Remembered Voices

I'm still feeling the presence of the ancestors this week, the veil may have thickened and come back down like thick velvet curtain but the voices and spirits linger for me in these misty mornings and dark evenings, distant voices still calling out to me and clamouring to have their stories told. Voices from my own line and others, some with names unknown just felt and heard in quiet corners. 

So Glencoe, it has taken me a while to find the words to describe this haunting place. Everyone has heard of Glencoe, most know a little about the massacre that happened there, lots of people have visited and felt the atmosphere - even a party animal friend who is usually more interested in spirits of an entirely different kind. I remember her telling me about a night that she and a group of her friends stayed there in a camper van, that the sense of brooding permeated even into their tipsy consciousness, she wasn't wrong. 

The trip started peacefully enough, flying sat nav free, me map reading like a demon whilst doling out boiled sweets, himself swearing quietly under his breath at my last minute instructions whilst avoiding road hogging sheep and other traffic on endless single track roads - it could only last so long to be fair. We lost Glencoe, more specifically the Visitors Centre, the sat nav was brought into play with a glare by himself, me huffing and puffing that we needed to go back  and before long we'd gone past the supposed site again, a few swear words and bad humour rearing their heads to slight tiff level. By the third time we navigated the route, a sign had miraculously appeared pointing the direction, at this point I uncharacteristically burst into tears and had nigh on hysterics. Talk about flood gates, we had to wait for a while for me to calm down and look a bit more rational before we ventured forth. 

Sitting in the car, willing myself back together, my shuddering sobs slowly subsiding, I  focused on this beauty under a tree - amanita muscaria, better known as fly agaric, the original magic mushroom. Renowned for it's hallucinogenic powers, beloved of shaman and those who walk between this world and the spiritual worlds. Reflecting on the tears,  I couldn't place where this all came from, an overwhelming sadness, sorrow that cut deep into me, grief, horror, despair all rolled into one. Palpable is a word that springs to mind.

Finally we made it into the visitors centre, a bit red eyed and crazy looking, but we could blame that on the weather if pushed. Impatiently I speed read through the geology, onservation and ecology sections, subjects that usually hold a keen interest, barely able to wait for something, almost pushing past people in my rush to get to somewhere, until at last I rounded the corner to the display boards and video about the Glencoe Massacre. 

Angus McDonald

I had the oddest sensation of knowing what I was reading, not unlike when someone tells you a story you already know, names, places  and to my surprise faces. Stopping in my tracks I looked at some photos of the many greats Grandson of the murdered Clan Chief and his wife and instantly knew who they were, so much so that I took photos of them - eerie I can tell you! It was their eyes, I felt like I had looked into them before. Angus had emigrated to America in 1838 and married Catherine a Native American lady of Mohawk and Nez Perce origin.
I have no answers to explain this, none at all. The heaviness and the sorrow stayed with me for the rest of the day and is still tangible when I think of it.

Catherine McDonald

When I thought of my ancestors at Samhain their images flashed unbidden into my head, it has puzzled me no end.  I don't have any Scottish or Native American roots as far as I know. Nevertheless, I whispered their names and honoured their memories with my more familiar ones.

I do have family in Scotland, my Great Aunt and Uncle moved around with work and finally settled there, so that very same night that we visited Glencoe, we stopped at their old house where my Dad's cousin now lives with her family, sadly my Aunt and Uncle are long since departed. That night at dinner with all of us in the bungalow sitting at the table, I watched in amazement as a figure walked past the door as clear as day. No one else appeared to have seen anything, so I didn't mention it to himself, or the fact that the room we slept in had been my Aunt and Uncle's, that we slept in their bed  or that I knew for a fact it was where my Aunt just didn't wake up one day, a heart attack taking her as she slept. I was expecting a long night, a really long night. Apart from the fact that I 'knew' someone was there, slightly curious and oddly amused we slept well and I haven't given it much thought since, until this morning.

This morning I woke up heavy with sleep from a dream about my Nan and her sisters, my great Aunts, we were painting a room in a huge bungalow, the paint was green but it was drying a deep dark blue. It was Nan's House except that I knew it wasn't either of her houses I had visited, I knew it wasn't real. I was saying their names 'Rydal Mount' and 'Mount Pleasant' to Nan in my  dream and she told me it was a new one, it was by the beach where none of us have ever lived and I walked up a board walk, past a house called 'Beryl' that had bunting outside it to my other Nan's house which again wasn't her home, then we all sat around chatting, laughing - their real voices and laughter clear in my head like sudden bursts of memory and drank tea in old china cups then suddenly I woke up - I woke up hard, almost bolt upright and wanted to go back. So much so that it made me cry as I lay there desperate to go back and spend some more time with them and later again when I was telling my Mum it made me tearful. We struggled to name the word to describe it, she knew what I meant and just as it dawned on me it was exactly the heavy and very real and present feeling I had felt at Glencoe, she coined it - Loss. Terrible and momentarily crippling loss. It blew my mind a bit to be honest! 

