Back from the Isle of Winds

Ibiza again; and the magic and majesty of the island refreshed and amazed me anew. I have posted pictures which might tell you all you need to know about this amazing place.

Ten days in the sun and breezes, walking in the campo, looking at the flora and fauna, smelling the juniper scrub and the pines, listening to the sea and the trees, eating the generous, hearty food so customary on the island. Feeling the weight of the history, the invaders who came, were seduced by the softness and the welcome of the red land and stayed. Imagining the unbelievable relief of making land on the Isle of Pines; salt-struck and half-blind from the sun, to find a place where water runs, fruit trees bloom and the ground bears crops unstintingly.

And over all, Tanit, goddess of the Moon and of the flesh. Beating Her path over Tagomago to the inland waters and the shore.

What the vegetable?

… right, I can top Seshat’s weird vegetable-based searches. One of my top searches is…. ‘world’s heaviest carrot’. I can make no intelligent comment about this, I’m laughing too hard!!

Divergence and Laziness

There’s a very great deal to be said about the power of the urge to do nothing. It’s closely allied to the conviction that there’s no time to do x, whatever x happens to be. In some people, this could be characterised as a conscious decision. In me, I’ve seen it as simply laziness and inattention.

I was looking round my rooms the other day, and saw all the books lining the walls for the first time in a long time. In many respects, books, moveable press, are a form of interior decoration to me. Not, as I saw once, a way to add colour to a room – when I asked the owner of the house if she’d read any of the books in question she gave me an extremely funny look and said no, of course not; she’d bought two tonnes of green-spined books from a wholesaler and was using them as decoration. No, my definition of decorative goes more toward Rennie Mackintosh – both beautiful and useful.

I’ve got books in every room and some of them are unread, the bindings uncracked. Most of the books in this category are regarding pagan studies. I realised concurrently with my musing over the number of books unread that I haven’t done a really meaty book review (read: hatchet job) on anyone’s work for a good long while. And as I am going to be absent from the Ludlow Symposium this year, and therefore unable to provide a digest of the day, I should get reading and noting.

One of the downsides that we all acknowlege about practising solitary witchcraft (if we do; you might not!) is that sometimes, and sometimes for extended periods of time, life supervenes or you lose your way or your thread or your enthusiasm, even, and everything stops. I’ve had six months or more of this, feeling like there’s no energy or will in the pot for anything other than dragging myself out of bed, getting Rowan ready for nursery, keeping the house straight and trying (and mainly failing) to keep up with my friendship commitments.

One of the things I always do in this situation is believe that the false dawn of returning energy is the end of the problem. I forget every single time that it’s just a burst, a sprint for the tape, a momentary second wind. I become part of the problem, by forcing myself back into the fray. This tendency has an unfortunate side-effect – it seems to make other people doubt me when I say I’m fine (or maybe it’s the edge of hysteria on my voice. ‘I’m fine. No, I’m fine. FINE!’

I don’t think I’m fooling anyone, though; least of all me. I’m getting too old to be constantly hauling myself up right and soldiering on if I’m down. And I am down; why do women like me never give themselves credit? I’ve left and divorced my husband in less than a year, moved house, become a single parent, dealt with crises at home and at work, held down a full-time job, done a good job as a parent and haven’t actually gone insane or become emotionally incontinent in the process. That’s quite good going.

So to get irritated at myself for not continuing my observances, work, writings, visits, pilgrimages and dedications seems specious to me. None of these things are dispensible in my life, but neither is my son, earning a living or having peace of mind and heart. So, not indispensible; but slightly more dispensible than the things I kept up with.

I’m here, Goddess, I still hear You. I worship You. I think the life you’ve given me should be lived well; and so I dedicate all my efforts to You. By doing my best I give my best to You.

It’s Time

… for the altar to be set up once more!

I’ve had all my pieces and items in a box since the move, waiting to have the right space in which to use them. I now do so – a large pine trunk set up facing North in my sitting room, empty so all the pieces can be stored away, and perfectly placed for the garden, so I can open the doors and sit behind the altar looking out.

I aim to work tonight, rededicating all my items in the service of the Goddess, and beginning my devotions afresh. Since Beltane, I feel as though I’ve landed; I’m home. Now it’s time to start working again.

Beltane – New Dreams

As I sit here, listening to the rain pattering on the roof of the unit where I work, I cast my mind back across the last twelve months. Rocky roads, rocky times; not time to think or to feel. Things left undone. But here in the burgeoning Spring of 2009, there’s suddenly light and room to move and to breathe.

