The Month of The Rose

It's June, the month of the rose. I have been working magically with roses and their scent a lot over the last couple of years. I find their fragrance soothes, heals, nurtures. My work with rose has been to do with self-love and self-care, both of which can be a challenge for me! Taking time to sit with rose, meditate while inhaling her fragrance, drink rose-petal or rose-hip tea, cleanse and anoint myself with rosewater, light a rose-scented candle whilst enjoying some quiet me-time... all these things help to calm and centre me, whilst reminding me to take care of myself. 

Rose is heart-healing medicine in the emotional sense. I work with her to refill myself when I've been pouring from an empty cup for too long, and restore my emotional equilibrium. Roses have soft, gentle petals, generous blossoms and nourishing rosehips but they also have strong stems and defensive thorns. Rose is sweet and generous, but no pushover. She reminds that self-care is not only about softness but also about boundaries.

I wish you could smell the gorgeous fragrance of this particular rose, it's absolutely wonderful. Perhaps you can go and find a fabulous rose of your own to sweeten your day. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties, Day 24: Winter Restorative, Nest Therapy

The essence of winter is a period of rest and renewal for the earth. It's a time of repose, a break from the buzz and bustle of life, breathing space in the seasonal cycle of germination, growth and harvest. 

For humans, adequate rest and sleep is required to recharge our batteries, allowing our brains time to reorganise, consolidate and process the events of our waking lives, and our bodies to repair, rejuvenate and rebuild themselves at a cellular level. Our requirements for rest can fluctuate depending on such variables as age, levels of activity and health. 

So, do you get as much rest as you need? I know I don't always manage to get enough hours of sleep, and at times I let myself get completely overcommitted and stretched too thin. If I'm just a little overtired from lack of sleep, I can usually get back onto an even keel quite easily by taking a nap or going to bed early. But on the occasions when I've been pushing myself too hard for weeks or even months at a time, a few early nights aren't really going to be enough. Ideally at those times I'd like to take a holiday or go on retreat - but that's not always possible. It's for such times that I invented what I call 'nest therapy'. 

I indulge in nest therapy when I'm feeling completely drained physically and/or mentally. The first day that I have to myself is nesting day! I find a quiet, secluded spot in the house or (in summer) the garden. I use every duvet, cushion, pillow, quilt, blanket and throw in the house to build a soft, cushiony nest that I can curl into. I retreat into my nest with comforting things such as a flask of hot tea (or icy lemonade in the summer), a good book or a colouring book and pens (if I'm not too tired to want entertainment), some snacks, a cat or two... and I just rest. I eat, drink and drift in and out of sleep according to what my body tells me it needs. I completely avoid all thought of 'should' or 'ought' and focus on self-nurturing and rest. I prefer to avoid electronic forms of entertainment like radio, TV or internet during my nest therapy, listening instead to the rain on the roof or birdsong and letting my thoughts just drift.

I've enjoyed nest therapy in dappled sunlight under a silver birch tree in the summer, alternately dozing and listening to bees buzzing in the clovered lawn and the soft murmuring of the chickens. I've enjoyed nest therapy in the depths of winter, curled snugly under blankets and nest-sharing with a purring cat. Dozing, dreaming, feeling the knots in my shoulders dissolving and the fog of exhaustion gradually lifting. It's not something I do very often, saving it for those times when I need more than just an early night. But on every occasion, it has been deeply restful and restorative. 

Winter Blessings and Beauties: Day 24

Winter Restorative: Nest Therapy

At those times when you're in need of some serious rest and relaxation, try a day of nest therapy. 

Set aside a day - or at least a few hours -  all to yourself. Wear loose-fitting, comfortable clothes. Put down a cushiony layer of pillows etc on which you can lie - or you could use an airbed. Drape quilts, blankets and duvets around the edges to keep you feeling safe and secure. Bring those things you need to help you feel comfortable, safe, entertained etc - such as books, snacks, a water bottle or flask, your journal, a favourite stuffed animal - and place them in your nest or within easy reach. Turn off your phone if you are able to. Get into your nest and make yourself comfortable. Relax - you've earned a rest!

     

Soul Food

“In the Craft, we do not believe in the Goddess ~ we connect with her; through the moon, the stars, the ocean, the earth, through trees, animals, through other human beings, through ourselves. She is here. She is within us all” 

― Starhawk

I make a pilgrimage every year to the bluebell woods. Not far from Halfway Up A Hill is a patch of beautiful woodland. It's privately owned, but the owners are generous enough to share their little patch of heaven, and every year when the bluebells bloom they open up the woodland to the public. To me it is a magical, sacred place. I look forward to my visit every year, it has become part of the way I celebrate the Wheel of the Year.

