The Innermost Chamber of the Crystal Castle

Lately, it’s not strategy I crave—but silence. And the presence of a woman who mapped the soul like a castle carved in light.

I’ve been rereading the words of Saint Teresa of Ávila, not as distant theology, but as a guide to building something real—a house of prayer in the middle of my ordinary, imperfect life. And I want to share her with you—not as a saint on a pedestal, but as a woman who burned with longing for God and dared to let that longing shape everything.

Teresa was born in 1515, into a world of empire and inquisition, where prayer was often regulated and mysticism was suspect.

Can we just imagine that for a moment? Praying in secret by candlelight—where your devotion could literally cost you your life?

Her early life was filled with contradiction—laughter, beauty, suffering, sickness, rebellion. She loved romance novels, wore elegant clothes, and had no intention of becoming a nun. But at the age of 20, something began to stir in her. A restlessness. A holy haunting. She entered the Carmelite convent reluctantly—but once inside, she found herself aching for something deeper than the mechanical religion around her. She longed for direct union with God. Not just belief—but communion. Intimacy. Friendship. And so she began to pray.

“Prayer is an act of love,” she wrote, “words are not needed. Even if sickness distracts from thoughts, all that is needed is the will to love.”

Her prayer life deepened, intensified. She experienced profound mystical ecstasies—visions, clairaudience, moments when her body would rise from the ground as her spirit was caught up in the presence of the Divine.

But these weren’t just otherworldly occurrences. They left her radically changed. She became fierce. Focused. Unshakably devoted. She began to reform the Carmelite order—calling the sisters back to a life of deep prayer, radical simplicity, and intimate union with God. She founded 17 monasteries, wrote volumes of luminous spiritual wisdom, and suffered deeply—physically, politically, spiritually—for her calling. But she never stopped praying. Never stopped building the inner chambers of her soul.

In The Interior Castle, her most exquisite and mysterious work, Teresa gives us a vision: the soul is a castle made of diamond or crystal, shimmering with light. And at the center of this castle—its innermost chamber—is where God dwells.

Most of us, she said, live in the outer rooms. Distracted. Anxious. Caught in noise and self-importance. But through prayer, contemplation, and love, we move inward. One room at a time. We become quiet. We become whole. We become radiant. She writes:

“If we could comprehend the soul, we would be unable to distract ourselves with anything less.”

The deeper we go, the more subtle the terrain. There are rooms of surrender. Rooms of purging. Rooms where you may feel nothing at all. But the great gift of Teresa’s teaching is this:

God is not far away. God is already inside the castle. Waiting.

She insists: you do not need eloquence. You do not need spiritual credentials. You need only desire.

“The important thing is not to think much, but to love much; and so do that which best stirs you to love.”

And so I’ve been sitting with this lately—this image of the interior castle. Asking myself: What would it mean to build such a house of prayer within my own life? Not as a separate spiritual box, but as the very structure of my days? What would it mean to mother from this place? To create from this place? To serve from this radiant center, where God is not an idea, but a presence?

I think of my daughter, Norea. How I want her to grow up not in a world of spiritual performance, but inside a rhythm of prayer so real she can feel it in the walls. A sanctuary that hums with peace. A home where silence is holy. Where the candle is lit not just for atmosphere, but because something sacred is happening—even in the quiet.

Especially in the quiet.

Even if you are just beginning—even if the floors of your inner rooms feel dusty and unkept—know this: you are already in the castle. Your desire is the doorway. Your silence is a step. Your longing is holy.

Teresa reminds us: “God walks among the pots and pans.”

There is no part of your life too mundane to be sacred ground.

And here is where I’ll gently offer you this: Branding—true, devotional, mission-aligned branding—is not about performing for the marketplace. It is not about aesthetic perfection or pleasing algorithms. It is the sacred process of moving inward, of revealing the rooms of your castle one by one, and letting the God-light at the center shine outward.

It is how your essence takes form. How your mission becomes visible. How your sacred interior becomes invitation. To share your work with the world is not an act of self-promotion—it is an act of hospitality. When done in reverence, branding becomes an open door to your interior castle. Each color, word, image, and tone becomes a threshold. Each story you tell becomes a flicker of candlelight in the halls of your being.

And your audience? They’re not just consumers. They are pilgrims. They are knocking. They are looking for someone who has gone inward and come back radiant.

So let this be your prayer: May I reveal only what is real. May my presence be a window. May my brand be a room of refuge—where the ones I’m meant to serve can feel God again.

Before I sign off, I want to offer you a free gift I created for this moment of inner listening.

It’s called When Prophets Whisper—a PDF guide for mystic messengers, creatives, and visionaries who are beginning to sense that their ideas may be more than just their own. {And who want to traverse the gifts of 6 mystical saints. Drool. I know.}

This isn’t a sales funnel or a productivity hack. It’s a quiet doorway. A sacred listening room. A place to begin discerning the difference between your voice and God’s.

Inside, you’ll find gentle reflection prompts, poetic teaching, and a mystical framework for understanding what it means to receive creative messages that feel like prophecy—especially when you're not sure you qualify as one they might call a “prophet” at all.

Because here’s the truth:
If your creative work feels like it comes from prayer…
If you often sense something forming in the silence…
If you write or speak or make art and something holy happens…

You are already listening. And I made this for you.

When Prophets Whisper is about honoring those whispers—not as pressure, but as presence. Not as a burden, but as a gift. Because branding, at its best, is not shouting. It is transmitting. It is letting the message you carry find the ones it was always meant for.

May it help you open the next door in your interior castle. May it give language to the mystery you’ve already been carrying. May it remind you that you do not need to shout to be heard—only to listen deeply, and speak when moved by Love.