There’s a phrase that’s been echoing in my mind lately: “Sometimes the most powerful medicine is the kind that calls us back.” Back to what, exactly? Back to ourselves, perhaps. Back to the wisdom that was carried by those who walked before us, to the rituals and remedies that shaped the lives of our ancestors. Or maybe back to a kind of magick—a word I use intentionally, with its old-world spelling—that we’re just beginning to remember.

If you spend any time in the world of alternative healing, you’ll notice a rising tide: people talking about vibrational medicine, flower essences, and the resurgence of the divine feminine. The language is evocative—medicine for the soul, healing for the subtle bodies, remedies that work beyond the physical. Some claim profound shifts: emotions unstuck, clarity restored, old wounds finally able to breathe and release. Others remain skeptical, pointing to a lack of scientific consensus or measurable outcomes.

As a medium, I’m often asked what I believe about these practices. The truth is, I’m far more interested in the questions than the answers.

What is it about flower essences, for instance, that draws people in? Is it the idea that each blossom carries a unique frequency, a sort of signature from nature itself? Is it the ritual—the act of pausing, choosing, and trusting in something gentle and unseen? Or is it the longing for a world where healing is multidimensional, where we’re not just bodies to be fixed but souls to be remembered?

Vibrational medicine, as it’s described by practitioners, asks us to see ourselves as layered beings: physical, emotional, energetic, spiritual. It suggests that healing might happen on levels we can’t always see or measure. Some talk about the astral body, the light body, the ways emotions can get “stuck” in places that don’t show up on an X-ray but might be felt in a moment of stillness or grief.

And then there’s the divine feminine—a phrase that means something different to everyone who uses it. For some, it’s an energy, a return to intuition, compassion, and balance. For others, it’s a reclamation of practices and perspectives that were sidelined in our rush toward logic and certainty. In the circles where flower essences and vibrational healing are discussed, the divine feminine is often described as rising, asking us to listen, to nurture, to remember.

Of course, not everyone is convinced. There are those who see these practices as wishful thinking or, at best, comforting rituals with no real effect. And I understand that perspective—after all, we live in a world that prizes proof, that wants to see, measure, and verify before it believes.

But here’s what I find fascinating: the stories. Whether or not you believe in the science of vibrational medicine, the stories people share are often powerful. Stories of emotional release, of feeling “seen” by a plant or a practice, of a subtle shift that can’t quite be explained. Stories of healing that don’t fit neatly into a case study or clinical trial.

And isn’t there something hopeful in that? Isn’t there something encouraging about the idea that healing might be bigger than we’ve been taught to imagine? That maybe, just maybe, the act of reaching for healing—whatever form it takes—can open us to new experiences, new connections, and a deeper sense of possibility?

I don’t offer these reflections as endorsements or statements of fact. I’m not here to tell you what’s real, only to invite you to be curious. What if healing is more layered than we imagine? What if the medicine we need isn’t always found in a bottle or a prescription pad, but in a moment of connection—with ourselves, with nature, with something ancient and wise?

I think about my own experiences as a medium—about the ways healing can arrive unexpectedly, in a message, in a memory, in a sense of being accompanied through grief. I think about the rituals we create, the magick we make, the ways we reach for meaning when the world feels uncertain.

Maybe, in the end, the question isn’t whether vibrational medicine or flower essences “work” in the way we expect. Maybe the question is what we’re longing for when we seek them out. Maybe it’s about remembering that we are, in some mysterious way, connected to everything—and that sometimes, the act of reaching for healing is itself a kind of magick.

So, I invite you to listen to this week’s conversation with Natalie Viglione. Bring your skepticism, your hope, your longing for something more. And, as always, let yourself wonder: What if the magick we forgot is just waiting for us to remember?