Posts Tagged inspiration

Bricks

A YouTuber that I enjoy, Caddicarus, has been prefacing his lockdown videos over recent months by screaming ‘What is going on?!’ – because The World is Made of Bricks and he’s trapped at home. A (rather dark) comedy way to visualise his feelings about these crazy times.

And now, the world is slightly less Made of Bricks. We can go out! But after a visit to our nearest town a couple of weeks ago, we’re nowhere near back to Life Before just yet.

The feeling in the air was one of fear. Masks everywhere, I’m glad to say, and people doing what they could – I’ve yet to see any anger or nasty words, thank goodness. That feeling of tautness in the air, though, as if something bad (worse?) is about to happen…

The last few weeks have still been very difficult for me, health-wise. I hate talking about this really, as there’s always the voices in my head nagging away: ‘Oh, she’s off again. What NOW? You know people are probably sick to death of it by now. Why can’t you write something normal?’

These are absolutely all phrases that have been said to my face in the past, by the way. Which doesn’t help.

I’ve been wanting to write, but the words haven’t been coming. The World is Made of Bricks, and bricks aren’t very inspiring.

Then I think about this.

Years ago, there was a Handfasting where the couple used a brick as their wedding Stone, the symbolic foundation of their relationship. It was a brick that was part of the batch that had built their house.

Bricks are heavy, but they are stones crafted by us. So many people put tremendous emphasis on the importance of stones in magic, but those are usually of the sparkly crystal variety. Either way, stones have been taken from the earth that is where they’ve been formed, and brought to fulfil a purpose in our lives.

I write this in a room with exposed brick walls and floor. I can feel them beneath my feet right now. I loved this house for its natural floors, as I’d rather go barefoot given half a chance.

I’ve been feeling trapped during lockdown, and that feeling only worsened when I ventured out. I’ve heard people speaking of being ‘stuck at home’ as a time for reflection, and that’s fine, but humans are generally social creatures. We need to reach out sooner or later, if only to assure friends that we’re not actually dead or to go find food shopping.

The bricks overwhelming my mind aren’t safe places for me to hide. They’re crushing me, like a medieval torture. They’re preventing me from Doing, holding me in with the thoughts that tell me how much I should be doing, and how much I CAN’T do. This is hiding like a fairytale creature, in the dark of a cave, the opposite of what Summer should be.

The World is Made of Bricks, and turned upside down at the same time. Instead of being at my busiest, I feel as productive as a brick. I remember another reviewer describing how a story flowed as easily as a river of bricks (yes, that slowly). And yet…

People have been reaching out to me. I’ve been answering. Before I know it, conversations are being had – admittedly via internet Messenger applications, but I’m hearing how friends are doing, helping professionally or just sharing enthusiasm about a good book or knitting pattern.

This year has come crashing down, but we are slowly building it back up. The bricks might not look the same as they did before, but they are still the foundation stones to our world. No matter where we fall, the ground will be there to catch us. We can make our space what we need it to be. It just takes one brick at a time.

I’m still here. My inspiration is finding its way, peeking through holes in the wall, and I’m tremendously sorry for being so quiet. I’m doing what I can, when I can.

The world is changing and the new path isn’t clear yet. I can feel it trying to form beneath our feet. One step at a time, gently… gently…

Here’s that floor, and Fen, whose Gotcha Day it is today. Ten years ago, he came home with us as a tiny puppy. This is his room too, his safe space as much as it is mine. This is him right now, keeping an eye on me as I work. The bricks are cool on a hot August day.

We build our lives. Some parts are brighter or stronger than others, but we are still here. Some days that feels like a miracle, and I’m glad of how solid a fact it is.

Fen 7-8-20

P.S. I was also reminded as I wrote this of a song from years ago that I rather loved. It’s a Christian band, but take the meaning as you will. This is ‘Let it Be‘, by Superchick – a song about bricks.

Stay strong, my friends.

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Monday

I’ve never been sure what Real Druids (or Pagans, Witches or whatever) are supposed to do on a daily basis.