Having had the day to reflect on it and mull it over, I feel it was just their way of letting me know they are still there for me although they have been gone for decades, just a loving reminder of the love and support of the whole clan.
The Colours are interesting- green for healing and love, indigo for a spiritual connection. 
There is just so much we just don't know - Deja Vu or spiralling dna? Dreams or visits? Has the veil left a gossamer thin gap for me a little longer?

 Have A Truly Blessed Week x x 

Walking with the Ancestors

Samhain Blessings To You All! 
I hope those of you who celebrated Samhain or Halloween enjoyed yourselves, whatever you did..... this year we finally had some little trick or treaters - only taken 8 years of living here, for once we didn't get to eat the halloween sweets much to himself's disgust! The history of trick or treating is a bit tenuous to link back to the origins of Samhain, the origins of which are also hotly debated and questioned - a modern neo pagan creation, a former final harvest or an ancient celebration venerating the ancestors? But hey, each to their own! For me it's about honouring my ancestors, acknowledging the dark half of the year, the final end of summer, reflecting, healing and growing.

There is of course room for both, so pumpkins were us  - Cat and Tree of Life pumpkins this year, cats well obviously because I am the proverbial crazy cat lady and tree of life to honour the ancestors and my roots. 
In preparation for this I drew up a family tree for my altar - managing to list an amazing 77 people on it, up to 10 generations back - mostly my Mum's doing over the years, I think she may even have a few more names to add. The earliest we have traced back is to someone born in 1690 nearly 400 years before me, how different their lives must have been in so many way - poverty, times of war, hideous mortality rates; yet hopefully in other ways similar to mine - full of love, laughter and family.

Just the simple act of writing their names, all but 5 of them unknown to me in person made me feel closer to them and allowed me to connect a little further with my roots. I've seen photographs of less than a third of these familiar names, those precious sepia or black and white snapshots - stiff, posed photos immortalising a moment in time, capturing quirks and twists of dna - a look or a smile as those double helix twist and snake their way through the centuries. 

There is a lovely quote from a lady called Linda Hogan : 

" Walking. I am listening to a deeper way.

Suddenly all my Ancestors are behind me.

Be Still, they say. Watch and Listen.

You are the result of the love of thousands."

The first time I read that, the notion of it completely blew my mind. It still never fails to make me stop in my tracks and smile at the thought.

I took some beautiful peach roses to the church yard where so many of my ancestors rest to honour their memories. Some known to me and some through stories heard an my Grandmother's knee. Somewhere along the back wall in a unmarked plot, the modest headstone stone long tumbled and lost, my great great grandmother Jane lies. She was widowed three times and brought up 9 children, what a hard life that must have been for her,  she lived to the ripe old age of 87 in a local Almshouse. A single rose for her - the bushy ivy of an old tree trunk a natural vase, standing strong, proud and determined just like I imagine her. I would say standing tall but somehow I very much doubt it - that's the short side of the family, the diddy people as we teased my Nan and now my Mum and as my Dad always says they put dung in amazonesque boots!

A short drive from their peaceful churchyard that I managed to frequent like an overgrown will o' the wisp flitting from grave to grave in between the church services strewing roses in my wake, are the ancient standing stones of Kits Coty. This ancient burial site has always drawn me to it, like my ancestors before me - proof being seen in my great grandfather's name carved on the stones themselves! My family seem to have been born right out the hills there and it's not unreasonable to imagine that could if I walk back through the millennia we could have easily been descended from the neolithic people who buried and venerated their loved ones there. More roses for these ancestors, 3 for past, present and future, an apple as an offering, along with feathers that appeared in my path and a drop of my famous apple wine for myself and the venerated ones - all enjoyed in glorious solitude except for a lone bird of prey over head before I clambered puffing and panting back up the hill and fell thankfully into the car.

I'd managed to lure himself further out of the house with the promise of dinner via a visit to the reconstructed saxon settlement of Wychurst at Wildwood near Herne. This wonderful building was having an open day complete with Viking and Anglo Saxon battles and a wedding - food for which was being cooked over the fire in the long house. Ok so it's a reconstruction, someones interpretation but it was still an amazing experience to step back in time into something so meticulously and authentically researched and built and of course to see the bears, wolves, boar and other indigenous animals in this forest wildlife park. Hearing the wolves howl whilst watching an Anglo-Saxon wedding was quite surreal! I couldn't help but wonder about my ancestors from that period and whether they had run ins with wild creatures such as that, fought battles with wooden shields and fought off invaders....

Samhain evening itself was a quiet night - a glass or two of some Lindisfarne wine we bought on our travels, spiced pumpkin soup made from the disemboweled pumpkins and baked apples before sitting outside round the fire watching the clouds attempt to hide  a nearly full Lady Moon. Too cloudy for many stars but ideal for talking about those who have gone before, regaling each other with stories about loved ones from our childhood, family stories and remembering them all with laughter and love. Perfect.

