It is an old story.  A man leaves.  Sets off for pastures new, wife and children left wondering, an echoing space in the home, too many unanswered questions.

Seven summers ago a marriage ended.  After the event you can see the signs, but in the middle of it?  You’re thrown into the need to deal with practicality.  With how on earth to pay the bills, how to fill the screen wash on your car, or check tyre pressures, how to manage the confusion and pain of sons who worship their father.

You roll up your sleeves.  Your mother did this, when your father went away overseas, the Queen’s shilling calling.  Your grandmother did this when the air raid sirens wailed over Kent and her husband was missing in transit on his return from the Far East.  Your great grandmother did this when her husband had to go out to fight fires in Ramsgate or rode cavalry in the Great War.  It is in your blood.  No fuss.  No tears.  Tie your hair back. Do what needs doing.  Your foremothers showed you how.  It is your story.  No drama.  Get on with it.

You are good at this.  You organise as easily as breathing.  The raw pain is soothed by sorting, by managing.  Over time the story moves on, you begin to let go of the man, the marriage.  You begin to write your own story.  You engage with therapies. Take responsibility for your own life.  Remember who you are.  The wheel turns.  You find a new love, someone who knows you in a way that seems impossible.  You begin to build a home together, blend a family.  There is much to be thankful for and life becomes richer and fuller than before.

But she is waiting.  A quiet shadow, a bruised a damaged woman, mud streaked and tattered.  Her eyes are haunting and her cheeks tear-streaked.  Your grief.

Because in the confusion and the making do you did not give her room.  And in releasing the man and the marriage you forgot to weep for what you lost.  Twenty years of life.  Dreams, hopes, wishes.  The work of years to help another find their path, build their career, the promises, broken and remade.  All because you love and believe.  All because your faith teaches you this is the way it has to be.  No fuss.  No tears.  Get on with it.  He loves you, he loves you not.  He is going, he is staying.  Losing yourself, sacrificing yourself.  Allowing another to steal your life, sitting by and watching yourself give it all away.

And today she arrives.  Eyes red.  Barely able to see as you negotiate the road home, struggling to breathe, for air.  She reminds me that it isn’t the loss of the person or the relationship.  It is the theft of a life.  My life.  Two decades.  And not even this.  Not to blame and rage and curse another.  But to know that I allowed it.

This beginning.  This opening.  Raw.  Jagged. Leaving me unable to think or move, cutting through me.  Just a start.  The work comes now.

Time has come to face what is lost.  The days, weeks and years.  The moments.  The missing husbands down four generations.  I will take a spade.  I will dig in the earth.  Fighting the stones for space, for release.  I will take paper and ink and write down what is lost.  I will add herbs and stones for blessing, for letting go. I will whisper to the breeze of the things done, remembered, wished, hoped.  I will burn it to ash and bury it deep in the earth cauldron.  And the earth mother and the air sister will take my dreams and weave a spell of healing and release.  In the dark silence of the soil something will end.  And begin.  In the losing I will find the beginning.  And be born again.

 

Come with me down to the river.  We’ll park by the village hall.  You’ve got the towels, I’ve got coffee and biscuits.  We walk down the path next to the Stour.  It’s banks are lush with red campion and the willows bend down to kiss the water.  We pass the play park, the old mill houses,  past the weir and the walls of blackberries beginning to ripen.  Walking further we come to a huge tree, it’s good for climbing.  Today someone has pitched their tent under its shelter.  Opposite is a rambling house, red shingles covering the first floor walls, its garden coming down to the water’s edge.

We pass through the cycle gate into a wide meadow, yarrow is blooming all along the path and I wish I’d brought some scissors so I can take it home to dry, yarrow tea will be helpful come the winter cold season.  You press on, you can see the pumping station and know we’re nearly there.  We stop at the wide patch of grass, put on our wet shoes and clamber down the bank.  I get a bramble hooked in my arm and have to pause while I free myself.  We step down carefully onto the wide gravel ledge, feeling the cold slip into our shoes.  You go in front, stepping down until the water reaches your knees, it’s cold and deep after yesterday’s rains.  I follow and gasp, then stop to watch the minnows swimming in shafts of sunlight.