I’m sure you’ve seen memes involving Getafix or Gandalf. I rather like this one from Living Liminally:

druid meme2

Even that’s not been possible for most of this year, alas. Looking over my garden is kind of my limit for outdoor contact – or walking the dogs close to home. That’s something, and it’s more than many, I know.

Today I’m wondering what I should be doing, according to others. Because when I woke up, my brain decided to regale me with all of the demands made by others who clearly Know Better.

(They don’t. Some folks just love to critique based on a glimpse of the person they think they know.)

The softest target is my health. Lately this has been a real bone of contention, and apparently a problem for others as well as me.

Every time I post something about my health (read: my depression, anxiety, what have you), I feel bad. The voices gleefully squeal ‘Oh, she’s off again! What is it now? They don’t care, you know.’ Or, that biggest of guns: ‘She just wants attention.’

I don’t. I really don’t. I want to talk about how I’m feeling because every time I do, I get quiet messages telling me that being honest and up-front about it is helpful. I’m not actually whingeing; I’m striking a chord with someone stuck in their own dark hole.

A lot of what I do is invisible, thinking about it – meaning that it happens, but can’t easily be seen. Battling my illness. Working with energy, connecting with the world around, chatting to spirits or deity. Or – gasp! – writing.

Writing is sorting ideas somehow in your head, transmitting those coherently through my fingers onto this page. Broadly speaking.

But there’s also the jump to simply do the work. To get up, find the writing tool – laptop, pen and paper – and make the words happen. That can be as difficult as putting on running gear to head out of the door. Especially when feeling low, because the Brain wants to convince you that you can’t do it. You don’t need to. Nobody cares, anyway.

Shut up, f*ck off, I’m doing it.

A common piece of advice from writers is to Just Write. Neil Gaiman put it so well when he said something akin to ‘Put one word after another and keep going.’ Yep. Like running – one step, then another, repeat.

It is at once that simple and at the same time so much more difficult!

Here I am, then. Wittering on. Hoping that these words strike that note to inspire.

This Druid does indeed have Things to do today. They are Good Things. Reading through my students’ work; reading review books and preparing my ideas on them, answering messages – and seeing what happens as they day goes on! Last week, I worked on the upcoming issue of Pagan Dawn. New things come along all the time. Druid Life is interesting.

Normally at this time of year, I’d be so busy with public rituals, talks, camps and suchlike. This year is quiet, generally at home. But I’m still doing my best.

Try not to judge. It’s likely you can’t see everything about a person from just a glance or a Twitter status. Look deeper into the story if you’re interested; you might find something you like.

Let’s try to keep inspired, eh? Your story is just as valid as anyone’s. I’m telling my frustrating brain that today – now with an added topping of ‘Look, you wrote something! Not useless after all!’

Solidarity and love in these difficult times, my friends.

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Labels and Stories

I stare at the blank screen.

So much is going on in the world. What right do I have to ask your time to read my words? But the words want to be spoken.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve loved words and their power. Sounds, shapes, feel in the mind… so amazing.

And then I remember learning to Shut Up. That my opinion was stupid, laughable or just not worth hearing. People whose opinion I cared about deliberately turned away.

So I learned to stay quiet, to keep the words hidden in notebooks and boxes. To hide my tears, frustration and anger as it seemed others were allowed to speak – but not me.

Now, years later, I write for a living (sort of). I place these words with care, knowing that they might be helpful, interesting or inspiring for some, boring, difficult or annoying for others. That’s ok. I can’t control how my words are understood.

But I can control what I say. Tone, phrasing… and the ultimate point of Why I am Writing This.

Recently, the world has gone up a stage in madness. I believe it was inevitable – we really are in a Change Is Needed place right now, and such times are fuelled with passions. I understand (insofar as I can) and agree.

But our little individual lives go on. We try to help in our own ways, standing with our communities and hopefully acting honourably and with truth. Which is kind of what brings me here today.