Have  A Blessed Week x x 

Voices From The Past

So Samhain approaches, the veil thins, the ancestors draw near. In eerie early morning mists we catch sight of lingering spirits perhaps, peer fretfully as the last rays of the sun slipping away earlier and earlier, painting the sky a myriad of moody orange or blood red and try to ignore twilight shadows that hover on the edge of our vision... I love it! Up early one morning in the week, I ran a steaming bath and lay there watching with the light of a lone candle as the steam spiraled lazily out of the window, silently and slowly battling the mist that was endeavouring to seep in, snakelike against a  grey skyline that changed gradually from steel to silver. Relishing the warmth of the bath, I watched as they duelled together, envisaging that ancient spirits were rising from their rest and seeking us out. A bit fanciful but you get the idea! The sunsets have been spectacular too, this one below from last week...

Our trip away was feast of ancient sites, all beautiful and breathtaking. All full of whispered voices from millennia past, waiting to tell their stories in a quiet corner if you just sit quietly with them long enough. Well that was the fantasy - a quiet commune with the ancient ones, a spot of meditation - you get the picture. They must have been wetting themselves laughing or rolling on the floor in hysterics at my spiritual aspirations and delusions. Skara Brae, the mere name of the place conjured up spiritual and ancestral wonders. I couldn't wait to get to this pinnacle of ancient culture to connect and communicate. Yeah right.... Pure pandemonium - no other words for it! A massive cruise ship had docked and pretty much all the 5000 passengers were doing a whistle stop tour of Orkney... how very dare they, it's not like I was a tourist myself - oh wait, yep that would be me too!
Mercifully what I hadn't realised despite knowing that this ancient site had been covered by a sand dune until a storm in 1850, I hadn't made the connection that it was so close to the sea. What an amazing place. 

The beautiful beach adjacent to the 5000 year old site, quiet and available for peace seeking tourists who wish to commune with the ancient ones without the hordes... of which I of course became part of half an hour later! It was atmosphere on the beach however that allowed me to picture ancient settlers fishing and collecting rocks for their expanding community, splashing in the sea, running up the beach and speaking a language long forgotten.

What a beautiful, beautiful place.A fascinating glimpse into the homes of ancient settlers, maybe even those who migrated south to work on the building of Stonehenge years later.

Somewhere that was far less busy, less anticipated by me was the island of Hoy. I think the key is in the word anticipation. I'd vaguely heard of it and hadn't planned to visit but on a whim we took the car ferry over to walk out to  a sea stack called the Old Man of Hoy - just the 5.5 miles - good job himself loves me. From the lonely road to the cliffs we, well I saw what looked like a grave and a tourist information board. I think poor Mark has developed a phobia of these brown signs - you know the tourist ones that mark obscure things like pencil museums or a rock that someone once hid behind - you know the type? Anyway humouring me he pulled over and I was off, like an escapee out of the car and up the path to investigate like a curious blood hound - just like my Dad.

What a sad place, a lonely grave on a wild moor, the wind whipping my hair around me and whistling the mournful story through my ears.

In the 1770s a local woman named Betty Corrigall had discovered she was pregnant, her lover, a sailor abandoned her and the devastated Betty shamed and shunned by her family and community attempted to drown herself but was thwarted in her efforts. Days later she hung herself, her suicide so ungodly that was crudely and hurriedly buried in a box in this unmarked grave on unconsecrated ground, legend has it with her noose beside her. In 1933 two peat diggers found her coffin and curious locals gathered hopefully in case the box contained treasure. To their amazement Betty was preserved by the peat, her long dark curls still encircling her shoulders. Betty was hastily reburied - at least in a coffin this time and she would have remain unmarked and unmourned had it not been for the second world war, when soldiers digging the moor for peat rediscovered her coffin and dubbed her the Lady of Hoy before filling the peat back over her.

Sadly this still wasn't the final deserved rest for Betty, word spread of the mysterious Lady of Hoy and curious soldiers went on late night forays and dug her coffin up several more times resulting in her body deteriorating badly. Mercifully, peace was finally found for poor tortured Betty when this came to the notice of the Officers who arranged for her to reburied and a massive slab placed over the coffin to prevent any further exhumation. In 1949 a visiting minister placed a small cross on the grave and erected a small fence around it, it took nearly 30 more years to get a headstone erected for Betty and a small service held at the grave. Simple, spontaneous tributes lie around the sparse grave, so very poignant and touching that it brought tears to my eyes and made my heart sore. I collected some heather and dandelions, tied it together with grass and left it by these stones. 

I sat on the board walk across the boggy ground in quiet contemplation and felt instantly drawn to Betty, her wild wailing grief, her pain, feeling the weight of the horror and indignity that abused her over the centuries. I was joined by this beautiful dragonfly just inches away from me, affirming for me the connection between the worlds, greater understanding and rejuvenation - a feeling of peace for Betty's spirit. Mark could see the dragonfly from the car it stayed so long.

