Samhain 2009

It’s all change for TGW! New home, and a new happiness. I have all but moved out of The Little House and have taken up residence at Three Chimneys, the home of my wonderful partner M. Perhaps most wonderfully of all, he sussed my paganism from the start – in fact from our first date – acknowledges its importance but crucially isn’t the least bit interested in hearing about it. There’s none of the prurience, pretend understanding, cliche-ridded heavy-handed ‘humour’ or other badinage or railery that I’ve become so weary of over the years. Stepping out of the broom closet to important others in your life is a trial sometimes; thankfully this time it wasn’t.

This Samhain I have so much to give thanks for, so much to feel blessed about, so much to cherish and so much to remember. It truly seems to be the most fruitful Autumn I can remember.

Where to begin? I could tell you about the wonderful walks we’ve been on, gathering conkers by the river with R as the leaves fall in shimmering files and drifts; I could tell you about watching the swan family on the river as they serenely brought up 7 chicks to near-adulthood. Or how about the baking of cakes and pies and bread that fill the kitchen at Three Chimneys with fragrance and comfort every weekend? Or the aromatic, piney fires we build and bask in front of on windy, rainy nights? So much to tell.

Casseroles, wine, fellow-hail, comfort, safety and warmth. Mellow light on old stone. Burnished copper reflecting candles, reflecting golden flames seen through the clear glasses in the front of the log-burner. Deep rugs, soft chairs and warm throws to cuddle your feet into. Hot tea on tap. Whiskey and ice, to round out the evenings together. Books, everywhere books. Combined possessions of two people with similar interests, tastes and pursuits. Love, care, understanding. A welcome without and a welcome within. At last, a safe mooring and a home for me and for R.

The house is a work in progress, and it is progressing apace; only this week we’ve finished restoring the panelling in the drawing room, commissioned three more radiators, replastered the landing and the master bedroom, cleared out a skip-load of junk preparatory to my furniture arriving and mended the floorboards in the hall. I’ve planted the urns outside the front door; we’re planning a large Yuletide party to warm the threshold and everyone’s really excited, not least us!

There are carved pumpkins in all the windows, made by R and myself; one happy, one sad and one ‘grumpy’  which came out slightly wrong and actually looks like the poor fruit has indigestion. We’re due at the local Fire Festival on Saturday night – procession of giants, wicker man, fireworks, huge bonfire and all the hot-dogs R can stuff down his maw during the evening. Mulled wine, boeuf carbonnade and mashed potatoes before we go out, to ensure centrally heated bodies as we process through the darkness to the festival site, to the transformative magic of fire, lights and brilliance in the sky, cheer, wassail and the beginning of the New Year for me and for mine.

The moon will be waxing full tomorrow night, the best of all times for me to wish ahead and work for the future.

Blessed Samhain, to all my dearest friends.

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.

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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!!

12th International Thelemic Symposium

Seshat and I have just returned from this event, and I have to say, no disrespect to Ludlow et al, that it sets the pace for pagan conferences as far as I’m concerned.

Seshat has given her full thoughts on the day here, and I’d urge you to read both her post and mine to get the full picture! I was very much concentrating on studious scribbling, so may have missed the local colour!

Held in what can only be described as a hut in deepest suburban Oxford, the day comprised a series of talks, food, a Gnostic Mass and a live band / DJ set until 2am, with bar. Ambitious, perhaps, but the level of attendance was startlingly good. The quality of attendance was equally good. The speakers were, frankly, excellent and so highly organised, thoughtful and well-researched that it makes me wonder if this is a sign of the type of folk who practise Thelema or the result of practising it. 

I am clearly not a Thelemite, nor do I know the first thing in any real sense about the subject matter; this made it an extremely interesting day out for me. Expecting to be hurled off the deep end and to feel utterly adrift from the swirl of discussion, I was surprised and pleased to feel as included as I think I could have done; I could make sense of the lectures and get them into context. 

The running order was as follows; Peter Grey and Alkistis Dimech : Babalon, an Evocative Glimpse; Mike Magee : Shiva, Shakti and the Five Senses; Melissa Harrington : Thelema and the Feminine Pt II; Charlotte Rodgers : Taboo and Blood Rites; Jake Stratton-Kent : Goetic Magic and the Grimorium Verum; and David Beth on Voudon Gnosis.

