Precious

'The Wheel of Fortune' Tarot card from (L-R) 

The Gaian Tarot by Joanna Powell Colbert,

The Witches' Wisdom Tarot by Phyllis Curott and Danielle Barlow,

The Mood Tarot by Natalie Meraki

 

Yesterday, 

I watched the livestream of my beloved friend's funeral

While a dear one held me as I cried

Then fed me,

And we talked and mourned and laughed together.

Sometimes,

I wonder about this Wheel of Fortune we're all on.

Where is the up?

And when is the down?

Or is it all 

Just up and down,

All at once

And all the time?

Perhaps,

There is no Wheel of Fortune,

No up then down.

There is just life:

Grief and love and laughter and tears

All at once

And all of the time.

Which is why - while it lasts -

It is all so damned precious.

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 82: International Hugging Day

National Hugging Day was first celebrated in Michigan, USA on January 21st 1986. Since then it's become an international annual event which is also known as National Hug Day, Hug Day, International Hug Day, or International Hugging Day. The idea is simply to cheer people up by encouraging us to hug our friends and families more often. In most years, the main consideration is ensuring hugs are consensual. That's still relevant, but 2021 brings the additional challenge of how to give and receive hugs when we are supposed to be observing social distancing? 

It's OK to hug the people you live with - as long as none of you are currently isolating - but when it comes to people outside your immediate household, some creativity is required. For example, the graphic above is from Action for Elders, a charity which works to improve quality of life for older people. They say about National Hugging Day, 

"With the Government urging social distancing to prevent the spread of Covid-19, many are missing those heart-warming embraces - so much so that people have tried to make homemade 'hugging stations' where a protective plastic barrier separated them from their family and friends.

It's clear that many of us are craving those stress-reducing squeezes. So in celebration of National Hugging Day, we've rounded up some safe, feel-good hug alternatives you can do on your own. 

If you or anyone is struggling with loneliness please contact us today.*"

The graphic suggests comforting yourself with hug substitutes such as making yourself a hot drink, taking a soak in a warm bath, using a weighted blanket, trying guided meditations or yoga, brightening your living space with holiday decorations, or snuggling with a pet.

See below for other ideas...

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 82

International Hugging Day

Here are some other ideas for how to give someone a 'hug' without actually coming into physical contact.

• Phone, Skype or Zoom family and friends. Tell them it's International Hugging Day and you're sending them a socially distanced hug!
• Write a letter - even just a postcard can give someone you love a real boost when it pops through the letterbox as a lovely surprise.
• If restrictions in your area allow you to visit but not enter a loved one's home, exchange 'air hugs' at a distance when you next see them. It's not the same as a physical hug, but emotionally it still warms hearts.
• Send a small 'just because' gift with a little note. If you Google 'virtual hugs gifts' you will find a huge range of ideas (if possible, try to purchase it from a small independent retailer or craftsperson via a platform like Etsy - that way you will be giving two hugs - one to the gift recipient and one to the person you purchase from!).

When giving hugs - even virtual ones - you also receive, when you see the smiling face or hear the happiness in a loved one's voice. 

Sending you all a big virtual hug! 

* Contact details for Action for Elders:

website: www.actionforelders.org.uk 

email: info@actionforelders.org.uk 

tel: 030 330 30132

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 40: The Ghosts of Happy Winters Past

 

As we move more deeply into Winter, do you find seasonal smells, flavours, sights and sounds trigger memories of Winters past? It's fascinating to me how strongly our senses can spark recollections, sometimes with an almost shocking immediacy. This is most often the case when the memory trigger is something you don't encounter frequently. As there are certain sights, sounds, aromas etc that you only tend to experience during Winter, coming into contact with them can bring back strong seasonal memories. You can use these sense memories positively to recall happy times in the past. They're also used in industries such as retail and hospitality to try to engender 'holiday spirit' - that's why we get bombarded with Christmas music at this time of year!

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 40

The Ghosts of Happy Winters Past

One of the first posts I wrote on the subject of Winter Blessings and Beauties was about Winter Senses. If you made a list of Winter Senses, you may find it interesting to use it as a prompt to help recall happy Winter memories. You may have fully-fledged, detailed memories of social occasions or particular locations, but tiny, vivid vignettes can be just as interesting and enjoyable to recall. For example there's a particular song that whenever I hear it, I'm taken back to a dazzlingly bright and very cold and frosty morning when I was driving to work. It must have been playing on the radio, because whenever I hear it I vividly remember the beauty of the frozen landscape, brilliantly illuminated by the light of the rising sun, and the way I felt both slightly resentful at having to be up and out so early in the morning and exhilarated by the cold air and bright sun.

Try writing down some of the good memories that come up for you in response to Winter prompts such as the smell of woodsmoke... the taste of a mince pie... the melody of your favourite carol...

If you have vivid memories of a special time you shared with family, friends or loved ones, try writing it out as a unique gift for them. You could handwrite it inside a special card, or type it up on the computer and print it out on fancy paper.   

Views Through Different Windows, or The Blessings of Blogging

I started this blog in 2007 just after Imbolc, so it is now 9 years old. How time flies! I'm not really sure why I started. Several of my friends were blogging and it looked like fun. Also, I had always wanted to write and I thought it may be a relatively pain-free way of getting feedback on my writing. 