Bluebells are quite possibly my favourite flower: I love their colour, their scent; I love the time of year they appear; I love their woodland habitat. My annual visit to see them feeds my soul. I visit them with friends, with family, alone. I have visited on cool, damp chilly days and on brilliantly bright warm sunny days. But it is unthinkable to not visit at all. No matter what else is happening in my life, I make time to visit the bluebells.

The woods are approached through a bright sunny meadow. The owners have cut a path through the meadow, fringed with all kinds of wildflowers. I follow its gentle slope down towards the woodland's dark edge, and as I get closer the scent of bluebells starts to waft around me. I slow my pace, aware that I am approaching a holy place. At a gap in the hedge at one corner of the meadow I step through into an enchanted world. A sea of blue flows all around me, and early summer light filters down through tender new leaves of oak and beech, hazel, birch and hawthorn. Paths meander through the trees, and I step carefully, trying not to crush any flowers underfoot. It seems sacrilegious to damage such beauty in any way. As I walk slowly, mindfully placing each step, I breathe deeply, trying to inhale the essence of the place. At points along the path I stop and sit for a little while, listening to the sound of the woodland all around me. Insects buzz, the breeze ripples through the treetops, birds sing - wren, robin, chaffinch, chiffchaff, blackbird - and the sound of cattle, sheep and human activity drifts over from the nearest farm. I notice how, when I sit still and silent, the birdsong intensifies nearby as though having decided I pose no threat, normal service has been resumed. At one particular sitting place I am thrilled to hear the whirring of small wings directly behind me. I hold myself as still as possible, desperate to turn and see which tiny bird has dared to land behind me but knowing that as soon as I move it will fly away. 

I try to still my mind too, letting thoughts drift away like the clouds above the treetops, trying to open and receive whatever the bluebell wood has to offer me. I feel it as a gentle healing energy, which soothes and nourishes my soul. I want to stay and bathe in it forever, and yet I know that I will have to return home before long - visiting time ends at dusk - and that the bluebells will not be here much longer. There is perhaps another week before they fade, begin to set seed and their blue-purple glory is over again for another year. So I drink it in while I can, feed my soul on this peace and beauty while I can. It is enough - until next year. 

In The Woods

Don't try to make the magic happen.
Open to it, and then
Wait.
Open
Breathe
Remember.
Soften your gaze.
Let your shoulders drop.
Inhale, then exhale.
Wait
Wait
Wait.
Feel the touch of grace in the breeze on your skin.
When it falls upon you gently, softly,
Let its beauty fill your heart.
Its power is immense, infinite,
It is always here for you to find.
Just open to it and wait.
It will come to you.
Open.
Breathe.
Remember.

Signposts on the Way

I was talking with a friend who has been going through a rather turbulent time recently. She asked me if I'd used certain spiritual practices to help me through my own troubles in recent years. I replied that I had... but in all honesty I'm not sure that they really made a substantial contribution. So I have found myself since that conversation pondering, what did help? What got me through the darkest days after my life disintegrated around me? What kept me going?

Firstly I should say that I don't believe there's any one magical 'right' way through the swamps of grief, depression, despair. We all have to find our own way and that's one reason it's so hard. But I do think that those of us who've managed to wade through, swim through or sometimes merely keep a nostril above the murk of those swamps can leave some helpful signposts for our fellow travellers. These then are my signposts, the things that helped me.

1. Understanding the mechanism of grief.

I had heard of Elisabeth Kubler Ross's theory of the Five Stages of Grief but I really only took the idea on board when I was struggling through them myself. Basically the idea is that when confronted with sudden, traumatic change - bereavement, diagnosis of serious/terminal illness, profound loss - most of us go through five stages: denial, bargaining, anger, grief, acceptance. Briefly, the denial part is when we can't quite accept that this is happening to us and try to distance ourselves by pretending it's not happening; bargaining comes when we accept that it's happening but try to bargain our way out of it ("if I lose weight he'll love me again!", "If I start eating healthily the cancer will go away!", "If I pray hard enough she won't die!"); anger is when we rail and lash out at the unfairness of it all; grief comes when we finally let ourselves feel the loss; acceptance is when we reach the other side, absorbing and integrating our experience. We don't necessarily work through these in a neat linear fashion, often we go back and forth through them before we finally reach true acceptance.