I took copious notes, apart from the last speaker; for whatever reason a fuse went in my head and I couldn’t make head or tail of the lecture from a note-taking perspective, which is not to say David Beth was unintelligible – far from it. It was just so far outside my frame of reference that I put my pen away and concentrated on what he was saying. I’m glad I did, because it was fascinating. More details here.

Sketches follow of my take on the main themes of the talks – I will be writing up lecture notes shortly if anyone would like copies. If I have misrepresented any of the speakers, it is through ignorance; do let me know and I’ll be happy to reframe my comments to reflect the subject matter more accurately.

Babalon: an Evocative Glimpse – this was a new look at the subject matter, from a comparative perspective. There’s clearly a great deal of feeling within Thelema about the differing ways Babalon, the Scarlet Woman, is portrayed. To me, this piece presented Babalon in a different light to the traditional representation in the Bible – it discussed the subversion of the image and the removal of her power; stripped of her glamour she’s rolled in the dirt, raped and ridiculed by patriarchy and those who follow the biblical God. This piece and the companion piece by Alkistis Dimech that followed called for an honest reappraisal of Babalon. How should we see her? Give her back her majesty and her jewels and her glamour and her power and stop seeing her as an archetypal strong, strident whore. She is what she is – if she’s a whore, it’s because the world says she’s so. We should celebrate the blood, power, sex, dirt and pleasure she brings. Love is the central point of her being – are we ready for it?

Transcripts of their pieces can be found here at Scarlet Imprint - they were strong and fearless and quite wonderful. Very emotional. I’d like to go over them again, in detail, at leisure.

Shiva, Shakti and the Five Senses – Mike Magee endeared himself to the audience by admitting, quite matter-of-factly, that he’d been expelled both from the order he founded and a subsequent one; whoops and cheers and ‘Go Yourself!’s from the audience pleased me no end. The whole crowd was partisan and happy to be there, supportive and sincerely interested. No factionism, at least none displayed. Keen to listen and contribute. Makes other conferences I’ve attended in the pagan world look a little flat. Where’s the partisanship in Wicca, for example? Get 60 Wiccans of whatever stripe in a room together and they’ll pick a fight within 5 minutes. I find this a bit sad in comparison with these happy Thelemic types. I bet they argue too; just not when they’re trying to celebrate their similarities. Good on ‘em! Well, digression over, let’s get back to the matter in hand.

From what I could gather (this was one of those times I felt the lack of clear grounding in the subject matter) the discussion centred around a Left Hand Tantric Tradition, the second degree of which comprised 26 weekly exercises designed to expand and encourage the feeling of the centre of the self, which is seen as the centre of knowing. The aim was the relating of many differing forms of Shiva and Shakti to the self, by developing the senses. In the first week, the identification of as many shades of grey as possible, with specific reference to when those shades may have been seen before during the celebrant’s life; the point being to relate previous life experience to the now and the future, and to relearn lessons perhaps forgotten. The next week centred on listening, gauging conversations for what was not said; week three might focus on taste, week four on smell, and so on.

The premise was that we are all so ignorant of the world around us, so uncaring of impression. We don’t know what affects our essential natures, and so we can’t alter them. The knower, the means of knowing and the known are all forms of consciousness. More information on this from www.shivashakti.com as there’s no doubt I’ve missed the greater part of the point.

Thelema and the Feminine Part II saw Melissa Harrington take the stage. A Wiccan, Thelemite, practising magician, mother and wife, as well as an academic, she was completely fired up and ready to go from the off. Her Part I had been delivered at the last Symposium, which I gather was 10 years ago, and was a success even then.

I loved the way she spoke, and felt resonance with many of the things she said. Her position was in polite counterpoint to Peter Gray. She saw a masculine and chauvanistic tone to Thelema in general; the OTO and more recent Thelemic organisations are largely male led. She called it ‘boys’ magic’ in counterpoint to witchy, more visceral women’s magic.

The main entree currently to Thelema for women seems to be via their male partner. Can Thelema draw women? Does it want to? Several commentators have spoken, which Harrington summarised thus;

Tim Maloney – a largely androcentric approach.

Karl Abrahamsson (apols for incorrect spelling, I’m doing all this phonetically) ‘Get out it you don’t like it!’ (cue loud and appreciative laughter and clapping from the floor).

SubRosa (BabalonNew forum) Thelema is genderless in theory. In practice, of course, it is androcentric. The Sacred Feminine is there but not yet fully awake. Women are not yet active enough in divining their own role. ‘Let the re-evolution begin!’.