I’ve often spoken about labels. How they’re more useful for the viewer than than labelled themselves; ‘Druid’ means something entirely different, for example, to me and then to a random stranger happening upon my work.

I’m seeing labels being used as weapons, as pigeonholes to box folk in, as titles to escape. Negative associations can be tough to remove. I see ‘protestor’, ‘looter’, ‘revolutionary’ being bandied about in the news, but each of those has an individual name – and a unique story.

Sometimes it’s easier to label someone and move on. If you’re not really interested, that’s your choice. But this casual laziness (and disrespect) means that you lose the chance to engage with something more than just a word.

It’s Pride Month right now, and I’m seeing so many different debates about relevance, meaning, identity and so forth. I’m glad people are still talking, sharing those stories and exploring their identities.

I hear them often, my rainbow friends. I see the slight nervousness as they speak sometimes, as if expecting a blow, or at least verbal abuse. The sadness, and then the joy as I continue to listen. Such a simple act, and yet so powerful – and I am honoured to be part of their tales.

Recently, though, it’s not been so much ‘they’ – as in, another person or group. I’ve been feeling more and more that it’s ‘we.’ That this is something I’m absolutely part of.

Years ago, I remember an elderly family member almost spitting at the television, they were so angry. Stephen Fry was speaking, and I wanted to listen. But to my relative… ‘Ooh, it’s that queer again, isn’t it.’

I stared. I quietly asked ‘What?’ He poured some more vitriol on The Gays and the channel was changed for the sake of peace. I felt sick.

I don’t understand that attitude. I want to know the person before I react to an amorphous group. And for this, I am myself a negative: a ‘wishy-washy liberal’. I’ve had similar bile thrown my way for standing up for friends who are somehow the wrong gender, colour, sexuality, nationality.

So many of us are standing up right now to protest this treatment. I can’t believe it still happens, but it is and we must. WE. Including me.

Difficult discussions are being had. Words have their meanings subtly changed and reclaimed. Understandings are being challenged. Normative thinking… may actually be a myth. And for those invested in it, that hurts.

I do sincerely hope that we learn from what’s happening in these times. I hope that positive change is crafted. I do my best, from my own positive of (white, educated) privilege.

I want to raise my voice. I am afraid of the brickbats that may rain down in response… but that’s actually always been something lurking beneath everything I write. ‘Who does she think she is?’ ‘Crazy woman, nutter, New Ager…’

And the worst, the laziest, most contemptible, gaslighting and negating insult: ‘She’s just doing it for the attention.’

I write and speak my truth as best I can. I try to use the labels that are given to me, as well as intentionally claiming some. I prefer Priest, because even as a child, I knew I was more than an ‘-ess’ stuck like an afterthought onto a man’s word.

I am both Priest and Priestess. Author and authoress. But I’m aspiring for the one that needs no ‘-ess’ to be strong and still female: Queen.

I will keep exploring. I will do my best to stand, to listen to all the stories regardless of teller. I will work to maintain safe space for those who need it.

And I’m taking on a new label for myself that I feel is overdue. Sod The Fear of reactions.

This Pagan, Druid, white woman is also Queer. Actively standing.

Let’s all work to make our stories good ones, moving forward.

Much love, my friends.

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My First Livestream!

So last night, I randomly decided to go live on Facebook for the Full Moon.

Why? Because I miss my friends. Because I wanted to reach out. Because I felt that I should.

I’ve done no public ritual this year, and very little private. Hopefully this would help inspire me.

I talked for just under an hour. The sky turned from the pale blue of sunset to black; the wildness of my garden filled with birdsong became full of flittering moths. People came and went, friends far and near.

Typically for a public ritual, things did not go exactly as planned. The Moon didn’t show up, for one! But the changing light showed me the movement of day into night, the gentle turning of the planet. Standing in place, yet moving. Alone, but connecting. Reaching out…

When I finished, I felt emotional. The house seemed so quiet! I absolutely do miss everyone, but I’m so grateful to the technology that we have, which allows us to connect in this way. Round a tiny single candle-flame instead of a bonfire in a field, but no less meaningful.

