I found the most healing spot in London
And rainbows. Lots of rainbows.
Meet Jaspre Guest: A metaphysical-obsessed traveler (and founder of the good-vibes brand Happy Noise) searching and reporting on enlightenment and the most woo-woo experiences you can have around the world. This month she’s finding healing (and rainbows) in the heart of London.
After a rough summer—with Mars in retrograde (major standing ovation, we made it through)—this fall I found my gemini self in a familiar position: up against a ticking clock.
I had planned a trip to London, but truth #1: All I had planned was accessing the rainbow spaceship bathroom at Sketch’s afternoon tea service. The rest of the five-day trip? Wide open.
What takes some people two weeks to cover, she can finish off in just a few days.
I tasked my mother—my travel buddy (as well as the creative director of Happy Noise) who worked in London for a few years—with building out a fast-and-furious local itinerary. No one books more into short bursts than she; what takes some people two weeks to cover, she can finish off in just a few days.
We were arriving the day after the fall equinox—which was completely unintentional, but of course we had no choice but to head straight from Heathrow to Stonehenge in the early morning. (Because who needs sleep?) After our private car dropped us off, a short shuttle bus took us to the site, where the scale of what you’re looking at hits you.
The inner circle is made from bluestones from Wales, some 100 miles away. Standing there, seeing them in person, I couldn’t help but think about how stones that weigh 500 pounds were moved to this exact spot.
I had the honor of touching a bluestone and actually feel its pulse. It’s no surprise, considering that Stonehenge was a place people took pilgrimage to be healed—with bluestones so coveted, people chipped away pieces to make amulets. (Insider tip: Although tickets for the inner circle sell out almost instantly, there’s one bluestone available for everyone to check out near the entrance.)
I’d soon come to realize that the word “healing” would become the theme of this trip. Truth #2: I wasn’t particularly looking to be healed, but—after a slew of trips where I was met with the Death card (as regular readers know)—it finally happened in London. After all, the Death card can mean transformation…and after transformation, there’s healing.
I didn’t want someone to tell me when I was going to find a soulmate. I was looking for something deeper.
On the car ride back to London, I finalized my psychic medium session. I didn’t think it would happen—between looking online and asking my London friends, I had come up empty. There were readings in the typical new age shops (including Psychic Sisters in Selfridges), but they came off as a bit too obvious and commercial; I didn’t want someone to tell me when I was going to find a soulmate. I was looking for something deeper.
The night before my flight, I had panic-emailed everyone I could find online. One woman, Julie Cook, said she would be in town and could see me. I liked her vibe—super friendly and authentic—and booked, relieved that I had at least planned something.
Once in London, we spent one morning at Westminster Abbey, where The Queen’s Window by David Hockney had just opened. On my way to the window, my mom and I heard an announcement: The church was having a moment of silence, and “anyone who wished to be healed please come to Chapel 7.”
Healed. That word, again.
We pushed our way back through the crowds and tried to figure out where, exactly, Chapel 7 was located. Just then, I spotted a senior clergy member standing in a small archway, who was seemingly illuminated with light. My mom had the guts to go up to him and ask if she had heard correctly. He smiled and took us—and a few other visitors who were eager to follow—into a tiny chapel.
And there in Westminster Abbey, with all of its history, I sat with my mom and three strangers. No one else had heard the announcement (or if they had, they didn’t know how to find Chapel 7). Two of the others realized what was happening and ran out, leaving me, my mom, and one other woman seated before an altar and a priest.
He proceeded to do a healing prayer, asking the angels to help him, and anointed my forehead with a blend of oils from a bowl.
Although I’ve lost total faith in the Catholic Church and was raised Episcopalian, I believe in the universe and most definitely speak to angels.
I was up first: The priest asked permission to touch my head, which I granted. He proceeded to do a healing prayer, asking the angels to help him, and anointed my forehead with a blend of oils from a bowl. He did a similar ritual on my mom and the third women, who whispered that she felt very connected to us. He then gave us a sheet of paper with a prayer to St. Benedict; Westminster Abbey was founded as a Benedictine monastery and follows Benedict’s style.
We left Chapel 7 and returned to the newly opened Queen’s Diamond Jubilee. An hour passed, maybe two—I’m not sure what happened, as it all felt like an out-of-body experience—but I do know that when an announcement was made once again about a moment of silence, there was no mention of healing.