You’re braver than me and push on through the cold until you launch yourself and head out towards the opposite bank, swimming in wide circles.  I work my way out, swinging my arms through the water, struggling to breathe as the cold reaches my rib cage.  I have dreamed of this moment, setting out, free, into the open water.  It sums up something inside me, a wish to break the rules, to take a chance, to experience the real wild world.

I am so close now, another few inches and I can push out.  But my feet stay rooted.  I am not sure.  And in the end I do not trust the river.  Or myself.  I feel and growing sense of “no”.  I can’t.  It is at this point that I want to re-write the story.  Say that I overcame my fear, that I did it anyway, that I was stronger than my conditioning.  Not today.  Today I make my way back into shallower water.  I am convinced that with that extra step, that push, I will cease.  I am sad.  But not surprised.

Walking back, picking blackberries as we go, I wonder about this.  What stops me?  It isn’t just about swimming in the river, though that is part of it, the completely open, unsanitised, unsanctioned space, with no signs or lifeguards.  It is about trusting myself.  Believing that I can, and that I am allowed.  It is about permission and the ability to scream “Towanda!” and take the plunge.

I am edging closer to that space, I am working my way there, each day, each moon brings me closer.  But gently, holding my own hand, speaking soothingly and with compassion to my scared, bruised soul.  Peace.  All is well.

Last new moon, in our temple space, one of the Melissa priestesses encouraged us to ask a question of the Faerie’s Oracle.  I had not even considered faery before, I knew about flower fairies, from when I was younger, but had never been a fan.  I had always pigeon-holed fairies in the realm of children’s literature.  The reading I received, though, was powerful and apt and I began to explore further.

Firstly I adopted the intention to see magic, wonder and grace in each day.  My reading had suggested that in becoming a faery godmother for others I would see these gifts in my own life too.  Working with the image of a sleeves-rolled-up, hair tied back, ready to get stuck in kind of model (rather than a ball-gown wearing, tiared beauty) I set about my work.  It’s slow going and some days I don’t manage to fly in a straight line, or get my wishes muddled, but we’re underway.

Secondly I began reading Your Fairy Magic by Halo Quin.  This compact book covers an introduction to the faery kingdom, a list of resources and clear and accessible exercises to access your faery heart.  I’ve found it a wonderful companion on the journey so far.

Thirdly I’ve been working through the exercises in the book, connecting with my faery self, setting up my faery altar and making a journey to my own faery temple (you can listen to the journey on my facebook page here).

As with all journeys this is just the beginning.  I am still tentatively wobbling my way forwards, I am not yet sure I have enough faith or imagination to jump right in, my inner sceptic is loud and shouts at me a lot, but I want to believe,  and I’m willing to trust that the way of faery offers a wise and enchanting path to engage with our world, connected to nature and seeking magic in everyday.

It’s now almost two moons since I began working with Vanessa Sage on her Sage Priestess certification.  The journal I’ve been working through provides a chance to reflect on the path I’m traveling.  I am struggling to put something so deep into words, it is felt, in my body, my breath, as much as anything, thought is only partially capable of capturing the essence; the deep soul song, dancing in my body, heart beat drumming the pulse, shimmering, shining, graceful, full of joy and love.

When I began in May I was feeling fractured, longing for the freedom and joy in life that I recall from childhood, the daydream wanderings and wonderings, hours to stare at clouds, to follow the twisting paths of imagination.  I was aware that in practical terms there remains a need for me to go out into the world and engage with work and grocery shopping and care for my family.  My question was how can I embody the priestess and be authentic, real and grounded?

I spent several weeks downloading resources, attending our online groups, listening to inspiring teachers and learning from my sisters in the circle.  I began to get back into an old mindset of achieving, doing, worrying about being “good enough”.  Wise words from Vanessa reminded me to show up as I was, where I was.

As I worked with my intention to be present something shifted downwards.  A sense of rootedness, of being entirely at home in myself and my situation.  So that “being” a priestess, ultimately, is about being most entirely myself.  There will be no one pattern, though there will be common threads, a desire to heal, to serve, to hold sacred space, to listen, to create, to share vision.  The details will depend on the priestess.  Some of us are full time workers on this path; guiding others, leading workshops, teaching yoga or practising healing therapies.  For some of us our priestessing is worked out in our gardens, our employment, our acts of creativity.