So that may sound like a bizarre little tale for my pre Samhain blog, indeed it is a sad story, one of a haunted tortured woman, whose brief love affair cost her everything including her life and her soul, who was then haunted by anonymity for a century and a half, then haunted by morbid curiosity until recently. However I like to think that Betty has finally flown free. Betty is no longer unmourned, many people must stroll up to the lonely grave and stay a while like I did, then tell their friends and keep Betty's memory safe in their hearts like I did. Betty left no descendants, so this Samhain when the veil is thin, when I remember my loved ones, venerate my ancestors, visit them like I did today, celebrate them and maybe talk to them, I will honour her spirit too and light a candle for her. Her voice though distant has been heard.

Have a Blessed Week x x

Catching Up...

Hurrah - finally, proper internet again!! 
Whatever did we do without it? It seems like so long ago that I wrote anything here that I'm at a loss as to where to start! I've still been roaming around the countryside and doing all my weird and wonderful things, it feels like it would take forever to catch up.... I think  this week I'll simply start with sharing some photos from our holiday to Orkney, Scotland and Lindisfarne back in the beginning of September, it feels like a distant memory itself now, so looking back through the photos has been a joyous pleasure on a Sunday afternoon. I'll let the photos do most of the talking - they can do it much better than me...

The glorious view from our cottage Old Point at Orphir, Orkney; just ten metres from the sea - no internet, no phone signal, miles from anywhere - just the sound of the sea, the birds and the wind - a totally perfect retreat for 5 nights.

The stunning sunset from there too - overlooking the island of Hoy, that stone to the right was covered in moss - possibly an old standing stone, the island is practically littered with them, who knows it's ancient secrets?

The UK's most northerly Sheela-Na-Gig, silently but proudly shouting her abundant fertility from the Roof of the St Magnus Cathedral in Kirkwall amongst her Green Man neighbours and wonderfully near the main altar. Embarrassed a young male guide by asking for help to find her, who despite his blushes proudly assured me that she was frequently asked for by pagan folk!

View from a window at the ruins of Castle Sinclair Girnigoe - so like Tintagel in it's atmosphere that we spent ages exploring it's precarious towers, listening to the waves tearing at the cliffs, chatting to a lovely American couple and talking to a local bird watcher. 

The Ring of Brodgar - beautiful setting for a ring of ancient stones, purpose presumed ceremonial and celebratory predating Stonehenge. Just stunning.

The valley of Glencoe - no words can describe the atmosphere there, heavy terrifying and beautiful at the same time - everyone felt the presence of the past a mere whisper away. I need to find the words to explain my experiences there, that will have to wait until I can bear to revisit them.

Finally the stunning coast and enormous skies of Lindisfarne and Northumbria, brooding and knowing, I stood here and sang for the souls of the selkies and wished for seals, they came.

Short and Sweet today but finally present again.


                                       Have a Blessed Week x x 

Mixed Blessings

What a week, exactly what it said on the label

Exploring the Grounds

- mixed blessings! It started off beautifully, a surprise call from my lovely friend Tracey who is also a distant cousin of some variety to say that now the summer holidays were here, her 8 year old son would be staying with his Nanna for a week near me if I fancied popping by. Well yes of course I did! Just the previous day I had been really missing my two children and had felt quite tearful about it, missed the snuggles and kisses of them as babies and children and felt the pang of a half yearning for grandchildren. 
Goddess appeared to have loaned me a small distant cousin as a compromise instead....
Long story short, a few days later on a hot and sunny day, after a false start when a slightly nervous Ashton wasn't sure if he fancied going out with his slightly crazy big cousin, I picked up this precious boy and set off to explore the famous nearby Leeds Castle. I was slightly nervous myself as Ashton is shall we say a lively lad who speaks as he finds. At Christmas he articulated his understanding of same sex relationships by boldly and earnestly declaring 'Oh you're boy lesbians!' to our lovely Dan and David, much to the amusements of all the adults, before asking them to help with his building toy we'd given him. What a funny night that was! 

A Grotto Shell Goddess

By the time we'd arrived I had been deemed to be worthy of the title of Auntie Claire Bear - that always happens! After exploring the castle, asking the guides a thousand questions, completing the I spy trail successfully - no clue or spy left unsolved, purchasing a toy wooden sword - for Ashton, not me and enjoying a very lively ice cream that was hell bent on escaping it's cone, Ashton excitedly grabbed my hand and pointed to the sign for the maze and the grotto. Dragging me along the path, he suddenly stopped and asked what I wanted to do, explaining that he had been spoilt twice and now it was my turn to choose...bless his heart. Had to be the maze and grotto! Laughing out loud, I chased him this direction and that through the maze intent on finding the centre and the grotto entrance, til running on ahead he disappeared from view. All of a sudden he shouted 'Aunt Claire!' at the top of his lungs 'I've only bloody found it!' Pulling me in to the dark stairwell down, he asked me if there would be magma, I said I hoped not! Admiring the shell decorations, he shrieked with delight and pointed at a shell Goddess complete with a shell cornucopia, saying 'Quick, you'll love this!' before asking a million questions as to how they made this grotto, did Dinosaurs live here or did Henry VIII bring his girlfriends here? Distraction technique of spotting the play area, meant I had, yes HAD to go on the zip wire and down the slide. What a wonderful afternoon. Worn out, amused at the title of Aunt that conjured me an image of an ancient or victorian family member, I decided I could enjoy my lack of next generation a little longer!

