Category: Uncategorized

A Chaldean American Storyteller: The Documentary That Has Been a Lifetime in the Making

Featured by Weam Namou, posted in film, Uncategorized

Some stories take a lifetime to tell. Not because they are complicated, but because the person telling them needs to live long enough, learn enough, and heal enough to finally sit down and say: this is where I come from.

A Chaldean American Storyteller is that story for me. It is a documentary about my journey from Baghdad to America, about what it means to carry an ancient heritage into a modern world, and about the invisible thread that connects everything I have ever written, filmed, and built. I previously made history as the first Chaldean American to direct a feature documentary, The Great American Family. This film is my second feature documentary and third feature film overall, and it blends AI technology with real archival footage to tell one family’s journey.

Where This Documentary Comes From

I have spent more than thirty  years telling stories. Through 20+ books, two feature films, and my work as executive director of the world’s first and only Chaldean Museum, I have tried to preserve a culture that has survived for thousands of years. My film Pomegranate screened in 25 countries and won over 50 international awards. My memoir Chaldean Storyteller in Baghdad traces the childhood that shaped everything that came after. But there is a larger story that connects all of these pieces, and a documentary is the only way to tell it.

A Chaldean American Storyteller follows the arc of my life from a small concrete house in 1970s Baghdad to the work I do today as an author, filmmaker, and cultural preservationist in the United States. It is not just about me. It is about my family, my community, and the Chaldean people, descendants of the ancient Neo-Babylonians who still speak Aramaic, the language of Jesus. It is the story of what happens when an ancient people meet the modern world, and what is lost and found in the space between.

The global documentary film market was valued at approximately $12.96 billion in 2024 and is projected to reach $20.7 billion by 2033. Audiences are increasingly drawn to authentic personal narratives, with the social and cultural genre dominating documentary viewership worldwide. (Source: Business Research Insights, 2024)

Where Ancient Heritage Meets Artificial Intelligence

What makes this documentary unlike anything that has come before is how it is being made. A Chaldean American Storyteller is the first Chaldean documentary to use artificial intelligence alongside real archival clips and footage from the past. AI is being used not to replace the truth of the story, but to bring it to life in ways that were previously impossible.

When you are telling the story of a childhood in Baghdad during the 1970s, there are no film crews waiting to capture it. There are no professional recordings of the rooftops where we slept under the stars, or the neighborhood streets where children played marbles until dark, or the bakeries where fresh bread came tumbling out of ovens that had been baking for five thousand years. These moments existed only in memory. Through a thoughtful blend of AI-assisted reconstruction and authentic archival material, this documentary allows viewers to see and feel a world that would otherwise remain invisible.

The AI in film market is projected to grow from $1.8 billion in 2024 to $14.1 billion by 2033, with documentary filmmakers at the forefront of adopting AI for archival restoration, scene reconstruction, and narrative enhancement. (Source: Market.us, “AI in Film Market” report, 2024)

This is not a gimmick. This is the future of heritage storytelling. When communities have been displaced, when wars have erased physical records, and when the people who remember are growing older, technology becomes a bridge between what was and what can still be preserved. That is exactly how AI is being used in this project: as a tool of preservation, not replacement.

A Historic Milestone in Chaldean American Filmmaking

When I directed Pomegranate, I became the first Iraqi‑American woman to write and direct a feature film. Earlier, with The Great American Family, I made history as the first Chaldean American to direct a feature documentary.

I share this not for the title, but because representation matters—especially when you come from a community whose stories have largely been told by others. The Chaldean people are among the oldest continuous ethnic groups in the world, yet our presence in mainstream film and media remains rare.

A Chaldean American Storyteller continues that path. It is told from the inside, by someone who lived it, and it uses emerging technology to honor the past while reaching toward the future.

Industry research shows an increasing focus on diverse voices and underrepresented perspectives in documentary filmmaking, with audiences and platforms actively seeking content that provides authentic first-person narratives from communities whose stories have historically been absent from mainstream media. (Source: Data Horizon Research, Documentary Market Trends)

What This Documentary Will Bring to the World

A Chaldean American Storyteller is for anyone who believes that the stories of small, displaced communities matter just as much as the stories we see on the evening news. It is for Chaldean Americans who want to see their heritage on screen. It is for the children and grandchildren of immigrants who are searching for a way to understand where their families came from. And it is for anyone who is curious about how AI can be used responsibly and beautifully to tell stories that would otherwise be lost to time.

I am pouring into this project everything I have learned from writing 20+ books, from directing two feature films, from running the world’s only Chaldean Museum, and from the spiritual practices that have shaped my life through The Path of Consciousness. This is not just a film. It is the culmination of a life spent in service of storytelling.

[IMAGE PLACEHOLDER: Weam at work on the documentary, or a portrait that captures her as filmmaker/storyteller]

Stay Close to This Story

This project is in motion, and I look forward to sharing more as it unfolds. If this resonates with you, if you are someone who believes in the power of storytelling and cultural preservation, I would love for you to follow along. There will be more to come, and I want you to be part of it.

In the meantime, if you want to experience the story that inspired this documentary, my memoir Chaldean Storyteller in Baghdad is available now on Amazon. And for a deeper look into the history of the Chaldean people, Chaldean Chronicles traces the lineage of a people whose name is among the oldest still in use.

For more than 20 years, I have shared my work through books, workshops, retreats, seminars, and personal consultations. I love helping writers and creatives develop their voice, strengthen their craft, and bring their unique vision into the world. Learn more at weamnamou.com.

Love and Blessings,

Weam

Why is Storytelling Important to You? An Evening at the Charles H. Wright Museum

by ritika95fc15e706, posted in Uncategorized

I was invited back to the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History to share my Chaldean American story as part of the BEST of The Secret Society Twisted Storytellers (TSSOTS).

Satori’s Vision and TSSOTS

The Secret Society of Twisted Storytellers was founded in 2012 by Satori Shakoor. What began in a 45-seat performance space in downtown Detroit has grown into something remarkable, with standing-room-only audiences at venues like The Marygrove Theater and the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History.

[Image Placeholder: Satori Shakoor or TSSOTS moment]

Satori is a powerhouse. Her warmth, wisdom, and passion for storytelling have transformed countless lives. Beyond her work with TSSOTS, she’s also a talented artist and storyteller with an upcoming film project, Confessions of a Menopausal Femme Fatale.

Her vision is simple yet profound: to use storytelling as a tool for healing, connection, and transformation. And she’s created something extraordinary – a space where people can be vulnerable, where stories are honored, where healing happens.

The Evening’s Theme

This evening was different from my last visit. Different audience. Different speakers. Different stories. But the same powerful experience of what happens when people gather to listen with their hearts. 

We were all given a question to reflect on and speak from: “Why is storytelling important to you?”

