Lately, a few friends have asked me about my personal practice—what it means, where it comes from, and how it fits with the fact that I still attend church and sing in the choir.
I understand why it might seem confusing from the outside. Christianity has been such a strong presence in many of our lives, and stepping outside its familiar boundaries can look like leaving something behind. But for me, my spiritual path isn’t about leaving at all—it’s about expanding.
Soluna isn’t a religion—it’s a path, a practice, and a living philosophy I created, woven from sun, moon, and earth. Together, these three offer a lasting support system: the sun, whose light is life itself; the moon, whose rhythm reminds us of our cycles; and the earth, whose grounding steadies us through every season of life. In a time when the world feels chaotic, and even the greatest religions sometimes seem to lose sight of their purpose, I turned inward and shaped this system as a way to reconnect with my spirit.
It grew out of a lifelong search that never seemed to find its landing. Like so many seekers, I spent years exploring various traditions—Wicca, Druidry, Eastern practices such as yoga and Hinduism, the Jewish mystical teachings of Kabbalah, Buddhist wisdom on mindfulness, and modern philosophies that emphasise energy and vibration. Each carried beauty, truth, and insight, yet none felt like home in its entirety. I was always caught between resonance and restlessness, longing for a path that honoured not just one part of me, but the whole.
It wasn’t until a long bike ride—miles of open sky, the steady rhythm of breath, the hum of wheels against the earth—that I understood: my path didn’t need to be chosen from a single mould. It could be woven. Soluna is that weaving. It is sun and moon, earth and spirit, the balance of joy and sorrow, creation and destruction. It is a way of living that honours universal laws while allowing me to gather what makes life vibrant and meaningful. For me, Soluna is not about rejecting other beliefs, but about embracing the harmony between them, and finding a way of walking through the world that feels deeply alive, deeply connected, and deeply true.
I still believe in God. I feel His presence in worship, in prayer, and in the joy of singing alongside others in praise. There is beauty in the choir loft, in the swell of voices rising together, in scripture that speaks of love, justice, and grace. Those things continue to anchor me. But my soul also longs for something broader, something that embraces the rhythms of nature and the cycles that have guided humanity since long before pews and hymnals. That is where Soluna comes in.
The name itself comes from the sun and the moon—symbols of balance, of the dance between light and shadow. Within this path, I honour (not worship) Elios, the solar creator who breathes life into all things; Selene, who guides the moon’s cycles and awakens our intuition; Gaia, the earth who grounds and nourishes; and The Morrigan, a force of justice, transformation, and necessary endings. She is not evil, but a reminder that creation and destruction are intertwined, and both belong in the balance of life.
For me, this is not a rejection of Christianity. It’s a way of walking with God through the earth He created—through the turning of seasons, through sunlight on my skin and moonlight on the water. Scripture reminds us there is “a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance.” Soluna reflects that truth, not in opposition to my faith, but in harmony with it.
When I mark the solstices or equinoxes, when I light a candle to welcome the new moon, when I honour the crow as a messenger of justice and change, I am not turning away from God. I am finding Him in all the corners of creation. I am listening for His voice not only in church, but in the rustle of leaves, the howl of wind, the steady heartbeat of the earth beneath my feet.
I don’t expect others to embrace this as I do, and I know Soluna may feel unfamiliar—or even unsettling—for those who walk a strictly Christian path. But my hope is that you can see my heart in it. I am not walking away from God—I am discovering Him anew: in the sun He set to rise, in the moon He shaped to wax and wane, and in the earth beneath our feet that sustains all of life.
This is where my soul feels most at home.