I’ve uploaded the stream to my YouTube channel here. Quite a few people who weren’t there live have said it was good company last night. Sometimes a voice reaching out, a face and even just fingers brushing a screen allows us to remember that we have friends in spirit as well as body.

Quite a few have asked for more – and if it helps during this crazy time, I’m absolutely glad to.

Let me know your thoughts, if any. What would you like in a livestream from me? I’m open to suggestions for topics and themes, not matter how unusual! What would you like to talk about? It’s just me talking, but everyone in the chat is involved too. I’ll hold the space if you want to come along and spend time.

Things are changing i nthe wider world, but it doesn’t hurt at all to take a moment with friends. I was so nervous, but I’m very glad that I did. That time last night was precious and will be remembered.

Much love to you all xx

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New Challenges for Paganism

Just over a week ago I posted a new video to my Youtube channel, as the start of an ongoing discussion/stream-of-consciousness-chat about the current state of the world.

A large part of me went into this not quite knowing what to say. Because the world is in a completely new place right now – or if not new for humanity, certainly new for this generation.

As I spoke, the ideas that had been cogitating and fermenting came out. From a little hopefully-motivational talk came more and more thoughts, to the extent that this one-off video demanded that it be the first part of a series. This was just Paganism is Isolation (pt1).

I had to focus, to keep on-topic. My mind wanted to wander off in any number of directions, about fears and worries, but no – this was about Paganism. How my Pagan beliefs, practice and lived spirituality were helping me right now. Or how they weren’t.

One huge thing that the lockdown/isolation life has forced me (and no doubt many others) to acknowledge is our priorities. What is important to us and our faith practice? This is something that’s been on my mind for many years, but as shown in the video, it feels as if the universe is physically forcing us to turn and LOOK at what we need to see. And then do it.

We had become complacent. As the pandemic news was starting to break, I saw many conversations about content for groups and publications, generally carrying on as usual. Let’s talk about Spring and all the new life, potential and brightness! What trees we feel affinity for, what crystals, whether spells should rhyme or not…

I sigh.

I know such things are interesting to some people, but as I watched… and then compared such chitchat to the news stories unfolding around me… how easily I could see why people dismiss Paganism as ‘fluffy’ or inconsequential.

I’ve spoken in the past about how we celebrate Harvest when it’s been a bad year. Right now, we’re looking at an Ostara season, and likely Beltane too, from a completely new place.

Yes, we need to celebrate life – because we’ve realised how valuable it is. Yes, we need to look at the trees – because going outside is no longer a right, but a privilege. (I’m not commenting on crystals or linguistic word-salad. Just no. Not my thing.)

Many of us have more time now than we’ve had before, but we can’t truly enjoy it because of the price. People are either confined to their homes or to a hospital bed. If working, they will have constant anxiety of what might happen in the next minute, hour or day, for those they meet and how such random strangers may affect – or infect – them.

We are being forced to realize just how much we have taken for granted. We are forced to see exactly what is important, and what can be left by the wayside.

I’ve also spoken in the past about a certain reluctance (or even dread) on the part of some Pagans to discuss or acknowledge ‘dark’ deities. Well, now we’re having to. Because that darkness is part of life. It’s not ‘evil’ or ‘bad’, it just is.

We celebrate every sunrise, because it’s another day. We sit with the darkness of potential death, unable to reach out a physical hand. Thinking on it, I see more connection with our ancestors than ever before: that sense of uncertainty, or lack of control, of the wish to pray for guidance, strength or hope. Of the need for community and shared experience.

This is what our Paganism can bring to us right now, if we’re finally brave enough to face it. The balance of our lives, our world… and so of our faith that is specifically based in Nature. We’re not playing any more. We are now required to open our eyes.

Yes, it’s difficult. I absolutely know this. Yes, so many of us have already walked this path (personally with my own mental health battles, but for all of those who have their own everyday challenges). ‘Normal’ is fluctuating constantly. Folks who have been physically confined due to difficulties getting out are now able to be better understood. We can look, truly see and so empathise, perhaps help more usefully.