My answer: Because it helped me heal, grow, and help others.

That question became the foundation for all the stories shared that evening. Each of us spoke from that place, exploring why this work matters to us personally.

Stories of Transformation

That evening, we each shared our journeys. Each story was different, but together they created something powerful.

Delisicia Jenkins : A Journey of Transformation

Delisicia Jenkins, the woman in the red dress, shared her story with remarkable honesty and humor.

She talked about her time as a loan officer, the choices she made that she wasn’t proud of, and the consequences that followed. She faced serious legal trouble and time away from her family.

But instead of letting that time break her, she used it to transform herself. She wrote manuscripts about her experience. About integrity. About what really matters beyond money and material success.

When she came out, she became a teacher. She now teaches third grade, sharing the lessons she learned with young students.

After the event, I approached her and asked if she had published her work. She said not yet. I told her: “When you’re ready, let’s do something together.”

Her story showed us that our lowest moments can become our greatest teachers.

Daniel A. Baxter: Witnessing History

Another speaker, Daniel A. Baxter, worked for the electoral office in Detroit during a historic time.

He shared what it was like to witness the election of President Barack Obama. He described elderly Black voters who had never voted before stepping into the booth. People who said they never thought they’d see this day in their lifetime.

He talked about the emotions in that room. The tears. The sense of possibility. The feeling that change was real.

His story reminded us of the power of hope. Of what happens when people believe something better is possible.

Maxie Jones: The Gift of Presence

A third speaker, Maxie Jones, shared his journey through addiction and recovery.

He talked about reaching his lowest point. About the people who answered the phone in the middle of the night when he needed help most. The people who stayed on the line. Who gave him their time and energy.

After he recovered and rebuilt his life, he didn’t just move forward. He traveled to personally thank every single person who had been there for him during those dark moments.

His story was about gratitude. About recognizing that we can’t do this alone. That the people who show up for us deserve to be acknowledged.

What Made These Stories Powerful

Every storyteller that evening used humor. We all reflected on ourselves honestly. None of us tried to make ourselves look perfect or hide our struggles.

We showed our mistakes. Our weaknesses. Our humanity.

And that’s what created connection.

Because when you’re honest about your journey, people see themselves in your story. They feel less alone. They understand that growth comes from facing the hard things, not avoiding them.

An Extraordinary Audience

The audience at the Charles H. Wright Museum is special.

They don’t just watch. They listen with intention. They create a safe space where storytellers can share the truth without fear of judgment.

My husband came with me this time. (Jamal Adams was supposed to come, but it was too cold and he uses a wheelchair, so parking would have been a bit difficult.) My husband doesn’t usually attend these events, but I’m so glad he did. He loved it.

He saw what I experience every time I’m there: an audience of people from backgrounds in arts, culture, and education who truly understand the power of storytelling.

I want to continue supporting this space. I want to bring Pomegranate here for a screening. I want to keep coming back.

The Power of Listening

One of the most important aspects of the evening was the emphasis on listening.

The audience was reminded of their vital role. Listening is an art form. When it’s done with intention and an open heart, it transforms both the storyteller and the listener.

Too often, people listen while preparing what they’ll say next. They miss the essence of what’s being shared. But when you listen with your full attention, you create space for authentic stories to unfold.

That’s what the audience did that evening. They held space for all of us.

Why Storytelling Heals

The question we were given – why storytelling is important – had a simple answer for me: Because it helped me heal, grow, and help others.

I know not everyone understands this. Even educated, accomplished people often see storytelling as entertainment. Something nice but not essential.

But storytelling is a tool for healing. It helps you make sense of your life. It helps you see patterns. It gives you ownership of your narrative instead of letting others define you.

If you understand what storytelling can do, it will change your life. If you don’t recognize its power, you’ll miss the transformation it offers.

And here’s the beautiful part: when you heal through your story, you help others heal too. That’s what happened in that room.

A Final Thought

As I left the stage that evening, I carried with me the support of everyone in that room.

I thought about my fellow storytellers and their courage. I thought about Jacob Walker and how beautifully he guided the evening.

And I thought about my response to the question we were all given: Because it helped me heal, grow, and help others.

That’s why I keep sharing my story. That’s why I support spaces like this. That’s why this work matters.

Because the healing that happens in these rooms doesn’t stay contained. It ripples out. It touches everyone who hears these stories. It reminds us that we’re not alone. That our struggles have purpose. That our stories matter.

Thank you to Satori Shakoor for creating The Secret Society of Twisted Storytellers and for inviting me back. Thank you to the Charles H. Wright Museum of African American History for hosting this powerful evening. Thank you to [EMCEE NAME] for guiding us through the stories with such grace. Thank you to my fellow storytellers for your courage and honesty.

And thank you to every person in that audience who listened with an open heart.

This is the power of storytelling. This is why it matters.

For more than 20 years, I’ve shared my work through books, workshops, retreats, seminars, and personal consultations. I love helping writers and creatives develop their voice, strengthen their craft, and bring their unique vision into the world.

Learn more at weamnamou.com.

To learn more about The Secret Society of Twisted Storytellers or to attend future events, visit www.twistedtellers.org.

To learn more about Pomegranate, visit weamnamou.com.

Chaldean Jewish Alliance: A Shared Story of Faith, Language, and Resilience

by Weam Namou, posted in community, Uncategorized

Over fifteen years ago, I opened a book that would change how I understood my own heritage.

I was a book reviewer for Multicultural Review, based in Florida. They regularly sent me books with Middle Eastern themes. One day, a package arrived containing My Father’s Paradise by Ariel Sabar.

I opened it. Started reading. And was stunned.

I was reading about Jewish families in Iraq who spoke Neo-Aramaic (dialects closely related to the one spoken by my own Chaldean community). Linguists estimate that Aramaic has been spoken continuously for over 3,000 years, making it one of the world’s oldest living languages.

It felt like discovering long-lost relatives through language.

That sense of recognition stayed with me. Years later, I had the honor of interviewing Ariel on a podcast about that very connection—the linguistic and cultural threads that bind our communities across centuries and continents.

The Babylonian Exile: A Shared History

When I became Executive Director of the Chaldean Cultural Center—home to the world’s first and only Chaldean Museum—I had the opportunity to explore an even deeper shared history.

The Babylonian Exile. 6th century CE.

[Image Placeholder: Chaldean Cultural Center Museum]

Through cuneiform tablets published in 2015, often referred to as the Al-Yahudu texts, we learned something remarkable.

Judeans in Babylonia were not enslaved, as many had assumed. According to research from archaeological studies, these tablets (dating from 572 to 477 BCE) document that Judean exiles lived with legal, economic, and civic rights remarkably similar to those of the local population.

