I sit in the cabin with a cup of tea and a needy cat.  I am deep in a confused conversation with my guides and guardians.

Suddenly a vision comes.  A temple. Sunlight is streaming through the windows pouring onto a group of white-robed priestesses. They are singing and dancing, faces lit with joy and ecstasy; some of them are people I know here.

I am standing at the doorway in this scene, looking in.

A voice says, very clearly, “you’re not that kind of priestess.”

And just like that it makes perfect sense.

I am not that kind of priestess.

I am a mud and blood priestess.  I will sit with you and hear your grief, the stories of lost dreams. I will sit with you and hold space for your pain and sadness. I will show you the ways to soothe the hurt places, and to tend the scars.  I will show the ways to listen to your body and hear the bone-deep wisdom of our ancestors.

I will walk with you through the night time and in the shadows wait with you while you heal.  I will hold a lamp for you when your own goes out.  I will help you breathe life pack into the dull embers of your inner fire.

And when all that is done and you wash the tears from your face I will help you find the pieces to gather together, I will show you the tools you can use and the secret places where your own magic lies.

With cards and runes, with herbs and stones, a lit candle and a knotted string.

I am that kind of priestess.

A little kitchen witchery for a weekday.

I wrote, about two years ago now, about using the tools we have at hand for our magic.  Etsy is a lot of fun and there is much loveliness, and it’s easy to get caught up with having that little trinket for the altar and the right kind of wand and so forth.  Nothing wrong with that but it isn’t the stuff on the outside which makes the witch, it’s the stuff you’re made of.

With that in mind a litte traditional folk magic goes a long way.  Protection magic is a good place to start, you make sure your doors and windows are locked, it makes sense to work some energetic protection too.

For this piece of work you will need:

Kitchen salt (rock salt or sea salt if possible)

Pepper corns

I take my salt grinder and my pepper grinder, one in each hand, and shake them, like maracas.

As I move my arms I’m shaking my intention into each hand and into the salt and pepper.  My intention that the home be safe, that no harm enter, that we are protected.  Then I take them outside (casual like) and I grind salt and pepper on the front step, and also at the edge of the property where our drive meets the pavement outside. As I do this I am imagining a shield of protection, an invisible line, drawn on the stone.

And that, dear ones, is that.  There are a whole load of other things you could do too, such as add mint, or essential oils to the mix, but for today this is it.

Mischief managed. So mote it be.

 

Looking back there have always been fairies.

When I was a child the fairies came to put up the Christmas decorations.  We would go to bed and the next day the house would be decked, blue tinsel, hanging decorations, it was a real Santa’s grotto.  They worked so hard, those fairies.

In my Grandy’s rockery there was a tiny, red telephone box.  We would open the door and there were notes in there from Goblin.  Goblin came at Christmas too, he brought small gifts and left us chocolates during Advent.

I have always loved fairy lights, pixies, wild places in the garden.

But in my rational teens (and twenties, and thirties) this magic was forgotten, pushed to the edge and ignored because I had to be “grown-up”.  I was the mother of sons so no fairy-magic creeping in via the toybox or storybooks either.

Then one Halloween a fairy appeared at the bottom of the drive, along with a mini-Mars bar.  I ate the Mars bar but left the fairy.  I figured it was part of some neighbours celebrations and she would eventually be reclaimed.

She was still there several days later.  I began to feel bad for her.  I took her into the garden and sat here near a lavender plant, in my herb garden.  Over time I started to take her treats, small gifts of shells or feathers.  When I began to learn more about her kind I would leave cream or honey.

I began to read books; Good Fairies, Bad Fairies by Brian Froud and Your Faery Magic by Halo Quinn were helpful.

Working with the fae requires respect.  I am still learning.  They are our good neighbours and we do well to address them as such and to remember to express our thanks for their help.  They are the guardian spirits of our homes and gardens.  Fond of mischief they may misplace objects and if they feel the home is under threat make their concern felt in practical ways!  Speak kindly and reverently.  Never assume you have a right to their help, they are ancient ones, and wild.  You cannot tame them, they do not play by human rules of fairness or right.