This is not about guilt. Guilt isn’t helpful. This is about our shared humanity, life and doing what needs to be done.

I don’t have answers – that’s kind of the point, nobody does! But I have a hand, reaching out across the wires, and a voice to tell my story. So do you.

I’ve absolutely more to say on this, and will do in the weeks ahead. But for now, perhaps take time to sit and look out at the world, while looking inward to what your own deeper Pagan beliefs are. Is it time to adjust your practices? What can you do to make your outer world reflect and aid your inner (or vice versa)? What is no longer needed, and can be put aside? What fuels you, where does your motivation, your power, your strength come from?

What stories can you tell, and what stories call to you to teach or guide you? What makes you uncomfortable… and can you face that to see what is hidden behind the unease?

Yes, in my own hemisphere it’s Spring. I can see buds on the trees and hear birds singing. But I also know there’ll be chicks fallen from nests, crops left to rot due to closed eateries, and so many looking for help…

What are we doing? What can we do? Individually and slowly reaching outward.

We have technology that our ancestors didn’t. We are modern Pagans, with our own thoughts and ideas. Let’s stand together and use them.

Love and solidarity, my friends.

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Challenging

*possible triggers for abuse*

This morning, in an activity that continued since yesterday, my brain decided to tell me all the things that have been shouted at me over the years. Often directly into my face. Sometimes wordless, just a deluge of vituperation (aren’t words great?).

‘Oh, stop being stupid.’ – too many to count.

‘You’ve got an answer for everything.’ – Mum.

‘Don’t think – just do what I tell you.’ – lecturer/boss (female), Derby University.

‘I think you’re disabled and shouldn’t be here.’ – boss (male), NHS.

*uncontrolled, mocking laughter* – too many to count.

‘You know the only way to get taken seriously is to *mimes cutting wrists*’ – on-call Doctor.

‘Just stop talking.’ – boss (male, not mine), previous workplace.

‘What were you thinking?!’ – boss (male, mine).

We’ve all got these lists. Key words fly out at me from where my subconscious has stored them: stupid, know-all, ungrateful, bitch, cunt…

A lovely friend summed up this negative-deluge as ‘the brain misfiring.’ Wires are crossed and a safety switch triggered, fight or flight become confused and you’re overwhelmed with noise, emotion, feeling, panic.

This is a symptom of anxiety and depression, mental illness generally. But… I think it’s a symptom of modern life as well.

I’ve never understood how someone can act in such a way. To cover up for themselves? To project power? What could I (or anyone) have possibly done to warrant such treatment?

Conclusion: I must have done something REALLY BAD.

For most of my childhood, I was quiet. Bullied regularly, scared to speak up, often the new girl, mocked and tricked. I learned defensive tactics, and hid inside stories – my own and mountains of books. Libraries and green spaces were my refuge.

At University, I learned to speak up, to stand up… but still found myself a target. Of course I wasn’t perfect, but it was as if I was never allowed to make mistakes. Taking responsibility and trying to fix things didn’t help – I was still WRONG.

In recent years, it seems as if a ‘last straw’ was somehow reached. Sometimes, when my mental state is at its lowest, I feel like an abused animal, cringing away from imagined blows about to fall. And hating myself for it.

I wish that I could summon my strength, that I know is inside, and return to those moments when I just took those words in. I wish I could raise a hand and simply say ‘No.’ Or turn and walk away.

So many of us have experienced such things; I know it’s not unusual, and I’m not seeking sympathy or pity. I know I got off comparatively lightly.

I’m asking that we learn and stand up moving forward. We stand for ourselves or with others who can’t, and say NO.

I’m so glad that young people these days have so many strong role models. I love that we’re being told to challenge. But of course, we know that it’s not always so simple – that a verbal threat can quickly become a physical one.

I try to stand, inside my own thoughts, imagining that ‘NO.’ Stop the misfiring. Mentally time-travel and silence the abuse. Challenge the thoughts.

