I made a rosary last year, curiosity overpowering my reluctance to engage with anything remotely religious. I chose polished spheres of rose quartz, aventurine, onyx, lapis lazuli, and amethyst for the “Hail Mary” beads. These I separated into the five decades with lush pink rose marbles for the “Our Father” beads. For a pendant, two special charms linked together— one a spider and the other her web.
It took several tries. My string would break, or I’d accidentally release everything and have to start over. Some of the natural stones I’d bought were too small to fit. Finally, I cupped the satisfying weight in my palms, beads clicking as I slithered the rosary back and forth across itself like a snake.
Finding the words to pray is ongoing trial-and-error. Words cast spells, and I just can’t connect with a phrase unless it feels energetically free from the spiritual trauma I experienced in childhood and young adulthood (without knowing or being able to name it until a decade ago). Here’s where I land most of the time:
Star of the Sea, Mysterious Void, and All That Is with you, Blessed be creation and blessed be the fruit of your womb, life. Sacred Goddess, Great Mother, please be with us, now and at the hour of our death. Amen.Father Sun, who calls forth Life, I am your sovereign ray. Let light reveal my path and help me see what’s true. Bountiful harvest, sustain us and support this earthly existence. Let love be always my choice, leading me ever home to you.
Permission to start and to make the practice my own was one of the gifts in reading The Way of the Rose by Clark Strand and Perdita Finn. The authors (husband and wife) use their unexpected experiences of connecting with the Lady outside of any church as a lens to examine the storied history of the Divine Feminine. Her energy of birth, death, and rebirth is personified in various names of different traditions across time and constantly mirrored back to us through nature.
I love how they recount the roots of the rosary, beginning with flower garlands woven as offerings to the Goddess, and later echoed in the use of prayer beads found in so many religious traditions. Through simple yet profound examples, the authors demonstrate how the physical-touch, mantra-based practice of praying the rosary can open a gateway for deeper communion with our Mother and ourselves.
(You may be wondering what any of this has to do with my title. Keep following the threads with me? I promise it’ll come together.)
While I don’t believe the rosary is required for those relationships, praying with mine when inspired is a meaningful tool for retracing pathways of connection inside of myself. Spider is another symbol of those pathways that expand outwards into everything. That’s why I chose to include her in my rosary and in this forum.
Spider started appearing to me etherically and physically many years ago, usually during potent times of creativity. Although other animal guides gave me specific names, she told me to call her, “Grandmother Spider.” I later learned some Native American tribes use this moniker, and my Maori friend recently told me Spider goes by that designation in her culture as well. I think of her as one facet of the Great Mother, universally available for any of us to call upon. She helps me weave new webs of understanding, one link at a time.
As I experimented with different common names for “Our Lady” in my own edited prayer, one stood out: “Star of the Sea.” That phrase pulls my most expansive consciousness into my body at light speed. Initially— as with so many things that have given me pleasure or empowerment throughout my life— I questioned whether it was mine to use. Then I discovered my middle name, Marie, which I share with my mom, actually means “Star of the Sea.” This confirmation of my intuitive feelings still amazes me. Surely more than accident or serendipity?
When I was born, my parents waffled on what to call me. My birth certificate says “Baby Christensen,” my maiden name, with an amendment added a few days later for “Kara Marie.” As a kid, I wished they’d landed on something unusual instead, preferably with multiple syllables and plenty of nickname options. As a teenager, I started to think it wasn’t so terrible.
Becoming a parent myself in 2011 shifted my perspective for good. In contemplating names for my own children and looking up meanings for “Kara,” I learned to truly appreciate my parents’ choice. All of my daughters hinted to me what names they wanted while in utero, and now I wonder if I did the same. My girls all have flowers in their names (Roseanna, Louisa Iris, and Violet).
In 2017, the same year my youngest was born, I created my first oracle deck. I’d been connecting with animal energies as guides and messengers for a few years at that point, mostly in private, although I’d started sharing in some communities. I’m also an attorney and wasn’t ready to out myself to people who only knew me in that capacity.
That summer, I was grieving about not having a relationship with my human grandmothers. Most of my extended relative ties were severed when I was eight. That’s when my parents left the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints (Mormons) and moved our family several states away. The aftermath is a separate story, which I could write a book about (I actually am!). I’m only mentioning it here as context for what I realized that summer: nature, in all of her beautiful faces, had been my grandmother, offering comfort, wisdom, and support throughout my life.
On a whim, I started scribbling specific messages I felt from different flora and fauna. Within a few months, I was self-publishing The Grandmothers Oracle. It was a small print run, mostly for family and friends, but it opened the door to everything I’m doing today. This March, my third deck, Prairie Majesty Oracle, a collaboration with illustrator Amy Putney Koenig, releases with Hay House.
In numerology, my life path number is 4. (Calculate yours here.) I really identify with this because it’s a builder energy, keen on structures, stability, and physicalizing ideas. My favorite building blocks just happen to be words. I think that’s why I enjoy creating oracle decks so much— each card is a container for meaning, and together they offer transformative synthesis to help us view the landscape anew. If you’re familiar with my work, you know I’m crazy about color coding, categories, and creating layers of interpretive possibility. Well, guess what. The numerology of my name, Kara, is also 4. Even more wild, both my full maiden and full married names are 4, too. (Curious about yours?)
As I reflect on the last five years, the appropriateness of my name as a guiding star is startlingly clear. The journey has been a slog at times, peeling back layers of doubt in myself and fear of being seen, then swaddling myself in rememberance of my belonging. I’m growing into my name with more certainty at every choice.
Kara means beloved, pure, sweet melody. At last, I’m singing my own song.
This year, I’m working on a revised edition of my first deck, to be called Song of the Grandmothers. Featuring original artwork by my incredibly talented friend, it will help us hear the echoing refrain of love that’s woven through everything. I hope you’ll follow along.
My name is Mary, starting with my mother and going back several generations through my paternal grandmother. In “southern” tradition Mary is always paired with another name… “Stuart”, “Elizabeth”, “Winifred”, … My paired name is “Gail”, picked by my beloved Dad. But why did I end up with such a simple and nonplussed name?? One day, I felt the answer… a strong response, completely out-of-the-blue: “You are named for me, Mary (Mother) Gail (Gaia), ‘Mother Earth’”.
I also have been quite interested in rosaries. Nothing was right for me until I discovered that a Unitarian minister had created a prayer bead practice, described in the book, Simply Pray. 4 main beads are described- gratitudes, confessions, silence, and loving.