As well as offering them beauty – a crystal, a flower, sweet treats – they will be pleased if you care for the earth; pick up litter, tend a garden, support wildlife. It is a way to honour them.

When we moved last year I brought the makings of my fairy garden with me.  It is hidden at the very end of the garden, behind the apple tree. The first fairy sits on an old mossy log, a few smaller ones around her among the cranesbill and forget-me-nots. The pieces of shells and crockery I found when out beachcombing decorate the space. At Beltane I took them honey, some morning I take some sweet-smelling incense.  I like to sit with them in the morning and ask that they will help us, and in return I say, I will do my best for them.

 

For a long time I didn’t identify as a lightworker.  I suppose maybe I didn’t feel “good enough” or like I had enough years in the love and light tribe, the credentials to be “proper”.

More recently, however,  I have been thinking it’s one way to describe what I do and where I feel my soul’s calling lies; intuitive (psychic) readings, healing work with reflexology, Reiki and crystals, supporting others as they explore their own soul path, creating moments of everyday magic and healing through spellcraft and writing.

But something has still felt off.  I look out there, into the beautiful lilac and pink glow of the lightworker community, and I feel that what I’m doing isn’t quite right.  While I “shouldn’t” there’s a tendency to look at my peers and mentors and feel that what I’m doing isn’t quite shiny enough.  There’s the tendency to doubt myself, but maybe I really am doing it wrong?

I went to my guides.  What, I said, is going on?  Why, I said, given the amount of time and effort and energy I’m putting in isn’t it like that?

Of course, you will most likely have guessed the answer.

Firstly, because it’s yours.  Your part of this work is not going to look like anyone else’s. There’s no template. When they made you they broke the mould.

Secondly, because you only see the 2D version of anyone else’s journey.  There is sound and vision, but it’s like a movie and you don’t get the rest.

In your own life you have the 360/ 4D experience with added emotion.  This means that when you’re preparing an offering you can hear the conversations taking place downstairs in the kitchen, or experience the frustration of cat-on-the-keyboard.  You have the itch behind the eyes of an interrupted night when you’re pulling your morning cards, or the concern about whether there’s enough bread for lunches while you’re taking your shower and saying prayers.  When you sit out in the studio, stealing an hour away, and prepare a candle spell with fresh flowers and herbs from the garden, you are accompanied by the fragrance of singed fur, after the cat got a little too close to the magic. When you’re feeling fragile and heartsore it colours the moments.  Which doesn’t mean they are not blessed, it means they are real.

And it dawned on me.  This is what it’s like.  Showing up everyday at your altar, even if it’s just a few minutes to pull a card and light a candle.  Talking to your guides and angels in the car on the way to work. Responding to emails, putting in time to create your content, making the time to take part in self-development work and study.  This is it.

And it doesn’t feel like an Instagram post with beautiful filters and atmospheric meditation music because it isn’t.  It’s real life.

For you too.  Your journey, with it’s people and obligations and loved ones and pets and the need to buy groceries and do laundry and go to the dentist.  This is it.

So I am voting for cutting ourselves a little slice of grace and pouring a cup of compassion, for looking at where we did well (or even where we think we did O.K.) and celebrating the messy magic we live in the middle of.

Let’s start there.

 

It began before I was born. In the summer of 1972 my Dad was away, serving as infantry in Northern Ireland. She began speaking to me then, as I grew in the womb-dark waters.

She used to tell me the story of taking me out for tea when I was two and a half, and how I would sit and talk, like a grown-up. When Dad was away, I listened, heard her concerns, passed the tissues.  When I was confused by friendship issues at school or consumed by existential angst (ever the thinker) she would counsel. She was the first person I spoke to about the girl I was crushing on. She was the one I went to with all the questions. We used to talk for hours about everything.

I married young, but we still spoke often, usually on the phone, or out for coffee. As I grew into my skin, I would find the closeness stifling and seek to create my own story, though the strands of our lives remained closely woven.

