It began, as most spiritual crises do, with a stapler. Not just any stapler, mind you, but The Swingline I inherited from a past job and have kept ever since—not because it works well, but because I have unresolved abandonment issues tied to office supplies. There it sat, smug and slightly dusty, wedged between a dried-out glue stick, a half-used birthday candle shaped like a “4,” and a pen that only writes on receipts. I reached for it with hope. I pressed with intention. And, naturally, it jammed… again. In that moment, I did not just feel betrayed by plastic and springs, I felt spiritually blocked and energetically sabotaged. Metaphysically stapled to my own avoidance. Because nothing says “you still have work to do” like a broken Swingline reminding you that you have, in fact, shoved your shadow work into a drawer next to a Capri Sun straw and a single googly eye. The Junk Drawer It started innocently enough. A simple task, really. I needed to staple a few pages together—a to-do list, a grocery receipt, and a half-baked affirmation I scribbled on the back of a napkin: “I release all that no longer serves me.” It was a spiritual declaration, a new-leaf moment. I was ready. I had sage in one hand, my 17th attempt at life organization in the other. All I needed was the stapler. Cue Dramatic Music. Enter The Swingline, Stage Left. It was red once. Maybe. Now it’s the washed-out shade of regret. I found it half-buried in the drawer I never speak of. The Drawer–you know the one. The junk drawer. The cabinet of chaos. The energetic landfill where paperclips go to die and expired coupons, expiration dates long past, huddle together for warmth. I should have taken it as a sign when The Swingline refused to open without a minor exorcism. I jiggled it. I whispered to it. I offered it peace. Nothing. It jammed, as it always does, right when I needed it most. And in that jam, I felt it. The tension… the tightness… the karmic weight of years of avoidance wrapped in a twisted metal coil. Shades of Winifred Sanderson: I was cursed. Again. But of course, it is never just about the stapler. Metaphysically speaking, everything holds energy. Not in some vague, incense-laced, Pinterest-board kind of way—but in a tangible, residue-of-your-soul kind of way. That Swingline is not “just” a stapler, it is a symbol. A physical manifestation of unresolved energy, stored emotion, and spiritual procrastination. It is shadow work dressed as office equipment, living in your drawer like it pays rent. People think spiritual blockages show up as dramatic life events or lightning bolts of intuition. But more often than not, they show up in the little things—the broken zipper you refuse to fix, the to-do list that migrates from one notebook to another like a determined ghost, and yes, the cursed Swingline that keeps jamming because your subconscious is trying to tell you something. The universe does not always yell. Sometimes, it whispers in jammed staples. The Drawer from Another Dimension Everyone has one. Some people call it a utility drawer. Others call it the place where their dreams go to die. No one really opens it voluntarily. Me? That’s the one I hang the plastic trash back from. That should say a lot, right there. It is the drawer you crack open when you are looking for a pen but instead find old twist ties, two unmatched screws, a fortune cookie fortune that reads “You will soon be tired,” and enough dried-up pens to build a shrine to sadness and unfulfilled dreams. Energetically, it is where we store what we do not want to deal with. Emotionally, it is a vault of delay. Spiritually, it is a low-frequency time capsule, holding expired batteries, forgotten intentions, and buttons from shirts that were lost in 2009. And because energy loves to hide in the overlooked, this is where shadow work moves in, wears your old socks, and refuses to pay its half of the utility bill. I have come to believe that the more things you have in your drawer that you cannot identify, the more psychically static you are. Every unclaimed key is a question. Did I live there? Can I walk back into that house? Did they change the locks? Every half-melted crayon is a forgotten creative urge. Every bent paperclip is a reminder that you, too, have been twisted by circumstances and left in a place you did not ask to be. The Swingline, though—it takes it a step further. The Swingline does not just exist passively like the rest of the drawer detritus. It waits. It chooses its moment. It will staple one thing correctly and then jam for eternity, like a spiritual trickster daring you to examine your deeper resistance. The