How A Lifelong Tarot Reader Uses Ritual, Feng Shui, And Shadow Work To Shape A Life On Her Own Terms
Magic becomes honest when we admit the work isn’t tidy. Heather, a lifelong tarot reader and host of NVus Alien, lays out a path that blends ritual, curiosity, and real-world grit. She doesn’t treat “witch” as a costume; it’s a temperament that grew with her, first as instinct, then as study, and now as sovereignty. Her altar tells the story: Feng shui angles for intention, mirrored ducks for soul-level partnership, antlers for forest lineage, Michael for backbone, Magdalene for rebirth, peacocks for self-recognition. Every object is a reminder to stay present and choose a life on purpose, not on autopilot, and to let practice be both poetic and practical.
A pivotal theme is initiation as a three-part rhythm: the spark, the liminal, the rebirth. We love the phoenix, yet ignore the burning—where patterns are stripped, stories crack, and transmutation actually happens. Heather insists shadow work belongs at the center, not the margins. Tarot and journaling become the twin engines of that descent. Before any candle is lit, she pulls cards with a blunt question—what’s in the way?—then writes through the resistance. The point isn’t aesthetic ritual; it’s specificity: why money, why love, why this timing, and which insecurity is really calling. That pre-work keeps spells from becoming vague hopes and aligns action with motive.
Her practice matured from FAFO experiments to a patient, seasonal cadence, though patience is still her Achilles’ heel. Living in the woods reinforced a pact with weather, cycles, and the feral edge of nature; tornadoes and hurricanes now read as teachers, not only as threats. Voice notes, vent threads, and chat transcripts act like a modern grimoire, capturing heat in the moment so it can be revisited in cold light. That habit dissolves shame and turns volatility into data. When the Aries moon wants an immediate path, the journal keeps the work honest, tracking what repeats when the liminal is dodged and what unlocks when it’s faced.
Community, for Heather, is quiet and selective. In a small Bible Belt town, she keeps her practice understated in public and vivid in private. Students and friends found her online through psychic development courses and stayed because curiosity was the door, not dogma. Influences range from Scott Cunningham’s hands-on craft to a Magdalene Rose Temple training that reframed her magic in archetypal and “quantum” terms. There she mapped roses to stages of healing—innocence, nature, embodied femininity—and folded that into a wider paranormal lens that welcomes elementals and trickster energies with boundaries, not fear.
The most gripping moment is a time-bent haunting at the Stone Lion Inn in Guthrie. Years before the owner’s death, Heather saw a grieving woman in the upstairs window—the very woman whose spirit later spoke in a spirit box session. The house, curated down to the chairs, felt like an extension of its maker. It suggests certain sites act as batteries not because of tragedy alone but because of devotion woven into wood and wallpaper. That story reframes ghost hunting as empathy for the human bond to place, and divination as a way to listen across time. The lesson loops back to practice: intention leaves a trace, and the lives we build become their own living altars.