They were part of the community. Neighbors. Woven into the fabric of Babylonian life.

As we planned the expansion of the museum, I knew we had to tell that story. Visually. Accurately. Responsibly.

I reached out to David Sofer, an Israeli-British collector whose Babylonian Exile materials are among the most significant in the world. He was extraordinarily generous—granting permission for images and replicas. Many of the original artifacts are now held in major institutions, including museums in Israel.

We wanted to honor this shared history. To show that our stories have always been intertwined.

Pomegranate: A Symbol of Blessing

In 2016, I wrote a feature film titled Pomegranate.

Released internationally in March 2025, it’s traveled to over 25 countries and won 50+ international awards. But what makes it most meaningful to me is this: audiences everywhere—Jewish, Christian, Muslim, secular—saw themselves in it.

Iraqis love pomegranates. The fruit carries deep historical and biblical symbolism—fertility, abundance, blessing.

During my research, I learned something beautiful: rumman (pomegranate in Iraqi Arabic) comes from the Hebrew rimon (a symbol of blessing, abundance, and divine creation).

Even our words for this sacred fruit are connected.

That film became my most blessed project. In every sense of the word.

What We Share

On Wednesday, January 7, at the Detroit Athletic Club, history was made with the formation of the first annual Chaldean Jewish Alliance. What stood out most was how much we share—a message echoed from the podium by leaders including Sam Yono, Thomas Danish, and Rabbi Asher Lopatin.

We are both ancient peoples. Deeply rooted in faith and language. Both largely uprooted from our ancestral lands.

Today, only a few Jewish individuals remain in Iraq. In the 1950s, there were approximately 200,000 Jews living in Iraq. According to recent reports, fewer than five remain today.

The Chaldean presence continues to dwindle as well. The Chaldean population in Iraq has dropped from approximately 1.5 million before 2003 to fewer than 150,000 today (a loss of over 90% in just two decades). [Source: BBC News – Christians in Iraq]

We have both been displaced. Scattered. Forced to carry our heritage in our hearts instead of our homeland.

Yet what we have learned—again and again—is resilience.

Our histories teach us that survival is not only about remaining in a place. It’s about carrying memory, language, and faith forward.

When Chaldeans and Jews come together, we are not just remembering the past. We are affirming that our stories still matter. That dialogue itself is an act of hope.

Dialogue as Hope

Dialogue is an act of hope because it chooses curiosity over fear. Relationship over retreat. Shared humanity over inherited division.

We could focus on what separates us—different religions, different rituals, different paths.

But on the afternoon of January 7 we chose to focus on what connects us. Language. History. Displacement. Resilience. Faith.

The understanding that we have both carried something precious through centuries of turmoil. And that by sharing our stories with each other, we strengthen both.

A Final Thought

Fifteen years ago, I opened a book and felt recognition.

Today, I stood with a community and felt the same thing.

We are mirror reflections of each other’s history. We speak dialects of the same ancient tongue. We honor the same sacred symbols. We carry the same inherited memory of exile and resilience.

When Chaldeans and Jews come together, we remember that our survival is not just about us. It’s about every generation that refused to let the story end. Every family that passed down the language. Every person who said, “This matters. We matter.”

Thank you for being part of that act tonight.

Thank you for choosing hope.    

And this is only the beginning of the work we will continue to do together.For more than 20 years, I’ve shared my work through books, workshops, retreats, seminars, and personal consultations. I love helping writers and creatives develop their voice, strengthen their craft, and bring their unique vision into the world. Learn more at weamnamou.com.

The Council Is Getting a New Beginning: Ancient Wisdom Council in 2026

by Weam Namou, posted in Uncategorized

There are things we know feed us. Things that matter deeply. Things we tell ourselves we’ll return to “when life slows down.”

But life never slows down, does it?

For years, the Ancient Wisdom Council was a cornerstone of my work. A monthly gathering where we explored Babylonian wisdom, shamanic teachings, conscious storytelling, and practical spiritual tools for daily life. It was a space for writers, creatives, and spiritual seekers to come together, learn, and grow.

And then it evolved. Not all at once. But slowly. Quietly. Until I looked up one day and realized it was time to give this work the structure and intention it truly deserves.

I told myself I’d return to it with clarity. And now, in 2026, that time has come.

The answer, I’ve learned, is yes. And more importantly—it’s something I still need.

Why 2026 Is a New Beginning

Let me be honest with you. Life got full.

Between managing the Chaldean Cultural Center, writing books, producing films, raising a family, and everything else that comes with being a woman juggling multiple callings, I had to make choices about where to direct my energy.

At first, I thought Ancient Wisdom Council just needed refinement. But what it actually needed was a complete reimagining—a structure that could hold the depth of these teachings while honoring the reality of modern life.

Here’s the thing I’ve learned over the past few years: evolution isn’t failure. Sometimes we need to step back, reassess, and create space for what’s calling us next in a more intentional way.

The Ancient Wisdom Council didn’t disappear because it wasn’t valuable. It transformed because these teachings deserve a container worthy of their power.

And now, I’m ready to build that container.

What Ancient Wisdom Council Actually Is

I started Ancient Wisdom Council on Saturday, January 17, 2015. It was born out of a need I saw—and felt—for teachings that weren’t superficial. For practices rooted in something older, deeper, more enduring than the latest trend.

Ancient Wisdom Council is a monthly gathering that blends ancient teachings with modern practice. We explore:

Babylonian and Mesopotamian Wisdom: The teachings of my ancestors—cosmology, astrology, rituals, and the sacred knowledge passed down for thousands of years.

Shamanic and Eastern Spiritual Teachings: Practices from indigenous and Eastern traditions that help us heal, grow, and connect with the unseen world.

Writing, Creativity, and Conscious Storytelling: How to use writing as a spiritual practice and bring sacred intention into creative work.

Practical Spiritual Tools for Daily Life: Techniques you can use immediately—meditations, rituals, journaling prompts, energy practices.

Each session has a monthly theme with focused subtopics, so whether you join for one month or the entire year, you walk away with something tangible.

Why 2026 Is the Right Time

A few weeks ago, someone asked me, “What happened to Ancient Wisdom Council? I’ve been looking for it.”

And I realized—I’m not the only one who needs this.

The work I do with writers and creatives through workshops and consultations always circles back to the same thing: people are hungry for meaning. For depth. For something that connects them to something larger than themselves.

We live in a world that moves so fast. Where spirituality is often reduced to Instagram quotes and five-minute meditations. Where ancient wisdom is either ignored or appropriated without understanding.

Ancient Wisdom Council was created to honor the depth of these teachings. To slow down. To go deeper. To connect with practices that have guided people for millennia—not as relics of the past, but as living wisdom we can use today.

2026 is the year we give this work the structure, consistency, and sacred intention it deserves.