The ability to share your thoughts with another is a great gift, to have a secret-sharer. It wasn’t perfect, she had her own values and norms, and my own life didn’t always match those, sometimes I held back, but for the most part, for almost four decades we spoke often and deeply. She never had many friends and so I gave the same in return, hearing her story, sharing the journey.

When I met my second husband, aged forty, there was a pause. My parents wanted to give us time to get to know each other. I am grateful for this.

While I was busy blending lives and families, something changed. So that when I emerged from courtship and wedding preparations, I found her different. I would ring to talk and, after a few minutes she would ring off, she no longer called and I assumed some offence was felt, though could not place the cause. I missed the space to share, the time to open my soul safely with another.

Her diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, and subsequent dementia, began to puzzle the pieces together.

It is perhaps five years now since we talked freely. That conversation, forty years long, ended, and I didn’t notice the ending. The loss of it leaves me rudderless, compass-broken, North Star cloud-shrouded.  I find it interesting that, as I write, in the moment of realisation, I have lost my voice. It is as though my body is telling me truths my mind couldn’t grasp.

I am tearful, mourning the loss without realisation, the passing of this fundamental part of life while I was otherwise occupied. There is a void there, a foreshadowing of life when she is no longer here.

We continue to talk; minutiae, incidentals, the strangeness of cats and marvel of flowers. Small wonders.

I need time both to feel the loss and celebrate the gift of knowing true conversation. In the meantime, I stand at night and whisper secrets to the moon and stars, or, by the shore, and tell the sea my dreams.

Time is squeezing. Sometimes it opens up like a view from high hills. Right now it feels like a packed tube train in rush hour. It is upon me before I know it and then, for a while, I waste even more wishing for the open spaces back. My mum’s condition has worsened. As I write I’m on her bed keeping company while she settles to sleep…

This shift, coupled with a tendency to perfectionism, can stifle any kind of creativity. I am finding that what helps is doing something. Today’s something was a small and simple piece of mirror magic, which I thought you might enjoy too.

You will need:

1 small mirror pre-threaded (I found mine for £4 on Amazon)

A Sharpie or other marker

Optional: a sprig of fresh rosemary and tape

This is a basic piece of mirror magic. When completed you will hang it in the porch or on your front door.

Take your mirror. With the Sharpie write on the back your intention or wish, for instance “only love may enter here”.

If you are using rosemary (a great herb ally for protection spells) tape it to the back of the mirror too.

Your mirror spell will send back or away anything you don’t want (negative energies) to whence it came

So mote it be. Mischief managed.

Happy witching ❤

This post comes out of some work with a client and I thought it would be good to share it.

I’ve been creating altars for around five years now.  I didn’t really know they were altars to begin with, I would arrange stones or shells I’d collected, a few flowers or feathers, a jar of seeds, these were objects of reverence for me.

When I began working with the wheel of the year I created seasonal altars linking to the Sabbats and the wheel.

For me an altar is a focal point for spiritual practise and also an aide memoire. I often use mine to place cards I am currently working with, or runes I’m studying.

I generally include representations of the four elements, for instance:

• For earth – a stone, crystal, pot plant
• For water – a small bowl of water, a shell
• For air – a feather, bell, singing bowl
• For fire – a candle or even a dried chilli

I like to have crystals I’m working with or a bowl of crystals for my current theme or area of development, so for instance if I’m working with creativity I would have orange crystals for the sacral chakra or clear quartz to aid vision.

I have some of Molly Remer’s story goddesses and they are lovely as a representation of the divine, you could also use a card deck for images of deity (Meggan Watterson has the Divine Feminine oracle for example if you are working currently mostly with the goddess, or Kyle Gray’s Keepers of the Light has some lovely images of both god/ goddess archetypes.)

My altar evolves as I do. I clean it regularly to keep the energy fresh. I have used altar cloths in the past (usually coloured scarves which I can pick up for a reasonable price at the market or in a thrift store) but as it’s accessible and at cat height this isn’t always a good idea!!

