Mountain Magic Healing Studio

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

The Pre-Holiday Balancing Workshop has been rescheduled for next Saturday, November 15, from 2 to 5pm. There are a few s...
11/08/2025

The Pre-Holiday Balancing Workshop has been rescheduled for next Saturday, November 15, from 2 to 5pm. There are a few seats left so please register soon. Limited to 10 seats.

The workshop is all about aligning, balancing, and centering ourselves before the holiday rush.

We’ll begin with a chakra meditation, then dive into our tarot and oracle cards to explore our energy centers and discover how to keep them in harmony as we move through a season filled with both cheer and frustration.

Bring your cards and your chakras and let's work some holiday magic together!

💫 Tuition: $22
💫 Register by calling the shop directly (607-287-7278) or going on-line to www.christenespringlemountainmagic.com

11/03/2025

✨ It’s time for a little pre-holiday self-care magic! ✨

Join us next Saturday, November 8, from 2–5 pm at Mountain Magic Market as we align, balance, and center ourselves before the holiday rush.

We’ll begin with a chakra meditation, then dive into our tarot and oracle cards to explore our energy centers and discover how to keep them in harmony as we move through a season filled with both cheer and frustration.

Bring your cards, crystals, and chakras, or simply come with an open heart and curious spirit. No experience needed!

💫 Tuition: $22
Register Now - either on the website or call me directly!

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11/03/2025

Day 13: When the Veil Falls

The candles burn low. The last circle is drawn. Beyond the glass, October’s wind sighs through the trees like a memory made of breath.

For thirteen nights we wandered through the parlors of the past, where tables turned, bells rang, and the air itself shimmered with expectation. Mediums whispered, cameras caught ghosts on silver plates, and seekers pressed their palms to polished wood, daring to touch eternity.

The 19th century was an age both skeptical and spellbound, a world lit by gaslight and longing. Science and séance existed side by side, each reaching for proof of what lay beyond the grave. Were the spirits real, or did the power come from the living, from grief, from hope, from the deep human need to believe that love does not end?

Perhaps it was both. Perhaps truth and trickery walked hand in hand through those candlelit rooms, and in that mingling of faith and fear something sacred flickered alive.

Tonight, on this final harvest night of Samhain, the veil thins once more. The ghosts of that gilded age stir again, in memory, in imagination, in the quiet places of our hearts.

Listen closely. The knock may come. The flame may waver. The message may not be words at all but feeling...the warmth that tells you you’re not alone.

For the spirits of the past still linger… and the story is never truly over.

11/03/2025

Day 12: The Mourning Veil

She sits in silence, wrapped in shadow. A single gloved hand rests on her lap, the other clutches a locket at her throat. The air smells faintly of lilac and dust. Through the thin black gauze of her veil, the world blurs, softened, distant, as though viewed from another realm. Somewhere, a clock ticks. She waits.

In Victorian society, mourning was not merely emotion, it was ritual, a sacred choreography of loss. Widows cloaked themselves in layers of crepe and jet, their veils both shield and signal. To wear black was to move among the living while belonging, in part, to the dead. Etiquette dictated how long one must mourn, what fabrics were permitted, even how one might re-enter society.

But for many, the mourning veil became more than a symbol, it was a portal. In the dim light of séance parlors, the veiled widow sat among the hopeful and the haunted, straining for a whisper from her beloved beyond the veil. Some said the black netting blurred the line between realms, allowing spirit to draw near unseen. Behind the fabric, tears mingled with breathless wonder, and grief transformed into devotion.

Photographs from the era show their faces obscured, half hidden, half revealed, women caught between two worlds. The veil concealed sorrow, yes… but also awe. Sometimes, it hid trembling lips that had just spoken to the dead.

If you were to lift that veil, what truth would you hope to see? A final farewell or proof that love endures forever?

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?

Address

164 Ed Herman Road
Schenevus, NY
12155

Opening Hours

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

Telephone

+16072877278

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