St Margaret's Bay

I awoke the following day though viewing the world with younger eyes for a while, his youthful company had left me with a childish happiness of remembered endless summer holidays, picnics, beaches and of playing out. I found myself near the sea for a work presentation, some 50 miles from home and decided that rather than rush home at the end of the working day, I'd stay and find a beach to explore for a while. I had a rather surreal moment when I turned into a winding country lane to discover a colourful Hare Krishna Peace Pilgrimage complete with 2 huge cows pulling a cart with a a small flowered shrine on it, singing and chanting their way up the road... You don't see that everyday! Sitting on the beach I threw pebbles into the rolling waves, watched an end of term school trip squealing at the seaweed in rock pool and generally sat back soaking up the atmosphere in a new place enjoying the sun. 

A Mystery Memorial

After my bum had gone numb sitting on the pebbles, I went for a little stroll finding a beautiful leopard print moth and a curious plaque in a closed off cave as a memorial to a mysterious sounding character. No amount of googling has uncovered any solid facts, this lady appears to be a mystery to all the locals too, with some speculation that she was a Belgian lady - I love the idea that no one appears to have known how old she actually was, I imagined a wily old crone guarding her secrets, fantasy letting rip until she grew into a sort of female Merlin in my mind - hundreds of years old, a timeless hermit that lived in the sea cave, dancing around her fire at night. I collected some pebbles and shells, just because I could, finally dragging myself and my wild notions away grinning at the childish stories I had woven, as though the Maiden had paid me a late call. 

Golden Wheat

Heading up the road I stopped to admire a golden field of wheat, picturing the playful Maiden of my meditations dancing through it with me hand in hand. Fortunately I resisted the urge to actually do it! That might have taken some explaining - 'Well officer you see there's this Goddess called Ker and I am one of her children....' Might not have made it home that night! Driving home I amused myself counting lorries like we used to as children, full of youthful exuberance and seeing the joy in everything. What a gift that was - to see through a childs eyes for a few days. 
It may have been a treat before a less pleasant and care free few days. Cats pulling their stitches out, vets visits, losing a credit card, only discovering this whilst trying to pay vets fees and worse himself developing a horrendous and painful abscess on his tooth that affected his whole mouth, jaw and throat, spreading to his saliva glands that kept him in hospital for a couple for nights. I'm used to spending the odd night maybe two on my own whilst he's on scooter runs, but this was very different knowing he wasn't out there having a good time, but in pain and feeling crappy. 

Leopard Moth

On the positive side though, himself has now been liberated from hospital with his own pharmacy stash and we were both overwhelmed by the love and support from our families and friends as well the fabulous care he received from our wonderful NHS, oh and I saw two deer, both does wandering across the road on our journey to the specialist hospital. Deer  - symbols of innocence, spirituality and gentleness. A deer crossing your path tells you to silence the inner critic, to trust your instinct and reminds us of the gentle beauty of the land. In this case it also told me to slow down and get to the remote hospital more slowly and in one piece, which we did!

             Mixed Blessings Indeed..

Have a Blessed Week x x 

Living and Learning

 My Goddess Journal Book..

What a long week that was, full of long days - I was so glad that I had decided to book myself a place at the last minute on a workshop on Saturday - An Introduction to Your Inner Goddess. To start with it I had looked at it and thought I've probably done this, no point, but something kept calling me back to it and I decided that despite it being the wrong end of payday in an expensive month I'd treat myself. 

So, dusting off my old Goddess journal book I had bought when doing the Discovery Workshops in Glastonbury, admiring it's gorgeous shiny peacock cover - very aptly symbolic of spirituality, vision, awakening, royalty and protection, I headed off for a spot of reconnecting. On arrival I was delighted to catch up with several friends, the hilarity and laughter that ensued set the tone for the day, who said that

Goddess Salt

Goddess wants us all to be serious ? Not my Goddess for sure, which is pretty handy as I only need to look at my friend Ricky to start laughing! Despite a few mini interruptions from people looking for the stamp collecting fair next door - they beetled off pretty sharp I can tell you we settled down to enjoy the workshop.

Led by the wonderful Sasha - as warm, funny, down to earth as she was knowledgeable, our cosy and intimate group explored our inner Goddesses in the context of the four elements: earth, air, fire and water and the emotions they create, using simple visualisations, deep meditations, discussions, stories, such beautiful stories from 'Women who run with the wolves' (now on order of course!) chanting, creating our Goddess salt with herbs, flowers, seeds and our energy, reflecting on our inner thoughts and voices through superbly poised thought and emotion provoking questions and drumming. 

