I never set out to “be” a psychopomp. I didn’t even know the word for it at first. I simply found myself, again and again, in moments where the energy of a life was loosening its grip—moments where loved ones sensed a lingering presence, or where the grieving needed reassurance that what was held, feared, or unfinished was releasing into peace.
Only later did I realize this kind of threshold work had a name. And even then, I knew it wasn’t part of my professional résumé. This is not work I advertise or charge for. It happens quietly, through people who know me or who come through trusted referrals. It is something I am called to do, something I am gifted to do, but not something I offer as a “service.”
What I Understand a Psychopomp to Be
Across spiritual traditions, a psychopomp is a guide who helps souls cross thresholds—sometimes into the underworld, sometimes into the light. In Jungian psychology, the psychopomp is an archetype that mediates between the conscious and unconscious, often appearing in dreams or visions as an animal, ancestor, deity, or wise guide.
For me, the language of “guiding souls” doesn’t quite fit, because I don’t believe the soul can ever be lost, stuck, or in need of assistance. The soul is already whole. Already home.
What can remain, however, is the egoic imprint—the emotional residue, the memory patterns, the energetic echoes of a life that has ended but not yet fully dissolved into coherence. This is where my work often lives: accompanying the human energy that lingers at the threshold until it softens, unwinds, and reorients toward light.
My work does not involve underworld journeys. I remain in the light—attuned to the upper realms, often accompanied by Goddess Diana, guardian of thresholds, forests, and sacred sovereignty. I see my role as offering intuitive companionship through the liminal—holding a resonance that allows whatever remains to release with clarity, care, and grace.
The Huna tradition speaks of the aumakua—an ancestral guide who connects individuals to their higher self and assists in spiritual transitions. In a similar way, I act as a bridge: not leading, but walking alongside, honoring both the sovereignty of the soul and the gentle unwinding of the human story.
How I Came to Do This Work
I only realized I had been “doing” psychopomp work after several experiences followed the same rhythm.
Sometimes the request comes because the person who died held very rigid religious beliefs about death, and those left behind are trying to reconcile them. Other times, the person was spiritual but not religious—or avoided speaking of death altogether. The work is often as much for the living as it is for the one whose energetic imprint is still settling.
My Rhythm and Process
Once I know we will meet, the work begins. In the time before the session- which may be several days, I open to the “thin veil” of the loved one’s lingering energy. This can bring through images, songs, sensations, or impressions.
Shortly before our time together, I spend 20–30 minutes in quiet ritual—a blend of prayer and energy work—to prepare the space.
Then we enter into conversation: sometimes sharing what I’ve received, sometimes simply holding space for the mourner’s story, questions, or search for meaning.
For Fellow Practitioners
I share this as a lived example for those who also carry gifts outside the typical services they may offer within their professional domain. Many intuitive practitioners will recognize these moments—when you are called to show up in ways you can’t credential or market, yet they remain among the most meaningful acts of service you offer.
This is what psychopomp work looks like for me. If you feel a similar call, you may find your own rhythm—your own way of walking with the dying or the dead, your own way of holding coherence as the energy of a life releases, your own way of carrying light across the threshold.
Reflection/Writing Prompt
At the threshold of death, the soul remains untouched—already whole, already home. What unfolds is the soft unwinding of the human story, the releasing of all that was held in memory and identity.
Soul Note:
Where in your own life do you notice the “lingering energy” of old stories, emotions, or identities—and what helps you gently release what no longer needs to remain in form?