moment you try to get your life together—bam—it seizes up, as if to say, “Are you sure you’re ready to grow? Because your shadow says otherwise.” For the love of all that is sacred, when was the last time you tested your stapler? Be honest. Has it been months? Years? Did you inherit it from a co-worker who left unexpectedly in 2014? Is it a relic, a shrine piece, a totem of procrastination disguised as practicality? Because let us tell the truth here—if that stapler were a relationship, it would be the kind your best friend begged you to dump. It barely works, it constantly jams, and it has definitely made you cry at least once. Here’s the hard kicker: even though we know better, most of us will keep that broken stapler forever. Why? Because we think we might need it. We might one day want to staple something, and then we’ll have nothing. We will be left alone with our pages flying free, and our inner Virgo will riot. So we keep it, moving it from one junk drawer to the next. Maybe I could use it as
From Caterpillar to Wings
May is one of those in-between months that feels like a cosmic exhale. It is not quite the sleepy stillness of early spring, and not yet the full-sprint energy of summer. It is the warm cup of tea between what was and what is about to be. A beautiful, awkward bridge month where the air smells like honeysuckle and change, and everyone seems to be wondering if it is time to leap—or nap. This is the sweet spot. The season of almost. And nothing says “almost” better than the metaphor of the butterfly. Nature’s most glamorous late bloomer. Nobody rushes a butterfly. No one knocks on the chrysalis and says, “Hey, hurry up in there.” We all instinctively understand that transformation takes time. It is messy, silent, and sacred. And yet, when it is our own metamorphosis on the line, we start tapping our toes like the caterpillar is taking too long. Sound familiar? If life has felt a little upside down lately, take heart. You might not be stuck. You might just be in the cocoon. Welcome to the chrysalis phase, where everything old dissolves and everything new has not quite arrived yet. This is the pause before the pivot, and it is sneakily powerful—even when it feels like nothing is happening. It is the sacred stillness between chapters, where the old identity begins to unravel thread by thread, and the new one is not yet fully formed. To the outside world, it may look like inertia. But beneath the surface? A quiet storm of transformation is underway. Cells are rearranging, truths are being rewritten, and the soul is quietly negotiating its next leap forward. This is not stalling—it is sacred preparation. A necessary breath before the exhale. A hush before the symphony begins. There is a special brand of exhaustion that comes with being on the cusp of change. Fatigue rolls in not because you are lazy, but because your soul is preparing for a rewrite. You may find yourself confused, isolated, or overwhelmed by sudden bursts of clarity that fade just as quickly. You may be evaluating friendships, goals, wardrobes, hair colors—anything that no longer fits the person quietly unfolding inside of you. This is not chaos. This is the wisdom of rest. The cocoon stage is not for action—it is for sacred surrender. It is a gentle invitation to stop grasping, stop pushing, stop trying to control the outcome with spreadsheets and spiritual to-do lists. This is not the time to hustle your way to healing. It is permission, full and loving permission, to stop trying to force things into bloom and to instead honor the stillness that knows what it is doing. Rest is not wasted time. It is not laziness, nor is it weakness. It is deep, cellular preparation. It is the recalibration of your entire being before the breakthrough arrives. It is the moment in the movie when the main character looks out the window, music rising, before everything begins to change. And even though the audience cannot see it yet—something within them already has. The cocoon is where the old self quietly dissolves to make space for something truer. It is not glamorous. It is not efficient. But it is where the real magic happens. In the soft dark. In the quiet wait. In the pause so potent, it becomes the very foundation of your next flight. Transformation does not happen in the light. It begins in the dark, far away from the sight of the world and so very far away from applause. It starts when we allow the discomfort to do its job. Growth is not a spa day. It is more like emotional composting. Everything you thought was falling apart is, in truth, breaking open. So if it has felt heavy lately, take