What I Should Have Taken...

Oh the drumming, what an experience! We were a few drums short, I'd forgotten to take my tiny african drum or south american maracas, as I was waving a beater with no drum, the incorrigible Ricky handed me an empty bin to bash, me being me took it as a challenge and played it like a pro, well as much as you can be a pro in playing the bin, stomping from one foot to the other and trying to let fire rise inside you and let all your anger out! More like Stomp than Stamp, mercifully no confused philatelists attempted to join us this point, they were probably too busy running for the hills. I have a sneaking suspicion that there was a photo taken, which will probably surface in the near future and yes, I'll share it with you when it does! What a wonderful day, full of insight, much food for thought, shared experiences as well as laughter, I'm so glad I went into it with an open mind, prepared to learn new ideas, I was certainly rewarded with love and inspiration!

Tiny In Training To Be My Familiar.....

My precious Tiny cat who we bottle fed and kept warm as a tiny unlikely to make it baby, now a mischevious 4 month old likes to sit by my pestle and mortar on the kitchen windowsill in the sun and is completely unfazed by candles and incense! I've just taken a break with her in the garden blowing dandelion 'fairies' for her to watch with rapt incredulousness and then chase, marvelling at her innocence and her innate wisdom at the same time, watching her stalk a fly but not a bee! 

A Witch Bottle

Whilst sorting out the photographs for this I remembered the Traditional Witchcraft workshop I was going to tell you about and never did, another wonderful witty and inspiring workshop with many of the same lovely group of people with a few additional faces, shared with us by the amazing Ricky, yes he of incorrigibility and bin passing fame, in all seriousness a fantastic life long traditional witch, full of knowledge and wisdom and a born teacher. 
Talking us through the fascinating history and origins of his craft, we learnt about different energies, protection, types of healing and were shown basic skills, before making some simple items of the craft such as a witch bottle and healing cords. Obviously I can't share the total content or the spells verbatim as they aren't mine to share, but it was a wonderful day - an amazing opportunity to explore simple crafts that I suspect many of our ancestors would have recognised, understood and participated in only a few

A Mere Corner of Ricky's
Amazing Store Cupboard!

centuries (or less maybe!) ago. 

The more I think about it the more the two courses seem to blend together and compliment each other, a theme clearly running through both of them is listening to and trusting your instinct and inner voice, something I have learnt to do as I have got older. As well as this, authenticity was evident, not necessarily being right, but right for yourself and truthful to yourself, living what you believe and practising it daily, something which resonates clearly in my head with my beliefs. I must admit to being perplexed by people who say one thing and do another whatever it is, but especially their beliefs!  
So back to me, a few steps further with my plans, additional email and bank account set up - with no help at all from the IT department (my son Dan) and everything moving slowly forward, exciting times! 
Now off to read some of my to read list and do some more planning and plotting...

Have a Wonderful and Blessed Week

Branching Out

I'm Talking to You, Yeah - You!

Looking back it's been a week full of signs, several weeks maybe. Nothing as useful as a massive neon lit beastie saying 'Claire This Way' complete with directions and 'idiots guide to your life, 22nd edition' but nevertheless enough, 'hello that's funny' and 'wow, that's the 3rd time that's popped up in my day' kind of soul searching that is Goddess's way of throwing you a cosmic hat and yodelling if the cap fits...
Another day, another article this time about the bravery of being seen - about having the courage to share your dreams quite literally with others, the elusive sleeping ones that drag our subconscious into the harsh light of day and to lay bare our fears that wrack and torment us. I guess a metaphor too for the hidden ones that we dare not voice, for fear of mockery and derision or someone laughing at you that in particular resonated clear as a bell with me. (Have a read it's beautiful and a soothing balm to my ruffled and shamed jealous feathers!) In a way it's what I did last week, sharing my angst with you all, without being afraid. Thank you lovely people!

The Beautiful Interior of
Watts Memorial Chapel

So with that in mind I thought I'd share with you my plans to start training in the autumn to become a Soul Doula or Soul Midwife, supporting people at the end of their lives to make their final journey in dignity and peace, acting as their spiritual companion. Over the years I've worked in the care 'industry' I have been privileged to deliver a lot of palliative care and it's a direction that is definitely calling me. 
It sounds an odd thing to say I've enjoyed it, but it really feels like something that has been an honour to do for some amazing people, listened entranced to many an amazing long forgotten story from their younger days, shared the quiet moments of their thoughts and something that has stirred ancient memories and given me a passion to do so with the chance of dancing to the beat of the individual's drum, not a business or corporate one. 
It's little wonder then that given carte blanche

The Silent Pool

by himself to plan a weekend trip out, our first stop was a cemetery chapel, I'm such a joy to go out with! That said, it was a spectacularly awesome one, the Watts Memorial Chapel in Surrey. This beautiful mortuary chapel was built at the end of the 19th century and is decorated in a unique blend of Art Nouveau and Celtic Revival (so the guide said) designed by Mary Fraser Tyler and is adorned in a wonderfully eclectic mix of angels, cherubs, religious symbols from many faiths, celtic knots, labyrinths and mazes, dragons, an all pervading tree of life -complete with as above so below and symbols of the trinity that can represent either the Father, Son and Holy Ghost or the 3 original archetypes of Maiden, Mother and Crone depending on your inclination... definitely the latter for me with all those divine lady angels that appeared to watch you wherever you stood adorned and resplendent in red!