It turned out it was, but really that was only one of the many benefits of blogging that I discovered. I found a voice, for one thing. I found that people liked my writing, which was a confidence-booster. That in turn led to me having the courage to attend writing classes and workshops which I have enjoyed and learnt a lot from (including the fact that you shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition - but hell, rules are made to be ignored, right?). My writing has improved, and my confidence has grown so much that I am actually working on writing a book, something I have wanted to do for many years.

Reading someone's blog is a little window into their world, giving an unexpected sense of intimacy at times. I have deliberately guarded my anonymity on the blog, being vague over the details of my and others' real names, or the exact location of Halfway Up A Hill. And yet reading over old posts I am sometimes astonished at how much of my inner self and feelings I have revealed. Possibly much of that is because just over a year after starting 'Moonroot' I suddenly and unexpectedly found myself in the middle of a divorce. The blog was and is a source of comfort through difficult times, and looking back I'm certain that it was therapeutic during some of my darker days to be able to write about them in the way I have. That's not to say I haven't self-censored; there is stuff in my personal journal that I wouldn't dream of sharing with the rest of the world. But looking back I find that I have shared far more than I would have expected, and I think it has been positive and healthy to do so. 

Blogging has also helped me with journalling, oddly enough. I always loved the idea of journalling but the perfectionist in me wanted my journal to be a thing of beauty, not poorly constructed rantings and crossings out. The journals that people share pages from are usually works of art, poetry, insight. Every journal I started before I had a blog, I began with such high standards that I couldn't possibly maintain them and invariably gave up shortly afterwards. Blogging has no such drawbacks as unlike writing with pen and ink, things composed on a computer can be retrospectively edited, cut, pasted or deleted without spoiling the overall 'look' of the thing. But then when I found myself unable to access my blog for whatever reason, I missed it so much I still needed an outlet for all those thoughts and ideas rattling around in my head. So I bought a cheap notebook and some pens and started noting it all down. And before I knew it, I was journalling. Now I can't imagine how I would cope without my journal and have already decided that should I ever appear on Desert Island Discs my luxury item will definitely be an inexhaustible supply of pretty notebooks and nice pens. 

I have also met many wonderful people through blogging, either through commenting on their blogs or through their comments on mine.  Some of these people I am still in touch with - though we have never met - and others have dropped away over the years. And I miss those who have dropped away. I enjoyed the glimpses into their lives, I felt that we were friends even though we had never sat down over a cup of tea together. If you're on my blog-roll, even if you haven't posted for years, I'm still hoping I'll hear from you again one day! I guess this is one of the weird side-effects of the digital age, where we can share so much with total strangers, feel such intimacy yet lose touch so quickly when our point of contact - e-mail address, Facebook page, blog etc gets deleted. Even so, on balance, I think this sharing with strangers is a good thing. I have had insights into other lives all around the world, views through different windows. People I have never met have shown me great kindness in difficult times (and I hope I have done the same for them). If this sharing means better understanding between people, greater compassion, more empathy then I do not think it can be a bad thing, even if the relationships we create turn out to be ephemeral. 

So here's to blogging and its many blessings. Long may it continue. 

2015: Struggle and Serendipity, Pomskizillious and Gromphiberous

Oh dear. I really wanted to blog more regularly in 2015. Things went OK until June when life sort of... took over. 2015 was a good year for me, more or less. The downside of it was a lack of time and money. Up until the middle of the year, I wasn't by any means feeling wealthy but I had just about enough and was even paying instalments towards a late-summer holiday. And then I was suddenly struggling. In a short period of time I lost two clients who no longer needed my services due to changes in their circumstances, and at the same time got hit by a couple of unexpected bills. All of a sudden I was no longer floating along serenely, I was struggling to keep my head above water, sinking lower and lower each month. Luckily, the story has a happy ending. My lovely sister (with whom I was going on holiday) lent me the money I still owed on the trip until such time as I could pay her back. And I managed to find a new job, working a couple of days a week in a jewellery shop (which I love). It was still a difficult few months as I was working three jobs over a six day week without much to show for it except exhaustion and a gradual easing of my debts. At the same time, IB was having employment dramas of his own and we were seeing very little of each other. I am happy to say though, that I am now solvent again, both job situations have settled and I have managed to re-jig my working week so that I get two whole days off. The storm has abated and we are back on an even keel - for now, anyway!

But those were the difficult times. In between them 2015 gave me many beautiful experiences and memories, lots of good times with the people dearest to my heart and also new and wonderful friendships. Which is really what I wanted to come here and write about...

Some of the highlights for me were finally reaching what has often seemed like the very distant shore of 'Acceptance' following years wading through the swamps of 'Denial', 'Bargaining', 'Anger', and (seemingly interminable) 'Grief' caused by my divorce. Yes, to anyone making this journey themselves, you will get there in the end. I promise. 

Then there was my magical trip to Glastonbury in the spring.

In June by pure chance I ended up making a visit to the beautiful Rheidol valley, which just happened to be one of the rivers featuring in the folktale we were due to work with at Dragonrise Witchcamp later in the summer. The weather was perfect, the river was beautiful, but more importantly what I learnt about the river that day ended up being an important part of the work we did at camp. Such wonderful serendipity!

Trip to the Rheidol Valley

Dragonrise itself was fabulous. I should have written a whole report as soon as I got back, but the notes I jotted down to recall the 'flavour' of camp after returning will have to suffice: 

Dragonrise

The sound of children laughing under the oak tree. 