Parenthood has changed Harrington’s view of Thelema. She is in intense opposition to Crowley, and finds his treatment of his Scarlet Women shoddy at best. She feels him to have been incapable of facing his own responsibilities, and that he blamed his Scarlet Women for their own problems.

Thelema and the feminine is difficult because the divine feminine is too close to being a prostitute. This is the worst example of female oppression and exploitation by men. A whore cannot be sacred; she is chattel. So in the end, who loves Babalon? Who nurtures the Scarlet Woman? Is Babalon, and hence Thelema, in the final analysis, barren?

Harrington called for a book focussing on Crowley’s Scarlet Women in their own right, as people and magical practitioners. She recommended Gray’s ‘Book of the Scarlet Goddesses’, and suggested feminist Thelemites should quit, have a drink, and remake the model in their own image.

Taboo and Blood Rites saw Charlotte Rodgers come forward. This woman was the most interesting of the day’s speakers for me. Admittedly flawed and damaged by her practice, and quite happy to confess mistakes in judgement, she is guided by the magical and transformative, and fascinated by that which crosses the boundaries of ‘acceptable’ life. She has spent 8 years submersed in experiential and academic research, and stresses her personal approach to the subject matter.

The subject matter, it must be said, will not be everyone’s cup of tea, a phrase she later got a big laugh with when used in context. She researches blood rites; namely, those rites involving her own venous and menstrual blood. Coming from an anthropological background, as I do, it doesn’t seem horrific that some choose to let their own blood and use it in rite; rather, I’m interested in the theory. When one is concerned with stripping away boundaries, particularly in the West, one must try pretty hard. 

Taboo and the origins of the word were discussed, and Charlotte’s interest in ritualised sigilisation in the form of tattoos and scarification – the deliberate emplacement of pattern to effect change.

Menstruation and her research into it was covered; she is dissatisfied with male researches into to the subject and sees woman as a battery, whose energy can be used differently at varying times in her cycle. A recommendation of reading material, the Thunder Perfect Mind of the Nag Hammadi gospels, hit home to me; and her description of the use of blood on mirrors to draw the other half of the self and effect the world beyond struck a nerve; who has not, as a child, tried to speak to and act upon the person in the mirror?

Goetic Magic and Jake Stratton-Kent’s talk upon it was the last one I was able to note. Jake gave a very engaging and comprehensive overview of the Grimorium Verum, together with some crafty sideswipes at other Goetic magicians, particularly those who (over) emphasise the Solomon the King grimoire. He disputes the general translation of the term ‘goetia’ as ‘howling’, and suggests ‘lamenting’ as more appropriate, given that Goas were those who lamented at funerals. Goetia is concerned with the dead, with the earth, and not with any celestial or imparted religions. Its primary role was benign, in the laying of ghosts and the settling of unquiet spirits. The other use was necromancy, the temporary retrieval of spirits from the underworld to work on one’s behalf in divination. the most sinister aspect is the calling of such spirits for purposes other than divination.

The identity of the operator makes goetia what it is. There is no celestial authority, and therefore the practice has its own morality, world view and as such forms the basis of the whole Western tradition of magic.

These are necessarily tiny extracts of the talks, probably skewed entirely away from the main thrust of the speakers’ intentions. For this I apologise, but I was so overwhelmed by the level of information that I just got my head down and scribbled. 20 sides of notes. Argh! But what a wonderful day. Thank you, one and all, for putting it on. I shall attend next year.

The Sum of the Parts

When we work together as pairs or groups, what are our expectations? It might be fair to expect a larger group to generate more energy, or better focused energy, but we know from our least experience that this doesn’t happen; quite often, the reverse is true. The politics and compromise of group work can dissipate the power potential, leaving us less than the sum of the parts assembled.

When you work alone, you deal only with your own limitations; your own fears and doubts and your own imagination. How big is the room? As big as you can envisage. Or as small.

When you work in pairs, especially if you find a good formula, the world is literally made small and you rise above it and can see the facts, see the truth; this happened again with Seshat last evening.

I find it consistently amazing that I can gather for a working and be stressed, insufficiently grounded and prepared, anxious, not calm, and Seshat can bring me gently down and park me in the circle. About halfway through our devotions last night, I came back to my body with a little bump and suddenly felt my calm running through me again like a cool dark river.

We worked for strength for the people in our lives, and sent out our love, and asked for strength for ourselves too; today I feel like a new person. After we’d given our river offerings and said our prayers, I leapt into the air and yawped, loudly, into the dark cold air, nose to the stars, and capered with glee.