a breath. That pressure might be the exact energy needed to mold you into something new. The alchemy of becoming is not glamorous. It is crying at strange commercials. It is rewriting your plans on the back of a grocery receipt. It is waking up one morning with the sudden urge to start a podcast, change careers, plant tomatoes, or raise mini-goats. But then, something shifts. Suddenly, you notice you are not just thinking about change. You are feeling it. You catch yourself daydreaming. You pick up an old journal and write something bold in the margin. A new idea starts whispering to you at night, and it feels a little terrifying—but also wildly exciting. This is what it feels like to emerge. Emerging with wings is not a flawless process. Do not expect to soar straight away. Butterflies, even the most majestic ones, take a moment to dry off. You may stumble, just like a mini-goat. You may second-guess. But make no mistake—you are becoming. Every step, no matter how small, is sacred. As you step into this new chapter, be gentle with yourself. Let go of the idea that you must have it all figured out. You are allowed to evolve without explanation. You are allowed to shift your identity without holding a press conference. This version of you—the one guided by intuition and grounded in truth—is allowed to take up space. What feels expansive right now? What small, brave step is calling to you? Maybe it is signing up for that class on the care and feeding of mini-goats, or finally saying what you mean. Maybe it is deleting the app, the email, or the entire narrative you have been repeating for too long. Maybe it is releasing someone you thought was your friend. Whatever it is, follow it. Expansion rarely roars. It usually hums. To support this sacred shift, consider reaching for a few soul-nourishing tools. A sound bath, for example, can reset your nervous system like a lullaby for your cells. Solfeggio frequencies, especially those tuned to healing, are powerful allies when it comes to clearing old emotional debris. Music is not just entertainment—it is medicine. Or try a simple
Tending the Inner Garden
What Weeds in Your Life Need Pulling? May has arrived like an old friend carrying a basket of possibility and a bouquet of wildflowers. There is something about this month—the way it rolls in with more sunshine than sense, the way the air smells like second chances—that feels like an open door. The Earth is shaking off its sleep, stretching its limbs, and unfurling with quiet confidence. Everything seems to be reaching upward, eager to grow. And perhaps, deep down, so are we. For those who follow the stars—or who simply felt like the past two months steamrolled through their emotional landscape with all the grace of a runaway lawnmower—the recent eclipse season was no joke. There was a solar eclipse to wake us up, a lunar eclipse to wring us out, and enough inner upheaval to make even the most grounded person wonder if the cosmos was using us as a science experiment. But now, after the dust has settled and the sky has stitched itself back together, May steps forward with her hands on her hips and says, “Alright, darling. Now what are you going to do with all this space?” This, it turns out, is the perfect question. Because every soul, whether it is polished or slightly frayed, has a garden within. Some call it the spirit. Others refer to it as the emotional body, the subconscious, or the inner sanctum. But no matter what name you give it, it is there—living and breathing inside you, shaped by your experiences, your stories, and your dreams. And like any good garden, it needs tending. There are seasons when all we can do is survive. Weeds take root when no one is looking. They creep in through heartbreak, disappointment, fear, or the slow erosion of boundaries. They might disguise themselves as practicality or people-pleasing. They might look like overcommitment or that one friendship you keep out of guilt rather than joy. You know the one. Sometimes, they are not even weeds. They are plants that once served a purpose but have now outgrown their usefulness. Like that ivy of perfectionism—lush and determined, but choking out every breath of joy. May does not demand that you bulldoze your entire soul and start over. It asks you to take a good look at what is growing and decide—gently, lovingly, and perhaps with a little ruthlessness—what needs to stay and what has worn out its welcome. This is the month when we pull on our metaphorical gloves, grab the trowel of introspection, and poke around in the soil of our lives. It is messy work, to be sure. See those beautiful roses