The swell of grief for the rivers. 

Butterflies in the meadow by the stone circle. 

The serenely flowing brown Borle Brook. 

The fey whispering, bubbling in the woods. 

Talking, crying, laughing, dancing with Rheidol; picking wildflowers with Her. 

Making magic potions. 

Singing, singing, singing. 

The dance of the Salmon. 

The Rivers and the Mountain. 

Owls and woodpeckers and swallows and buzzards. 

A river of stars in the night sky. 

A circle of smiling faces in a fairy-lit yurt. 

Extraordinary magic. 

"The sun is shining... I'm so sexy! this is my tree!" (translation of birdsong!)

Holding space, drumming a heartbeat while the magic swirls around us. 

The moon through the trees.

"The journey doesn't end when the river meets the sea"

Brewing Magic Potions at Dragonrise

At the end of September, we took our much anticipated holiday to Gozo. I fell in love with the place. It's kind of wonky and quirky with a definite attitude of 'manana', but that fitted perfectly with my desire for a laid-back, relaxing holiday, which was exactly what we got. There is also a sense of timelessness from the ancient land beneath your feet, a sacred, magical place... I cannot put it into words. Victorian nonsense-poet Edward Lear also gave up, describing it as "pomskizillious and gromphiberous, being as no words can describe its magnificence". The Arabs named it 'Ghawdex' which means 'joy'. And I jotted down a few more notes which tried to capture the essence of the place: 

Gozo

Water reflects ripples on stone walls.

Bougainvillea petals on stone.

Lizard sunning on the wall.

Cooling breeze.

Turquoise pool, sand coloured stone.

Clouds drift over in the blue, blue sky.

Dragonfly darts.

Rustling palm fronds.

Coffee and olives and tomatoes.

Splashing, laughter.

Big yellow butterfly, hovering black bee.

Pomegranates and carob, prickly pear and loquats.

Azure sea, ancient land.

Slanting shadows and the sound of crickets in the fields.

Gozo

Other highlights this year have been lovely birthday celebrations with friends and family, a trip to Kent to stay with my sister, making new friends, a wonderful extended Christmas with the family and the addition of two kittens to the household, now taking the feline headcount to six. I am definitely becoming a mad cat lady!

Today, I'm counting my blessings again. Each year is different, some easier, some harder. On balance my 2015 was one of the good ones, the struggle outweighed by the serendipity. Thank you and farewell 2015, and welcome 2016. I wonder what you will bring?

On Finding Grace in Glastonbury

I first visited Glastonbury over 30 years ago, with my then boyfriend. On the way back from a holiday in Cornwall, we visited the Tor - he being a big fan of all things with an Arthurian connection. I was less enthused, especially when confronted with a large hill to climb. Nevertheless, climb it we did. It was a bright, beautiful day in May. When we reached the top of the Tor the landscape spread before us, stretching out in all directions. Swallows swooped low around our feet, chattering joyfully. As the wind whipped my hair I was filled with an ecstatic feeling - anything seemed possible. I wanted to launch myself off into the air and glide with the swallows. That was my introduction to the magic of Glastonbury.

*****

A few years later, my brother and sister, a couple of friends and I went on a camping trip to Glastonbury. The friends were also Pagans - I had in fact discovered the existence of neo-Paganism when I went to their wedding ceremony which (as they were Viking re-enactors) had been described to guests as a 'Viking wedding' but which actually turned out to be a handfasting performed by a member of their coven. I was fascinated and the rest, as they say is history. The camping trip was basically a chance to hang out, drink cider, visit the Tor/Chalice Well and, of course, shop. Back in those days - the late 1980's - it was hard to find Pagan books, magazines, paraphernalia or indeed fellow Pagans. Glastonbury was like a great cornucopia of Pagan goodies just waiting to be explored. We ate in hippy cafes, drank water from Chalice Well, sniffed incense, drooled over books, athames, jewellery, wands, crystals, cauldrons... On that trip I bought two books that made a huge impression on my early explorations of Paganism - 'The Spiral Dance' by Starhawk, and 'The Mists of Avalon' by Marion Zimmer Bradley.

The magic though, happened the first night we were there. After pitching our tents, cooking dinner and imbibing a few drinks, someone said 'Let's climb the Tor!'. Which we all agreed was a great idea. My memory is that we merely scrambled through a hedge and found ourselves at the foot of the Tor - although I'm sure it can't have been that simple. We began to climb in the gathering twilight. The climb was steep but relatively quick (then again I was a lot younger!). We arrived at the top breathless and exuberant, and turned to look back in the direction we had come. The most beautiful full moon, huge, yellow, was just rising. Dumbstruck by magic and beauty we stood in awed silence. We had not planned this, we hadn't even registered that it was a full moon that weekend. Serendipity had led us to this moment. The magic of Glastonbury, again.

*****

Later, Glastonbury became a place of pilgrimage for me. I visited alone and with friends, usually managing at least one trip a year. When our friends Kevin and Ann's children were younger, the group of us spent some memorable camping holidays there. Later, I discovered Avalon Witchcamp (later Avalon Spring) which was usually held a few miles from Glastonbury and my pilgrimages became tied in with an annual visit to Witchcamp.

Then the kids grew up and the camping holidays petered out. Avalon Spring ran its course and came to an end. Life got in the way and trips to Glastonbury became less regular. Until this year, when my friend Suzanne suggested a trip together. And so we agreed to go to Glastonbury...

