Old Soul Magic

I wanted to share something personal. A little magical. A whole lot of wonder.

Why?

Because one of my dreams is coming true—I get to be a vendor for my favorite holistic convention.

The thought came to me while I was prepping some door prizes the coordinator requested. That thought was simple, but powerful: I’m going to do it.

And I felt it in my bones.

This isn’t something I usually talk about. The way I make things—especially pendulums—isn’t part of a sales pitch. It’s a practice. A pull. A quiet thing that tugs at the corners of my intuition until it becomes real.

Maybe some context before I get into the surprise.

Some families have traditions. Mine included crafting pendulums. My mom and I would sit and make them together, and she’d always say I had a better hand for it. Said it was my Gypsy blood. She called it family magic.

I never questioned it. Making pendulums always felt like remembering something, not learning. Like I was pulling something through, not building it from scratch.

Each pendulum chooses its own appearance. Sometimes it wants a stone. Sometimes just the antler is enough. I don’t argue. I don’t design. I just listen.

I don’t really think of myself as the maker. I’m the guide. The hands. The in-between.

That’s the feeling I’m pulling on now.

This weekend, I get to step out of the quiet. I get to share these pendulums—not just as tools, but as pieces of that old magic, shaped with memory, spirit, and reverence.

If you find yourself near my table, I hope you feel something. A pull. A warmth. A little remembering of your own.

May the north steady your hand,

May the south warm your heart,

May the east clear your thoughts,

And may the west stir your spirit.

May the tools find those who need them.

And may you always follow the pull of your magic.