I worked towards Hecate; goddess of the crossroads, anger, underworld, air and darkness, to lend me her fury and dispatch and knowledge of the Way.

So what do I make of this? I see that together we’ve a strength that is largely untapped as yet; I see that the parts of ourselves that we offer to the circle click together into a vast, shadowy three-dimensional object, the function of which we don’t understand, and which we’re not likely to.

Our gods and goddesses are different, our approaches are different, even our ideas about the Way are different. This difference brings diversity, strength, infinitude of opportunity for opinion and new horizons to open before us. It makes us think. We are not hermetically sealed within a system, trying to reach out; we’re already out, flying in the limitless cold clarity of the air around.

 So our un-understood machine – will it hurt us? Do we need to understand to have it work for us? I don’t think it matters – it might be frightening to imagine the wheels grinding into life, but we’ve accomplished great things so far, on tickover. Overdrive might be an interesting experience.

Off Away!

Heading West again this weekend to visit with TSW and Shepherdess… superb. This will a pretty interesting visit, as it’s social but also heavily business-focused. Not to titillate your tastebuds too much!

We could certainly do with some time off. I spent all my working week reeling from pillar to post, this week; neither comfortable nor stress-free. And the neighbours at our new little house seem to do everything except sleep at night-time. I counted three separate entries and exits (slammed doors, revving cars, shouting into mobiles) between 2.30am and 4.30am. I’m a really light sleeper – most of the time I’m not technically ‘asleep’ as I still have the ears-on-elastic thing from having a baby. Added to which, new houses are built of matchwood and pencil shavings, so if you cough it sounds like a bomb dropping.

I will be online, try and keep me away.

So we leave the tatty suburban street of the hometown and head out into the golden misty West… cue music! And someone promised us Beef Wellington and Tiramisu, too. Talk about Avalon…

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Well, there’s no real words to describe the excellence and sumptuous wonderfulness of this weekend. We arrived stressed, after hitting the back of the 50-mile tailback from Cribbs Causeway to Cornwall. After a protracted tussle with the map and a cross-country meander, we crossed the line into Somerset. There’s an indescribable peace and contentment that I feel when I enter this county – I’ve never lived here, and have no family connection. It’s green, bucolic, rich and fertile, with deep hollows between the hills that hide the most beautiful villages in England. The pink and gold Hamstone that they use to build with here contrasts with the wisteria, parthenocissus, clematis and greenness of the gardens and glows in the shallow evening light that pours across the fields. It’s a promised land, a dream. I love it to distraction.

We dropped straight into easy banter and gathering around the kitchen table we got on with doing the dinner, lubricating the proceedings with blackcurrant vodka, and cooking up a storm. Afternoon shaded into evening as we ate the fruits of our labours and then kicked back with vats of wine for a gossip and a giggle, and then a dance!

TSW’s brow lightened after a few jars; her back has been giving her untold grief and agony. It was lovely to see the wine doing its work and enabling her to put me royally through my paces as a belly dancer – she looked great, but I looked like a cat on hot bricks although I really got the feel for the music – I’d love to have another shot at this.

We settled to bed fairly late and I was hammered, but pleasantly – no hangover whatsoever in the morning and I slept like a log, as did Mr GW. Awakened slowly by the contented sotto voce cluckings and meanderings of the local chickens. Freshly made and delightful coffee, local fresh-squeezed bramley apple juice, and a heritage breakfast of award winning sausages and bacon, local bread and free-range scrambled eggs followed. This is food the way it’s supposed to be produced. From the area, personally chosen, carefully produced, lovingly cooked and greedily devoured!

TSW took us on a tour of the local villages – cue much drooling from me – and a visit to a cider mill. Wonderful stoneware flagons of local cider and some beeswax candles that smell of honey, somnolent sluggishness and the peace of bees. 

We left, comforted and cheered on our way, like we were stepping out of a magic circle but somehow retaining the virtue of it on our drive north. Such a lot has been decided this weekend, such a lot of issues resolved. I have to thank my friends; they are responsible for all the good things that have been achieved – and they cook a mean Welly to boot!

Technological Gnorls

What do you do if your umbilicus to the Net gets cut?

We have had to move out of our lovely burrow recently to enable a large insurance repair to take place; the details are both sordid and disgusting but suffice to say there’s ‘dirty water’ where it should not be. Three months in the future we should be able to move home; until then, the family is ‘on vacation’ at a lovely little rented place at the top of the town!