*****

Thursday, 9th April

From the outset, everything runs smoothly. The weather forecasters warn of changeable conditions, but we have glorious sunshine the whole time. I am delayed leaving home and worry that I'll be late picking Suzanne up from her train at Bristol, but somehow I arrive with 5 minutes to spare and find a parking space right by the station although the car-park is packed. On arrival in Glastonbury we head straight for the wonderful Rainbow's End and treat ourselves to a delicious lunch. Then a bit of retail therapy and on to our B'n'B which is delightful and conveniently located.

Fabulous mask spotted in a shop window

At the B'n'B I make use of the free Wifi to check in with the rest of the world, discovering via Facebook that our friend Naomi is also in town, although leaving tomorrow. We send her a message hoping we can meet up that evening, and also contact my brother Mike (who lives in Somerset) and my friend Becky who has recently moved to Glastonbury.

We don't hear back before going out for dinner to the Who'd a Thought It in Northload Street, but who should walk in just as we are finishing dinner than Naomi! It turns out she isn't leaving until the following afternoon, so we make arrangements to meet on the Tor for a picnic tomorrow.

Friday, 10th April

Up and out bright and early after breakfast to get some goodies for our picnic. Then on to the tranquillity of Chalice Well Gardens, a place that somehow draws me more these days than the Tor. I have visited the gardens more times than I can remember over the years, but today is special. We arrive just as the gardens are opening, and have the place completely to ourselves for a little while. We make straight for the Wellhead at the top of the gardens, often crowded with people. Today it is just the two of us, though posies and candles remain from previous visitors.

We sit in silence, listening to the threads of birdsong weaving around us and the timeless flow of water through the Well; ever constant, ever changing, eternally flowing. Relaxing, I close my eyes, feeling such a sense of peace and healing. Be here now, the place says to me. Healing is here for you, freely given. The source is constant. I often have a hard time accepting gifts, help, kindness, compliments, nurturing from others. I am more comfortable giving these things. But this time, at Chalice Well I am able to relax and accept what is being offered me, and I can feel it sinking into me, my heart, my blood, my bones. Deep healing, long overdue. I know it is OK to relax and accept this gift, so freely given.

After a little while more people begin to appear in the gardens, obviously wanting quiet time of their own at the Wellhead and we move along, back down through the gardens, following the flow of water. I pause at the Lion's Head spout to anoint my third eye, throat and heart with wellwater, then drink a glassful, consciously taking in healing. We sit for a little while under the yew trees by the waterfall, usually my favourite spot, but today I am restless and want to move on. I listen to my inner voice and follow its promptings, which lead me to the Vesica Pool at the bottom of the garden. Usually this is another busy place, but today it is just Suzanne and I sitting on the sun-warmed benches listening to the gentle splash of water, the birdsong and buzz of bees. I soak up the peace, drink in the tranquillity, allow the sense of being healed to pour into me. Time passes. I allow myself to not care, to drop the mantle of responsibility and anxiety and clock-watching and just be here now.  

*****

We climb the Tor by the long, slow, path. I'm not sure which path is hardest, this or the short, intense one further up the lane. Panting, sweating, we stop frequently for breaks. These bodies aren't as young as they once were. Even a little way up though, the views over the town and the Somerset Levels beyond are amazing on this bright spring day. We persist, and as we crest the hill, we are greeted by singing. A young girl with a guitar and a beautiful voice is singing in Spanish in the ruins of St Michael's tower, taking advantage of the acoustics. We sit and listen while we catch our breath, then find a spot on the grass outside for our picnic. The Tor is busy with a constant stream of visitors. Naomi joins us and we talk and laugh and eat and catch up on what we have all been doing. We think it must be at least three years since we were all last together, maybe more. By the time we are finished eating the wind is getting fierce. We gather up the leftovers before they can blow away and make our way back down, the wind lessening as we descend. Children pass us, running up the Tor like mountain goats, and we laugh at their exuberance contrasting with our own more genteel pace.

At the bottom we notice that the White Spring opposite Chalice Well has opened its doors to visitors - an irregular occurrence. We enter the dim chamber, filled with the sound of running water and voices echoing in the dark. Altars have been set up in alcoves, and candles lit. I especially like the altars for Brigid and Gwyn ap Nudd who is said to live under the Tor, and with whom I once had  strange encounter in this very place.

Altar to Gwyn ap Nudd in The White Spring, Glastonbury

We emerge from the subterranean gloom back into dazzling sunlight. It is time to say our goodbyes to Naomi and drag ourselves from the magic of windswept hills and flowing water.

Later that evening we enjoy a lovely meal at La Terre in Glastonbury High Street, and arrange to meet Michael and Becky the next day.

*****

Saturday, 11th April

We have arranged to meet my brother Michael in Crewkerne this morning. The drive down is lovely, winding our way through pretty Somerset villages and open countryside. We get a little lost in Crewkerne itself, but manage to find the car park where we are to meet Michael just as he drives in behind us. We wander through the town to Bilby's coffee shop, where my brother recommends the Somerset Apple Cake with clotted cream. Although it's not that long since breakfast, Suzanne and I give in to temptation and are not disappointed; the cake is delicious and the clotted cream goes with it perfectly. Although we don't have long in Crewkerne - as we are due back in Glastonbury at lunchtime to meet Becky - time seems to stretch to accommodate us and we have a lovely, relaxed visit with Michael and still arrive back in Glastonbury in time to meet Becky and her new baby daughter, Berry.