And so be able to challenge the wrong when I feel or see it today.

This post was inspired by others, mostly from the #InternationalWomensDay tag on social media. It’s not confined to women, though, not at all.

To all my friends, be they male, female or any other shade of the rainbow, I will try to stand with you as best I can. Know that you are not alone.

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A Listening Heart

Imbolc has passed. We’re still feeling the chill of winter, but the snowdrops herald the imminent Spring. The sun is with us for a few more minutes each day, and all around, I see projects slowly beginning to bud…

It’s been a long winter. I’m not going to recall the turbulent times we live in, but we’ve all felt the length of January like never before, it seems.

I’ve spent the winter months trying my best to survive, literally and figuratively. My health has been poor, and despite all of the urges from The Internet to seek the help that I’m apparent entitled to, I’ve been met with walls of silence – or at best, suggestions to ‘go for a nice walk’ and suchlike. Imagine eyerolls here. Then imagine the tears.

Over and over, each rebuff hurts. When it takes all of your strength to reach out, to be told you’re either not sick enough or that there isn’t anything to be done is crushing.

For years, ever since a GP told me to ‘go away and cheer up’, I’ve managed. Recently, though, moving forward has felt next to impossible.

I’ve read all the books, tried all the techniques. Hell, I’ve written my own! What more can I do?

One evening, I found a secret stash of Bravery and reached out to a friend. Professionally and personally, tentatively and with slight fear of rebuttal (based purely on experience from every other quarter!).

I was heard. Such a small thing, but I was heard. Helpful suggestions were made, which I will follow up, but the main power came from the fact that someone heard my cries, understood, and listened.

This has made such a difference. A voice from outside my head, telling me truths that I was unable to tell myself. That’s all. It is ok – it really is. There is hope. I can do this.

Sometimes the battles we fight seem hopeless purely because of the weight of time, as we’ve been fighting for so long. I can understand how people give up.

The simple but profound gift of a listening heart made all the difference. Quiet invitations to shared healing events. Belief in me, when I had none in myself. Feeling seen, held, heard.

These are gifts that we can give to each other. Sometimes I can’t – which is when I know things are bad – but I try as often as I can, when called upon. I try to hear that mystic tap on the shoulder. Deep breath and…

I’m stepping up. Creating Things to help. Setting space, reaching out to like-minded folks. The Cauldron of Calm will be happening this year. Message me if you’d like to join in.

As the world stands confused and hurting, we need to come together to help each other. Every individual can make a difference. We can try.

There’s a lot of 2020 yet ahead, but I’m doing my best to stand up again – and find my own strength along the way. By reaching out with a hand to hold and be held.

Much love, my friends.

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Truth in Word and Deed

Recently, I’ve been rather quieter than usual. I realized today that this is since the recent UK Government Elections. With all the noise leading up to it, and then the fallout after, I didn’t really feel that I had anything to say.

No – that’s not quite right. I had a lot to say. It just felt rather like yelling into a void. A void of anger, disappointment, soundbites and oversimplification.

Today, Nimue Brown wrote about Truth in her blog, when spoken as part of a Druid’s role. I’ve also spoken recently about my doubts on the word ‘Druid’ as a label, as it doesn’t quite encompass what I do… but this Truth absolutely does.

I’ve been quiet because I’ve felt the need to pull back right now. The Yuletide season is full of light and noise, and I can’t engage with that this year. Physically, mentally and spiritually, it feels wrong for me.

The image I keep coming back to is actually from what may be considered a ‘seasonal’ movie – not because it’s set at Christmas (it really isn’t!), but because this series is traditionally shown at this time of year, as a fun adventure for all ages.

For the past few weeks, I’ve felt like Obi-Wan Kenobi in Star Wars (Episode 4, the original film). Suddenly hit by something, he puts a hand to his head and totters across a room to sit down.

You know the quote, I’m sure. But it’s the whole image for me.

A little melodramatic, but the energy of sheer confusion, powerlessness and wanting to lash out… it’s been overwhelming.

