Garr ,when I feel ill, I feel ILL, and no mistake.

I spent the whole of Tuesday sleeping, getting up for five minutes and staring blearily at my partner before being hustled off back to bed again, and falling asleep immediately. It was like someone had removed most of my higher brain. Useless for anything except breathing in and out. Tea appeared, piping hot and strong, at regular intervals; as did nurofen and glasses of water. Pillow plumping and shaking out of the duvet, soothing of brow and gentle bossing about to stop me doing stuff I shouldn’t. I got caught watering the geraniums in the sitting room, received a quiet ticking-off and was sent back to bed once more.

It’s lovely to be able to rely so much on another person. I don’t find this sort of thing easy to do at all. Apparently I give the impression of being generally invulnerable. Not when I’m ill, I’ll promise you.

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.

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.

… 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!!

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.

… 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.

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.

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.

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.

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!