What 2026 Will Look Like

I’m approaching this new beginning with intention. This time, I’m building it to last—not by doing more, but by doing it sustainably and with clarity.

Here’s what you can expect:

  • Monthly themes with focused subtopics that build on each other throughout the year
  • A blend of teaching, discussion, and practice—you won’t just learn; you’ll experience
  • A smaller, more intimate community where real connection can happen
  • Flexibility—sessions will be recorded for those who can’t attend live
  • Consistency—a commitment to showing up every month with the same dedication these teachings deserve

I’ll be sharing the full 2026 schedule soon. In the meantime, if you’re interested in staying updated or learning more, visit weamnamou.com/services.

Who This Is For

Ancient Wisdom Council is for:

  • Writers, creatives, and storytellers who want to infuse their work with deeper meaning
  • Spiritual seekers and students of ancient traditions
  • Anyone interested in personal growth, healing, or intuitive practices
  • People who crave community and meaningful monthly rituals

You don’t need to be an expert in any of these areas. You just need to be curious, open, and ready to explore.

Lessons from Evolution

Creating the new Ancient Wisdom Council has taught me something important: intention matters more than perfection.

For years, I operated under the belief that if I couldn’t show up 100%, I shouldn’t show up at all. But that’s not sustainable. And it’s not fair to the people who need this work—or to myself.

So I’m letting go of the pressure to be perfect. I’m committing to showing up consistently, honestly, and with the same love for these teachings that I’ve always had—but this time, with a structure that supports that commitment.

Join Us in 2026

If you’ve been looking for a spiritual practice that honors ancient wisdom while meeting you where you are in modern life—Ancient Wisdom Council is for you.

If you’re a writer or creative who wants to deepen your craft with sacred intention—this is for you.

If you’re tired of surface-level spirituality and want something real, something rooted, something that has endured for thousands of years—this is for you.

I’ll be sharing the 2026 schedule, sign-up details, and pricing soon. To stay updated, visit weamnamou.com/services or follow me on social media.

A Final Thought

For more than 20 years, I’ve shared my work through books, workshops, retreats, seminars, and personal consultations. I love helping writers and creatives develop their voice, strengthen their craft, and bring their unique vision into the world.

The Ancient Wisdom Council is one of the ways I do that—by connecting people to teachings that have shaped civilizations, healed communities, and guided seekers for millennia.

I’m so glad we’re beginning anew. And I’m grateful you’re here.

Love and blessings,
Weam

The Second Wednesday: How Writing Ritual Became My Monthly Anchor

by ritika95fc15e706, posted in Uncategorized

I used to think that discipline meant forcing myself to write every single day, no matter what. That if I missed a day, I was failing. That real writers didn’t struggle with motivation or doubt.

Then I became a mother. Then I started juggling multiple projects. Then life happened in all the ways life happens, and I realized something important: discipline isn’t about perfection. It’s about showing up when you can and creating rituals that keep you tethered to your purpose.

That’s how my Writing Ritual was born, and over the years, it grew to where I started sharing it with others.

Every second Wednesday of the month, from 11 AM to 12 PM EST, writers from all over gather online for an hour. Not to critique manuscripts or workshop scenes. Just to breathe. To remember why we started this in the first place. To set intentions and remind ourselves that we’re not alone in this work.

And thanks to the Authors Guild, it’s completely free.

How It Started

In 2018, I became an Authors Guild ambassador when the organization launched its regional chapter initiative. The Authors Guild is the nation’s oldest and largest writing organization—they fight for copyright protections, provide legal support for contract reviews and disputes, and offer professional resources and community for writers across the country

The regional chapter program aimed to create supportive local communities for writers in cities like Detroit, Chicago, Cleveland, Philadelphia, and Seattle. As the Detroit ambassador, I wanted to create something that felt personal. Something that honored what I saw writers needing most: consistency, encouragement, and a space to just be.

One day, I was brainstorming with the Authors Guild’s Manager of Regional Chapters. I mentioned that I’d been running workshops focused on intention-setting and creative practice—rituals that helped writers reconnect with their voice and vision.

She said, “Why don’t you turn it into a monthly online meeting?”

That conversation became Writing Ritual.

What Happens in Writing Ritual

Writing Ritual is an hour-long virtual gathering. We don’t workshop. We don’t critique. We focus on the practice of writing—the mindset, the discipline, the ritual of showing up even when it’s hard.

Each month, we explore themes like setting clear intentions for your writing, overcoming creative blocks, building sustainable habits, and honoring your voice when the world tells you to conform.

It’s a space to pause. To reflect. To ask yourself, Why am I doing this? What story am I trying to tell? What am I afraid of?

And to hear other writers ask the same questions.

Why This Matters to Me

Writing can be so isolating. You sit alone with your thoughts, your doubts, your ideas. You wonder if anyone will care about what you’re creating. You question whether you’re good enough, whether it’s worth it, whether you should keep going.

I’ve been there. I still go there sometimes.

But what I’ve learned over the years is that community changes everything. Not a community that judges or competes, but one that simply witnesses. That says, I see you. I’m here too. Keep going.

Over the years, I’ve watched writers join hesitantly—unsure if it’s “for them”—only to become regulars who protect this hour fiercely. They tell me it keeps them grounded. That it helps them remember their purpose when everything else feels chaotic.

One writer told me, “This hour every month brings me back to why I even started writing — it reminds me that my stories matter.”

That’s what I hoped for when we started.

My Own Struggle with Ritual

I’ll be honest. There have been months where I almost canceled Writing Ritual. Where I thought, I’m too busy. I have too much on my plate. Maybe people won’t notice if I skip this month.

But then I’d show up. And so would they. And I’d remember why I created this in the first place.

Because I need it too.

I need the reminder that writing isn’t just about productivity or publishing. It’s about staying connected to the part of myself that has something to say. The part that believes stories matter.

Writing Ritual has become my anchor. The one thing that, no matter what else is happening, reminds me to slow down and remember why I started this work.

If You’re Looking for This

If you’re a writer who feels scattered, overwhelmed, or disconnected from your purpose—Writing Ritual is for you.

If you’ve been meaning to start that project but keep putting it off—this is for you.

If you just want an hour each month where you’re not alone in this work—this is for you.

We meet every second Wednesday of the month from 11 AM to 12 PM EST. It’s free. You don’t have to be an Authors Guild member to attend, though I highly recommend joining if you’re serious about your writing career.

A Final Thought

For more than 20 years, I’ve shared my work through books, workshops, retreats, seminars, and personal consultations. I love helping writers and creatives develop their voice, strengthen their craft, and bring their unique vision into the world.

Writing Ritual is an extension of that mission—a space where writers can gather, set intentions, and support each other in this beautiful, challenging work we’ve chosen.