The seeds I am working with, as I prepare for the next cycle, are; being present, connected, authentic.  Being wholly human and divinely blessed.  Being prepared to show up and be seen as I am. Seeking magic, wonder and grace in each day.

(Images from the Everyday Witch Tarot)

 

In the style of a lifestyle magazine here are nine of the steps I’ve taken to connect with the sacred feminine, as an offering and a signpost; gotta love a “how to” list ❤

1. Read Women Who Run with the Wolves by Clarissa Pinkola Estes.  This book literally changed my life, the stories which begin each chapter are magical and the explanations about how these link to wild feminine spirituality and life are deeply moving. 
2. Journal.  Write or blog your journey.  Once I’d started looking for my wild feminine self and seeking the Goddess there were signs and synchronicities all around.  In dreams, in the natural world.  Tracking the journey helps me to see where I’ve come from and ponder where I am.  It begins to clarify the patterns and spirals I’m moving through.
3. Watch Women and Spirituality: Full Circle for an accessible introduction to the women’s spirituality movement born in the seventies and eighties.
4. Learn to breathe.  Move out of your head and breathe into your heart and belly.  Begin to allow your body to teach you what you need.
5. Connect with Gaia.  Sit on the ground outside.  Place your palms on the earth.  Breathe slowly and feel for the energy of Mother Earth.  Allow her to hold you.  When you’re ready send love back through the palms of your hands into the earth.
6. Sign up to Vanessa Sage’s wonderful (and free!) Meet the Goddess course.   You will receive five Goddess prompts and can work at your own pace as you explore different  goddesses and aspects of She and connect through daily reflection. 
7. Connect with natural rhythms.  Work with Joanna Powell Colbert’s 30 Days courses over at Gaian Soul.  These take place around each of the eight festivals of the Wheel of the Year.  You’ll receive a daily email with an art focus, a reflection and a journal prompt.  Joanna has such a wealth of wisdom and grace to share and this has transformed my understanding of the natural world and rhythms, as well as introducing me to a range of goddess stories and practices, and encouraging me to get creative.  Each course is available for $19.  Also check out The Moon is my Calendar for April McMurty’s work.  I’m just beginning this work but it’s already helping me to be more focused about what I’m working on with intention setting and what I’m releasing each moon. I’m learning to work with my ebbs and flows.
8. Connect with your intuition.  There’s a knowing within each of us which is drowned out by mental chatter and book learning.  Reaching down to your solar plexus you might be able to feel it, that sense that allows you to know when someone isn’t being wholly truthful, or when something good is coming your way.  I’ve been working with tarot and oracle cards.  I started with The Alternative Tarot course at Little Red Tarot.  My current favourite decks are the New Age Hipster Instaoracle (it’s so much fun and  both accessible and deeply insightful in readings) and the Green Witch Tarot (because, witches!)
9. Join a circle.  It’s not easy to find groups where we can feel safe sharing our woo woo selves, heck it’s not easy sometimes looking in the mirror and admitting it’s safe to let our soul out to shine.  Virtual groups are brilliant and I’ve made friends all over the world through these. The pop-tastic Vix at New Age Hipster has just launched her group The Circle and I’m over the moon about being a part of that.  Alternatively you might want to look for a Red Tent group, these usually meet on or near the full moon and provide sacred, safe spaces for women to gather and share.  The Red Tent Directory covers groups in Britain and Europe.

 

This is a thought at the moment.  It’s no news to anyone that our modern, western lives can be hectic.  I have spent the past nine years seeking to create balance and space in life.  Some days it feels like an uphill scramble.  I’ve used all kinds of strategies.  Blocking out time in my diary, taking retreat days, going out for walks.  Most recently I’ve been taking some time each morning for meditation and reflection.  All good.

Only I don’t stick to it.  I can go so far and then something happens, one of the cats gets sick and I need to dash to the vets, one of the boys needs a lift, a client calls for a last minute appointment, stressed and at the end of their tether, a school call for an urgent assessment, someone really in need and the end of term deadlines approaching.