I also like to create a seasonal altar, or adapt my altars according to the seasons.  For example for Imbolc this year I used a green cloth, green and yellow crystals, a mandala I’d painted, a Brigid story goddess and had some fresh daffodils and a green candle.

I’ve created altar spaces outside or on small trays to tuck them onto bookshelves, and mini travel altars to take away on holiday with just a few small pieces as a reminder.

An altar is your sacred space, allow it to reflect your journey, provide a focal point, and a reminder of your daily practice…you can add pictures of loved ones, both here and in the after life, or a favourite pop icon (I have Carrie Fisher on mine).

Enjoy creating!

In this moment magic lies.

Not in the future, imagined in  creative visualisation, or planned in bullet points, a ladder to desired outcomes.

This is a trap, I find, a cord to chain me.

When I cut it I realise that the moment is now.  To create with the tools here, a pen, paper, a candle, herbs from the kitchen jars, oil that, earlier, I used to make eggs.

Often sadness comes from “my plans”; dissappointment, envy, frustration.

When I allow the brush to wander, the pen to dance, something unexpected unfolds.

Enchanted.

I was talking with a friend earlier, and I remembered what it was like a while ago, when I was beginning to work in a more witchy way and I wanted to know all the stuff.  Back then I thought I could get it right, that there was a recipe or formula to follow and that I needed instructions.

I didn’t.

But it helps to have someone show you how.  This is a “how to” guide for candle spells.

The first thing to say is that you are no stranger to candle magic.  We are plugging into this energy when we make a wish and blow out birthday candles.  You’ve got this.

“Magic” is a bit like art.  Actually, magic is art.  It’s a creative expression of your intention, worked out in thought, word and action.  It is a concrete expression of a wish.  And the action of making it, the work of crafting, is the domino-push to that wish becoming reality.

Candle spells are one of my favourite ways to work simple, everyday magic.

Firstly a health warning.  You can buy beautiful, beeswax candles, source hand-blended magical oils, purchase moon-blessed herbs and find ornate athames on Etsy.

All of these things are lovely to work with.

But they aren’t where the magic is.  To borrow from a well-known song; it ain’t what you use, it’s the way that you use it.

Right now, I imagine, in your house, is everything you need to work a little candle magic.

Here I will make a suggestion for a **possible** framework for a specific kind of spell.  BUT (see, it’s a big but; stop sniggering at the back there) none of the “stuff” is essential.  Intention, your desire, your wish, is everything.

So let’s imagine this scenario.  A client comes to see me.  She is experiencing frequent headaches and anxiety.  She would like to work some candle magic to complement (note: complement… this work IS NEVER A SUBSTITUTE FOR MEDICAL CARE) the treatment she is receiving from her G.P.

• First of all we sit down and talk.  I find out that she is anxious due to work-related stress and the headaches are a result of her lack of sleep.
• I choose a green candle, as this colour is good when working with health.
• Next I choose lavender oil for its calming properties and frankincense oil for protection.  I drop a few drops of oil onto the candle and make sure its well covered.
• After this I take a sharp tool (a bent paperclip works best) and scratch her initials into the wax.  You can also use a sigil or other relevant symbol (e.g. for a money spell a pound/ dollar sign).
• Next I secure the candle onto a dish or holder.  I choose bloodstone, amethyst and green calcite to place on the dish, all for healing, calming and sleep support.
• I take some feverfew and sprinkle it on the dish around the candle (for the headaches), some lavender (for the anxiety and sleep issues) and some galangal to speed things along. I could also have mixed these in with my oil and used them to dress the candle but it can be hard to make them “stick”.
• I take a piece of green paper.  On this I write (I like using gold pen but that’s just me being sparkly, a blue Bic is also fine) the client’s name and date of birth and my  intention. You can make the intention rhyme, or you can just write it out.  Make it very clear what you want to happen e.g. I want (insert name)’s headaches to go, her anxiety to be eased and her to sleep well.  Place this under the dish.  I like to read it out loud three times too, just so the universe/ goddess/ divine knows for sure 🙂
• Now I light the candle and watch it burn down.  And so it is.