over there? Yeh, those. Look closer. That’s right, they protect themselves with razor sharp thorns. No one emerges from weeding unscathed. You will get dirt under your nails. You might uncover a few forgotten hurts buried beneath and discover why you are always busy and on the go. You might even find an old goal from 2017 still sprouting despite your best efforts to ignore it. The truth is, when it’s quiet around us and there is nowhere to go, nothing to do, we are left with only one option–to take a deep look and see who is lurking inside of us. But make no mistake—this is sacred work. Every time you name a pattern that no longer serves you, you make room for healing. Every time you say, “I deserve better than this,” you create space for grace. And every time you choose yourself—quietly, fiercely, without apology—you plant something beautiful. So, my darling, it’s time to shovel the… manure… and get the beds ready. The seed catalog just arrived and it’s time to plant. Of course, no one said this process would be tidy. Healing rarely is. You may find yourself crying over a cup of tea, laughing mid-meltdown, or talking to your houseplants like they are your spiritual advisors. This is all perfectly normal. In fact, it is encouraged. So where does one begin? Begin by noticing what has become overgrown. Are there parts of your life that feel cluttered, not just with stuff, but with obligations that no longer align with your heart? Are there thoughts you repeat to yourself like bad elevator music—subtle but maddening? Perhaps your weed is called self-doubt. Or maybe it answers to the name of comparison. It might show up as avoidance, procrastination, or that little voice in your head that sounds suspiciously like your high school gym teacher saying you will never measure up. That’s right–today is the day we climb that rope up to the top of the ceiling. Whatever it is, May invites you to name it. And then, slowly and steadily, begin the gentle process of letting it go. If you feel brave, grab a journal and write down the things you are ready to release. If you feel silly, talk to yourself out loud. Light a candle. Burn the list. Dance in your living room to a song that reminds you of who you were before the world told you who to be. This is your garden. There are no rules here, only rhythms. And while you are clearing space, remember this: nature abhors a vacuum. Once you pull a weed, something new will want to grow in its place. Be intentional about what you plant. Choose seeds of peace, courage, joy, and purpose. Tend them with care. Water them with kindness, love, and compassion. Give them the sunlight of your attention. Over time, they will grow. In this season of longer days and warming skies, there is a natural momentum that supports your transformation. You do not have to force it. You simply have to align with it. Walk barefoot. Sit with your thoughts instead of running from them. Laugh more. Cry when you need to. And for the love of compost, stop apologizing for needing time to bloom. The Earth is not in a rush, and neither are you. Let May be your invitation
Cosmic Shifts Ahead
This month, the stars aren’t just aligning—they’re rolling out the red carpet. May 2025 is your invitation to embrace personal growth, speak your truth, and get real about those big dreams you’ve been carrying around like glitter in your back pocket. With Pluto retrograding, Saturn shifting signs, and Gemini season breezing in like a social butterfly on espresso, you’ve got momentum. But the cosmos also asks for maturity, patience, and a healthy respect for the long game. Let’s see what May has in store for your sign… Aries Forge Ahead, But with Finesse May gives you both the spark and the structure. With Saturn entering your sign on the 25th, it’s game time—cosmic bootcamp is officially in session. This isn’t about hustle for hustle’s sake. It’s about aligning your ambition with real commitment. Lay foundations, take action, and lead with purpose. The Scorpio full moon mid-month could stir a few emotional depths, but you’re well-equipped to navigate them. Channel your passion into something that matters. You’re not just chasing dreams now—you’re building them brick by brick. Taurus Clear the Cobwebs, Make Room for Magic Happy solar return, Taurus! The sun is warming your sign for most of the month, giving you the celestial spotlight—and a rare opportunity to pause and recalibrate. Pluto’s retrograde starting May 4 nudges you inward. Emotional spring cleaning? It’s a vibe. You might find yourself reflecting on past decisions and questioning old roles you’ve played in your own