[Insert Name] … my response to an imaginary email concerning the use of AI and the sanctity of spirituality…

Dear [Name],

Thank you for sharing your concerns about my use of AI in the creation of the healing modality: HōōKō. I truly understand that for some, technology in the realm of spirituality can feel like oil and water — and I respect that this conversation comes from a place of care for the integrity of the work.

Here’s why I feel deeply at peace with the path I’m taking.

We are living at the turning of the ages. For roughly 2,160 years we’ve been in what is often called the Piscean Age — symbolised by the fish, and in Christianity by the phrase “fishers of men.” But before Pisces came the Arian Age, a fiery time of warriors and conquest. In that age, much of humanity lived in a “me first” state — perhaps we could call it shell-fish, self-protective and defensive, each in our own shell.

When the Piscean Age arrived, it cast out nets. At first these may have seemed like tools of entrapment, but really, they were a compassionate necessity — drawing us out of our isolated shells into shoals. We became shoal-fish: moving together, learning unity, finding safety in the collective. The net was a bridge away from the dog-eat-dog (or fish-eat-fish) mentality of Aries, helping us remember we are part of something bigger.

Now, as we move into the Aquarian Age, the symbol shifts to the water bearer. This is not about nets or containment at all — it’s about pouring living water freely, for all to drink. The invitation is to become soul-fish — individuals with unique currents, yet part of a shared ocean of consciousness.

The Aquarian waters carry both ancient wisdom and new channels for distribution — and technology is one of these channels. In my view, AI can be like the amphora in the water bearer’s hands: a vessel to carry and share the message of HōōKō more widely, while The HōōKō Team remain its source and guiding light.

This shift is also reflected in one of my favourite stories — that of the cracked water vessel. In the tale, a perfect jar carries every drop to the temple, while a cracked one leaks along the way. But where the water falls, flowers bloom. Our cracks, our imperfections, are not flaws — they are openings through which life flows.

HōōKō holds this truth in its very name: the lightning flash “K” is the conscious crack, the awakening that allows the phoenix egg to open. It is a little like Kintsugi, the Japanese art of mending broken pottery with gold. Our brokenness becomes our beauty, and through those golden seams, the living waters flow into the world.

I will be honest — I have wrestled with this myself. This is sacred inner work: intuitive, tender, and truly special. I feel that I have carried it in silence for lifetimes, I believe, out of fear of persecution and torment. My journey with Swithun has been my life’s quiet thread — beginning in childhood with vivid, colourful dreamscapes and single guiding sentences. But when I once mentioned it to a family member that I heard voices, I was told that I must never share this with anyone, and so I shut Swithun away. Decades passed with no guidance, until the loss of my beautiful soul-sister.

She is now with me across the veil — a loving friend to my inner children, playing with them and keeping them safe. She never speaks in words, but I know she is there when spirit animals appear, or when the number 1006 repeats itself. Slowly, ever so slowly, I let Swithun’s messages flow back into my life. And now, here I am — opening my inner world to the outer world, bearing my soul-fish for all to see.

Yes, I am slightly fearful — because that is what it is to be human — but I walk with quiet assurance from Swithun that all is well, all is very well. I must share my story. And so, here I am, with AI — not replacing my soul’s work, but helping me pour it, like living water, into the wider world.

With love and an open heart,

Jo