It is good form with any kind of spell work to ask first.  When I was in the church I would always ask before I prayed for someone, it avoids the risk of interfering with their free will (of course, there will always be exceptions, but that’s not today’s post).

For a basic candle spell you will need:

• A candle
• Matches
• A bent paperclip
• Paper and a  pen

You might want to choose some basil or olive oil or cinnamon from your cupboards if you have them.  See how you feel, listen to the nudges and prompts from your spirit, your intuition, for what you  need…

Now. Go make some magic, if you’d like to come and share your pictures and explorations on the Facebook page.

Oh boy, here we go again.

It’s been one of those weeks where I have been wrestling demons.

It sounds impressive.  My demons are petty.  They grumble from the back seat of the car when I’m driving, they point and jeer when I’m using social media.  They remind me of what I am not, who I am not, what I have not achieved and so forth.  They are strident and bitchy.  Secondary school bullies who know me well and know where I hide my shadows.

I started a gratitude practice about a month ago.  When I discovered this concept it was so obvious I felt ridiculous, and it was hugely powerful.  I felt life shift, a sea-change, I decided to stop therapy; I wanted to process and absorb everything that was coming to the surface, allow it fully to integrate.

At the same time as this enormous shift my “dream job” I wrote about previously dissappeared like a bubble into the blue, and I made the decision to return to employment.  So far, so ordinary.  I was fortunate that a suitable role came up quickly and that I was able to apply for it and be offered the post.  I started work last week.

It was a good week.  It was good to be back in school, children are magical, they have unique perspectives and unpretentious wisdom.  It was good to have colleagues again, it is a beautiful place to work and my morning commute takes me through the Kentish countryside; rolling chalk downland, orchards, vineyards, flint-clad churches, red-brick cottages.  Beautiful.

I managed a whole week at work, despite a lousy cold, and made it to the weekend.  We rounded the week off with a belated birthday celebration at a local Moroccan restaurant.  My cup was full.

But something happened yesterday.  Tiredness? The ongoing challenge of living in an extended family and supporting someone who lives with dementia?  The dawning realisation, as we begin to properly settle in, that this is a long-haul commitment?

It is the slow, sad ache of feeling not.  Not enough.  Not where I want to be.  Not young enough.  Not strong enough.  Not motivated enough.

It is an old pain.  I see it in children I work with.  The sadness when they are not chosen for the gold star award, the deflated posture when they aren’t picked to answer the question and receive praise.  It is an insidious enemy and one which can lead us into “giving up”.

As always I want to know what to do about this.  A starting point is always; stop staying up so late reading and get some sleep.  But it’s also worth considering that maybe “doing” isn’t going to help.

Because piling pressure on when you’re vulnerable is a sure-fire way to feeling even less.

I want to believe I am enough.  Some days I can.  Others it’s difficult.  And this is why it’s a spiritual “practice”.  This is why I have to work at it.  Daily, gently and slowly.  There are those peak experiences, those moments of joy and affirmation, I love those!  Then there are the moments of feeling small and vulnerable and defeated.

At those moments I’m like Chicken Licken in the children’s tale.  I think the sky is falling. That’s it, game over! I want to run for cover, get under the duvet, stay there in my blanket fort.

Now that I write this it feels funny, humourous, mad.  Of course it’s not the end of the world.  It’s just an acorn.  An uncomfortable and unexpected blip on the head.  I can pause, rub my head, feel confused.  Then I have to get up in the morning, take a shower, look in the mirror and say, “I am pure magic, one of a kind and aweseome.” 

Then, I’ll raise my eyebrows and say something self-deprecating.  And then I will say it again each time I meet myself in the mirror.

No-one else can be you.  Or me.  Whatever we are doing, whatever we are seeking to create or share or offer, it’s ours. Astonishing because we are working for it, through it, in it, in the middle of everything.

It’s a time of shadows.  The valley floor is dark and damp.  But the land is shifting, climbing now,  time to get higher, get perspective.  Take in the surroundings.

It’s already a different world.