Normandi Ellis's Blog
October 13, 2025
Just Don't
October 5, 2025
An Invocation of Archangels
July 14, 2025
If you are interested email me at ellisisis@gmail.com.If...
If you are interested email me at ellisisis@gmail.com.If you are seeing this message, you have not missed the opportunity to join, but the first lass begins July 21.
January 23, 2025
Words on Water Poetry
IMy intention is to publish to my Patreon for subscribers, my reading of original poetry. This first video is free. And here it is. I hope you can support my work by subscribing. There are free pages there for some of my writing, but a simple sign up for $5 a month will give you access to all of my work in creative writing, in astrological teaching, in nonfiction essay, and in memoir that has appeared on the Patreon.
I ask this favor in deep, deep appreciation. If you have read this far, if you have seen my Facebook page, you know that I normally do not post personal things, but these last few years I have been faced with significant health challenges that created serious financial challenges. It is with deep appreciation to all my friends, to all my readers, that I say Thank you for reading my work over the years, for writing to me and for supporting me. I love you immeasurably.
October 16, 2024
Classes in 2025
We are making a list and checking it twice for YEAR 2 Classes:
$80 per class 8-10. Classes are recorded and sent out by prepayment and by request.TAKE NOTE Dec 2, 9, & 16 Ancient Books of the Afterlife with the Academy of Oracle ArtsDec 14 Tapping into Hieroglyphic Oracles with The Theosophical Society Dec 28 Night of the Mothers Journal Retrospective 12-6pm ($90) Online Elective Class in Spiritual JournalingJan 17 & 4 SACRED CALENDARMar 10 & 17 MOON MAGIC (Mondays)Apr 15 & 22 ASTROLOGYMay 13 & 20 DREAMWORKJune 3 & 10 INVOCATION AND PRAYERJuly 1 & 8 NUMEROLOGYMar 04 & 11 MOON MAGIC19 BUILDING YOUR ADYTUM ($160)
[image error][image error]All reactions:3Noemí Santiago and 2 othersJune 6, 2023
2023 - REACHING NEW HEIGHTS
Things change. No matter how we fight them, we find that leaning into the painful change allows us to open to new heights. I have moved from Camp Chesterfield, a community I dearly loved, and I am living now in Kentucky--the place of my birth, nestled between its green grasses and hills like a soft, firry animal finding a comfortable lap. I am home.
April 18, 2023
Exploring the Unseen Conference
Announcing my new book THE ANCIENT TRADITION OF ANGELS by participating in this remarkable conferane on the Unseen. It's time.
You can feel the energy changing these days in a multitude of ways. In these transitional times, which also hold great potential for transformation and the awakening of our individual and collective consciousness, messages from the unseen world have never been more available to us – or more valuable.
With the world at a choice point, our ability to connect and work with the unseen is one of the most essential skills we will need to root us in our authentic power, support our expansion, remember who we really are as divine humans, and help birth the New Earth.
That’s why I’m so delighted to be one of the presenters at Exploring the Unseen: Unlocking the Secrets of the Non-Material World [https://bit.ly/ExploringtheUnseen-Nor...], an online event and retreat April 23rd to 29th, 2023.
Through discussion, experiential practices, ceremony, and activations, you’ll explore and deepen your noticing, listening, receptivity, and discernment on a journey through the non-material world of multidimensional consciousness, dreams, the Akashic records, angels, guides, nature spirits, mediumship, the ancestors, and much more.
This unique global event, co-hosted by my colleagues, Leslie Zehr (The Universal Dancer) and Keren Brown (WiseWoman Leading), will be live-streamed and interactive, including special opening and closing ceremonies direct from the island of O’ahu.
Deepen your access to the non-material world to expand your consciousness
Enhance your connection to the unseen world
Exploring the many ways to enter the unseen realm – and find out why it matters
Expand your multidimensional awareness to stay grounded and in your power
Strengthening your connection to the unseen as an essential skill for tumultuous times
Enhancing your ability to connect with the unseen: your best superpower in uncertain times
Remember who you truly are in uncertain times
Joining other cosmic visionaries, pioneers, authors, guides, and teachers, I will be speaking about [Angels, Neteru and Divine Messengers] on [April 26, @ 10 am ].