The morning of my reading, while having tea in Damien Hirst’s Pharmacy 2 with my mom, I made a quick list of questions to ask Julie, before taking the Tube from the gallery to Tufnell Park. Translation: We had to change trains three times. As you might have guessed, I was late. Very late. After sprinting up a hill, buzzing her apartment, and going up a forever flight of stairs, I stood face to face with a very upset Julie.
I was so late, she gave away my appointment.
I told her that I would take whatever time I could, as I was leaving the next day and my whole trip was about this moment. I really wasn’t sure she would do it, but she let me in. She instructed my mom to stay in the living room and showed me to her reading room, which was open, bright, and flooded with angel imagery. Julie was going on and on about how I ruined the schedule, all while quickly texting her other clients to move their appointments.
Julie Cook is one of the best spiritual conduits I have ever met.
“Okay, let me have a look at you,” she finally said as she took an inhale of her vape pen. “Oh, you’re an indigo child.” She was right: I am an indigo child, which is what some have dubbed people with supernatural traits and abilities. And like that, the entire mood and energy changed.
I can’t go on without saying: Julie Cook is one of the best spiritual conduits I have ever met.
She immediately, without hesitation, pegged me and my entire life. My grandparents came through within the first 30 seconds. “Your mom has a very special connection with angels,” Julie said. “She’s very evolved.” (Anyone who knows my mom is aware that this is completely accurate.) She told me my aura was indigo with orange coming through. (Yup.) She identified my insane year to the exact letter. (Wow.) Then she looked at me again and said, “Yes, my darling, you’re a fairy.” This gemini, the one who has so many things to say? I was utterly silent.
All of my travels in 2018 (and seemingly my life) made sense, because it took all of that to get to this moment—meeting this woman who I found on the internet in a moment of panic.
Julie and I realized that we had a ton of similarities, and ended up sharing so many stories during my 40-minute shortened session. She made me select three tarot charms and three angel cards out of a bag, and then did a tarot spread. I kept the questions similar to what I had asked in Paris and Ireland. The Death card came up again. Of course, I had to laugh and explain it all to Julie. She said, “Yes, darling, but that’s in the past—and you are in the uprising.” Again, I was speechless.
All of my travels made sense, because it took all of that to get to this moment—meeting this woman who I found on the internet in a moment of panic.
One other thing that Julie does is automatic writing, where I would say a person’s name and she would write it down, before then describing what she saw in her writing. She wrote my name down, looked at me, and said, “You’re so sad about the past; you have to let it go because everything is amazing for you.” It was true. After all, transformation only comes after a Death.
“Here is what I want you to do,” she told me. “Go to Mysteries, a store in Covent Garden, get any crystal, and when you’re on the plane, program it with all of the past. When you land in New York, toss it to the ground and you’ll be free.”
Before I knew it, the session was over. I gave her a hug, took some pictures, left £70, and headed out. As my mom and I walked to the Tube, I told her what came up in the reading—and she shared with me that Julie’s living room was illuminated with rainbows as I was getting my reading. More signs.
The last day in London, I made it a point to get back to Covent Garden, where the woman at Mysteries nodded as I told her my story and showed me a selection of stones. I picked up a small, clear calcite, paid for it, and placed it in my bra.
For the six hours I was sitting on the airplane back to New York, I thought and programmed as much past shit as I could possibly think of, unloading it all onto this palm-sized, thick stone. The more I thought, the more I couldn’t imagine leaving the stone in the airport. (How would the stone feel? #empathproblems)
There in New York City, after spending the year searching for answers around the world, I was finally free.
So I held onto it as I got into my car at JFK, still trying to program as much as I could. When I got out at my apartment, I walked west, barely pausing to take the stone out of my bra. Without realizing it, my arm wound up like I was the pitcher for the Yankees, and suddenly my little, clear calcite was hurling toward the Hudson River. I watched it fly in a perfect arch and plunk into the water on a cold, misty fall night. There in New York City, after spending the year searching for answers around the world, I was finally free.
I’ve spoken to Julie twice on Skype since getting back from London. To have the clarity of what is currently happening in my life—and look back at the reading in London and my two Skype readings—is just uncanny. If you want to connect with someone who really is in alignment with source, then this is your girl. In London, a town filled with history, I found rainbow bathrooms, life-changing stones (both large and small), and the magnificent power of being healed.
The Glassy Blackbook: London
34 Short’s Gardens, London WC2H 9PX, UK
Newport Street Gallery, Newport Street, London, SE11 6AJ, UK
9 Conduit St, Mayfair, London W1S 2XG, UK
Near Amesbury, Wiltshire, SP4 7DE, UK
20 Deans Yd, Westminster, London SW1P 3PA, UK