The problem is there’s no phone line, because we can’t have one fitted for less than a year (thanks to the jobsworths at BT) and now I’m a song without a voice. Blogging at lunchbreak and when I hit the office early won’t do the job!! I think I have a solution to the problem, involving the boss’s third best laptop and a PCMIA pay as you go card.

It raises an interesting question about communication; I didn’t realise until I faced the prospect of disconnection how much of my life is lived in the Net. Where would I be without my network of bloggers and my forums to anchor me down? Where would I meet my compatriots in order to plan our strategems and look forward to future enjoyments? How would I even keep up with my correspondence? Paper, telephone, all hopelessly outmoded and worse than useless for this sort of work.

One of the things I love so much about conducting my pagan life on the net is that there’s no barrier to the confluence of ideas. It’s like a roomful of likeminded people. Actually, it’s better than that, because everyone’s got room to sit down, there’s enough air, drinks when you need them and there’s an automatic record of what was said.

So I will be here; by hook, crook or broom, I will not stray far. There’s too much exciting stuff going on for me to want to be away from it for a single day.

The Regency – Ken Rees

Despite the sideshow that evolved from and because of the above lecture, the point of the afternoon hasn’t passed me by, nor anyone else who was there, I suspect. I’m going to try and give an overview of the topic. I should say at this point that Ken Rees handed out reference materials, upon which I draw and which I will acknowledge.

As I mentioned in my previous post, Rees was keen to stress his academic approach. I took this to mean as opposed to  a purely spiritual or personally interested approach, although Rees is a pagan and clearly got a lot out of The Regency in a spiritual sense.

The Regency rose out of the Clan of Tubal-Cain and the Royal Windsor Cuveen, after the death of Robert Cochrane in 1966. The 1734 group was another off-shoot. The word ‘Regency’ can be seen to have several possible meanings. One, it may be a reference to the son of Robert Cochrane, and the group’s determination to rule in his stead until he reached his majority. Two, it could refer to the struggle within each member to exchange the present self, by dint of effort, for the ‘regent-in-waiting’ or the higher self.  The third and perhaps most controversial meaning is that of the rulers in stead of the True King, in this case Arthur, who will rise to rule England once again; of which more later.

The Regency are characterised by Rees as ‘neo-pagan’ to differentiate them from other pagan groups, and especially from Wicca. Wicca has some superficial similarities to The Regency’s operations, for example the worship of a Goddess and God, and observance of a round of yearly festivals, but in fact The Regency appears remarkably different on examination.

It was a largely oral tradition, for one thing; for another, the festivals celebrated throughout the year depended upon The Reading of the Festivals of the Year, which took place about a month prior to Yule (Rees 2008). The festival of the year were then subdivided into those for the Goddess (Candlemas, May Eve, Lammas and Hallowe’en) and those for the Gods (plural) (Yule, Twelfth Night, Spring Equinox, May Eve, Midsummer, Autumn Equinox and Hallowe’en). Yule was the beginning of the year and the end; the 23rd December was called ‘The Dead of the Year’ and a fast was observed (Rees 2008). 

You will have noted the reference to Gods plural; on the night of 23rd December the Star Child – called Robin – was born and the year cycle began. At midsummer, Robin died after rejection by the Goddess, and was reborn as a mature man, winning feats of valour and along with victory the hand of the Goddess in marriage.

(There is a great deal of detail to the lecture material passed out by Rees; while I would like to post it in its entirety I feel I cannot. It’s very interesting stuff, but a summary will have to do! So I return now to my lecture notes.)

These premises can be seen to differ in wide and interesting ways from the prevalent Wiccan traditions of the time. Gardnerian Wicca was perhaps a little more restrained, in the closet, elusive; Alexandrian Wicca was patently none of these things! From 1966 onwards, The Regency met regularly, only meeting inside for the first year and then taking all operations out of doors, primarily into one tract of woodland in North London. From the 1970’s it appears that just about everyone who was anyone in the pagan world used to show up for meetings. The circle was open, and you could introduce a friend. In fact, Rees told us he even took students along with him, so there was no hint of exclusivity or invisibility about this group.  For the time, I think this is remarkable.

From 1974 onwards, the rituals became much less formal, and would include a period of meditation; the whole of the wood was used, with movement between special trees, sacred groves and so forth. Women and men were separated for some of the time to engage in Women’s and Men’s Mysteries. Rees said he had no idea what the women got up to, except sometimes he heard them screaming (!) but one of his tests as a man, to vie for the hand of the Goddess, was to scrunch holly leaves in his bare palm. Ouch! 

