My work is not three tracks. It is one loom.
The bee, the serpent, and the wolf are not separate lineages I move between depending on the offer. They are threads, and the womb is the loom they pass through.
Dreaming is the act of weaving.
Nighttime dreams are the oracle.
Waking life is the cloth that gets woven.
I teach women how to work with dreams as living intelligence. Not passive interpretation. And not spirituality divorced from reality. What I teach is grounded, practiced, and lived.
I have been a vivid dreamer for as long as I can remember. Not in a way that felt special, but in a way that felt constant. Dreams were simply where information came from. They shaped how I understood people, timing, and decisions long before I knew that wasn’t how everyone lived.
In hindsight, the liminal has always made sense. My last name literally means "of the door". Moments of passage. Crossings. Places where one state gives way to another.
Again and again, my life has oriented around doors rather than destinations. Listening over assertion. Where information moves between worlds: dream and waking, body and land, night and day.
I didn't grow up thinking of dreams as imagination or fantasy. They carried weight. When I ignored them, life felt disoriented. When I listened, things moved. Over time, I learned that dreaming demands response.
As a child, I slept beside a wolf pup. A husky who grew up with me, who moved with me, who curled against my body at night while I dreamed. Long before I had language for lineages or frameworks, I understood attunement through her. Safety. Co-regulation. Presence.
In the 1990s, like many women of my generation, I was drawn to wolves without knowing why. The sweaters. The shirts. The images that followed us everywhere. We were told it was a phase. An aesthetic. Something to grow out of.
It wasn’t. It was memory moving before language.
That thread never left. It matured as instinct, loyalty, grief, and a refusal to live cut off from what the body knows.
My ancestral lands stretch across Calabria (the cradle of Magna Graecia), Naples (home of the Cumaean Sibyl), Abruzzo (where the Marsi worked with serpent medicine and honoured Angitia), and the inland Apennine region once inhabited by the Hirpini, known as the "wolf people" of southern Italy. I’ve also traced family ties to Rome, where the She-wolf who nursed Romulus and Remus still shapes the mythic foundations of the city.
These are not credentials to me. They explain orientation.
Why animals arrived early in my life.
Why dreams never stayed private.
Why instinct always mattered more than permission.
I don’t speak for these lineages, but I carry their echoes in my blood, and I listen for what wants to be remembered.
The bees didn’t arrive as metaphor. They arrived as instruction.
For several years, they appeared in my dreams, pressing on fears I didn’t yet have language for. At that point, they were not specific. They were persistent.
In early 2023, I finally responded. I signed up for my first course in intentional dreaming with European bee shamanism. Within a week, two hives appeared unexpectedly on the land where we park our tiny home. They did not belong to me. They belonged to the property owners, who had acquired them without experience and without ongoing care.
Shortly after, the dreams sharpened. The bees began appearing again, no longer as a general presence but with precision. In one recurring sequence, I was shown bees with deformed bodies. Their wings were damaged. They could not fly. The dreams carried urgency and instruction. At the time, I didn’t have a framework for what I was seeing. I only knew the dreams would not stop.
After one particular dream, I checked the hives for the first time. I found exactly what I had been shown. Deformed wings.
I became a bee tender overnight, answering their call for help. That moment altered how I understood dreaming. The dreams were not abstract. They were meaningful, specific, and consequential. They were asking for action.
I began tending the hives with my beloved, Justin, learning the discipline, care, and attention the bees required. Over time, the hive drew me into liminal work. What some would call midwifery, what others would call death work, guiding me into the terrain of the psychopomp.
The bees taught me that dreaming is a form of listening that carries responsibility. When meaning is received, it asks to be met.
The serpent found me first through the body.
In 2018, I was living in a tiny town in Australia, working long farm shifts to secure a second-year visa. Each Saturday I volunteered at a local wildlife center and was assigned to work with snakes. My first python terrified me, and I stayed anyway. Learn to hold what scares you became my practice.
Years later, when I encountered the herstory of the Pythia and traced my ancestry to the Marsi, it felt less like discovery and more like recognition. The serpent had already taught me descent, return, and how knowing moves through the body before it becomes thought.
This is where the womb became unmistakable to me. Not as theory, but as center. As the place where dreams, sensation, and memory converge.
Today, everything I teach runs through one central truth: Our nighttime dreams are oracles.
Not mere entertainment. Not random subconscious noise. Not puzzles to solve.
Dreams are instruction. They speak in image, sensation, repetition, and symbol. When a woman learns to listen and respond, her dreams begin to weave her waking life from the inside out.
This is why the bee, serpent, and wolf belong together in my work. The Great Mother is the thread running through them all.
The bee carries the hum of the collective and the alchemy of nectar into honey.
The serpent carries prophecy, shedding, and the spiral intelligence of the body.
The wolf carries loyalty, instinct, wild timing, and the voice that refuses domestication.
All of it passes through the womb as oracle, whether experienced as a physical center or an energetic one.
My work is shaped by lived practice and disciplined study.
I trained in dream incubation techniques at Dreamer’s Sanctum and in Dreaming with Bees under Ariella Daly’s guidance, and I am completing a ten-month beekeeping apprenticeship with her as well.
I have studied The Art of Dream Divination & Synchronicity with Robert Moss, whose work on dream archaeology informs how I understand dreams as cultural and ancestral artifacts, not personal invention.
I completed Omens, Oracles, and Prophecies through Harvard University’s online learning program and received a verified certificate for the course, which examines how cultures across time have worked with oracular knowledge, divination, and prophetic systems.
My academic background includes a Bachelor’s degree in Criminology and Criminal Justice with a concentration in Psychology and a minor in Law from Carleton University. That education shaped my understanding of behaviour, power, and the ways instinct and knowing are regulated, suppressed, or redirected within systems.
For several years, I worked within the court system as a courtroom clerk. I saw how language becomes authority, how narrative determines consequence, and how decisions are shaped not just by facts, but by framing, timing, and who is permitted to speak.
I do not separate mysticism from psychology, or myth from lived consequence.
Alongside my work in dream lineage and oracular education, I also mentor spiritual entrepreneurs through soulful brand strategy, helping them bring their visions to life in ways that are magnetic, coherent, and meaningful, without compromising depth.
If you’re here, you may not be looking for more information.
You may be looking for the thread you’ve been following your whole life.
And if so, you’re in the right place.