treats identity as a feeling chosen and lived: the same way she lives gender fluidity, she lives witch. That frame unlocks a richer view of magic as the meeting point of earth, self, and the larger energetic field we sense but cannot see. She’s not chasing aesthetics or dogma. She’s choosing to embody a way of relating to the world that prioritizes intuition, care, and responsibility. The result is a craft that is both personal and porous: it breathes with seasons, community, and the stories we carry about who we are and what we can heal.
Leah’s practice is fluid by design. She resists the pressure to perform daily ritual for legitimacy and instead returns to divination, crystals, and voice when her body and work as a social worker say yes. Intuition guides her choices, from the way a tarot card sticks to her fingers to the hum that builds when she sings through the body’s centers. This isn’t theatrics; it’s data. In clinical settings, she was taught to notice somatic cues. In craft, those same cues act like signposts: tension around a topic, a sudden breath that won’t deepen, a card that drops from the deck. The wisdom is not in forcing certainty but in following threads, testing, and choosing what to do with what arrives.
Community acts as a multiplier for her magic. At Anahata’s Purpose, a retreat where the air practically buzzes with magic, Leah noticed how easily energy moved. Alone, she sometimes feels like she’s pushing rather than channeling, which drains her. In circle, she becomes a conduit. That insight reshaped her spells: she now asks to relay through, not give from. The difference shows up in outcomes—like the job candle crafted for a friend that unfolded into teaching roles and art direction—and in recovery, where she avoids the emptiness that followed early works of love like “joy cookies” charged entirely with her own reserves.
Ethics thread through the episode with needed clarity. Leah calls for deeper respect for nature and living traditions—choosing garden sage over white sage, pausing before buying Palo Santo, and learning in context when engaging with cultural practices. Witchcraft, she argues, should not harm the ecosystems and peoples it claims to honor. That same integrity holds for gender. Magic and the earth are not gendered; they contain multitudes. From Apollo’s queerness to Loki’s shapeshifting, divinity has always made space for fluid expression. Bringing that truth forward frees more people to claim witch without shrinking themselves to fit an imagined mold.
Perhaps the most haunting and helpful part of Leah’s story is her dreamwork. Since high school she’s received gentle warnings in dreams—clear, emotionally distinct signals that death or illness will brush her circle. She doesn’t announce them or turn them into spectacle. She receives, prepares, and shows up steadier when news arrives, ready to care for herself and others. That grace mirrors her advice about burnout and putting on your oxygen mask first: ask for help early, trust your people, and let small acts of consistent care rebuild your life. Magic thrives where support is real and reciprocity is practiced.
Voice is Leah’s chosen instrument for healing. Her ritual show, Release, moves listeners from feet to crown with song, breath, and attention, opening space for emotion to rise and clear. Inspired by workshop experiences that married sound to the body’s centers, she now crafts evenings that feel like ceremony without pretense. The SEO truth of it: witchcraft for beginners, ethical magic, intuitive divination, ritual singing, energy grounding, and community healing all live here. The practical truth: if you feel stuck, soften your breath, connect to the ground and the sky, and ask to be a conduit. Choose your identity on purpose, and let your craft follow.