I hope you’ll join us.

To learn more about my work and offerings, visit weamnamou.com/services 

Weam

Returning to Sacred Ground: Remembering My Teacher Lynn Andrews

by Weam Namou, posted in Uncategorized

There are places that hold memory. Not just in photographs or stories, but in the land itself. In the soil, the air, the way the light falls at dusk.

This past fall, I returned to one of those places. Lynn Andrews’ home in Arizona.

Lynn was my teacher. The woman who helped me find my voice again when I thought I’d lost it forever.

Years ago, struggling with writer’s block, juggling motherhood and the weight of watching my birth country torn apart by war, I picked up her book Writing Spirit. One phone call to ask for literary advice turned into four years in her shamanic Mystery School, a journey that would transform everything. I’ve written about this experience in my four-part memoir series, Healing Wisdom for a Wounded World, because Lynn’s teachings didn’t just help me write again. They helped me live again.

Lynn passed away two years ago, but her legacy lives on. Her daughter, Vanessa, now carries forward her mother’s work, honoring the wisdom that has touched so many lives across the world.

The Teacher I Never Expected to Find

Lynn V. Andrews was a New York Times bestselling author who wrote 21 books chronicling her three decades of study with shaman healers on four continents. Her journey began in the 1970s when she traveled to northern Canada seeking a sacred marriage basket and encountered Agnes Whistling Elk and Ruby Plenty Chiefs, Native American healers who would become her teachers and change the course of her life.

What started as a quest for an artifact became a spiritual awakening, one she shared with the world through her Medicine Woman Series. In books like Medicine Woman, Jaguar Woman, and Star Woman, she chronicled her experiences with the Sisterhood of the Shields, 44 women healers from cultures across the globe, from Panama to Nepal to Australia.

For thousands of years, these women have practiced, guarded, and handed down sacred feminine teachings from shaman to apprentice, mother to daughter. The Sisterhood remained hidden, appointing Lynn as their public messenger.

When I read her books for the first time, I recognized something in them. A truth I’d been searching for without knowing it.

A School Without Walls

In 1993, Lynn founded what she called “The Way of the Wolf,” a four-year Mystery School without walls. She created this program so that people around the world could access these ancient teachings without leaving their homes, without uprooting their lives.

I was one of those students.

When I joined the Mystery School, I thought I was signing up to heal my writer’s block. I had no idea I was about to confront wounds I didn’t even know I carried, wounds from my childhood in Iraq, from the trauma of war, from trying to fit into a culture that didn’t fully understand where I came from.

The school taught me how to see energy. How to heal the blocks within myself. How to remember who I was beneath all the conditioning and fear.

Lynn used to say, “Everyone has indigenousness in them, not just Native Americans.” She believed that ancient wisdom lives in all of us, across every culture and continent. That we are all keepers of Earth and memory. As a Chaldean woman carrying 5,000 years of Mesopotamian heritage, her words gave me permission to honor my own ancestral roots, to see that my story, too, was sacred.

Under the Arizona Sky

When our group arrived at Lynn’s home this fall, I felt her presence everywhere. In the red rocks. In the vast Arizona sky. In the quiet spaces between words.

We gathered under the stars one of the nights. Lying on the earth, looking up at the endless expanse of sky, I felt something shift. The desert has a way of stripping everything unnecessary away. Out there, under those stars, there was no room for pretense. Only truth.

I thought about all the times Lynn had told us: “You are not separate from the Earth. You are her daughter.”

Lying there, I understood what she meant. The land was holding us. The way a mother holds her child.

Vanessa, Lynn’s daughter, now tends to this sacred space, shedding light on the work her mother began, keeping the teachings alive for those who seek them. Watching her honor her mother’s legacy reminded me of the responsibility we all carry to pass on what we’ve learned, whether through books, teachings, or simply the way we live our lives.

With Vanessa, Lynn’s Daughter, During Our Visit to Arizona

Honoring Her Legacy

I’m now creating a documentary about Lynn’s teachings called Indigenous Wisdom: Keepers of the Ancient Ways. Part of it will be filmed at her home, weaving together her voice, her legacy, and the global reach of her message.

Because Lynn’s work was never meant to stay in one place. It was meant to travel, like seeds on the wind, landing wherever hearts were ready to receive it.

The documentary will honor not just Lynn’s journey with Agnes Whistling Elk, Ruby Plenty Chiefs, and the other teachers she wrote about in books like Crystal Woman: Sisters of the Dreamtime and Windhorse Woman, but also the universal truth she taught: that sacred feminine wisdom exists in every culture. That we all carry ancestral knowledge. That healing ourselves heals the world.

What the Journey Taught Me

Visiting Lynn’s home again reminded me of something I often forget in the rush of daily life: sacred spaces hold us, even when we’re not physically there.

The teachings I received in her Mystery School didn’t end when I graduated. They live in me. In how I write. In how I parent. In how I show up in the world.

Over the years, I’ve learned that healing isn’t linear. That we return to the same lessons again and again, each time at a deeper level. That transformation isn’t about becoming someone new. It’s about remembering who we’ve always been.

Standing in the place where Lynn lived, where she prayed, where she gathered women from around the world to remember their power, I felt the full weight of that gift.

For Those Who Are Seeking

If you’re curious about Lynn’s teachings, I encourage you to explore her work. Her books are available both in print and as ebooks, and her school continues to welcome new students.

There are also gatherings held throughout the year, like the Spring Gathering in Michigan, where students and apprentices come together to continue the work.

For me, writing my memoir series Healing Wisdom for a Wounded World was my way of honoring Lynn and sharing what her teachings did for my life. If any part of this resonates with you, I’d love for you to explore that journey with me.

A Final Thought

As I left Arizona, I looked back at the land one last time. The red rocks. The wide sky. The quiet that holds everything.

Lynn used to say, “The Earth is always speaking. We just have to remember how to listen.”

I’m still learning how to listen. But I know now that sacred ground doesn’t just exist in faraway places. It exists wherever we choose to remember. Wherever we choose to return. Wherever we choose to honor what came before us and what will come after.

Thank you, Lynn. For the teachings. For the courage. For showing me and so many others the way home.

HOW COMMUNITY SHAPED MY CALLING AT THE CHALDEAN MUSEUM

by Weam Namou, posted in Uncategorized

There’s a moment that happens when you step into a role you were meant for. Everything that felt difficult before suddenly makes sense. Everything you struggled to understand becomes clear. It’s not that the work is easy, it’s that it feels right.

That’s what happened when I became the Executive Director of the Chaldean Cultural Center and Museum.

