I was 27 when I first saw it.
I had fallen behind the others somewhere near a still pool of water at Carnarvon Gorge. The red rock wall rose behind it, and I was simply looking at it when the images began. Not inside my head exactly — they played on the wall itself, and simultaneously somewhere deeper, as though the boundary between outside and inside had quietly dissolved.
First: raw red. Energy without form, swirling, pressing against itself. Out of that churning, shapes began to emerge — primitive, uncertain — until something clarified. A large simple fish. Whiskers feeling the world rather than seeing it. Gills opening. First breath.
Then a flash of white. An explosion that felt generative rather than destructive. From it came two orbs of light, pulsating at such intensity they were almost invisible. They moved toward each other with precision — two separate forms, but sharing a single purpose. They didn’t merge. As they drew close, one orb slowly became an O. The other became an S.
I wrote it down that night. I had no idea what it meant.
For nearly 27 years, it sat quietly in the background. I didn’t search for it obsessively. I would return to it occasionally, turn it over, and put it down again. Gradually it faded, the way unsolved things do when life keeps moving.
It resurfaced sideways, as these things tend to.
A friend who practiced energy healing introduced me to someone in her spiritual circle who studied esoteric knowledge. The circle worked with teachings channeled through Jach Purcel, known as Lazaris, and I had been curious about a symbol that appeared in their material — it looked to me like a portion of Metatron’s Cube. She didn’t know its origin but suggested I write to her friend. He enjoyed exactly these kinds of questions.
So I began writing to him. I went back through my journals pulling out the puzzles I had never resolved, and one that stood out was the OS entry from 1996. I sent it to him and waited.
His reply never arrived. Two months later he found my email in his junk folder and sent it through. By then I was on a flight to Singapore, connecting to Cambodia. His answer landed in my inbox as we touched down: he couldn’t help. He had no framework for it.
I didn’t know then that it didn’t matter. The question just needed to be front of mind.
Baphuon is a temple mountain at Angkor Thom, dedicated to Shiva. Its steps are steep and narrow, designed so that the ascent itself becomes an act of devotion.
Before we reached it, we had walked through Angkor Wat. At a large statue of Shiva, I felt a pull I couldn’t reason with. I knew I wasn’t supposed to touch it. Our guide Sam had already told us — no touching the statues. I’m normally careful about these things. But I reached out anyway and touched his foot. Sam caught my eye and gave me a polite but firm look. I didn’t apologise.
At the base of Baphuon, I heard Shiva’s voice. Internal, but clear: climb to the top embodying Shakti.
I noted silently that my hip wasn’t strong. The temple was steep enough that even Sam didn’t want to climb — his leg was sore, he said. Sean started up with me, then drifted off to find another way. I kept going alone.
I wasn’t entirely sure how to embody Shakti. I decided to move as fluidly as I could, step by step, singing the Gayatri mantra quietly to myself — a song I’d only recently learned, not yet fully understanding how sacred it was.
At the top, I chose the north arch. I’m not sure why. I simply felt drawn to it.
I looked up.
Carved into the stone of the lintel were two letters.
O. S.
I stopped. I was completely alone. Something moved through me that I can only describe as the first loosening of a knot I’d been carrying for 27 years. I took out my phone and photographed it. Then I entered the passage slowly, in reverence, half-expecting something to happen.
Nothing did. The magic, I would learn, wasn’t going to arrive all at once.
I found my husband at the bottom. “You won’t believe what I just saw,” I told him. He laughed and shook his head. After all these years, he knows better than to be surprised.
I was 54 when I stood at that arch. Twice 27.
The unravelling didn’t happen in the passage. It happened weeks later, at home, in two separate moments.
The first came while watching a documentary on Gaia about the Great Pyramid. I found myself reaching for my phone to screenshot an image — the pyramid’s shafts laid out with their celestial alignments. The Queen’s chamber pointing to Sirius. The King’s chamber pointing to Orion. I saved it without fully knowing why.
A few nights later I was with Tina, a healer I’d been working with. During the session she paused at my head and told me her guides had given her a message. The OS symbol, they said, was Orion and Sirius.
I lay there in silence. A few nights earlier I had screenshotted a pyramid diagram I couldn’t explain my need to save. Now Tina, who knew nothing of Cambodia or the documentary, was delivering the same answer through different hands.
Twenty-seven years after I wrote those two letters down in my journal, I finally knew what they meant.
It was only later, reviewing the photo I’d taken at the north arch, that I noticed something I’d missed entirely in the moment. Carved above the OS, clearly visible, was the number 10.
I was born on the 10th of April — the 100th day of the year. The number has followed me in ways I haven’t fully mapped yet. Linda Goodman wrote that 10 represents Isis and Osiris — the divine feminine and masculine, forever distinct, forever in relationship.
Two orbs. One O. One S. Never merging. Moving as one.
And underneath all of it, the number 27. I was 27 when the vision came. I was 54 — twice 27 — when I found it in stone. Saturn, the apex of my Yod — an astrological configuration sometimes called the Finger of God, pointing to life’s central mission — sits at exactly 27 degrees. The number keeps appearing in places I don’t yet fully understand.
I’m not ready to name what it means. But I’ve learned to pay attention to what won’t stop showing up.
The astrology encoded around this experience is a story in itself. That’s next.
If this writing resonates and you’d like to support it, you’re welcome to do so here.
Beautifully, poignantly written🥰 The alignment weaving its way through and so amazing, Julie!
Thank you for sharing this & the reminder about awareness & patience & allowing. I look forward to the further unfoldment😊
Fascinating experience, beautifully conveyed. Thank you for sharing.
As an astrologer I am sure you know already, but I am so struck by your age at the time of each experience coinciding with the first two progressed lunar returns. I will look forward to reading the next installment to see what your take on it is.
With love and blessings - Silvianne