And yet, it’s times like these that demand we speak up. It’s more important than ever, in fact. To stand, as Druid, Priest, human being; to console, protest, debate, find sense in the story that’s unfolding right before our eyes.

15 million people (estimated) didn’t vote in that recent Election. We are at once so disengaged from the process of running this country that we all have an opinion, but feel that our voices make no difference. Suddenly silenced – as on social media, when expressing an opinion and being shouted down. The one who wins is the one who shouts loudest.

I’m not sure how this will all unfold. I’m not sure that anyone could have ‘won’ the political game during this round. But – speaking as someone who is on medication to literally prevent the urge to do this very thing – I know that we cannot give up.

We must keep talking, and also listening. We must relearn empathy, consideration and motivation, why others act as they do. We must challenge, educate and inspire. We hope… but then we must move. Do. Step forward.

I’ve felt for a few days that I needed to write this – I just wasn’t sure how. I’d silenced myself. Then today, I was watching a man who is already considered a great storyteller, reflecting my feelings (and frustrations) perfectly whilst talking about another movie:

“Here you have this event – on the one hand, it’s a beautiful thing, right? We’re all going to get together, we’re going to hold hands, and somehow that’s going to cure hunger. The illusion that we’re contributing to something that actually is making change, at opposed to something that kind of makes us feel better, and absolves us of our responsibility to enact actual change.”

Jordan Peele, speaking about the duality of America as depicted in the 1980s ‘Hands Across America’ movement in the movie ‘Us’.

The noise of this season is coming together with the frustration of these times. We can’t make change while we’re busy worrying about our own problems: paying for gifts, sorting food, travel, the needs of relatives. Yes, community and sharing, but with more emphasis on image than truth.

We get together and talk about even more problems that we see: those in power, those without, immigration, homelessness, rich versus poor. And then we return to our lives and enter the next year. Back to ‘normal’, whatever that means.

Yes, such debates happen amongst those with privilege, to some extent. But that’s not helpful either. Guilt or blame gets us nowhere.

My Druid phrase comes back to me again, right now:

What am I Doing?

My husband is heading out tonight, working Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to help those in need. I’m here at home, wondering what I can do.

I can speak. I can write. I can make things to help people. I can listen when called upon.

I’m honestly not sure what else I can do just yet, but I’ve no doubt I’ll find out as we enter 2020. The challenge, as always, is to stand up. To reach out. To engage.

It’s so very difficult right now. But I cannot stay silent. It’s knowing what to say – and then what to Do. It’s overwhelming, but I feel that I can’t stay silent any longer.

Season’s blessings, my friends. Stay strong, remember that you are loved and that you are more powerful than you think. Use your words well, moving forward.

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What Do You See?

This morning, a lovely friend shared an image on his social media:

I remember being a very small child and seeing what would have been an Original Punk on the High Street. My parents pulled me away, saying that I shouldn’t go near Those People.

This must’ve been the 70s. And fair enough, some punks were… well… a bit mad.

But since then, I’ve often been the weirdo on the High Street. Whether it be a teenage goth in full drag (stopped traffic), or in my wedding dress (stopped pedestrians), or in robes and cloak for a Handfasting (both).

This taught me a few things.

1. Learn to dodge people who stop to stare right in your path.

2. Have a smile on. Because it confuses people.

3. Be aware that if you dress differently to ‘the Norm’, be prepared for people to react.

I’ve had car-horn beeps and cheers, children gently stroking the velvet of my cloak, and any number of questions or catcalls.

But you know what? It is always an adventure.

When people approach to ask something, they are both curious and brave. It takes guts to go up to the Strange Person and speak to them. After all, who knows what might happen?

I do wonder if people would believe some of the questions they ask, but it’s to be expected. Eddie Izzard has quipped about people staring at him:

‘Man in a dress!’

No frame of reference… oh god, what do I do…

That kind of sums it up.

In recent years, however, I’ve seen that bravery grow. I’ve never had insults thrown; the worst was ‘what are you supposed to be?’

