A Pilgrimage of Light — The Black Madonna
- 6 days ago
- 5 min read
Many of you know me as a witch, and some assume that means I’m Wiccan, Pagan, or that I worship darkness.
Nothing could be further from the truth. A witch is simply someone who works with the elements and honors personal sovereignty. It’s a definition, not a religion. For me it means being in relationship with nature, energy, and intention — listening, learning, and creating balance between the seen and unseen.
I do not worship anything outside of myself, because we are all aspects of the Divine — not separate from it.
Once you come to understand your truth, you begin to recognize your own strength, the unique gifts that live within you, and your direct connection to Source. From that awareness, real magic begins to unfold — the kind born from harmony, not hierarchy.
Being spiritual doesn’t mean being closed-minded.
I love experiencing the culture and beliefs that others hold dear. There’s truth and light woven through everything — no single path holds it all. Many traditions overlap in ways we don’t always see; they may call the energy by another name or celebrate it differently, but at the heart of it all, it’s the same current of love and reverence.
I’ve learned that when we become rigid in our beliefs, we create separation — not unity. Fear and ego build walls where light could have passed through. But when we stay open, we find that we are all part of the same source.
You never know — you may find your own truth along the way.
For me, I pick and choose what resonates. If it feels right, I lean in; if it causes fear or confusion, I leave it behind — but I also understand that darkness exists everywhere. We cannot outrun it, nor should we try. Instead, we learn to understand it. And in doing so, we become our own masters of light and dark.
You don’t have to fit into a box of preconceived notions.
Some days you may find me at the Buddhist Temple, the next at the Hindu; today… at the shrine of the Black Madonna. Every place holds a spark of the same light.
A Visit to the Black Madonna
Today I took a trip to visit the Black Madonna, and the moment I arrived, I could feel the hum of the land. It’s the kind of energy that settles your spirit and reminds you of the love that still lives beneath everything — ancient, maternal, unshakable.
This sacred place was the life’s work of one man, Brother Bronisluas, who followed a vision and spent twenty-five years bringing it into being. Every grotto, every curve of stone, every shimmering geode was carried and stacked by his own hands. His devotion is woven into the earth here — a love letter to the Divine Mother.
If you’ve been longing for a place that feels both grounding and holy, or simply need to feel a mother’s love in a quiet, tangible way — this is that place.
📍 100 St. Joseph’s Hill Road, Pacific, MO 63069
About the Photos
I’ve been guided to begin something new — a photo journal that weaves images and energy together.
Each picture you’ll see below was taken in a moment when the veil between seen and unseen seemed to thin — when light, texture, and feeling aligned. I’ve paired them with short reflections from my journal so you can sense what moved through me as I took each shot.
This isn’t meant to explain the sacred, only to share how it revealed itself that day. Maybe the photos will stir something familiar in you, too.
The Light That Remains
Even when surrounded by darkness, there is a light that insists on shining through.
The forest holds its breath around him — nature reclaiming what humanity once distorted. Here, truth breathes again, unbound by walls or words.
The crow lingers in shadow, not as an omen of fear, but of remembrance — a whisper of death and transformation. It speaks of what must fall away: the corrupted doctrines, the contorted truths, the cages built around divinity.
Through the decay, the original source still hums — eternal, untouchable.
For even as light fades, it does not die; it withdraws only long enough to teach us how to see again.
And in that stillness, we remember: rebirth is not the end of faith, but its cleansing.
The Bloom at Her Feet
She was the only one.
One bloom rising from broken earth, standing at the feet of the Mother — a quiet testament to endurance.
Her red melts into the air like ancestral blood, carrying both the ache and the healing of those who came before. Passion, sacrifice, rebirth — all written in her petals.
Even here, where the soil is dry and the stones are sharp, she blooms.
Because some spirits are born to remind the world that light is not afraid of hard places.
The Mother Who Sees
She does not need a crown to be known as Queen.
Her gaze alone commands reverence — not through fear, but through remembrance. She sees straight through the veil, into the place where soul and sorrow meet.
There is weight in her eyes — not burden, but knowing. The kind that comes from holding lifetimes of grief and grace in the same breath.
Her power is not loud; it hums softly beneath the surface, ancient as the soil, steady as prayer.
She is the Mother of Many — the keeper of hearts, the watcher at the threshold.
Her presence asks nothing but truth.
And when you meet her eyes, you remember who you are.
Closing Reflection — The Light Within Shadow
The Black Madonna speaks in vibration, not words.
She hums through stone and wind, through shadow and color. She reminds us that divinity isn’t separate from the dark — it lives there too, waiting to be remembered.
True light is not the absence of shadow but the understanding of it.
When we stop fearing the darkness, we learn to move within it — to listen, to integrate, to rise. This is where wholeness begins.
We are all aspects of the Divine, carrying both candle and flame, night and dawn.
Once you understand that truth — your truth — you stop chasing light and start becoming it.
So whether you find her in a temple, a forest, a church, or a quiet reflection on your own wall, remember: the Mother is everywhere, because she is within you.