Personally, I found it tremendously helpful to know these stages so that when it seemed my emotions were in chaos I could identify them as part of the process and know why I was feeling and reacting as I did. It was also helpful to know that by working through them I was making progress on my journey towards healing. In many ways the theory of the Five Stages of Grief is a vast oversimplification, but to me it was a vital map, a way of keeping my bearings when I really didn't know which way was up. And most importantly it held out the possibility that one day I would be able to drag myself out onto the longed-for distant shore of Acceptance and begin to move on with the rest of my life.

2. Remembering that you are not the first to go through this.

Strangely, I found some really sad break-up songs were helpful. Now I don't recommend sitting listening for hours to miserable music. I can't see that helping anyone. But there were a couple of tracks I loved because they articulated so well what I was going through. It helped me to know I wasn't the only one who'd ever felt like this. But most importantly, they were by artistes whose catalogue I was very familiar with, and I knew that the story didn't end there. These people had been where I was, they had felt as I felt, but they had moved on. They had lived through it and gone on to write other, happier songs in happier times. It held out the possibility to me that I could both feel this bad yet know that I wouldn't be stuck there forever. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, even if I couldn't see it yet, the songs let me know it was there and let me believe that one day I too would find it. 

Of course it doesn't have to be a song that holds out that promise. It could be a book, a poem, a work of art, a film, a friend's story. But whatever it is, it is a reminder that you are not alone, others have trodden this path before you. And if they got through it, you can too.

3. Letting it out.

You can only come to terms with what is happening to you if you let it out, expose the wound to light and air. If you hold it tightly to you and keep it in, it will fester and you will never heal.

If you can, talk. To friends, to family, to the person at the bus stop. Verbalising something gets it out of you, takes away some of the pain, reduces its power to hurt you. Sharing a burden eases its weight.

But of course, not everyone is able to do that. Sometimes there isn't anyone to talk to, sometimes we feel we have to shield those around us from our pain and anger, sometimes it's too difficult to express. But there are other ways to let it out. For me, I talked, but writing was a life-saver. Not just here on the blog. Some of what I had to express was too raw, too painful, too personal. So I also journalled obsessively. And each word on a page leached out a little more of the poison and pain.

Words are not the only means of expressing yourself. After the death of my son, I couldn't find the words to express how I felt. So I drew, and painted and scribbled on paper. And it was like a magic balm that eventually dissipated my pain until I found I could talk about it after all.

So let it out, however you can. In speech, or writing, or painting, or building, or punching a cushion, or dancing, or running, or playing music, or screaming or whatever it takes.

Let. It. Out.

4. Pursue happiness.

Who doesn't want to be happy? Yet too often we are passive in our pursuit of happiness. We wait for it to come to us, and we take it for granted when it is in our possession. 

Don't be passive! Seek out happiness. Make a list of things that give you joy and make it your mission to incorporate them into your life. It goes without saying that most of these things should be non-material or the pursuit of joy can easily sour into consumerism, hoarding and massive credit card bills. None of which are going to make you happy, quite the opposite in fact. But hang out with people you love, cook your favourite meal, sniff the roses, dance to your favourite music while doing the housework, watch the beautiful sunset, watch the DVD that always makes you laugh, cut fresh flowers for your home, snuggle up with your pets, nurture your garden, wear your favourite dress, play with your kids, walk in the bluebell woods, toast marshmallows round the bonfire with friends. And don't be too puritannical to give yourself a few materialistic treats too. If that designer perfume really does make you feel happy every time you smell it, invest in a bottle and spritz away.

I recommend two things - make a list of things that never fail to make you smile. My own list includes seeing the first swallow of summer, being with my favourite people and the exuberance of Tambourine Guy in this video. Just reading the list can lift your spirits, and you can also use it to remind yourself to do nice things! I've also made a playlist of all my favourite joyful songs that I can listen to whenever I need a boost - or just because.

And start a Jar of Blessings (or record them in a journal, or stick them on a noticeboard, or take digital photos of them...). Counting your blessings really does work.

5. And when you are finally out of the swamp...

Leave signposts for others.
Share your insights.
Listen to someone who needs a friendly ear.
Keep seeking out happiness - and spread it where you can.

If you have any helpful signposts of your own, please leave them in the comments section! Thank you.

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. 

Every Day, There Is Something New...

 

Every day there is something new. This morning, the first cowslips. Yesterday I heard the chatter of swallows for the first time this year (yes, they're back!). And before that, lady's smock, blackthorn blossom, the smell of newly-mown grass, magnolia flowers, a slow worm basking in the sun.

