Mountain Magic Healing Studio

Mountain Magic Healing Studio Intuitive Transformation Coach, tarot reader, medium, animal communicator, and teacher.

10/30/2025

Day 11: Phantasmagoria

The chamber is cloaked in darkness. A low hum of anticipation ripples through the audience. Then...a flicker. From behind a curtain, a hidden lantern ignites, casting its beam through drifting smoke. Suddenly, faces bloom upon the walls, hollow-eyed phantoms, skulls grinning in silent laughter, lost lovers reaching through the haze. The crowd gasps as the images swell and dissolve, rising from nothing only to vanish again.

This was Phantasmagoria, the macabre art form that haunted Europe long before cinema was born. In the late 18th and early 19th centuries, showmen armed with magic lanterns, mirrors, and cunning machinery conjured visions of the dead for paying crowds. Names like Étienne-Gaspard Robertson became legend, his Parisian catacombs echoing with the screams and prayers of those convinced the beyond had opened before them.

Smoke thickened, organs droned, and hidden projectors crept closer on rails, making the spirits loom ever larger, until they seemed to drift right off the walls. For some, it was mere entertainment, the thrill of fear without danger. For others, it stirred something deeper, a mingling of awe and recognition. Could these illusions have brushed against truth?

Even today, the line between illusion and invocation remains perilously thin. Flickering screens, holograms, and ghost hunts all trace their lineage back to those candlelit rooms where smoke and light first conspired to awaken our oldest fear...that what we call imagination might, in fact, be the veil itself.

Would you have dared to sit in the dark… knowing the next face to appear might look back at you?


10/30/2025

Writing Reflection

As we move through this final week of October and into Samhain’s threshold, it’s a powerful time to reflect, release, and listen to what stirs within the shadows. 🖤

Let your pen become a lantern to illuminate what hides beneath the surface and reveale the wisdom that lives there.

10/28/2025

Day 10: The Familiar

The candlelight flickers, shadows stretch long, and somewhere in the corner, a cat’s eyes glint like twin moons. It moves without sound, stopping to stare at what seems like nothing and yet everyone in the room feels its gaze.

Mediums and sitters in the 19th century often spoke of familiars: animals that accompanied or protected them during spiritual work. Cats, dogs, and even birds were said to sense the presence of the departed, reacting to unseen presences with sudden agitation or uncanny calm. Some spiritualists believed these creatures acted as conduits, their heightened senses attuned to energies the human eye could not perceive. A hissing cat, a trembling dog, or a bird that refused to leave the room could be both guardian and messenger, alerting the living to the crossing of souls, or guiding spirits safely through the veil.

Stories abound from Victorian parlors where séance cats leapt silently onto tables as a spectral hand moved, or dogs growled at empty corners where a loved one’s essence lingered. The familiar was more than superstition; it was a trusted witness to the thin line between worlds, a creature whose instincts could not be faked or denied.

Even today, pets can still sense what we cannot. They watch, listen, and sometimes, they warn. Perhaps the whispers of the unseen are louder to them, a reminder that the world we walk in is only half-seen.

Will you notice the glint in the corner of your eye? Or will you turn away from the presence waiting silently beside you?

10/28/2025

Affirmation of the Week

"I honor the shadow within and around me, for even in darkness, my power stirs and my spirit awakens."

What does “honoring my shadow” look like in your everyday life?

As the veil thins and Halloween approaches, may we remember that even in our darkest moments, we are never without light. ✨

Wishing everyone a bewitching and beautiful Halloween week! 🕯️🎃

10/28/2025

Day 8: Table Tipping

The candlelight flickers, shadows lengthen, and a hush falls over the room. Palms rest lightly on polished wood, breath held, hearts quickened. At first, there is nothing but stillness. Then, a faint shudder runs through the table. A leg creaks. Another groans. Suddenly, the entire piece begins to tremble and sway as if stirred by invisible hands. Gasps rise around the circle as the table tilts onto one leg and spins, the air alive with unseen force.

Known as table tipping, this strange and thrilling phenomenon became the heart of parlor séances across America. Participants asked questions aloud, waiting for the table to rap, tilt, or pivot in reply, a code of motion between the living and the dead. What began as a curiosity soon swept the world, from elegant drawing rooms to farmhouse kitchens. Even the Czar of Russia and Queen Victoria were rumored to have tried it.