For lunch we drove to the nearby Silent Pool for a peaceful picnic at a local spring fed pool. It's chalky origin adding to it's unusual blue-green colouring dependant on the light and an atmospheric almost eerie quality, allegedly haunted by the ghost of a local woodcutter's daughter who drowned in her bid to escape abduction by King John. The slight mist that hovers over pool adds to the air of mystery and the atmosphere although tranquil lends itself to the story entirely. No sightings for us alas, but we did find this beautiful tree or more accurately it's splendid roots almost like a living tree of life, entwined and tangled on the water's edge, strong and grounded supporting a whole world above it. It's easy to believe the claims that this has long been a local spot for quiet pagan practices. For the second time in the day I was staring at these winding, weaving roots knowing I was being shown something and it wasn't the path of a tree surgeon.

Abundance and Fertility of What?

Moving on to a local stately home, complete with it's own arboretum (of course) and seeking some shelter from the sun, we walked towards the blissful shade of the rose garden, passing the grave of the Lady of The House when this image of a Grecian or Roman Goddess albeit commercial came into view proudly clutching her cornucopia of wheat.... shouting abundance and fertility at me. 'Abundance and fertility of what?' I wanted to shout back. Entering the gorgeous rose garden the heady scents of the roses on the trellises were almost intoxicating - as we passed some delicate peachy pink roses, a long forgotten familiar smell enveloped me, suddenly transporting me back to my childhood in Nan's lovely garden, so bittersweet it brought sudden tears to my eyes, whilst whispering motherline to my soul.
Lucky himself is a patient man, humouring me as I explained the one last stop on the way home, quietly asking for the post code with a resigned air and brooking no resistance, even his eyebrows did raise

The Oldest Yew In Britain?

a little at the thought of visiting a tree. No mere tree to be fair though, this ancient yew called the Yggsdrasil Of Surrey in this blog article by the amazingly named Feral Strumpet (what a freakingly cool name!) is allegedly no less than 4000 years old, this estimate based on it's trunk girth of over 10 metres, wow! It's still alive and you could easily fit a couple of people inside the ancient hollow trunk as it happily and nobly presides over the Church Yard of the 12th Century St George's Church at Crowhurst. It's Yggdrasil name coming from Norse mythology either as the home of the Goddesses and Gods at Asgard or as Odin's Gallows depending on which interpretation you choose. Another tree, another tree of life, the roots must be massive and take up half of the churchyard, still none the wiser why it seems to be national tree day for me, but it's got to be said I do like a tree. 
The beauty of the day brought me deep vivid dreams, that woke me in the middle of the night, my brain tripping over itself trying to unravel the threads and connect up elusive half thoughts and ideas. To quell my active brain, I willed myself into a meditation, which led me into more dreams where I was watching myself and unknown women around a hearth and in places I didn't know. My Nan talking to me and drawing leaves and flowers, which she was fabulous at in life. Waking up frazzled but buzzing full of sudden

Time Traveling Rose

certainty that the time is very much approaching for me to make a few changes, to create a lifestyle more around my beliefs, small steps maybe, time to trust my instincts to plan these carefully, to copy the wide reaching roots that support the body of the tree. So translated from my brain's half thoughts and musings into plain language, time to think about letting go of the comfort blanket of my second job and make a little income from the skills that I have inherited and been blessed with to help support my next period of study. 
Time to reroot and ground myself inspired by those amazing trees, tapping into the depth of knowledge and talents that I have available to me, blessed with a fertile abundance of ideas and imagination. Phew, so where will that lead? Time to investigate online shops and how they work, hone some skills and build up a stock of lovely things.....time to branch out, watch this space!

Have a Blessed and Abundant Week! x x 

Girl Power and Down With Haters....

Let Loose On A Special Occasion

So all the articles and blogs that have popped up from the ether of wonder known more commonly as the internet and onto my timeline over the last few weeks all seem to be about how women behave towards each other: why women hate each other, sabotage each other and pull each other down - you know the type of thing. I read a few of them then got fed up with women slagging off women for well, slagging off women in most of them and apart from a little chime of a long distance alarm bell thought very little of it. Surrounded by a group of warm, funny, brave and crazy girlfriends as evidenced in the photo above at our Sophie's 18th Birthday (they are sooo gonna love me for that!) and it's fair to say wrapped up and nurtured in the love we have woven through our own, each others, our childrens and in some cases our grandchildren's lives over  a minimum of 15 years, in some cases 46 years, hating other women is not a concept that I felt personally familiar with or afflicted by. Other women's cellulite, wardobe, new man, diets and thighs are no concern of mine.