New, and yet familiar. Because I have seen all these things before, they are familiar. But they are new again each year as the seasons turn and the Earth and her beings cycle through life. What a miraculous paradox we live in - and how strange and yet natural that we should take it for granted. It is, after all, the reality we live in.

Thinking on this, I imagine the span of my life like the tightly coiled loops of a telephone cord (yes, the old-fashioned ones when telephones still had cords!). The spiral grows in length, but it coils round and around, coming back to almost the same spot yet NOT the same spot. Somewhere the same, yet a bit further on. Somewhere different, yet a place that can be recognised because the spiral has travelled this route before.

Sometimes the path of our lives is like this. We all have patterns of behaviour that repeat, and sometimes these cause us problems. And it can be so hard to see that it is our repeating patterns causing the difficulties in life. If the same problem in different guises keeps cropping up, it is worth examining it to see how you yourself may be contributing to the dynamic. Recently, I have ended more than one 'friendship' after realising that my role as a 'people pleaser' was enabling certain people to take advantage of me and that I needed to be more firm about my boundaries. My desire to please was leading me to say yes, whether I wanted to or not. It can be hard to make such changes, but it can be done - and we are all works in progress!

And so we continue on, spiralling around and further along. The spiral sometimes makes it hard to see how far we have come, yet look back along its length. Who were you 5 years ago, 10 years ago, 20 years ago? The same, yet different. Always growing, always changing, always revisiting what needs to be revisited, always finding a new way to travel the path.

Every day, there is something new...


        

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 5: Some Closing Thoughts on Closure

It's a brilliantly bright, sunny yet frozen morning as I step outside to tend to the chickens and Spike the gander. Fiercely blue skies over a landscape dusted sparkling white by frost. I tend to the animals and gather kindling for the fire, thinking about the coming end of the year.

I've never been a great one for New Year celebrations - parties and fireworks and Auld Lang Syne - yet in the last few years I have become very focussed on doing magic around the ending of the year. Cleaning away the old and outmoded both literally and metaphorically, and tying up loose ends, as in my Clean Start Soap Spell, making space. And then with clear intent, concentrating on what I need to draw into my life at this point in time, this new start. Somewhere in between these two I shall also be counting the many blessings that have come my way in the last twelve months, going through my Jar of Blessings and giving thanks for all those moments of joy and serendipity. I think it's important to keep a sense of balance about the good and the bad. Take an unflinching look at the bad so that you can do something about it - but acknowledge and give thanks for the good stuff too!

Of course the end of the year is just one end point of many. I could just as easily choose to do this kind of magic on my birthday, or at Imbolc, or Samhain or even monthly, at every moon cycle. Yet for me the end of year works very well - perhaps because the group mind is focussed on the end/beginning motif at this time, or perhaps the Yule/Christmas/New Year festivities give a bit of breathing space away from the normal routine of things and allow me time to mull over what needs to be mulled!

As I mentioned in an earlier post, this year seems to have been all about endings, or at least coming to terms with all kinds of different issues. Looking back, things this year have brought me face to face with issues encompassing all areas of my life - home/environment (new bathroom, new porch, decorating), health (torn ligament in my shoulder), family, friends and loved ones (wedding, birthday party and the ensuing fall out from that), and my spiritual community (Dragonrise Witchcamp).

Whilst trying to make sense of all this, I found out that it has coincided with my Chiron Return, which happens for us all around the age of fifty, when the mini-planet Chiron (named for the Greek God of Healing) returns to its original position in our birthchart and forces us to take stock and address those areas of our lives which need healing. This may sound a bit crazy, but having experienced a similar - and far more emotionally jarring - period of upheaval and chaos during my Saturn return in my late 20's it makes sense to me!

Interestingly when writing about all this in my journal I found myself exactly halfway through the notebook. More symbolism, more synchronicity. I am paying attention Mutiverse! I am really trying to get it and do the work I need to do.

This morning what occurred to me is that there is no real closure - or at least, finding some kind of closure doesn't magically wrap everything up neatly and put it away once and for all. It's more about coming to peace with what you need to, reconciling  yourself with what is, instead of what you would like it to be. All of these issues and experiences and difficulties have contributed to where and how and who I am today. They don't ever actually resolve themselves and disappear into a cloud of sparkly pink smoke and 'poof!' everything is magically sunshine and roses. No, reaching closure is about accepting and integrating those experiences and their lessons. They stay with you, as they should. They are a valuable part of you, and you are now at peace with them.

Perhaps this year has been as much about Healing as Closure. Which ever is the correct word - and perhaps they both are - I am grateful for the experience, and grateful that even though it has been challenging at times, it has undoubtedly also been positive. I feel like the whole year has been a cleansing, and now I am ready to move on to counting my blessings and planning what will come next. Thank you Chiron. Thank you Multiverse.