….she opened the entrance door to the museum. Before I reached the threshold, the sound of a mysterious foreign yet familiar music snuck through the doors like a streak of incense. Its pure and holy rhythm transported me to another world, one belonging to the ancients and the underground, where the spirits of my parents and ancestors greeted me, as if to say, “Welcome to our past.” I entered the ancient gallery of the museum, imbued with the colors of copal blue, olive green, and gold that subtly represented that region and its surrounding Tigris and Euphrates Rivers. 

Judy explained that this was the Ancient Gallery, one of five of the museum’s galleries. It focuses on the five main empires that ruled in ancient Mesopotamia: the Sumerian; the Akkadian; the Babylonian; the Assyrian; and the Neo-Babylonian (Chaldean). The Ancient Gallery was a couple hundred feet, whereas the land it represented was about three hundred miles long and about fifteen hundred miles wide. We started with the Sumerians, and I was immediately transported to the stories of the people and places I’ve been reading about for over a decade, my people, my birthland, which I had heavily researched when writing my thirteenth and most recent book, Mesopotamian Goddesses: Unveiling Your Feminine Power. The book was published just four months prior to my visit to the museum and a month prior to my mother’s death. From that point forward, most of what Judy said and what I heard were two different things. I began to float along spontaneous streams of consciousness, my mind randomly taking me to where it wanted to go. Words I’d read over in the past suddenly appeared, organized into a partly historical, partly personal description of the Sumerians, who around 3500 BC, moved to the land between the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers in southern Mesopotamia, now called Iraq. 

– Chaldean Museum is Chapter 12

Finding My Place

I’ve written before about my journey to this role, how I trained to be a docent at Cranbrook and struggled, how I served as Vice President of Detroit Working Writers and learned about community building. Each experience prepared me, but it wasn’t until I stepped into the Chaldean Museum that I understood what I’d been preparing for.

This wasn’t just a job. This was my calling.

As a Chaldean woman, I carry the stories of my ancestors in my bones. The ancient Mesopotamians, the Neo-Babylonians, the people who invented the wheel, developed agriculture, and gave us the first recorded writer in history, a princess and priestess named Enheduanna. This is my heritage. These are my people.

And suddenly, I wasn’t just learning someone else’s history. I was preserving my own.

What the Museum Taught Me

Leading the Chaldean Cultural Center and Museum taught me something profound about the relationship between community and personal growth. You can’t separate the two. We don’t grow in isolation. We grow when we’re part of something bigger than ourselves.

The museum became more than a building filled with artifacts. It became a gathering place. A touchstone for Chaldeans in the diaspora who needed to remember where they came from. A bridge between generations, where elders could pass down stories and young people could claim their heritage.

Every program we developed, every exhibit we created, every event we hosted was about community. About bringing people together. About saying, “You belong here. Your story matters. Your culture deserves to be preserved and celebrated.”

The Joy of Preservation

Being Executive Director meant carrying a beautiful responsibility. The Chaldean community has maintained its culture, language, and traditions for over 5,000 years. Our language, Aramaic, is one of the oldest living languages in the world. Our traditions connect us directly to ancient Mesopotamia.

The museum was about honoring that continuity. About celebrating the resilience and beauty of a culture that has thrived across millennia. About making sure that this rich heritage continues to be shared, celebrated, and passed down to future generations.

And I didn’t have to do it alone. That’s what community does. It distributes the joy. It shares the celebration. It says, “We’ll do this together.”

Community members donated artifacts from their families, each piece carrying stories of love and survival. Elders volunteered their time to share wisdom accumulated over lifetimes. Young people showed up eager to learn and connect with their roots. Scholars contributed research. Artists created works that honored our heritage. Everyone brought something to the table.

Leadership Through Service

My ancestors believed in a mindset of service. They saw their gifts and talents not as personal achievements but as tools to serve the greater good. Leading the museum taught me what that really means.

Leadership isn’t about being in charge. It’s about serving the community you lead. It’s about listening more than speaking. It’s about creating space for others to contribute their gifts. It’s about holding the vision steady while allowing others to help shape how that vision comes to life.

Every decision I made as Executive Director, I made with the community in mind. Not “What do I want?” but “What does the community need? What will serve our people best? What will ensure our culture thrives for the next generation?”

That’s what service looks like in practice.

How Community Made Me Grow

When I look back at my time leading the Chaldean Cultural Center, I see how much I grew. Not because I was working hard, though I was. Not because I was talented, though I brought my skills. But because the community lifted me up and helped me become more than I thought I could be.

Community members inspired me with their questions and insights. They offered perspectives that broadened my understanding. They encouraged me to reach for higher standards. They celebrated every victory with me and supported me through every challenge.

I learned to speak publicly with confidence because I was speaking about something that mattered deeply. I learned to advocate passionately because I was advocating for a community I loved. I learned to think strategically because the opportunity to make a difference was so meaningful.

But more than skills, community taught me about identity. About what it means to be Chaldean in America. About the sacred responsibility of carrying forward ancient wisdom in a modern world. About the healing that happens when we reconnect with our roots.

I grew because I was rooted in something larger than myself.

The Circle of Growth

Here’s what I’ve learned about community and growth. They feed each other in a circle that never ends.

Community helps you grow. You become more capable, more confident, more clear about your purpose. And then your growth serves the community. You bring back what you’ve learned. You lift others up. You create space for them to grow too.

And their growth feeds the community. And the community continues to flourish. And the circle goes on.

This is how cultures thrive. This is how movements build. This is how positive change happens. Not through isolated individuals working alone, but through communities of people committed to growing together.

Why This Matters Now

We live in a time when many people are searching for connection and meaning. There’s a growing hunger for authentic community, for spaces where we truly belong.

My time at the Chaldean Museum reminded me that community isn’t just nice to have. It’s essential. We need each other, not just for survival but for thriving, for becoming our fullest selves.

We need spaces where we belong. We need people who share our values. We need communities that call us to be our best selves and celebrate who we’re becoming.

Whether it’s a cultural center, a writers’ organization, a faith community, a neighborhood group, or a circle of friends, find your community. Show up for it. Contribute to it. Let it shape you. Let it inspire you. Let it hold you when you need support and celebrate with you when you reach milestones.

That’s where growth happens. In the fertile soil of community.

Gratitude for the Journey

I’m grateful for my time leading the Chaldean Cultural Center and Museum. Grateful for the community that trusted me with their stories. Grateful for the elders who shared their wisdom with such generosity. Grateful for the young people who showed up hungry to learn and eager to connect. Grateful for the board members, volunteers, donors, and supporters who believed in the mission and made everything possible.

That experience transformed me. It taught me who I am and what I’m capable of. It connected me to my ancestors and to my purpose. It showed me what’s possible when people come together in service of something sacred.

And it reminded me that we don’t grow alone. We grow in community. Always.