Bless Us, What Style Icons....

On the whole, jealousy is not one of my many dark-self facets. Yes of course sometimes I think I'd like a bit more money, a newer car, maybe lose a few pounds - ok a stone or two, but only as fleeting fantasies or afterthoughts, they don't consume my every thought or stop my skint, curvier, old car driving self from snoring soundly in my warm cosy bed at night, oh no. Nor am I convinced that every woman on the planet is trying to steal himself from me if they so much as look at him. Not that he isn't highly stealable  or desirable to others you understand, but put it this way if I lose him at a party he'll be at the bar or nose to nose with someone, women included discussing West Ham or scooters - " hello love, this is Sue she rides a wicked mint green vespa px or this is Sam good ole west ham girl ...." even if he does always end up with glitter on his cheeks every time we go out, he's tall and hugs people a LOT. Besides, who else would put up with either of us? 
I could be wrong one of these days he may ride his scooter off into the sunset with some nubile young beauty shouting 'I'm leaving you, you cow!" all  Alan Partridgesque but I'd put money on him being back for a work shirt in the morning...

Cause for Celebration

Anyway, I digress, a little smugly I was feeling pretty much that this wasn't a thing that I stooped to. Girl Power, go me, high five all my sisters and love to everyone. Then we went to a bike /scooter show. As I watched grown leather clad and modern mod men park up and display their bikes or scooters all polished and buffed with pride, I watched a phenomena, they all unashamedly strolled round admiring each others wheels with utter glee, complimenting each other, seeking out the owner and shaking hands in admiration. Himself's excitement when his friend Graham won a rosette couldn't have been much greater if he'd won it himself. Would I have been this excited for a friend over myself? 
Of course I would, wouldn't I? Yeah totally I told myself with a slightly closer and louder alarm bell ringing.

All You Need Is Love

During the week I was having a facebook sesh, checking out who was doing what, catching up with photos, seeing who had amusing cat videos etc when it happened. I was scrolling down and I saw a post that made me pause, it was an acquaintance as opposed to a friend sharing her newly published novel, I felt antsy, I felt a wave of irritation, my thumb hovered over like and scrolled on, with a huff I put the phone down and bit my finger nail as a klaxon went off on full alert in my head. HATER!!! I snatched my phone back up and 'loved' the post before going on 'love' clicking spree - if it was posted I loved it, wowed it, gave it the thumbs up - If I could have gone round and personally shaken every postee's hand I would have done, such was my Hater shame. 
Exhausted and emotional I sat back thinking now everyone is going to think I've lost it and I can't really undo all the likes as that will look bad, so I'm stuck looking like a crazy woman. It made me quiet and sullen as I pondered my reactions and the emotions behind them for the rest of the evening. I spent some time in quiet meditation mulling it all over as I lie awake in the early hours. 
Bleary eyed by the morning I listened to what was gnawing at my soul and where the jealousy, such an unfamiliar and bitter tasting emotion was coming from. Success, competition, achievement.

It's a Start...

Not pleasant. After a long grounding and calling in, I looked back through the posts of the morning, listening to my gut, facing it when it made me want to turn away, looked into the darkness and identified the demons there. With a smidge of relief I realised that it wasn't aimed just at women, it was at anyone who was successfully doing things I had a secret desire to achieve, still mortifying though. So out came the scribblings, the diary, the books bought for research and a plan hatched, a long unopened file on the computer has seen the light of day and work has recommenced. Guess I've gotta spill the milk before I can even think about crying over it...

Courtesy Of Rhiannon Bevan Photography

I've been mulling it over all week and making myself come to terms with it in a positive non judgemental way. This blog has been rolling itself round my mind too, I wanted to say how I felt, I waited because it felt important to get it right. As the words formulated I idly had a stroll though facebook land and was thrilled to see that my friend Rhiannon had posted that she was delighted to have come home and found her photo was used in Kent Women in Business magazine. Go Girl! Utter delight filled me too. Rhiannon with the fabulously goddessey and appropriate name, has her own photography business and far from being scathing or mean about other people's work, always merrily likes, loves and wows at my snaps from my various jaunts, happily commenting on them and freely complimenting them without a hint of bitterness or fear so prevalent in modern society, not that she needs to worry to be fair - I've seen some stunning work of hers online but that's beside the point! Zero hating. This was the photo that was published so I messaged her and asked if I could please share it here. It's her birthday today, but even so she got back to me with a delighted yes. That's what we all need to do, women maybe more so. Raising each other up as opposed to tearing each other down, recognising it's not a competition, we don't need to struggle with comparisons whether it's bodies, jobs, photos or stories, there's room for all of us and all our wonders, what a wonderful tapestry we will weave when we have learnt to do this....

Have a Blessed Week x x