Happy New Year.

The 'C' Word, Part 3: Building Bridges

I went to my first Reclaiming WitchCamp (Avalon, held near Glastonbury) in 1998, and loved it so much I went back the following year. The year after that I joined the organising group. It became an important annual event in my calendar: every summer, a week at Avalon WitchCamp, and the people I met at the camp became my spiritual community. In 2006, I nervously became a student teacher at Avalon, and in 2007 I was asked to teach again. Except it didn't happen. For a variety of reasons, Avalon WitchCamp 2007 was cancelled (I'm reasonably sure my shortcomings as a teacher weren't a major contributing factor!). The repercussions of the cancellation  were many and various, including the organising of a Summer Gathering, and also the birth of a new, second British WitchCamp, Dragonrise.

It was a turbulent time for the British Reclaiming Community. I've a written a little about it here, but for the most part - not wanting to stir up additional controversy or add fuel to any smouldering fires - I've skirted around the more difficult areas. But suffice it to say, difficulties at the 2006 camp caused divisions that derailed the 2007 camp. Dragonrise Camp arose in part as an alternative to Avalon Camp for those who were dissatisfied with Avalon or wanted to try a different model. And although both camps behaved well - even helpfully - towards each other (agreeing to hold camps in alternate years so as not to be in direct competition, for example), there remained a certain amount of distance between them. Some people in the community fell very definitely into the 'Avalon' side and others into team 'Dragonrise'. Still others - myself included - maintained links with both communities.

In 2009 I was asked to be a resource teacher at Dragonrise but couldn't accept due to other commitments, and in 2011 I was too late booking a ticket and missed out. In 2012, Avalon (by now re-named Avalon Spring) had to be cancelled due to low bookings, so by this year I was determined to attend Dragonrise for the first time! I booked my ticket early, and was looking forward to attending a WitchCamp as an ordinary camper with no responsibilities except to myself for the first time in a while. And then a couple of months before camp was due I got a phone call...

Changes within the teaching team had created a vacancy. Would I like to fill that vacancy? Of course, I said yes.

******

How does this fit with our theme of Closure? Well, as mentioned above, there was still some healing to be done between the two camps. And I felt I needed some healing on a personal level since the fall-out from the cancellation of Avalon 2007. I'd found the split in the community very distressing, and papering over the cracks and pulling together warring factions to create the Summer Gathering was far more stressful than I could possibly have imagined. And now once again, only a week after the emotional upheavals of the wedding in Essex, I found myself faced with the prospect of re-visiting old 'issues' and the opportunity to finally resolve them.

From the outset, joining the Dragonrise teaching team was reassuring. There's a huge amount of work involved in teaching a WitchCamp, and joining the planning process at such a late stage was to say the least nerve-wracking! However, my fellow teachers (Chelidon, Suus and Fortuna) were very welcoming to this late-comer. From the outset we worked extremely well together and things proceeded very smoothly. By strange co-incidence, Chelidon had been my co-teacher for my first WitchCamp teaching experience at Avalon in 2006. We gathered together for in-person pre-camp planning a few days before camp started at the lovely home of one of the Dragonrise organisers, Raven, who had also been on the teaching team at Avalon 2006.  Before camp even started I felt loose ends left hanging for years were being tied up, old wounds finally being soothed and healed.

The camp itself was a delight. Lovely venue, amazing food (a thousand 'thank you's to the fabulous cooks, Amanda and Raven), wonderful people (some of whom I hadn't seen since the 2007 Summer Gathering or earlier), favourable weather, and the Paths (teaching groups) and evening rituals went really well.

By the time we found ourselves gathered for the closing ritual I was feeling very happy that we had had such a wonderful camp, satisfied with the renewal and strengthening of old connections, and very sad to be saying goodbye to such a lovely group of old and new friends. For me, Dragonrise 2013 was magical: a totally reaffirming and healing experience for which I am very grateful. I certainly intend to book my place at Dragonrise 2015 as soon as I can.

See you there?

******

Anyone would think this was enough closure for one summer, wouldn't they? After the Birthday, the Wedding and the WitchCamp, I myself thought that was it. More than enough to process and work through. But there was more in store. Something I had been trying for some time to push away and not deal with was coming to the fore, demanding my attention whether I wanted to deal with it or not. At Dragonrise I had the chance to build bridges. But on my return there was another bridge waiting, and this one needed burning...

(To be continued!)