We meet in Rainbow's End where somehow - Somerset Apple Cake notwithstanding - Suzanne and I manage to eat another yummy lunch. I get to hold Berry, a delightful, happy, relaxed little soul who snoozes happily in my arms while we chat. Becky tells us about her move to Glastonbury and how everything seemed to fall into place once they decided to make the move - I feel a little envious and mentally flirt with the idea of moving to Glastonbury. Would the place still be so magical if it was my everyday? A strange coincidence occurs when we realise the caravan Becky (who does not know Naomi) is telling us about selling as part of her move is the very same caravan Naomi has told us about buying.

After lunch we say our goodbyes to Becky and Berry, and Suzanne and I make a visit to the Glastonbury Goddess Temple. This is another oasis of calm, somewhere I always try to visit when I'm in the town. From the courtyard below, we climb the wooden stairs to the Temple. Inside, there is the smell of incense, soft music and the glow of candles. There are altars and artwork, chairs and soft cushions and rugs to sit on. A temple 'Melissa' is in attendance, sitting quietly and holding the space. I find a place against the lilac coloured wall and sink back into the cushions. Again I feel the sense of being nurtured, healed, held. I relax into it again, and initially tears well up - the tears that come when someone offers unexpected kindness in a time of hardship. But the tears soon dry - perhaps they are the last shred of my resistance to accepting the Grace that is being offered me here in Glastonbury. I sit in contented peace, sometimes with eyes closed, soaking in the calm; sometimes gazing at the flickering candles, the beautiful altar, the other people in the temple (including a crawling baby quietly exploring the world at floor level and a little girl, very intently making a drawing which she later presents as a gift to the Melissa). When we leave, the atmosphere of quiet calm comes with us. 

*****

Sunday, 12th April

On our last morning in Glastonbury, we have a few last visits to make before we begin the return journey home. Firstly, we drive the car up Well House Lane to take one last look at the Tor and say our goodbyes.

Then we turn back into town and make our way to St Margaret's Chapel and the Magdalene Almshouses. Neither of us have visited the Chapel before now, but Becky recommended it to us and we are curious. We arrive before opening and wait in the sunshine for the key holder to arrive. The Chapel and Almshouses are tucked away behind a building at one end of the High Street - easy to miss unless you are looking for them. The Chapel stands at one end of a small, but beautiful garden along one side of which run the Almshouses. As we enter the garden, my eyes are immediately drawn to a beautiful carved wooden finger labyrinth. I drop my bag and begin tracing the winding paths with my index finger.

Halfway round, I become self-conscious. Does the key-holder who has just let us in think I am being disrespectful by ignoring the Chapel and rushing to play with the labyrinth? Should I have stood back and asked Suzanne if she wanted to trace the labyrinth first? Another part of me is saying that this too is sacred, a sacred journey that I should perform mindfully, that I should respect the magic of the labyrinth. But ignoring those thoughts I rush to complete my tracing of the paths. I have reached the centre, no time to pause and reflect, to listen to the labyrinth's message - hurry to trace the return journey, get out of the labyrinth. And then something strange happens. As I wind around the paths, I expect to be led back out of the labyrinth again. After all, labyrinths have only one path which leads into the centre and back out again. And yet... I find my finger has traced me back to the centre again. I wasn't aware of losing my way and yet somehow I have. I smile to myself. I should have listened to the voice telling me to slow down and do this properly, respectfully. I was taught to treat labyrinths with respect and I have failed to do so. The labyrinth is letting me know there is no point in rushing, it is done when it is done - and it is not done yet. I lift my finger from the centre, but consciously accept that I am still 'in' the labyrinth, it is working on me, within me. I surrender to it, accepting what it has to teach me.

Suzanne traces the labyrinth, we wander the garden, explore the Almshouses (one of which has been restored to its original condition - tiny yet serene in its simplicity), and I think what a haven this place must have been to the poor and needy in the days when there was no Welfare safety net for them. We sit for a while in the Chapel, which like Chalice Well Gardens and the Goddess Temple is another place of serenity and I feel the touch of Grace again. I light a candle as an act of gratitude.

And then, sadly it is time to go. I do not want to leave this calm sanctuary, I do not want to leave Glastonbury. And as I am thinking these thoughts, I see - very briefly - two swallows fly overhead and disappear. The first swallows I have seen this year. The sight I have been waiting for so impatiently. The swallows I wrote about wanting to see (strangely enough) on our first night in Glastonbury. To me it is a sign of hope and promise, and a sign that our trip is at an end. It is definitely time to go.

 

Well, almost... there is one final thing to do before I can leave Glastonbury. I take my place back in front of the finger labyrinth. This time, I do it properly. I relax, breathe, and place my finger back in the centre of the labyrinth, where - I notice - a heart is carved. I listen. Do not rush the journey. It is not about reaching the goal, the centre, the prize. It is about the journey. Experience the journey, let it take as long as it takes. Take the time you need for yourself. Accept the gifts that are offered to you. Accept that you are loved and no more or less deserving than anyone else. Learn to accept what is offered. Remember the heart at the centre of the labyrinth. I take another deep breath and trace my way back out of the labyrinth. This time it is easy, effortless, and I find myself exiting more quickly than seems possible. I have left the labyrinth, but I take its message and its spirit with me.