I have thought I was fighting my way clear of the ties in previous months, but had the wit to realise it’s like climbing a mountain – numerous false horizons and that the key is never to give up hope. Conserve your energy. Keep plugging away. Take breathers. Don’t forget to breathe!

I’ve been out meeting new people, exploring new interests, and simply enjoying my home and my garden. Balancing solitude and the comfort of relaxation and downtime with going out and enjoying myself in company. I’ve been travelling more, seeing new places. Taking small risks, small excitements and relishing them. Working on my physical fitness, and my mental fitness. In essence, echoing the process of fettling and greening that I see going on around me every day.

So here we are at Beltane, beginning of our Summer; the Goddess and the God meet in the birthtime of the buds; so it couldn’t be a more auspicious time for me to reconnect with my path once more. Beltane this year  is also at the time of the First Quarter of the moon, which is perfect for the work I wish to do; building, strengthening, affirming work, consolidating the distance I’ve come so far.

I find the witchcraft path is like this – we allow ourselves to  become distracted by quotidian vicissitudes, separated from our source and the spring of our power; perhaps one day I’ll learn the trick of keeping my hand on the unicorn’s rein! Till then, I come home again, happy in the knowledge that I can rededicate, resubmit, revitalise my work, look at it once more with a new eye, keep the good and prune the no-so-good and shake the dust from the raiment.

I am taking Beltane Day off work, for an extended meditation, reorganisation and prayer session. I am taking time, precious time, to do what is necessary, what is right for me here and now. I like this. It feels like being able to spread my wings for the first time in an age; I will spread them wide.

Noisy, Sacred, Profane and Cheerful

To Seshat’s house last night – or should I say Seshat’s ex-house! – to assist her in packing up her valuables and moving them across to 55. Her old place seems less and less like the right place for her to be, and in so many ways. She strikes me as a butterfly, breaking loose from her chrysalis, emerging to the air and sunshine and spreading her wings to dry.

Once she’s out of that confining, womb-like and dark space, there can be no going back. Happily, there is no wish to go back, not even the smallest one. I have watched Seshat grow into a new, strong, loving, able, capable and beautiful woman in the time that I have been privileged to know her. She has met her gods, she has advanced and refined her magic, she has chosen her path and laid her hand to the staff of her life. Her planets revolve around her now, not the other way about. She walks tall and free.

When we are together, we spend a large amount of the time laughing. We did so last night. That laughing was too big for the flat, echoing and rebounding from the walls as if it would try to push the walls back and away. It only sounded right when we were hyaena-ing our way up the street, trying to balance boxes on our wheelbarrow and drawing looks – and beeps! – from passing cars. Nothing dented our bonhomie, though. It’s times like these that allow the spirit to fully fill the frame; we know we can say whatever we like, discuss whatever we like, laugh, sing, dance…. and we will have a partner.

Choosing to Choose what I Bloody Well Choose!

My divorce is now on the map – the paperwork was submitted to the court and approved, yesterday; I should have my decree nisi by mid-July and my absolute by August. I know categorically that I won’t feel any different when I have that piece of paper than I do now – a free woman, who is once again able to make decisions based on what I want out of my life; to choose the people I want to spend my intimate time with. I have the gift of choice. I can have any damn thing I want, within reason.

I’m older, though, and I have the benefit of a huge amount of extra experience, knocks and bumps; things that worked, things that failed catastrophically. Stuff I chose to do and reaped the whirlwind for; risks I took which had unexpected benefits.

The fact of the matter is; whoever I choose, however it ends up, whatever happens, it’s been my choice. We take the consequences for the things we choose to do; it’s the first step to knowing oneself; responsibility for action.

Witchcraft gives one a certain amount of prescience; but we’re not goddesses or gods, just plain old word made flesh; human, fallible, subject to all the usual humdrum lusts and desires that cloud our judgement and make us act irrationally. Everyone is like this. No-one’s experience is so like another’s that there’s an automatic read-across. So why the big urge to drop in the four penn’orth of  ‘useful advice’?

There are those whose guidance I seek and listen to, because I respect them and understand their motivation. There are others who give their opinion whether I want it or not, and whose view I discount if it doesn’t suit my purposes at the time.

I know I’m going to fuck it up at some point. Who doesn’t? But the crucial thing is; don’t tell me I’m going to fuck it up ahead of time. What do you think that says about how you feel about me? Think about that.