Scientists called it the ideomotor effect, the unconscious movement of muscles, the power of suggestion made manifest. But believers knew better. They swore they felt the pulse of something otherworldly beneath their fingertips, a force that hummed through the wood like electricity.

Whether born of spirit or psyche, the table became the voice of the unseen, rising, rapping, and spinning in time with the ache of human longing.

Would you keep your hands upon it… or pull away before it moved again?

10/27/2025

Day 7: The Ectoplasm

The lamps are dimmed. Curtains drawn. The air hums with the faint sound of breath and heartbeat. Then movement. From the medium’s parted lips, or from her fingertips, a white v***r begins to spill forth. It coils and writhes like living mist, reaching toward the sitters in fragile tendrils. Some see faces take form eyes that open, mouths that try to speak. The scent of roses mingles with something damp and earthen, like flowers left too long upon a grave.

To the faithful, this was ectoplasm, the very essence of spirit made visible, a bridge between worlds condensed from the medium’s own life force. Scientists, entranced and horrified in equal measure, tried to measure, photograph, and analyze it. The famous William Crookes and later Harry Price both stepped into darkened séance rooms to witness the mystery firsthand.

Yet when the lights returned, the miracles sometimes unraveled revealing scraps of muslin, gauze, or egg whites, evidence of trickery and sleight of hand. Still, even exposure could not wholly banish belief. Many who saw ectoplasm emerge swore the air itself thickened with presence, that something did cross over in those trembling moments of manifestation.

Was it deception, or devotion so fierce it conjured the impossible?

And if spirit truly could take shape, would you dare to look upon its face?

10/27/2025

Day 6: The Death Bird & Omens

In the hush before dawn, a raven taps at the window. A clock halts mid-tick. Somewhere in the house, a mirror shatters on its own.

To the Victorians, these were not accidents, they were warnings.

Throughout the 19th century, omens of death were whispered about in drawing rooms and graveyards alike. The flutter of a moth at midnight, a dog howling three times, a chill passing through a still room were each sign was thought to herald the approach of spirit.

But none were feared or revered so much as the death birds. Across old folklore, the raven, owl, and crow were believed to bear messages from the beyond. The beating of wings at a window was said to signal a soul’s departure; a crow’s caw at dusk, a herald of grief to come. Even the gentle robin was thought to linger near the dead, guiding spirits home with its song. To see such birds was to stand at the edge of two worlds where feathers brushed against the veil.

Even science could not quite unmake such superstitions. Too many coincidences, too many witnesses swore it true. And in an age obsessed with the line between life and death, omens offered a strange comfort, proof that love endures, that the soul still lingers close enough to rustle the curtains and stir the air.

Would you see such signs as warnings… or as whispers of connection?

10/27/2025

Day 5: Ghost Photography

The plate develops slowly under red light, the smell of chemicals thick in the air. A face begins to appear, yours, still and solemn, and just behind your shoulder, a pale blur takes form. A wisp of a woman in Victorian lace, a hand resting upon your arm, eyes that do not quite meet your own. You did not see her when the shutter clicked.

In the mid-19th century, as photography captured hearts and imaginations, “spirit photographers” claimed to capture souls as well. William H. Mumler’s studio in Boston became a pilgrimage site for the bereaved, each visitor hoping the camera might glimpse what mortal eyes could not. Ghostly husbands appeared beside their widows; lost children hovered at their mother’s knee. Whether conjured by trickery or true manifestation, the images shimmered with the ache of longing.

Even the great showman P.T. Barnum entered the fray, staging his own exposé to unmask deception. Yet no amount of debunking could erase the yearning behind those silvered images, the desperate wish to know our loved ones endure beyond the veil.

Each photo told a story: the living forever reaching, the dead perhaps reaching back.

Would you dare to sit for such a portrait, to see who, or what, stands behind you?

