The Sunlight, the Smoke, and Coming Full Circle

One of my first jobs was at a local metaphysical store, a place that felt like it existed in its own time zone. I walked through those doors knowing next to nothing about the world of spirit, just a few basics about crystals and a vague familiarity with oracle decks. I expected a formal interview, but my boss wasn't looking for a scholar. She took one look at me, saw something she liked, and that was it. No resume, no rehearsed answers, just a simple handshake and a “see you on Monday.” In a world that usually demands you prove your worth on paper, she hired me on pure intuition.

That single choice set the tone for everything that followed.

Working there as a teenager gave me front-row seats to the full spectrum of human nature. That shop was never just a retail store; it functioned as a sanctuary and an anchor for people navigating the messy edges of being alive. We had people from all walks of life, seasonal witches, curious newcomers, and people driving an hour or two from the boondocks just to reach a place where they could find their spiritual tools.

You'd see people come in right in the middle of a healing crisis, raw and vulnerable, desperately looking for something to anchor their pain. Other times, it was someone terrified out of their mind, convinced a dark presence was haunting their home and looking for some kind of protection. And of course, the spiritual world isn't immune to its own friction. Working there meant you also inherited some eccentric characters rolling through. It was never a dull day.

Every morning before the doors opened, the ritual was always the same: strike a match, light some incense, and say a quiet prayer for the day. The morning sunlight would slice straight through the heavy air, catching the rising smoke in a sharp, golden beam. I was just a kid soaking it all in, fascinated by the people, the stories, and the world I had suddenly found myself in.

And stepping outside was no different, that entire autumn working there felt like a movie set. The crisp orange and yellow leaves framed a world that barely felt real. Between the bite in the wind and that deep, low autumn sun pouring through the windows, it was stunning.

My boss and the resident psychic, both wonderful women and characters in their own right, had an uncanny sensitivity to the people and energy around them. The shop itself was a vibrant hub for a little bit of everything: oracle cards, numerology, shamanism tools, books, crystals, etc. It was a completely genuine space, where people could explore different paths, from earth-based traditions to divination, without anyone pretending there was only one way to make sense of the world.

These women weren't running around trying to curate a pristine, aesthetic lifestyle; they were cigarette-smoking, coffee-drinking realists who were intuitive as hell and remarkably laid-back. They didn't do spirituality for show or performance. They just treated it like a fact of life, no fuss, no theatrics, just a quiet, healthy respect for what they did. They were women with their own very human flaws and quirks, making them fascinating to be around.

Coming Full Circle
Fast forward more than a decade, and looking back, I realize being immersed in that environment shaped me far more than I ever realized. Being surrounded by people with different perspectives and belief systems opened my mind to other religions, teachings and ways of thinking I had never considered before. More than anything, it taught me to look beyond the belief itself and become curious about what it can do, how perception, intention, and the stories we tell ourselves can change the way we experience the world. That curiosity stayed with me, influencing the way I think about consciousness, perception, energy, and what exists beyond what we can immediately see. In many ways, that experience inspired part of the foundation for the worlds I create as an artist today.