New Boundaries

I’m beginning to realise what a total blessing it is to have decided to move on from my old life, and to have redrawn the boundaries much more firmly.

There’s a new clarity to my thought process. Before, when someone I cared about said or promised something, I would extemporise; I’d hear what they said, and immediately bolster it or pad it out with all the things I’d wished they’d say. I made the half promise, the lukewarm thanks,  the semi-devoted utterance do, because I thought I would get no better.

Well, that’s one way to live, and many do it every day; stretching threadbare, perfunctory regard from their other to try to cover widening cracks in their own self-esteem and mental health. I’ve done it. I hated it – and resolved with the Goddess’s strength never to do it again.

Nobody is worth that sort of abasement. Nobody loves you, if they love you so little that you’re at the bottom of the pile when their time is being apportioned.

One of the most valuable things we can give our friends and our lovers is our time. Unstintingly, generously, without running the clock. I needed help last night. My friends were there for me. I texted my friend, and immediately got a call. Another friend left messages for me overnight to ask if I was all right. This is what I do for my friends; this is what my true friends do for me.

So if people tell me they love me now, I listen precisely to what they say, and to nothing else. I measure their worth by their actions and I do not indulge myself in wishful thinking. Everyone has the responsibility to be excellent to their friends, to make the message of love they carry for them easily read and unmistakably strong. There is no room in this scenario for ‘perhaps….’. It should be a yes. A YES!

Airing the Wound, Healing the Hurt

When I was young, the best cure I was offered for cuts and abrasions was to wash the wound, let it dry and expose it to the air and sunshine. In our climate, this method works wonders. It allows the cut to dry, to cut itself off from the lifeblood and to cover itself in armour, ready to grow new skin and protection underneath the congealed blood.

This weekend, I’ve been offered the chance of the equivalent, writ large; my sister and I are starting again in our relationship and our friendship, and it feels good.

We met for the first time 10 years ago. At the time we liked each other, I think. Various untoward happenings meant that we didn’t and couldn’t remain friends. Not to say we’ve ever been at loggerheads openly – we just haven’t ever kept up with each other. Her children have grown up as strangers to me. I’ve missed her talents and her humour and her strength. I think she may have missed mine equally. This weekend, we offered each other the chance to build the bridge anew.

The wound has healed – best of all, it seems we’ve forgotten why we were not friends, or if not, it has ceased to matter. We hugged and kissed each other and were perfectly at ease all weekend, and our children adored each other at first sight and became fast friends.

More room to manoeuvre, more opportunity for compromise, more space for friendship, more depth for love and respect. Good. This is what I want in my life – making, not breaking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Do visit my sister’s site, Mackface. She’s an incredibly talented artist and bodypainter, and is available for festivals, and commissions are taken – in fact, she’s doing one for me at the moment!!

Green Witch Chariot Race

At the risk of coming over all Ben-Hur this morning I’m going to talk a little bit about calls to action, and what they make us do and feel. Well, what they make me do and feel, actually; I speak for no-one but myself on this topic!

What constitutes a call to action? To me, it’s an irresistable urge to do something in the face of a larger problem. When the need to act, to move, to make a difference outweighs the need to sit, to be still, to be silent, I have to act, I feel compelled to.

This doesn’t necessarily come down to one felt emotion, one strand of reasoning either. It could be guilt. It could be the feeling of a job left undone. It could be anger, pity, empathy. It could be the realisation of a major injustice. It could be as petty as minor irritation. And in the end, it could be the fact that for me at least, action is always preferable to inaction, no matter if inaction would have proved the safer or more prudent route.

There’s nothing more draining or disempowering than chosing to do nothing in a situation of adversity. None of us think the close-the-eyes approach to problem solving makes situations any better; Churchill said that all that is needed for evil to flourish is that good men do nothing. How right he was.

I’ve a number of situations on hand just now that require action; they require me to be brave and take a stand and make executive decisions without the benefit of foresight. How I wish at times for a clear eye to the future! When I was young I used to play Fighting Fantasy rolegames; particularly the ones in book form where you read the sections and govern your choices though judgement and rolls of the dice. I always used to cheat, mildly; looking ahead to outcomes but preserving the ability to backtrack to the last safe point and select another route if things didn’t go so well. Clearly, this ability would benefit me greatly now; bitter, actually, to look around at some witches of my acquaintence who blithely claim the ability to see forward; can they? Would it benefit me to be able to do so? Who knows. I have a sneaking feeling not, actually.