125 YEARS OF DETROIT WORKING WRITERS – THE POWER OF WOMEN UNITED

by Weam Namou, posted in Uncategorized

Earlier this week, I attended a celebration that reminded me why community matters. Detroit Working Writers turned 125 years old, and the anniversary event was held at the beautiful Cranbrook House and Gardens.

[The DWW 125 anniversary was at Cranbrook House and Gardens]

I served as Vice President of DWW from 2017 to 2019, and being back among this community of writers felt like coming home. The evening was filled with readings, conversations, and reflections on what this organization has meant to so many writers over more than a century.

I loved hearing once again how it all began. 

13 Women Who Refused to Wait

Detroit Working Writers was founded in 1900 by 13 professional women writers. Thirteen women who saw a need and decided to fill it. Thirteen women who refused to accept the limitations placed on them simply because of their gender.

What they created became the oldest continuously operating writers’ organization in Michigan. Think about that. 125 years of unbroken support for writers. Through two world wars, the Great Depression, social upheavals, technological revolutions, and a global pandemic. This organization has never stopped showing up for writers.

During the event, I learned something that shocked me. In the 1970s, not that long ago at all, women attending certain professional events and newspaper gatherings couldn’t enter through the main door. They had to use a separate entrance. A side door. As if their presence needed to be hidden or minimized.

Can you imagine? The 1970s. Many of us were alive then. Our mothers, our aunts, our older sisters were navigating a world that literally made them use different doors.

[With DWW President Laura Hedgecock]

These 13 founding women faced even more restrictions when they started DWW. But they moved forward anyway. They created something that has now lasted 125 years. They built a space where women writers could gather for mutual support and professional development, where voices could be heard and work could be celebrated.

That’s the power of community. That’s the power of women who refuse to be stopped.

What DWW Offers Writers

Over the decades, Detroit Working Writers has provided so much more than just meetings. Monthly gatherings feature readings, critiques, and workshops. The organization has hosted annual contests and awards, published anthologies of members’ work, and offered scholarships for aspiring writers. Guest speakers from the publishing industry share insights. Networking opportunities open doors.

But beyond all the programs and structure, what DWW really offers is something simpler and more profound. It offers belonging.

Throughout the evening, writer after writer shared how being part of Detroit Working Writers helped them grow. How the community gave them courage to keep going when rejection letters piled up. How feedback from other members sharpened their craft. How knowing they weren’t alone in this solitary profession made all the difference.I felt the same way during my time as Vice President.

[DWW member Michael Dwyer and Sonya Julie]

Writing can be lonely. You sit alone with your thoughts, your words, your doubts. You face rejection alone. You struggle through blocks and dry spells alone. But when you’re part of a community like DWW, you’re not really alone. You have people who understand, who’ve been there, who believe in you even when you don’t believe in yourself.

That’s what these 13 women created. Not just an organization, but a lifeline for writers who needed to know they belonged somewhere.

My DWW Journey

My time with Detroit Working Writers was formative. It taught me about leadership, about showing up consistently, about the work it takes to keep a community thriving. It connected me with writers whose passion and dedication inspired me to keep pushing forward with my own work.

[With Linda K Sienkiewicz]

Being part of DWW also prepared me for what came next in my journey. Shortly after my time as Vice President, I became the Executive Director of the Chaldean Cultural Center and Museum. The skills I developed at DWW, the understanding of what it means to preserve history and build community, all of that came with me.

And the creative work continued too. My film Pomegranate, which journalist Gina Joseph beautifully described as “Little Baghdad meets My Big Fat Greek Wedding,” was born from the same commitment to storytelling and community that I learned at DWW. The same belief that our stories matter, that they deserve to be told with care and authenticity.

Nothing is ever wasted. Every community we’re part of teaches us something. Every role we step into prepares us for the next one.

The Thread That Connects Us All

What those 13 women understood in 1900 is what we still need to understand today. We’re stronger together. We go further together. We create lasting change together.

One woman with a dream is powerful. Thirteen women with a shared vision? Unstoppable.

And 125 years later, their vision is still alive. Still supporting writers through monthly meetings and annual celebrations. Still giving members a platform. Still nurturing the next generation of storytellers. Still opening doors, the main ones this time, for anyone who needs a community of people who understand what it means to put words on a page and send them out into the world.

What This Means for All of Us

You don’t have to be a writer to understand the lesson here. Whatever your calling, whatever your passion, whatever you’re trying to build or create or accomplish, you need community.

You need people who believe in what you’re doing. You need people who’ve walked the path before you and can show you the way. You need people who are walking alongside you right now, facing the same struggles, celebrating the same victories.

Don’t try to do it alone. Don’t think you have to prove you can make it without help. The strongest people I know are the ones who let themselves be supported, who show up for community, who give and receive in equal measure.

Gratitude

Standing in that room at Cranbrook, surrounded by writers who are carrying forward what those 13 women started, I felt deeply grateful.

Grateful for the founders who had the courage to begin. Grateful for every president, every board member, every volunteer who kept it going through 125 years of change and challenge. Grateful for the writers who show up month after month, who share their work, who support each other through rejection and triumph alike.

And grateful for my own time as part of this community. It shaped me. It prepared me. It reminded me that we don’t get where we’re going alone.

Here’s to 125 years of Detroit Working Writers, the oldest continuously operating writers’ organization in Michigan. Here’s to the 13 women who started it all. Here’s to every writer who’s been part of this community and every writer who will join in the years to come.

And here’s to the power of women united. When we come together, when we refuse to be limited, when we build something lasting, we change the world.

CRANBROOK – WHEN THE UNIVERSE REDIRECTS YOU

by Weam Namou, posted in Uncategorized

This week, I found myself back at Cranbrook House and Gardens for the 125th anniversary celebration of Detroit Working Writers. Walking through those familiar rooms stirred up memories I hadn’t thought about in years.

Cranbrook holds a special place in my story, though not in the way I originally imagined. Years ago, I trained to become a docent there. I was drawn to the estate’s beauty, the carefully preserved history, the stories embedded in every room. I thought this was where I was meant to be.

But the universe had other plans.

When Things Don’t Click

During the docent training, we were each assigned a room to memorize. Every week, we’d practice presenting as if we were actual docents, working toward that official role. I remember standing in the dining room, trying to absorb every detail, every story, every piece of furniture.

Here’s what I wrote about that experience in Little Baghdad, Chapter 17:

“As I envisioned the meals that took place around the dining table, I heard the docent explain that we were each assigned a script with a room to memorize for the next meeting. Each week, we’d play docent as a means to attaining true docent status. Fear crept in. I don’t retain information very well unless the topic truly matters to me. Otherwise, I tend to freeze. And lo and behold, that was exactly what happened when I stood there in the center of puzzled looks from the rest of the docents-in-training, unable to recall anything about the dining room except that the maid spilt soup on one of the sons and Mrs. Booth’s silverware had ‘Nelly’ etched on the reverse of each of the pieces, the name that her family called her. This reminded me of Nelly Olson in Little House on the Prairie.