We leave Glastonbury then, and begin our return journeys home, me to Wales, Suzanne to South London. There is much to ponder as I drive back along the motorways that lead me westward. I feel I have been given so much, I have healed wounds I didn't even realise were still sore. Such unexpected magic and serendipity. So much Grace, unlooked for yet gratefully received. 

I think of the heart at the centre of the labyrinth and smile.     

   

*****

If you would like to know more about Glastonbury and its sacred places, this is a great resource. 

Dragonrise Witchcamp 2015

Walking to the Stone Circle in the meadow at Dragonrise in 2013 

 

I am very happy to announce that I will be teaching at Dragonrise Witchcamp again this summer. This will be my second time at Dragonrise (you can read about my first year here).

 

 

From the camp website:

 

Dragonrise is a long-weekend family-friendly camp full of magic!

The next camp will take place between 30 July to 2 August 2015 at Wildways on the Borle in Shropshire.

Dragonrise is open to all ages and experience levels and has already built up a reputation for being accessible for newcomers, challenging for more experienced folks and welcoming to all.

Together we will learn magic, weave stories and grow. In 2009 we began a new adventure, a family friendly Witchcamp in Britain, originally called Sunrise. We would love for you to join us this year as we spread our wings again. Our goal is to be eco-friendly and as affordable as possible, while facilitating a magical experience for all who join us.

A Reclaiming Witchcamp is an intensive period of time working together with like-minded individuals within the context of a story. You choose which path you would like to take throughout our time together and each morning join teachers who will guide your learning. Each evening we come together in ritual based on the story of the week.

Throughout the camp you will learn new skills, meet new people, forge new friendships and grow in yourself.

Our first camp was in August 2009, in our previous incarnation as Sunrise Camp.

Our second camp was in August 2011, under our new and permanent name of Dragon Rise. We worked with the wonderful story, Dragonhearted, by Suus. Witches and witchlets arrived in the hills of Snowdonia from all over Europe, finding our dragon wings and opening our dragon hearts.

Our third camp was Catching the Tale in August 2013 at Wildways where we worked with Lugh and Brigid and the power of stories, rewriting our own in the process!

Witchcamp will change your life, just like magic!

This year we will be working with a beautiful myth from Shropshire and it is looking like it will be a wonderful camp! If you would like to join us, booking details can be found on the Dragonrise website here: http://dragonrise.spruz.com/downloads.htm. Click to download details and a booking form.

 

 

The Skylodge at Wildways, Dragonrise 2013

 

 

 

Quick Update in Photos

As I mentioned in my last post, I was unable to post new photos to the blog for a while. So here are a few that I would have posted, had I been able to. It also serves as a quick round up of what IB and I have been up to.

 

In the spring, during a visit to a nearby farm I unexpectedly found myself helping deliver a calf  as the cow was in difficulty and an extra pair of hands was needed. Luckily all went well and the photo shows both mother and baby both fit and well a short while afterwards.

 

IB and I spent an idyllic afternoon in May wandering in gorgeous bluebell woods. I could hardly bear to leave.

 

 

We have had many lovely times with friends in our local Pagan community - there have been Moots (monthly social gatherings), seasonal rituals, meals out to celebrate birthdays, and workshops - this photo is from a wand-making workshop.

 

 

There have been lots of interesting places to visit - to Brecon with my parents to meet up with my sister and brother-in-law...

 

...to Castell Henllys in Pembrokeshire to see Robin Williamson perform (a magical bardic evening in an Iron Age roundhouse by firelight)...

 

...to the beautiful Aberglasney Gardens to wander in beauty and enjoy a delicious meal on the lakeside terrace...

 

...and another trip to Madrid...

 

...to see the ever-wonderful Rubinoos...

 

...and a Winter Solstice visit to see the Mari Lwyd at the National Botanic Garden of Wales (where we also enjoyed a fabulous exhibition of Jackie Morris' paintings).

 

 

Help Henry!

I haven't ever posted anything like this before, but I want to get this message out to as many people as possible so here goes. My friend Jenny's 10 month old puppy Henry is urgently in need of life-saving surgery. He will die without it.

Here's what Jenny has to say about Henry:

"My 10 month old dog Henry has PDA, a genetic heart condition which will cost him his life left untreated. Despite my responsibly getting the best pet insurance I could for him, they are refusing to pay for this life saving operation on a technicality.

We want Henry to be well and enjoy his life with all of us, but particularly for my son Matthew, age 5, who has Aspergers, Henry is his special friend, I had hoped they would grow up together, if we raise this money there is a good chance they still can.

We'll need around £3,700 for the operation, and we already owe £600 for the diagnostic procedures. If we raise more than we need, I'll donate it to Many Tears, a local dog rescue charity that does wonderful work here in West Wales.

We've been told by the specials cardiac vet that the operation Henry needs generally has excellent results, and needs little in the way of aftercare, once it has been done we'll all see the results, and most importantly, Henry should have a full normal life expectancy. I'll post LOTS of pictures :)"

Jenny has started a fund raising appeal to raise the money needed for Henry's operation. This link will take you there: http://www.gofundme.com/91hag4. If you can donate, please do. Every little bit helps get us closer to saving Henry's life.

This is a genuine appeal from someone I know in person, so I can vouch that it is for real! Thanks for any support you can offer.