10/22/2025

Day 3: The Planchette

A small wooden heart rests on tiny brass wheels; a pencil fitted through its center. Around it, the sitters hold their breath, fingertips barely brushing its surface. The parlor is hushed but for the hiss of the lamp and the ticking of the clock. Then, suddenly, it stirs. The planchette quivers, then glides across the paper, leaving a trail of hurried letters. Names appear, phrases form, words that no one claims as their own.

Long before the Ouija board became a parlor favorite, there was the planchette, born in the mid-1800s at the height of the Spiritualist movement. It's very shape, a heart, sometimes carved from fine woods, was said to invite connection, a vessel for spirit hands to guide. Some inventors believed the planchette made the invisible visible, translating whispers from beyond into ink upon the page.

Skeptics said it was the unconscious mind at work, muscles twitching without intent. Yet for those gathered in candlelit rooms, watching a wooden heart scrawl out secrets, the experience was nothing less than electrifying. Entire poems, sermons, even novels were said to have been written this way; channeled through the planchette by unseen authors.
..Imagine yourself in that velvet-draped room, fingers resting lightly, the pencil trembling, the letters spilling faster than you can read. Do you believe it is your hand that writes…or theirs?

10/22/2025

Day 2: Spirit Rapping

Rap. Rap. Rap. Three sharp knocks echo through the silence, each one sharper than the last. The sound seems to come from the walls, the floor, the very bones of the house. The sitters lean in, breath caught, hearts thundering. Is it wood settling? A trick of nerves? Or is someone...something...answering?

To the skeptic’s ear, it is nothing but a draft rattling the timbers. But to the faithful, it is the first true language of the beyond, souls once silent now alive with speech.

In 1848, in a farmhouse in Hydesville, New York, two young girls, Maggie and Kate Fox, claimed they could summon the dead through these mysterious knocks. They asked questions, and the spirits replied - one rap for yes, two for no, a coded alphabet spelled out across the room. Soon neighbors gathered, reporters arrived, and word spread like wildfire. From those raps in a darkened parlor, the entire Spiritualist movement was born, rippling outward across America.

Some laughed, some scoffed, but others wept with relief at the chance to hear their loved ones again. Whether trick or truth, the knocks opened a doorway, forever altering the way we think of life and death.

If you were in that quiet farmhouse, the night heavy around you, and the knocks rang out from the shadows, would you have listened?

10/20/2025

Day 1: The Séance

The table sits shrouded in velvet, the fabric heavy with candle smoke and dust. A faint sweetness lingers in the air, wax, roses, and something colder, like damp earth carried in from the grave. Flames sputter as though exhaling, shadows stretching long across the walls. Each chair waits in silence, daring the seeker to sit, to place trembling hands upon the polished wood.

At the center, the medium closes her eyes. The hush deepens. Her breath slows. A shiver moves through the circle as the trance enfolds her, and suddenly the parlor feels less like a room and more like a threshold.

In the 19th century, gatherings such as this were not rare curiosities, but evening entertainment and desperate prayer alike. Across America, ordinary parlors became portals. Families mourning their dead, widows longing for one last word, skeptics seeking proof, and believers hungry for mystery, all drew near the round wooden table.

Today, as then, the question lingers in the air. Who waits on the other side of the veil? And do you dare sit for a Séance.

10/18/2025

Starting tomorrow
…13 Haunted Nights — Channeling the Spirit of 19th-Century Spiritualism

Step into the flickering candlelight of another age…

For thirteen nights leading to Halloween, we’ll cross the threshold into the world of 19th-century Spiritualism. An era when tables turned, spirits rapped, and faith mingled with fear. Through séance rooms and spirit cabinets, through ghostly photographs and whispered omens, the Victorians sought proof that death was not the end.

Each night, we’ll explore one haunting chapter from that strange, beautiful time to glimpse into the mysteries that captivated hearts and unsettled minds.

So light a candle, draw the curtains, and listen closely. The veil grows thin, and something stirs just beyond the edge of sight…

Thirteen nights. Thirteen whispers from the other side.

Address

164 Ed Herman Road
Schenevus, NY
12155

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Wednesday 3:30pm - 5:30pm
Thursday 3:30pm - 5:30pm
Friday 3:30pm - 6pm
Saturday 10am - 6pm
Sunday 11am - 4pm

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