That night, walking to my car in the cold quiet winter night, I reflected on the house. … By the time my feet reached my car, I’d made up my mind. I can’t do this.”

I felt embarrassed. Disappointed in myself. I’m usually good at retaining information, at learning new things. Why was this so hard? What was wrong with me?

I never became a docent at Cranbrook.

Then Everything Changed

Not long after that experience, I became the Executive Director of the Chaldean Cultural Center and Museum.

And suddenly, everything that had been difficult at Cranbrook became effortless.

The history of my people, the artifacts, the stories of ancient Mesopotamia, the journey of the Chaldean community. I absorbed it all naturally. I could speak about our culture, our contributions to civilization, our struggles and triumphs without needing to memorize scripts. It just flowed.

This wasn’t about capability or intelligence. It was about calling.

The Spiritual Lesson

When I talk about spirituality, this is what I mean. It’s not always about rituals or meditation, though those have their place. Sometimes spirituality shows up in the simple recognition of where you belong versus where you’re trying to force yourself to fit.

At Cranbrook, I was pushing. At the Chaldean Museum, I was flowing.

That’s the difference between being in alignment and being out of alignment. Your body knows. Your spirit knows. Even when your mind is still trying to convince you that you should make it work.

The struggle I experienced at Cranbrook wasn’t failure. It was guidance. The universe was redirecting me, saying, “Not this path. Keep looking. Your purpose is waiting somewhere else.”

Nothing is Wasted

Looking back now, I see how that experience prepared me in ways I didn’t understand at the time. The docent training taught me about preservation, about honoring history, about the importance of telling stories with care and accuracy.

I used all of that at the Chaldean Museum. I just used it for my own people, my own culture, my own calling.

Nothing is ever wasted. Every detour teaches us something. Every closed door points us toward the one that’s meant to open.

Coming Full Circle

Standing in Cranbrook House this week, years after that difficult realization in the cold parking lot, I felt grateful. Grateful that I listened to that inner voice telling me I didn’t belong there. Grateful that I didn’t force myself to keep going just to prove I could do it.

If I had become a Cranbrook docent, I might never have stepped fully into my role at the Chaldean Cultural Center. I might never have dedicated myself so completely to preserving and sharing the stories of my ancestors.

Sometimes the things that don’t work out are the biggest blessings.

A Message for You

If you’re struggling right now in a place where you thought you belonged, pay attention. Not all struggle is meant to be pushed through. Some struggle is a message.

Ask yourself: Am I struggling because I’m growing, or am I struggling because I’m in the wrong place?

Growth struggle feels hard but purposeful. Misalignment struggle feels hard and hollow.

Trust that inner knowing. Trust that if something isn’t clicking, maybe it’s because something better is waiting. Something that will feel like coming home instead of trying to belong.

Your calling isn’t something you have to force. When you find it, you’ll know. Not because it’s easy, but because even when it’s hard, it feels right.

The universe is always guiding us. Sometimes through open doors. Sometimes through closed ones.

Both are blessings.

Chaldean – Kabbalah Connection

by Weam Namou, posted in Uncategorized

Good autumn morning,

I’m watching the tree leaves and metal chimes dance to the wind as I sit at my computer and begin my next book. My children are off to school, my husband is at work, and my dog is still sleeping. The house is quiet, and the tea is hot. I normally drink coffee but I’ve got a sore throat that needs some healing.

It has been a while since I wrote in my blog, and I miss it. It’s wonderful to be busy with wonderful things, but it can also be exhausting. So, I will try to slow down and spend more time writing in my blog as I listen to the leaves and metal chimes dance to the wind.

I’m remembering my teacher, Lynn V. Andrews, who passed away in 2022, and how her spirit recently interacted with me. Someone from Lynn’s four-year Mystery School reached out to me about participating in a summit called “From Silence to Mastery” which takes from November 14 to 20 (the information for this free event is below)

The summit is led by Daniel Rosenstein, a life-coach and healer. When I met with him, I learned that his Jewish mother was born in Baghdad and had to leave Iraq during the 1948 forced deportation. I was born in Baghdad, and we had to leave the country in 1980 for political and religious reasons. Daniel and I quickly realized that Divine Providence had brought us together.

Daniel had learned about the Chaldeans from Kabbalism. For instance, Chaldean and Kabbalistic numerology are ancient systems of divination and self-exploration that offer profound insights and the potential to reveal hidden truths about ourselves and the universe.

Noblewoman Helena Petrovna Blavatsky, in her “Theosophical Glossary” entry for “Kabalist” explains that Kabala is an unwritten or oral tradition and that the kabalist is a student of “secret science,” identical with that of the Chaldeans, and includes at the same time much of the Persian wisdom, or “magic” . . . Some show it as coming from the Biblical Patriarchs, Abraham, and even Seth; others from Egypt, others again from Chaldea.”

In “The Secret Doctrine Dialogues” (p. 498) she says “In the Chaldean Kabbalah, in the Book of Numbers, you have the wisdom of the Hebrew initiates . . . The Chaldean Kabbalah, moreover, the Book of Numbers, agrees perfectly with the eastern arrangement, and disagrees with the present orthodox Kabbalah in its diagrams. . . . I had a rabbi who had the real Book of Numbers – and there is another; I have only seen two in my life, and I don’t think there exist more. He had fragments of the Chaldean Kabbalah.”

“We have asked of the secret doctrines of the Chaldeans, of the Egyptians, of the Hebrews, the secrets of the transfiguration of dogmas.” In his ” Histoire de la Magie,” p. 5, Eliphas Levi writes also : ” The key of knowledge has been abandoned to children, and as was to be expected, this key is mislaid and as good as lost.”

Daniel and I talked about the Tree of Life, its powerful symbol found in various religious, philosophical, and cultural traditions, and how we’re all from the same source, but use different terms to describe the same thing; ie, Energy, God, Universe, Spirit. People demonize what they don’t understand and spend so much time arguing and fighting about things when we’re all from the same Source.

Please use this link to register for From Silenced to Self-Mastery” Virtual Summit: Click here to Register for the Free Summit

You can catch my Interview on November 14th.

From Silence to Self-Mastery Summit, happening from November 14th to November 20th. This event is a unique opportunity to dive deep into powerful insights, tools, and strategies from some incredible experts to help you unlock your true potential and embrace self-mastery.

Each day of the summit, you’ll receive access to 4 new video interviews featuring inspiring speakers, each sharing their transformative journeys and personal tools for growth. And each speaker is offering a special free gift exclusively for summit attendees!