The first thing that goes is my space.  The time I have carved out.  Because it’s selfish not to.  This is what I learned growing up.  We all do.  Your own needs come last.  Be polite, go last, give up your seat.  And so on. And so forth.  Of course its not ever that simple.  Of course we don’t want to be selfish, or rude, or unkind.  But where is the line?

Like most things, for me, it’s a work in progress.  And the key word of the year is…boundaries.  In my mind it’s a line in the sand, a picket fence, a castle wall, thus far and no further, barbed wire and guard dogs, harsh and forbidding.  I feel it like an aberration.  Shutting other people out goes against my conditioning, keep the door open, be hospitable, go the extra mile, turn the other cheek.

What I have found, and you may have too, is that this takes me to burn out.  I run out of whatever I have to give and then I just keep on giving.  It becomes a kind of compulsion.  A pattern of behaving that I can’t shake.  An addiction.  I know now when I’m in the danger zone, my head starts to spin, my body begins to feel achey and tight.  I am starting to see the signs.  Some days I even pay attention!

Speaking with a wise woman the other evening I was introduced to the idea of containers.  The essence of the thought is that we need them.  All shapes and sizes.  It’s good to flow and give and flood our way through life, it’s good to pour out our souls in service to the world.  We can bring blessings to others this way, we can bring nourishment and refreshment.  But we need edges.  Finding our edges, recognising them, holding the line, is a life’s work.  Without edges I’m going to be nothing but a puddle, spreading ineffectually around, energy seeping into the cracks, getting lost.  With edges I take shape, can be something useful, a drink maybe, or even better a river, contained but flowing free and powerful.  Boundaries, edges, in this sense become protective but not defensive, they give form to the energy of our selves.

The realisation is always  a shock.  When I see the pattern begin to repeat.  But I’m learning that catching myself before I’ve fallen in is a win.  I am going to reach for my edges, feel them, breathe to them and allow them to hold me.  I make this resolution today.  I will probably be making it again next week.  I will keep on.  Practice, patience and compassion.

I wrote this last June and a conversation this morning on the wild woman reminded me of it…

The knocking has been there for months.  At first it was quiet, mistaken for air in the pipes or the cat in the next room. With the lapse of days it grew more insistent.

One night it is enough.  The knocking is by now a hard, heavy, heart-beat hammering and I need to find out why.  The house is empty; I am alone.  Fearful.  I drag the table across the floor, pull back the rug.  There is door in the floor, a cellar door, heavy, dark wood, old and marked.  The handle is rusted and it takes all my effort to twist it, to feel the latch shift underneath.  I pull it upwards and aside.

She is there.  Hands bruised and bleeding from her knocking. Eyes sharp with wildfire and lightning.  For a moment I am afraid.  Her hair is matted, her face dirty.  She climbs quickly up into the light, lithe and fluid like a grass snake, flowing into the waking world.

I stand back, cautious, unsure, her gaze pierces and disturbs, she sees through the shadow of flesh to soul’s truth and knows me.

She reaches out to me, pulls me in close and in this sudden embrace comes a flood-tide of memory, rushing, pouring through thought and into the marrow of my self.  A homecoming.

I’m on a healing journey.  It would be hard to say when it started but it’s been particularly relevant the past year.  Last week I was talking with a friend and I began to wonder how will I know when I’m better?  When I think about being well what am I expecting?

I think I had the idea that better was, maybe, perfect.  No aches and pains, no tiredness or dizziness, boundless energy.  And when I think about that idea of better I realise that that isn’t what it is.  Because that wasn’t where I started.

In any case where I started and where I finish won’t be the same place.  When I began experiencing this set of symptoms I was in a very different place.  I was in a full time job, addicted to overwork, functioning with old patterns that were no longer helpful.  I don’t want to go back to that.

So when I think about feeling better I realise I am closer to that place than I have been before and that in turning through a spiral of the year I find myself looking back with fresh eyes.

