Nostalgia
“Nostalgia – it’s delicate, but potent. Teddy told me that in Greek nostalgia literally means 'the pain from an old wound. ' It's a twinge in your heart far more powerful than memory alone. This device isn't a spaceship, it's a time machine.” -Mad Men
I love analogue stuff.
And not in a hipster, affectatious “I love swing dance” kind of way. I mean, I haven’t worn a pair of saddle shoes since kindergarten;)
But, as a shaman, I’ve always loved the resonate, palpable echo of energy associated with old school, well-worn objects and spaces that were loved and shared and venerated: a twenty year-old restaurant that has hosted hundreds of birthday parties and wedding anniversaries; a wood-paneled train car that has carried thousands of expectant workers returning home to their families; a piece of furniture that used to be your childhood hide-and-seek destination, now sitting in your office and holding file folders; and the New Orleans French Quarter bar that has remained, largely unchanged, since before the United States was even a country.
A time machine
The nostalgic energy that unfolds from these totems really does create a kind of time machine, one that transports our minds and our senses to other realms. And, when one considers the quantum mechanics of reality— specifically how linear, chronological time is how we humans perceive time, rather than how time really functions— things get even more mystical and cool. I mean, if everything is actually happening everywhere all at once (as the Oscar-winning movie of a similar name would assert), then nostalgia is the very substance we can use to traverse time/ space at will.
But nostalgia is disappearing, and our ability to time travel is disappearing with it.
In the place of nostalgia we now find sterile, flattened, pre-fab, soulless placeholders, a world utterly disconnected from the golden thread that had previously tied us to earlier generations and the mythical realms of spirit— and to our own ability to time travel. In our pursuit of convenience and efficiency and productivity, we have effectively undertaken an energetic genocide of the unseen realms, wiping out the world of enchanted artifacts, people and places that used to anchor the divine energy of the old gods.
It’s a form of spiritual slash and burn agriculture. Our society is effectively energetically self-cannibalizing everything that came before us in the pursuit of short-term, momentary “survival”.
We’re selling our future— and our souls— for the moment.
It’s like we’re warming ourselves at a bonfire made of everything deep and real and spiritual that makes life worth living.
Is it warm? Sure. Is it worth it? I don’t think so.
The last three years of Covid lockdowns, the large-scale rollout of AI, the massive redistribution of wealth to a few billionaires and special interests, and several massive rounds of workforce layoffs have decimated the very human and very magical messy middle: the brick-and-mortar small businesses and art galleries housed in lively, vintage structures; the unkempt, wild prairie-plant laden neighborhood parks and vacant lots filled with fairies; the artisanally hand-made, magical objects from a time when everything (and everyone) wasn’t totally disposable; and the free time and resources required for so many of us to explore things outside of fundamental survival. To talk to our elders. To discover hidden gems. To commune with spirit.
I often refer to this as the “West Elm-ification” of our culture. Everything now looks and feels the same: a sterile soft grey canvas sectional with a neutral air plant nearby. There is some inoffensive, framed stock art in the background. A tiny balcony that no one can walk out onto. Functional. Minimal. Lifeless. Joyless. Off-the-shelf. Same.
Many of us can barely remember what life was like before it was transferred to some silicon-based, social media-housed parallel dimension that scrubs away anything real, unexpected, or serendipitous. A good portion of us don’t even know how to write anymore without the assistance of Chat GPT: a damning condemnation of humanity’s rapid adherence to the soft bigotry of low expectations.
I mean, what would Ernest Hemingway say if he could see our collective, voluntary castration of our own consciousness by outsourcing our thinking and writing and personal expression to an artificial intelligence?
What little we must think of ourselves to outsource the very bedrocks of what it means to be a human— the very thing that elevates us and provides meaning to our existence: the telling of stories and the sharing of wisdom.
Do you remember what the world was like before everything was reduced down to soulless, lifeless biometric data? Before our value was measured by how much we consume or produce? Before we were quantified and commoditized and collated by unseen, exploitative and notably anti-human forces? Do you remember a time when we could just leave work and forget about the stress of the day, stepping into the magical portal of something we used to call “free time”, a dimension in which anything was quite literally possible?