story. Reframe them with compassion. Your ruling planet, Venus, keeps things passionate and bold all month—especially in love. But don’t forget to love yourself in the process. What you shed now makes space for something stunning to grow. Gemini Here Comes the Wind Beneath Your Wings The season shift on May 20 delivers your annual solar recharge. And just in time, too—Mercury joins the party on the 25th, making this a month of dazzling ideas and rapid momentum. Want to launch, pitch, or publish something? This is your window. But don’t get too scattered. Saturn’s new placement means that while energy is high, focus is everything. Think less “spinning plates,” more “strategic juggling.” With the new moon in your sign on May 27, the universe is practically begging you to dream out loud. Speak it. Mean it. Begin it. Cancer Strengthen the Ties That Hold You This month, the stars are softening the edges around your relationships, inviting you to deepen bonds that matter. Mental, emotional, and spiritual alignment is the name of the game. Whether it’s a soulmate, sibling, or creative partner, authentic connection is calling. Conversations flow more freely post-May 20, and by the new moon, you’ll likely find yourself having “the talk”—whatever that means for you. Venus adds a bit of fire to your water, giving you courage in love and clarity in friendship. Speak up. Love louder. Leo Work Smarter, Shine Brighter Leo, your calendar might be full, but your energy? That’s a precious resource this month. With Mars revving in your sign and Saturn pressing you to play the long game, it’s time to delegate, streamline, and—dare we say—ask for help. May blesses you with unexpected opportunities, especially if you’re willing to let go of the “I’ll do it all myself” narrative. The second half of the month is ripe for mentorship, collaboration, and long-overdue rest. Great things are coming—but not if you burn out trying to chase them all alone. Virgo Don’t Quit Before the Breakthrough You’ve been quietly grinding away, and while the results haven’t shown up yet, that doesn’t mean they’re not brewing beneath the surface. May whispers, “Keep going.” Especially as Pluto retrograde invites you to shift how you approach your long-term goals. Fresh ideas surface after the 20th, and they could be the breakthrough you’ve been waiting for. The lesson? Your hard work is valid, but flexibility wins the month. Your methodical mind + a touch of creative risk = sweet success. Trust the process—but shake it up a little. Libra This One’s All About You Personal development takes center stage this month, Libra. Whether it’s signing up for a class, diving into a new spiritual practice, or finally mastering the perfect croissant, May is encouraging you to grow from the inside out. Saturn’s shift helps you get serious about what you’re building in the long term. Try setting a challenge or goal for yourself. Not because you “should,” but because you’re capable—and deserve the glow-up. Invest in your evolution. It’ll pay off in confidence, clarity, and maybe even croissants. Scorpio Time to Build Something That Lasts With the full moon lighting up your sign on May 12, you’re glowing—if slightly moody. But what’s new? Emotional truths are coming to the surface, and you’re the zodiac’s best detective. Channel that intensity into transformation. A major shift is brewing with Pluto retrograding and Saturn moving into Aries. A fresh opportunity is coming—most likely involving your home, finances, or well-being. It’s big. It’s real. And it’s got long-term vibes. Your new beginning isn’t a fling—it’s a foundation. Build wisely, and give yourself credit for how far you’ve come. Sagittarius Plot Twist: You’re Ready Now You’ve been in a bit of a holding pattern, Sag, but that changes this month. Saturn’s shift breaks the stalemate—but only if you’re ready to do things differently. Spoiler alert: you are. Outdated tactics are out. Pivot. Innovate. Experiment. The Scorpio full moon uncovers emotional clutter you didn’t even know you were hauling around. Let it go. You’re making room for movement, growth, and (finally) results. By the Gemini new moon, you’ll be sprinting again. And not just running—soaring. Capricorn Challenge Accepted (And Mastered) You love a mountain to climb, and May delivers a worthy one. Set a bold personal or professional goal and commit. Seriously. You’re wired for achievement, and Saturn in Aries sharpens that drive like a whetstone. Structure keeps you balanced, especially when Gemini season tempts you to do all the things. Pick one thing. One meaningful, challenging, soul-stretching thing. Then go