I’ve been asked if I live in a commune, Hobbiton, if I always dress like this, Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings quotes (usually spells, oddly).

I keep smiling. I stop and try to answer. I’ve a number of retorts to familiar questions, but keep it lightly humorous. Then, when people see that I’m an Actual Person and not about to bite their head off, we can engage in conversation.

If it’s younger people, I always have time to chat, to let them touch my cloak or staff (or tattoos), and generally to teach them that It Is OK.

This is about respect, in both approach and response. It’s about engaging at a level that encourages understanding. It’s about inspiring, showing people that there is magic in the world, even if it turns out to be a normal(ish) human being underneath.

This is about walking the talk. Not showing off, but being who you are in that moment, and reacting well when people engage with that image.

I often wonder what people see when they look at me, all dressed up. Do they then go home and say to someone else ‘Ooh, I met a real Druid today!’

What do I want them to then hold in that image of me? ‘I met a real Druid and…’

Ideally, that I was friendly and nice, not stuck-up or daft! That this is real, not just for show.

I have so much respect for those who go out into the world showing their plumage. Be it punks, goths, pagans, drag Kings and Queens…

It takes bravery to do that, too.

What image do we present to the world, in both outerwear and engagement? Are we staying in ‘protective’ mode today, or dressing up? And when people approach to ask – with genuine respect and desire to know – what do we say?

I’ve been mulling over what to wear to Witchfest this weekend. Do I glam up or stay everyday? I usually like to give talks in my civvies, because my Druidry isn’t actually dependent on outfit.

But perhaps a little bravery is required this time…

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Images of Druidry

It’s Monday morning. I’ve been idly wandering through social media as I drink my coffee, seeing what the world is up to.

A thought strikes me. I check again, more specifically. Hmm. Interesting.

Despite the millions of images out there of Pagans, Witches and Druids, I don’t see myself anywhere.

This isn’t an ego thing. I don’t literally mean images of myself!

I don’t see what I do in any of the airbrushed beauties standing in woodland in impractical clothing. Nowhere is there any mud, even smudges of dirt on fingers. Plenty of face makeup, pseudo-tribal markings – that seems ‘in’ right now.

It’s all too clean. Ok, not everything requires muckiness. But there’s very few images that require the spirit behind the visual. That’s absolutely a skill, usually caught in a spontaneous shutter-click or behind a lense-flare.

So much of our lives and stories these days is shared around the world in a second via the wires – and wire-less – mediums that impact us every day. I’m not a huge fan of posed pictures (as many professional photographers will grumble!), preferring to be caught unaware, and so unselfconscious.

I do wonder how many of those growing up in this environment believe that if it’s not captured and shared, it’s not ‘valid’ somehow. In so doing, those images lose their power, their reality, through their staged nature.

There’s many pictures of me at work performing public ritual, robed and (hopefully) smiling. There’s far fewer of me in quiet contemplation, deep ritual or otherwise Doing My Thing.

Yet I’m a little sad to see such a lack of images of anyone in such moments, given the abundance of pictures floating around.

Perhaps I’ve caught a paradox. Such moments cannot be truly caught, because they are rare – the subject and those around are caught up in what they’re doing, not worrying about how they look.

But every so often, you catch a glimpse of the real magic, caught by the camera.

This was ritual, creating sacred space with a handful of sage leaves and a piece of windfall birch bark. I wasn’t even aware of the camera. I presume the person was using a special lense from the edge of the trees.

This is what I was looking for today, I think. Those tiny moments of magic, expressing more than just makeup and pose.

These are my ponderings only, by the way. Others may feel differently. Life is not reflected by a series of still images.

But as we share what we do, try to convey our stories in words and pictures, I hope to see a little more realism amidst the theatre.

Because the magic that we do is absolutely Real. I’d like that to be seen, to create smiles, wonder and inspiration, as well as the thought ‘Maybe I can do that…’

Go make your own magic, my friends. Let’s share our stories, and our truth.

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