Where I will end up is unknown, in any case I am starting to understand that there isn’t an end point, at least not in this physical life.  But the journey is one of my greatest teachers.   I am learning to work with reiki, crystals, meditation, walking, nature, writing and diet for better health.  I am learning to be honest about who I am. All these, along with the support of an excellent therapist, are drawing me back into my body and leading me to greater self-care.

The word “better” is deceiving.  It implies that what was before was worse, when in truth it was only different.  Am I better?  No.  But I am becoming whole.

The past few years I’ve been becoming more aware of natural rhythms. I know that it started with the moon.  I began to look for her in the sky, to notice her shifting phases.  Then a random Facebook post introduced me to the Celtic wheel of the year and I began to find out more. I’m especially conscious of this this week having recently celebrated the summer solstice.  I’m still growing my practice around this and I find that after many years of following formal church liturgy I am enjoying finding creative ways of expressing spiritual practice.  This solstice we gathered together with a few friends and family, lit a fire, blew bubbles as the light faded and shared some drinks and snacks.  The next day we were up (it’s an early alarm for those here who commute so not too much of a shock to the system) and we were out in the garden with coffee looking for the midsummer sun as it rose, a pink sliver through early haze across the valley.

As the solstice moment passed I was aware of the sense of the world turning, I could imagine the days shifting, the sunlight hours dwindling all the way to midwinter and Yule.  I am finding the rhythms helpful in regulating my own tendencies to overwork and over “do”.  An awareness of the ebb and flow of natural cycles, of growth and rest around me reminds me of how important this is for my own health and well-being.  For many years I wouldn’t acknowledge the need for this in my own life.  Inevitably while I was hugely productive for a lot of the time this would be followed by spells of burn out and poor health.  I kept wondering what was “wrong” with me and relied on caffeine and alcohol to help me speed up or slow down when my own reserves were failing.

Listening to our bodies is a lost art.  Tuning in to the physical sensations of the everyday.  There is a wisdom and knowledge in our physical selves that gets lost in modern life.  We rely on our knowledge, our thinking.  For someone like me, who has lived most of her forty plus years in her head, it can take an earthquake to shake us back into ourselves.   The real wake-up call in my case was a complete physical collapse last summer.  I was literally stopped in my tracks and I am in the process of relearning how to be in my body, to heed her whispers and wisdom, to trust a deeper knowing than that offered by clever thinking.

With this in mind I was fortunate enough to take part in a teaching session with April McMurty the other evening.  April is the creatrix of The Moon is my Calendar, and teaches how to live in tune with moon rhythms and cycles.  We were encouraged to reflect on how tuning in to the moon’s patterns can support us as we pay greater attention to our own radiance, to consider how we are shining in our lives, and to notice the periods of expansion and contraction.  I found this enormously helpful, and timely given my own current healing process.  April’s website has more information and a video tutorial if you would like to try this way of working with moon rhythms (https://themoonismycalendar.com/)  I will be spending some time today, preparing for tomorrow’s new moon, reflecting on what is ready to be released, what needs to be allowed to fade, and which seeds I will be planting for the new cycle.

 

Plants are magic.  I love this herb.  It has a vibrant, tangy, fresh fragrance.  It’s leaves are a limey green covered in soft down when young and darken, growing glossy with age.  Bees love it too, always a good sign.What’s even better is it can help with low mood and anxiety.

When I use a plant to make remedies I get to know it first, sitting with it, observing it.  Once I’ve got a sense of my plant ally I’m ready to pick some leaves. I’m looking for the healthiest leaves, avoiding those which are browning or blemished.  I don’t take more than ten percent from each plant or I could damage them.  And then I thank them for sharing their goodness with me (respect!)

So once I have my leaves I set them out for a while to allow any creatures to make their escape.  If I’m having a stressy day I might then take a handful of leaves and steep them in freshly boiled water.  After about five minutes I’ll strain them and compost the pulp.  The tea is refreshing on its own, though for added soothing I add some honey.  I can take this up to three times a day if needed.

A recent project was my first tincture.  I took leaves and filled up a small jar then covered it with alcohol (I used a value brand vodka).  I will leave this for six weeks and then strain it and decant my potion into dark glass dropper bottles (not forgetting to date and label them).  I’ll then use five drops in a small glass of water when needed.