Your Rememberment Guide: Alexandra DelGaudio

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In 2015, I felt a call to explore the sacred landscapes of the American Southwest, a region that holds some of the most ancient cultures in North America. I did not understand that by answering this call, I was stepping into a profound remembrance—of who I am, where I come from, and why I am here.

What began as a simple weekend camping trip to Chaco Canyon, New Mexico—wandering among the ruins of a long-forgotten civilisation—unfolded into a ten-year pilgrimage through the desert, following in the footsteps of the Ancient Ones who came before. By retracing their paths and immersing myself in the remnants of their sacred temples and villages, something within me stirred. My soul’s memory was rekindled, awakening me to a far greater story—one that weaves together Earth and its place within the cosmos.

Through this journey, I awakened to my own mythology and the role I play in this time of remembrance—a time foretold by many ancient and Indigenous cultures as an era of profound transition and expanding human consciousness. Guided by the stars and sustained by the quiet whispers of the ancestors, I found myself—both literally and metaphorically—among the ruins.

The path was never linear. It was a spiral-mirroring the migratory routes of the ancient peoples I was following. Over the course of a decade, I studied astrology and cosmology, learning of our galactic human history and the powerful influence of stars and planets on our evolution. I explored the golden age of Lemuria, the fall of Atlantis, and the enduring lessons these civilisations carry for us today. I studied mythology and archetype, rediscovering the stories of the Sacred Feminine that were obscured and appropriated during the rise of patriarchal Greek and Roman cultures.

And I walked.

Using the stars as my map, I traversed deserts and mountains across the Southwest—through fragrant sage and piñon-covered mesas, across barren and bone-dry deserts, over rocky escarpments, and into lush oak groves and towering pine forests. As I walked, I listened: to the wisdom of stones and trees, mountains and storms, and the living presence of the land itself. I listened to the loud voice in my mind, and to the quieter, insistent voice of the my heart.

Each step guided me to what came next—the next sacred site, the next ruin, the next lesson, the next awakening.

To remember who you are is to reclaim your light.
And to shine that light is to live the truth of who you are.