This retreat will help you:
· Access deeper wisdom, clarity, and knowing so all areas of your life can flow with more ease and grace
· Trust your intuition and guidance more than ever before
· Stay more rooted, centered, calm, and focused, even in the midst of external challenges
· Connect you to a deeper sense of meaning and purpose so you can be the change
This promises to be a profound and transformational event and I look forward to connecting with you there!
To claim your spot, register here [https://bit.ly/ExploringtheUnseen-Nor...
P.S. And please share the love! If you would share this with others you know, that would be wonderful. Send them to this link to register [https://bit.ly/ExploringtheUnseen-Nor...] and enjoy the event experience with a friend.Attendance is free!
September 1, 2020
How I Came to Camp Chesterfield
But I digress. I was asked what brought me here.
Well, you see for nearly a decade before I arrived I was writing a novel --and I still haven't finished it-- about my great Aunt Arzelia Ransdall, Daddy's aunt who lived in Kentucky and was a medium. She trained at Camp Chesterfield. Daddy told endless stories about her boarding the train in Louisville and standing on the platform of the final train car in her fox furs, waving dramatically to her husband and children, "Goodbye! Goodbye!" she called, waving a hankie as if she was never coming back. Of course, she didn't need those fox furs. It was May and already getting warm.
She rode the train all the way to Chesterfield, got off at the train station (where Jazzi's Flower Shop is now and the old depot has fallen down over the last years). She had her steamer trunk hoisted onto a horse-drawn wagon as if she were crossing the Great Plains in search of new prospects and life adventures.. Actually the wagon only pulled Arzelia and her companions about six blocks down the street, through the iron gate into Camp Chesterfield. One of the attending drivers probably carried her trunk into her room in either the Lily Hotel (now gone) or the Sunflower.
I heard these stories throughout my life. There were many tales of Arzelia's adventures as a medium. I remember stories of, the spirits of her lost children banging their silver spoons on the trays of their high chairs in the kitchen, how the ghosts that visited her seances tipped the tables, and then there were the ones who woke up Arzelia's house guests with messages of hope from beyond the veil. Of course, when you are trying to sleep and not expecting a ghost (as my mother was not--and she had quite a story to tell about her nephew Billy)... well, even a message of hope or an answer to a prayer from beyond was enough to scare the Bejeezus out of anybody. (Bejeezus is a reverential Southernism, I'm sure.)
Yes, I heard a novel's worth of stories about Camp Chesterfield, and so one deep, snowy January day my husband and I decided for some reason to drive four hours north in the snow. I wanted an adventure and I came to Chesterfield in search of someone who might have heard of my Aunt Arzelia. I'm not even sure what I expected, but at that time the Western Hotel was open and Rev. Mary Beth Hattaway smiled so sweetly at me. "Oh, how wonderful to see you and all of your people!" she said. And even though I wasn't sure what it meant to walk through the hotel door with all of my people then, well, I just felt overjoyed with her very Southern drawl and her smile and twinkling eyes. I exchanged some money for a room with steam heat that was fogging up the windows.
When I asked where I might find the oldest medium who lived on the grounds and might know of my great aunt, she directed me down the street to an elderly lady of about 97 or so. "Don't be fooled," she advised me. She's still pretty sharp." So I trudged down the Western Avenue to Emma Kruger's house. Yes, she was wonderfully colorful, novel-worthy in fact. I sat and talked with her for about two hours, asking all kinds of questions, such as "How did a nice German lady like yourself come to Chesterfield?" And "Have you always been a medium?" And other things. She kept trying to give me a reading, telling me about all my people who were standing around me, even though I assured her I had only come to find out about Camp Chesterfield itself and perhaps my aunt's time there.
"And did you live here in the 1950s and 60s?" I asked. "What was it like then?"
She said, "There is someone around you who likes fish. Do you know someone who likes fish?"
"Maybe," I answered. "I have a lot of Catholic relatives. They eat a lot of fish."
She seemed very nice, not at all put out with me, even though she'd been sitting in her wheelchair for several hours and the television was still rumbling on with some game show in the background. I asked her about her studies there at Chesterfield and what was a platform dress. I'd heard my Aunt spent a lot of money on her rhinestone dresses, her long white gloves, her shiny black button-up ankle boots. My father was fascinated with my aunt's apparel, for some reason.
"Is there someone around you who likes beer?" Emma asked. "I am sure there is someone around you who just loved his beer. Is it your father?"
"No. My father drank vodka and whisky. My grandfather maybe. He liked his Oertel's 92."
"Me too. I like Oertel's 92," she said.