As humans, we have largely forgotten that we are greater than the sum of our parts. We’ve forgotten that there are mysteries and magic that can’t be found in the Google search bar. We have forgotten that our mystical existence hasn’t yet been fully mapped and determined and decided.
As a psychic and shaman and writer, this recent shift has been tantamount to witnessing a mass death event. When I look at the data around the global mental health crisis— and the parallel “loneliness epidemic”— I’m not confused about what the root cause is.
I know what the cause is.
Our energetic habitat
In short: we’ve destroyed our own energetic habitat. I define this habitat as the magical demimonde that permeates and parallels our material reality, infusing our lives with spirit, inspiration, the wisdom of previous generations and profound, divine knowledge.
We’re not just meat puppets, guys.
And when we ignore our spiritual needs and disregard our own divine nature, we murder the very aspect of ourselves that elevates our experience beyond the mundane.
Life isn’t about just surviving. It’s about living. And, to do that, we need to acknowledge the existence of our souls and of spirit…and make sure we have the appropriate habitat to support our whole nature: not just our day-to-day physical survival.
For this Sagittarius Full Moon Deep Dive we’re going to dig into the magic of nostalgia. We’ll explore which elements of this energetic ecosystem are crucial for our spiritual survival and personal happiness, as well as how we can all support the messy middle (i.e. the people trying to create spiritual sanctuaries) in pragmatic, actionable ways.
In this post, we’ll be sharing recommended meditations, rituals, exercises, crystals, tarot cards and flower essences perfectly aligned with this spirited, badass Sagittarius Full Moon. We’ll invite you to time travel with us on the astral plane, outlining some tangible tips and tricks to leverage in reconnecting with the natural and spiritual worlds— and even start rebuilding our shared energetic habitat!
Sagittarius is the zodiac sign of exploration and adventure, of living and feeling and connecting and drinking the sweet elixir of life itself— instead of sitting on a couch, watching other people do stuff through a screen on the wall. In this Full Moon Deep Dive, we’re going to explore the Middle World of shamanism, relevant and related ritual magic, where and how to find spiritual crossroads and portals, and how to bring more real magic into our daily lives.
In this post, we’re going to reference some fascinating evolutionary biologists that indicate that the modern rate of change is pushing our human systems past their breaking point— and testing the limits of our brains’ neuroplasticity. Why? Well, because we were originally designed with spirit in mind.
The long and short of it? We had a lot of wisdom as children, when we were out making mud pies and magic potions and riding our bikes unsupervised for hours. Sure, we might have scraped our knees or gotten a bee sting or two, but we were connected to nature, to each other, to our “imaginary” friends, to our higher selves, and to the very real but often invisible world of magic.
And our previous generations— with their old ways of doing things— had a lot of wisdom, too. Yes, we should always be seeking, improving and innovating, but why do we continue to throw out some of the stuff that already works with every new invention? We should judge everything new that hits the scene objectively and on its merits instead of just assuming that it’s good because its new. And we should certainly also consider the impacts of “progress” on complex, interconnected living systems— including the world of spirit!
No, this isn’t some old, cranky woman yelling about the “good old days”. Fuck, I don’t want to live out on a homestead without hot, running water or nice sheets. And I don’t have any love for regressive, small-minded bigots, as I’m sure I would be top of the hit list for any future religious witch hunt or Handmaid’s Tale bullshit. I know that I benefit from advancements made in society, like penicillin. God bless penicillin! But it doesn’t mean there weren’t flashes of genius before our new stuff. There were.
Just because something is new, it doesn’t mean that it’s necessarily good for us. It also doesn’t mean we’re ready for it: either from an evolutionarily perspective, spiritual point of view, or a cultural lens.
So, let’s start an audit of our living systems, perhaps bringing back some of the old ways while getting rid of some of our new “zombie innovations”— things that seem to just keep lurching forward even if they’re not really alive or additive or helpful.
There is wisdom in the old ways. The old gods still offer us insights and magic. So, let’s get in our nostalgia time machine for this wonderful Sagittarius Full Moon Deep Dive.
After all: we need to start building a sanctuary…for the human soul.