Rees was never a member of the Inner Circle, which clearly existed. Ron White, later venerated along with George Winter as a cornerstone of The Regency, had sought to take the group along slightly darker and arguably slightly murky paths; in 1967 he called a moot at which he demanded an oath of allegiance to the express intention to restore Arthur’s England – one of the tenets was to disbar all those of black heritage, Europeans and Jews from membership. Only two out of the assembled party agreed to take the oath, and Ruth Wilson Owen threatened him with dismissal for such an act.

What makes anyone muddy the water in this frankly naive way? I think this was the one great unanswered question in the lecture, and a point on which I’d be interested to learn more. The conflation of Arthur’s England with a lowest-common-denominator racist attitude by Ron White seems to have done him no favours. Did The Regency feel it needed to make this point? From the evidence presented, it would appear White was acting alone. 

These points aside, these is an interesting mismatch between Robin and Arthur as characters; Rees made the case that Robin is more closely associated with the Lionheart, Richard III, and not Richard I. He finds the mythological construct unconvincing. However, as archetypes these two figure might work better.

In all, The Regency seemed to be ahead of its time. There were no oaths, similar to the new forms of Solitary and Eclectic Wicca. There were no fees to join, no secrecy and no grades. Tied to the spirit of the country that spawned it, The Regency made much of its sense of place, of worship using native figures, symbology and materials, and seems a very creative and, despite its perhaps backward-looking attitude to female equality, a very inclusive group.

A Perfect Weekend

To Somerset, to visit dear friends S and K, who welcomed me in, and bade me be at home. Nothing could have pleased me more!

Saturday was gorgeous; a visit to Glastonbury made me laugh at some of the more eclectic types wandering about, but there but for the grace of the Goddess…. nearly bought a fake flower and ribbon chaplet but managed to restrain myself when I saw the price!

S took me to the Chalice Well Garden – amazingly beautiful.  Here’s a few pictures which may or may not do justice to the orderly and well-stocked state of the garden, which could best be described as being of a sumptuous simplicity. If only I could get mine to look like this!

The collonade was simply amazing. A calming and centring entry to the garden proper.

The pool was a gorgeous rill, across odd-shaped pans, and the noise was indescribably soothing and calming. The water runs all the way from the top of the garden, in the well proper, to the foot. The energy likewise flows down the hill and away across the plain. Quite the most lovely place I’ve been this year.

… and here’s the well itself. We forgot ribbons; but I was able to cobble an offering together. I felt accepted, and the strength and peace the visit gave me has lasted.

We had a superb dinner out on the Saturday night – two druids, myself, S and K: between the five of us we cleared the restaurant. Too funny. Drank a skinful, retired extremely pissed at 1.30am and not a trace of hangover in the morning – even better!

The place in which my friends live is so soft, so welcoming, so much the opposite of harsh and unfriendly. It’s a world within a world, totally isolated and approachable only by single-track lanes. It’s like a magical hideaway.

I don’t know how to say how much this weekend has meant to me; the gifts, the cheer, the encouragement; rare people and a rare place; perfection.

 

Beltaine

Loreena McKennitt- Huron ‘Beltane’ Fire Dance

As a symbol of hope, of growth for the future, nothing beats Beltaine. The fires of renewal will burn, and the Goddess and the God will meet in the wildwood and become one.

I will be praising Them, and making offerings, tonight. Red thread on the Rowan tree, milk and cakes below, a small fire with prayers for those who have troubles, and wishes for the future twisting up from the bowl in the smoke and sparks to meet with the Moon above.

I’m posting this uplifting and purposeful piece of music after being inspired to do so by beweaver. This should get us in the mood! Blessings to all on this great day in the year.

Wonderful Gift

During my visit to Somerset, S gave me possibly the best present any witch can give another… a cloak. Navy blue fleece, trimmed in black, with a deep hood. It reminds me of the dark night’s sky, and to that end I’m planning some embellishment!

It’s at least 6 inches too long, so I’m going to take it up, and embroider a clasp panel to go onto the neck. Instead of a catch, it has a solid panel of material,  which goes round your neck. Perfect for a 4″ x 6″ embroidery panel. And then, the back!!

I have no idea what should go here… except it will be silver, and that it’s waay beyond my capabilities as a seamstress to do the work. Planning and, I hope, Divine Inspiration to follow! Mercian, here we come!