I’ve always felt tentatively receptive to what some might term ‘hippy shit’. From mediums to meditation retreats, I figure there’s no harm in giving these things a go. What I may lack in a clearly-defined system of spiritual belief, I reckon I make up for in whimsy, and a general appreciation for the idea of being spiritual. Growing up, I fawned over natal chart readings, hoarded ‘lucky’ knick knacks, and stuck ‘tarot deck’ at the top of my Christmas list. That is to say, I enjoy the aesthetics of spirituality as much as, if not more than, the practice itself: the musk of burning incense, the moonstone around my neck – it’s fun!

I’m also a fraud. Because, despite my witch-curious ways, I’m not sure I actually believe in all I peddle. The rocks are pretty and my yoga mat well-worn, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have my doubts. So, I did what any cynic would do: spent a frankly obscene amount of money on a spiritual healer. At worst, I figured, it’d make a decent piece for Lifestyle.

Enter Fern. My mum had been seeing her for what she calls Soul Empowerment Sessions for a year or so, initially skeptical but ultimately calmed by the hour-long slots of meditative rest. Whether she could actually peer into chakras remained to be seen, but the whole thing seemed relatively harmless. I’d received a tarot reading from Fern before, and had considered it total bull until she (correctly) diagnosed my caffeine intolerance over Zoom. Otherwise, the reading had been pretty vague – friends, lovers, and new ideas galore. I wasn’t convinced. Still, I coughed up the cash, and found myself outside of her house a month later.

“At worst, I figured, it’d make a decent piece for Lifestyle”

Fern (not her real name, I’m not so cruel) looks exactly how you’d expect a spiritual healer to look, if you’ve ever given it a thought. With pastel hair and a septum ring, Fern works from a garden studio pungent with sage. She offered me a cuppa, then began screwing the lids off glass jars of herbs to create some kind of elaborate concoction – the tea was pink, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. We discussed my intentions for the session, and she asked if there was anything I expected to show up in the reading; having just finished Easter term, I said: “Uh, I’m probably pretty stressed?”. Thus began the healing. I lay back on a massage bed covered with pillows and heated blankets, and Fern encouraged me to shut my eyes as she beat a rhythmic drum. At some point during this, she farted, and I tried very hard not to snicker.

I won’t lie, the experience wasn’t particularly magical. She walked around the room with various noisy objects, creating what felt like an immersive ASMR experience until she started loudly banging a gong. Relaying the experience will be quite difficult, considering I couldn’t see anything, but I’ll give a stab at an auditory translation:

bdm… bdm… TSSSsss… TSSSsss… shakashakashakashaka BANG. BANG. nyeuuoooong… nyeuuoooong

This continued, relatively undisturbed, for an hour. Sometimes she’d lay crystals on my chest, and other times I felt her hands on my head or feet. I think at some point I fell asleep.

“I won’t lie, the experience wasn’t particularly magical”

At the end of the session, Fern asked me what I’d seen during the experience. Up until this point, I wasn’t aware that I was meant to be seeing anything – when I’d spoken about it with my mum, she said Fern would do all the talking. Panicking, and afraid I’d be told off for falling asleep, I said the visions had been intense but hazy, and made up some elaborate lie about seeing a horse. Fern, to her credit, looked quite confused by this – from her end, it’d been entirely horseless.

Instead, she told me she’d called upon a spirit animal for me, hoping it would help with my burnout (which, she said, appeared to her as a dusty skeleton in my crown chakra). Unfortunately, my spirit animal – whatever it may be – was a no-show, so she summoned a temporary guide in the form of a worker ant. “Look out for signs of the worker ant,” Fern told me, “and try to decorate your space with ant imagery so you can call upon its healing medicine”. Unsure of how to take this, I just nodded along; a massive ant in my head, got it.

“‘Try to decorate your space with ant imagery so you can call upon its healing medicine’”

Nursing a tall glass of water, I listened as she went through each of my chakras, describing in detail what she’d seen there. There was a mermaid in my solar plexus who turned into a “fierce shield maiden” in what sounded like a thrilling demonstration of my divine femininity, and a large boulder blocking a ballroom between my heart and throat. “Speak more, and let your emotions tumble out,” she advised; I’m not sure anyone who knows me thinks I’m in need of more yapping. Archangel Uriel was hanging around too, and was, she insisted, “giving me back my wings”. If by wings she means a first in my final year diss, I’ll take it.

Much of her feedback was very complimentary: I have, apparently, the most golden aura she’s seen in anyone besides her grandmother, and am – she was practically buzzing as she said this – a starseed… whatever that means. My god complex sufficiently sated (I am the chosen one, I’ll be taking no questions at this time) I went to leave. “WAIT!” said Fern. “You can’t drive for 40 minutes.” After such intense healing (a quite solid nap), it’s apparently incredibly dangerous to take to the wheel. Seeing as Fern charged by the hour, this didn’t help my skepticism.

If any of you were worried that this would turn into ‘trial + error: being held hostage by a spiritual healer’, then fear not: falsely encouraging her that I’d go for a long walk, I escaped her semi-detatched covenstead with relative ease, armed with a prescription of grounding meditations to help my spiritual roots grow.

I rang my mum immediately after the session and concluded that, while the experience had been batshit, I’d had quite a nice time. I enjoyed my tea, felt relatively relaxed by the sounds and blankets, and had a sleep so deep it was almost spiritual. I’m not sure the healing did much to alleviate my doubts, and I do think it was massively overpriced, but I came away with a feeling that I’d done something good for my mind and soul. That said, I get the same feeling after a candlelit bath. Would I go again? Unless I win big on the lottery, probably not. But if you’re ever in the mood to feel a bit magical (or, more likely, delusional), then there’s no harm in giving it a go – who knows, your very own worker ant might just be a meditation away.