I'm pretty thick sometimes, but the right question to ask finally hit me like a ton of bricks. "Have you eaten yet today? It's after one o'clock and I've kept you from your lunch." She said the Meals on Wheels didn't come on Saturdays so she was used to going without lunch. I told her I would go and get her some lunch. "What would you like?"
"A fish sandwich," she said. "And a beer. I'd like a 32-ounce beer," she said. "I've run out and there's none in the refrigerator."
Sure, I said. I'll be right back. And it took about 30 minutes. She ate happily, wheeling herself up to the TV table I found and set in front of her. Between bites she wanted to tell me about my people, but for some reason if it wasn't about Arzelia, I wasn't interested. Anyway, I hadn't come for a reading. When I left she was happily sucking on her beer. That was probably not a good thing for me to have left her alone with that beer and other obvious way to dispose of it. I didn't know her daughter didn't like her to have beer.
So I came to Camp Chesterfield to research a novel, to indulge myself in the sensory delights of the past--the sound of a train whistle in the middle of the night, steam pipes knocking, footsteps in the hallway. Wait--! I thought we were the only guests at the hotel! I kept coming back. I started taking classes. I regaled my writing friends in Kentucky with stories of Arzelia and I kept trying to find her factual footprints in the memories of the old mediums and the half-disintegrating hotel registers in the museum.
Finally, I just moved here. I took classes and love it. I developed some really sweet relationships with the people living here, and a few who had passed over, but stayed on in spirit. Some days when the COVID seeps underground and we mediums can return to the platform, you will find me here, standing where my Aunt Arzelia once stood probably. In the meantime, however, I'll be Zooming online to a Message Service near you, or appearing on the roster for the Midwest Mediumship Conference in October. I hope you come to love Camp Chesterfield as much as I have.
And if you've read all the way to the end of this, and you happen to be a publisher, literary agent, or movie producer, I have stories you wouldn't believe. That novel is still open for takers.
What's a Nice Southern Girl Like You Doing in a Place Like This?
When you live in the setting of a potential novel, say a magical and mysterious place like Camp Chesterfield--a place where the Spirits stand so close you can feel their breath on your skin, it's not unusual to be asked a question like, "So how did you get here? And what made you want to live here?" First, let me clarify, I actually like the feel of Spirit close by me, close as the dewy damp autumn fog of today, a palpable coolness that feels like a hug. Some of my favorite times to walk the grounds are when no one else is out--night time or early morning.
But I digress. I was asked what brought me here.
Well, you see for nearly a decade before I arrived I was writing a novel --and I still haven't finished it-- about my great Aunt Arzelia Ransdall, Daddy's aunt who lived in Kentucky and was a medium. She trained at Camp Chesterfield. Daddy told endless stories about her boarding the train in Louisville and standing on the platform of the final train car in her fox furs, waving dramatically to her husband and children, "Goodbye! Goodbye!" she called, waving a hankie as if she was never coming back. Of course, she didn't need those fox furs. It was May and already getting warm.
She rode the train all the way to Chesterfield, got off at the train station (where Jazzi's Flower Shop is now and the old depot has fallen down over the last years). She had her steamer trunk hoisted onto a horse-drawn wagon as if she were crossing the Great Plains in search of new prospects and life adventures.. Actually the wagon only pulled Arzelia and her companions about six blocks down the street, through the iron gate into Camp Chesterfield. One of the attending drivers probably carried her trunk into her room in either the Lily Hotel (now gone) or the Sunflower.
I heard these stories throughout my life. There were many tales of Arzelia's adventures as a medium. I remember stories of, the spirits of her lost children banging their silver spoons on the trays of their high chairs in the kitchen, how the ghosts that visited her seances tipped the tables, and then there were the ones who woke up Arzelia's house guests with messages of hope from beyond the veil. Of course, when you are trying to sleep and not expecting a ghost (as my mother was not--and she had quite a story to tell about her nephew Billy)... well, even a message of hope or an answer to a prayer from beyond was enough to scare the Bejeezus out of anybody. (Bejeezus is a reverential Southernism, I'm sure.)
Yes, I heard a novel's worth of stories about Camp Chesterfield, and so one deep, snowy January day my husband and I decided for some reason to drive four hours north in the snow. I wanted an adventure and I came to Chesterfield in search of someone who might have heard of my Aunt Arzelia. I'm not even sure what I expected, but at that time the Western Hotel was open and Rev. Mary Beth Hattaway smiled so sweetly at me. "Oh, how wonderful to see you and all of your people!" she said. And even though I wasn't sure what it meant to walk through the hotel door with all of my people then, well, I just felt overjoyed with her very Southern drawl and her smile and twinkling eyes. I exchanged some money for a room with steam heat that was fogging up the windows.
