How My Book Came To Be #3: Leah Sottile
On writing and publishing "Blazing Eye Sees All: Love Has Won, False Prophets and the Fever Dream of the American New Age" — the third in a new, candid behind-the-scenes series.
The first time I went to Lemuria, I was transported from a vortex on the side of Mt. Shasta, the thick mountain that juts out of Northern California’s arid landscape.
To clarify: Lemuria is not a real place. The capital city of Lemuria is, therefore, even less real. And I’m a journalist, so when I say that I was “transported” to this not-place, I mean I was led in a guided meditation by a “vortex tour guide” to the “city” called “Telos” that many a New Age seeker has claimed is inside the volcano.
This is what’s required to be a reporter investigating the origins and belief systems of the diffuse and ever-present New Age movement in America, which is the topic of my new book, Blazing Eye Sees All: Love Has Won, False Prophets and the Fever Dream of the American New Age. Lemuria has, for some two centuries, acted as a kind of Garden of Eden to many New Age believers.
My career, and the pandemic, led me to that vortex and, eventually, to author a book about the New Age’s place in American spirituality.
By 2017, I had spent the vast majority of my time reporting on political and religious extremism in the western United States. That work led to the production of a two-season podcast called Bundyville and countless stories on extremist ideologies. That work had worn me down, and I found myself seeking some kind of new hope, or spirituality. Something to cling onto…That year I held my first deck of tarot cards — the famed Rider Waite Smith deck in its canary-yellow box.
By 2017, I had spent the vast majority of my time reporting on political and religious extremism in the western United States. That work led to the production of a two-season podcast called Bundyville and countless stories on extremist ideologies. That work had worn me down, and I found myself seeking some kind of new hope, or spirituality. Something to cling onto.
That year I held my first deck of tarot cards — the famed Rider Waite Smith deck in its canary-yellow box. It is a card game with origins going back to at least the 15th century; prior to my new quest, I had only heard of tarot as a kind of demonic tool, like a ouija board, capable of summoning darkness.
I wasn’t looking for something to believe in, I was simply trying to make sense of my present mindset. So I bought the deck. I didn’t believe in demons, or my ability to summon darkness, or any religious idea, so I figured what the hell.
I messed around with the cards at home, flipped through the booklet discerning their meanings. What I found, eventually, was that the flip of a card would push me to be reflective about my life and the world around me, about the ways I spent my time. If I pulled a card of devastation, like the Tower, or the Ten of Swords, my mind might jump to a headline about failing democracy. If, in a bout of depression, I pulled the Ten of Cups, a card reflecting unabashed joy, it caused me to pause and recognize the parts of my life that were good. For me, the cards became tools for introspection, tools that showed me different paths forward. They were my light in the fog.
By 2020, as COVID’s long fingernails tap-tapped on our windows, terrifying us all, I dove further into the cards. I took an online class about their artistic lineage and historical meanings. That class led to several more. In one I created a tarot spread in the shape of a mountaineering axe, and it was published in a book. In another, I designed my own oracle deck based on my family history.
In some of those classes, New Age ideas would come up. Students talked a lot about astrology, crystals, and numerology. Philosophically, it all fascinated me. It didn’t put me off like I might have been if, say, Christian teachings had started to come up.
Observing my fellow students, I noticed that many were really reaching for something to believe in. It was a horrific time. We were all so adrift, the cards were like tiny life rafts we were clinging to.
I didn’t believe in tarot. And yet each Saturday night, around 6 pm, I logged onto Zoom with an old friend — another pragmatist. We lit candles and pulled cards, which helped us talk about our lives and our fears. Our conversations went on for three or four hours. In an isolating time, these calls were a lifeline, and we discussed how the practice felt vaguely spiritual. That felt scary to admit. Sometimes, I’d yank my husband into the Zoom screen, and we’d ask him, “Is it weird how much we like tarot? Are we in a cult?” More than once he asked me: “Why are you so afraid to enjoy yourself?” That I could not answer.
I began to wonder about the wider New Age landscape. Beyond my classes, it seemed as if New Age ideas were closing in around me. Friends were asking me if I was on the Co-star app (no) and what my sign was (Leo). My Instagram algorithm kept showing me a witchy mix of tarot card readers and astrologers, or influencers holding crystals between manicured fingers. There were balms and ointments and potions for me to drop into the bath to deal with all the stress of that period. And, from time to time, there was outright disinformation about COVID vaccines.
I started to wonder if there was a point at which all of these New Age adjacent ideas jump from being harmless, or even helpful and spiritual, into something darker. It seemed so possible: on social media, New Age healers and “coaches” were everywhere. At a terrifying time, people were clearly buying what they were selling, and what they were selling was mysterious and hard to quanitfy.
What I found was that, ironically, while on a respite from my work on political extremism, I was drawn toward a new way extremism manifests in America. At the foundation of New Ageism is a long, long history of hyper-nationalism, antisemitism, and harmful conspiracy theories…I hope those who read my book come away realizing that there’s a lot we can convince ourselves of when we really want to believe in something, or someone. In states of vulnerability, I learned there are false prophets waiting to exploit us.
In April 2021, the answer to the question of whether any harm might arise from New Age ideas and practices came into focus for me. A 45-year-old woman named Amy Carlson was found dead inside a small home in Southern Colorado. Her followers called her Mother God. As the leader of a group called Love Has Won, she promised ultimate love and salvation to people in dire need of hope. It was quite obvious that her practice was, by and large, a project that preyed on vulnerable people. People dropped out of their lives and traveled from around the world to join Carlson in Colorado, where they were deprived of sleep, performed unpaid labor, and endured abusive control tactics.
Love Has Won spread far-right conspiracy theories on Facebook live streams, where they sold homemade colloidal silver, touting it as a cure-all remedy for Covid. They auctioned off crystals and paintings, and sold one-on-one “healing” sessions over the phone with their members. On occasion, they interpreted tarot cards, just like I did. And yet, the things they talked about weren’t hopeful, or helpful, at all. It felt grounded in hate.
Before her death, Carlson claimed to be the reincarnated queen of Lemuria: a great spiritual continent that disappeared, never to be found again.
I saw this repeated again and again in the stories written around Carlson’s strange and untimely death. But what was Lemuria? Why would being a queen of a place that isn’t real have any bearing?
Working on my book, I went way, way, way down several rabbit holes so that I might answer those questions, and determine where exactly in the New Age world harm can happen. What I found was that, ironically, while on a respite from my work on political extremism, I was drawn toward a new way extremism manifests in America. At the foundation of New Ageism is a long, long history of hyper-nationalism, antisemitism, and harmful conspiracy theories.
I hope those who read my book come away realizing that there’s a lot we can convince ourselves of when we really want to believe in something, or someone. In states of vulnerability, I learned there are false prophets waiting to exploit us. Even the smartest among us can overlook blatant mistruths, gloss over conspiracies, and sift out misconduct to see the world we want to see.
Standing in the vortex, I never got to Telos in my mind. I was not surprised, but maybe a small part of me was disappointed — the part wanting this world to be full of mystery, magic, and lost cities full of gold.
On the way back down the mountain, my vortex guide tried to sell me healing sessions to cure parts of myself she discerned needed fixing. For just $200 more, she could fix me up and send me on my way.
It felt good to be able to recognize a grift as it was happening.
Check out the whole “How My Book Came to Be” series.
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