***********

Henry Update:
Henry has now had his operation, which was successful. He is making a good recovery and is full of beans! Many thanks to all who helped give this story a happy ending. If you click on the original link, you can read Jenny's update and see a gorgeous picture of Henry and Matthew celebrating together.

The 'C' Word, Part 4: Burning Bridges

I can't remember exactly when Hilary* and I first became friends. I do remember that a group of us began hanging out together on the school playing field at lunchtime during the summer term when I was about 13 or 14. At some time during that period, Hilary and I paired off and became 'best friends'. We shared an off the wall, goofy sense of humour, had long, intense discussions about everything from the state of the world to boys we liked and generally helped each other negotiate the stormy seas of adolescence.

In many ways we were strikingly different. I always had my nose stuck in a book whilst Hilary was extremely artistic. I was an easy going, shy Cancerian, and Hilary was a forceful, outgoing Arien. I came from a close, loving family, Hilary's family were starchy and Victorian, especially her cold, overbearing father. I'm not sure if the friendship flourished due to or in spite of these differences - certainly we were different enough never to fancy the same boys or compete over anything important.

I think Hilary to a certain extent fell in love with my family. My home life was everything hers wasn't - warm, chaotic, full of laughter, affection and silliness. At Hilary's house, meals were eaten in stiff, formal silence, the only sound a ticking clock. At my house, mealtimes were shared with plenty of chatter and laughter. I remember the look of amazement on Hilary's face at the raucous giggles as my Dad read aloud from a book of silly stories one of the first times she ate with us, and we all - Dad included - ended up crying with laughter.

The friendship continued after we left school - Hilary started working as a secretary up in London and I became a children's nanny in Hertfordshire. We continued to share in the ups and downs of growing up, learning to drive and getting our first cars, falling in love for the first time, holding each others hand through the scary bits and broken hearts. At one point, Hilary's Dad threw her out for standing up to him and she moved in with my family for a few weeks, until the drama had passed.

When we were 21 I inherited some money, and for a variety of reasons (including having just had my heart badly broken, and the general sense of bravado and curiosity one has at that age) decided to spend it on travelling around the world. I visited Hong Kong, Malaysia, Australia, New Zealand and the USA and had an amazing and wonderful time. When I returned, it was a big surprise to me to find that everything had changed. Living at home with my parents for the first time felt constricting. My job (by now I was working in an office) seemed old-hat and boring. I split up with my boyfriend who had become unbearably possessive. There was a distance between Hilary and I. In hindsight of course, nothing had changed except for me. Going away for an extended period and broadening my horizons had made me more confident, more certain of who I was and what I wanted.

Over the next couple of years the gulf between Hilary and I widened. She developed anorexia, and seemed to find me incredibly irritating. I started avoiding her, feeling like perhaps I was making her illness worse. I met T, and after a few months moved in with him. Hilary and T disliked each other. She continued to visit my family but soon she and I had virtually no contact with each other.

Fast forward a couple of years, and Hilary and I began to - tentatively at first - resume contact. Hilary's anorexia had reached a crisis point, when she, weighing less than 6 stone had collapsed and had a near-death experience. This had shocked her into seeking help, aided by her mother who was a wonderful source of support to her during this period. By the time we began seeing each other again, Hilary was on the road to recovery. I felt really guilty that I hadn't been with her for this part of her journey, but she didn't seem to bear any grudge. Gradually we slipped back into the old friendship, although she and T grew no more fond of each other. Eventually, she met and married a lovely, easy-going, sweet man, Tom, and they seemed blissfully happy together.

Hilary and Tom moved to West Sussex, and the four of us took it in turns to visit each other for weekends. This worked well, as Hilary and T were never together long enough to seriously fall out. The holiday we took together in France was less successful - being cooped up together in a gite for over a week turned out not to be our best idea. It soon became apparent - via oblique remarks and comments made to my family that made their way back to me - that Hilary blamed T for me not being the same person I had been at school. That is to say, whenever I didn't behave in the way Hilary wanted me to, she interpreted it as T suppressing me in some way. At the time, I found it rather funny that Hilary was unable to imagine I may have grown up and changed over the years. And T cared so little for her opinion that it was more a source of amusement to me than any kind of issue.

Later on, when T and I were living in Australia for 18 months (due to his job) and Hilary visited, it began to irritate me. I found it odd that she still insisted on using nicknames we'd had at school, even though they were hardly used at all by anyone else. And I noticed that almost every sentence she spoke to me began with the words, 'The trouble with you, Wallis (my old nickname) is...', or was undermining to me in some other way. For example we were walking by the waterfront in Sydney when an enormously fat woman clad in shorts and a vest waddled past. Hilary said, 'Next time you're worried about how fat you are, just remember you're not that bad!' It was undoubtedly meant as a compliment, no matter how back-handed, but as I hadn't said anything about worrying about my weight it felt like a slap in the face. By the time her two week visit was up, I was ready to cheer when she got back on the plane to go home.

When we moved to Wales it got worse. I was on the receiving end of comments like 'I don't know why anyone would want to move to Wales! Horrible place!'. Since I moved to Wales in 2000, Hilary only visited twice, for an afternoon on my 40th birthday, and for a weekend when she and my sister stayed with my Mum.

She brightened briefly when T and I divorced, declaring joyfully, 'I have my old Wallis back!', but that didn't last long as she took an immediate, strong dislike to IB when she met him for the first time at a barbecue at my sister's house. IB took the place of T as the focus of her disapproval. None of which mattered too much, as we were seeing very little of each other by then.