When I asked where I might find the oldest medium who lived on the grounds and might know of my great aunt, she directed me down the street to an elderly lady of about 97 or so. "Don't be fooled," she advised me. She's still pretty sharp." So I trudged down the Western Avenue to Emma Kruger's house. Yes, she was wonderfully colorful, novel-worthy in fact. I sat and talked with her for about two hours, asking all kinds of questions, such as "How did a nice German lady like yourself come to Chesterfield?" And "Have you always been a medium?" And other things. She kept trying to give me a reading, telling me about all my people who were standing around me, even though I assured her I had only come to find out about Camp Chesterfield itself and perhaps my aunt's time there.
"And did you live here in the 1950s and 60s?" I asked. "What was it like then?"
She said, "There is someone around you who likes fish. Do you know someone who likes fish?"
"Maybe," I answered. "I have a lot of Catholic relatives. They eat a lot of fish."
She seemed very nice, not at all put out with me, even though she'd been sitting in her wheelchair for several hours and the television was still rumbling on with some game show in the background. I asked her about her studies there at Chesterfield and what was a platform dress. I'd heard my Aunt spent a lot of money on her rhinestone dresses, her long white gloves, her shiny black button-up ankle boots. My father was fascinated with my aunt's apparel, for some reason.
"Is there someone around you who likes beer?" Emma asked. "I am sure there is someone around you who just loved his beer. Is it your father?"
"No. My father drank vodka and whisky. My grandfather maybe. He liked his Oertel's 92."
"Me too. I like Oertel's 92," she said.
I'm pretty thick sometimes, but the right question to ask finally hit me like a ton of bricks. "Have you eaten yet today? It's after one o'clock and I've kept you from your lunch." She said the Meals on Wheels didn't come on Saturdays so she was used to going without lunch. I told her I would go and get her some lunch. "What would you like?"
"A fish sandwich," she said. "And a beer. I'd like a 32-ounce beer," she said. "I've run out and there's none in the refrigerator."
Sure, I said. I'll be right back. And it took about 30 minutes. She ate happily, wheeling herself up to the TV table I found and set in front of her. Between bites she wanted to tell me about my people, but for some reason if it wasn't about Arzelia, I wasn't interested. Anyway, I hadn't come for a reading. When I left she was happily sucking on her beer. That was probably not a good thing for me to have left her alone with that beer and other obvious way to dispose of it. I didn't know her daughter didn't like her to have beer.
So I came to Camp Chesterfield to research a novel, to indulge myself in the sensory delights of the past--the sound of a train whistle in the middle of the night, steam pipes knocking, footsteps in the hallway. Wait--! I thought we were the only guests at the hotel! I kept coming back. I started taking classes. I regaled my writing friends in Kentucky with stories of Arzelia and I kept trying to find her factual footprints in the memories of the old mediums and the half-disintegrating hotel registers in the museum.
Finally, I just moved here. I took classes and love it. I developed some really sweet relationships with the people living here, and a few who had passed over, but stayed on in spirit. Some days when the COVID seeps underground and we mediums can return to the platform, you will find me here, standing where my Aunt Arzelia once stood probably. In the meantime, however, I'll be Zooming online to a Message Service near you, or appearing on the roster for the Midwest Mediumship Conference in October. I hope you come to love Camp Chesterfield as much as I have.
And if you've read all the way to the end of this, and you happen to be a publisher, literary agent, or movie producer, I have stories you wouldn't believe. That novel is still open for takers.
April 22, 2020
Earth Day Shivers
I am waiting in the darklike one ray of sunlight
Aten
ready to pop out
from behind this cloud.
I am morning
longing for bird song.
I am trillium
with my two budded
lips pursed
suckling cold dew
from the teat of morning.
I am worry, prayer
a trembling kiss.
I am the chattering
pink teeth mark of redbud
waiting to explode
along the arm of tree.
I am the green hearts
of leaves longing
for perfect light.
In a cold viral world
I cry: Wake me!
For goddess sake,
unmask the glory
the aching craving--
this falling in love
with the earth
burning in light.
--Normandi Ellis