But then Hilary and Tom attended my 50th Birthday Party, and this summer being the summer of Closure, things inevitably came to a head...

Hilary and Tom were two of the guests at the Surprise Birthday Party my Mum had organised. I was amazed and happy to see them there, but unfortunately things were awkward from the get-go. Hilary gave me a warm embrace when we arrived, but totally snubbed IB, turning away from him as he tried to say hello (I only found out about that later, as there was a lot going on at the time). Then Hilary handed me my gifts - one of which was a beautifully constructed collage of old photos of me and my loved ones. I was deeply touched that she had spent so much time making my gift, but later noticed that she hadn't included any photos of IB at all. In fact, one of the photos she'd used was a group photo that had included IB - though Hilary had carefully cropped him out of it. She also began talking about how much she'd always liked T, how much she missed him. Hmmm.

The next day - the day of my 'official' party, Hilary and Tom were among the first arrivals. Once again IB was ignored. Now I have to say at this point, that IB didn't really help himself because his reaction to all this (added to the stressful time leading up to the party with all the work he'd put in to get things ready, and helping with my injured shoulder) was to drink a bit too much, which was his way of withdrawing. But as I wasn't bothered by him getting drunk (unlike T, who tended to get verbally aggressive, he is easy going when he gets drunk) it didn't occur to me anyone else would have an issue with it. The night before he hadn't had a drink as he was driving, so it wasn't as if anyone could think he always drank too much.

At the end of the party, Hilary threw her arms around my neck and declared how much she loved me. She then whispered, 'It doesn't have to be like this... you're worth so much more... you deserve better.' My immediate reaction was to think she'd drunk too much herself (which she had) and to privately laugh at the remark. But after everyone had left it started to rankle. I felt judged, I felt yet again she was looking down on me, my home, my choices, my relationship and my life. I started to wonder if everyone else at the party had been pitying me (yes, I'd had a few drinks myself by then!), and I ended the evening in tears, comforted by the ever-loving and loyal IB.

After the party, with a few days to put things in perspective, I decided I would write Hilary a letter explaining my feelings and hopefully setting her straight. I wanted to write it when I was calm, so I left it for a while to let my feelings settle. Unfortunately, before I could write it I received a fridge magnet with a sentimental message about friendship enclosed in a card from Hilary, again obliquely criticising IB. My irritation levels rose again and I waited for them to subside before writing my letter. Unsatisfied by my lack of response, Hilary contacted me on Facebook with an angry inbox message: "You know what Wallis, you may be in a great place or you may be in a bad place, but I've known you for a stupid length of time and value your friendship more than you probably know, but when you don't have the decency to spend some time talking to me (and to Tom and M and D) when we travelled specifically to Wales to see you and then choose to not to send a note of thanks for your pressie and then not to even acknowledge that I sent you a small token the other day - well quite frankly it's just rude and I have to question whether I've made a big mistake in being your friend as my values of friendship are clearly not yours now and haven't been since you've been with IB. Over to you. Love you more than you know.  Hilary x x x"

I replied as politely as I could, expressing thanks for the gifts, pointing out that as hostess I hadn't been able to spend much time with any one person during the party - as that is the way of parties - and that I was in the process of writing her a letter.

I hate confrontation of any sort. Which is why it had taken this long - years really - to confront Hilary about her behaviour. For a long time, I had taken the easy way out and either laughed at or ignored the continuous barrage of slights and insults, often couched as 'friendly advice' or 'concerned friendship'. But I knew it was crunch time. I sat down and wrote my letter. Then I re-wrote it, aiming for 'polite yet assertive'. I firstly wrote about how much I had valued her friendship over the years, thanked her for her birthday gifts and all the work she'd put into them, praised her for her loyalty. Then I explained, clearly and gently why her remarks had hurt me, and why her assumptions about the state of my life were so wide of the mark. I wanted the letter to be assertive, but neither placatory nor aggressive; I wanted it to give us the chance to get our friendship back on track. To check how it came across, I ran it by several people who knew the situation and whose opinion I trusted. They all agreed it was a good letter, if anything a little too placatory. As I wanted to avoid conflict I decided it was better to err on the side of caution, so - still feeling apprehensive - I mailed it. It was the first time I had ever challenged Hilary in all our years as friends.

*****

That was about three months ago. I have not heard back from her, except via third parties, to whom she has described the letter as 'a tirade'. I have been blocked on Facebook. I have not tried to contact her further. I won't try to contact her further. The ball is in her court.

I am saddened. But I am also left with a sense of relief. It seems this friendship has run its course. My self esteem has come up a notch. I realise that I am no longer content to tolerate dysfunctional relationships, which is what my relationship with Hilary had become. We have both changed over the years, yet it seems she is only willing to be my friend if I jump through the hoops she approves of, and continue to play the role of 'Wallis', which I have long outgrown.

In many ways this has been the hardest piece of Closure that I had to deal with this summer. Our friendship goes back such a long way, has such deep historical roots, is so entangled with other relationships, that it is hard to extricate myself from it. And yet in doing so I know I am doing the right thing. The relationship is no longer what it was, I cannot continue to be in this relationship unless Hilary is willing to hear what I have to say and accept that I have a right to my own feelings. I am sure that I will continue to be more selective with who I let into my life in future, and what behaviours I am prepared to tolerate.

I am worth more.


* Not her real name.