Curlew

I went out onto this wetland today. I knew I would be passing it about lunchtime as it was on my way to a place I had to go to in the afternoon. So I took a sandwich and a drink and stopped to walk out across the bog. I sat quietly to eat my lunch and then sat for a bit longer just immersing myself in the watery beauty of the place. I heard a small voice inside me then asking for a word or a whisper in reply. Was it me or some part of me, or was it something else speaking through me?  I wasn’t sure.

Then I heard the sound of the curlew, a long bubbling liquid sound that starts slowly and then falls over itself like a swift-running stream. These birds are now rare. Although I didn’t see it I was lucky to hear the unmistakable call. Was it the response the voice asked for?  I ’m not sure. But it was enough. The wetland had spoken to me and I walked back across the boardwalk over the bog with the silvery sound in my heart.

Belonging

Wood Sorrel and Celandines in the lane today

A warm spring day with wood sorrel and celandines all along the banks. Yesterday evening I went out into the garden and sat on the little rickety bench until it was dark. I was looking towards the west and when it got dark I saw the slim crescent of the Moon setting and in a line above were the planets Jupiter and Venus, with Venus really bright and quite high in the sky.

It was magical. Then I had a sudden very strong feeling of belonging. Like I’d just found my place in the Universe. I was overwhelmed. Everything seemed so still and close like it was holding me, keeping me where I should be in relation to everything else. I’ve had feelings like this before, but this was so intense, yet also so peaceful and calming, so I felt that everything is in its right place and I was … I’m searching for the right word here, ‘serene’, ‘calm’, ‘blissful’, ‘contained’ are all words that get near it, but not quite there.

For me, being on this earth at this time, and living simply as I do, is just right. I know it’s not the same for everyone, and hasn’t been for me at times, but if I can just hold onto this, whether I’m ‘happy’ or ‘unhappy’ at any time won’t matter. Because I’m contained within this feeling of belonging.

God of the Mist

There have been so many misty days lately, so many times when all the woods and hillsides are covered in white haze like clouds. And so the God of the Mist has made himself a presence in the valley where there is always a bit of mist along the river early in the morning.

I went there and he surprised me – whispered to me – not in words but with wispy misty thoughts giving me a shiver. Now I know him. He has touched me. Should I call him by a name? I don’t know. No name I can think of suits him. I don’t think he answers to words at all. Just shivers and shudders and dampness on the skin. He just drifts, yet he feels like a shape rather than shapeless. But dense, something that’s not seethrough but opaque. Like he doesn’t want an identity. Just to drift and be a veil over other things making them mysterious and shapeless like him.

A Cloudy Day

Yesterday I never saw the Sun behind the clouds. They were so low that everything was misty. I went out for a walk. Nothing special, just across a few fields and along a few quiet lanes. It was like walking in a dream. Not like the dream walking I’ve been practising a lot lately, though I think that helps me see things even when I’m not doing it. This was a walk through mud, over rusty gates and through a couple of messy farmyards. There was one place on a wooden footbridge over a rushing river that had a ‘picture postcard’ view with snowdrops on the banks. But mostly it was a grey day with no leaves on the trees, few flowers in bloom and the long views across the hills lost in cloud. But I felt so close to everything. When someone got off a noisy tractor and exchanged a few words it was like we were exchanging tokens of a secret pact, though I only know him slightly and I’m sure he was just being polite. How magical the ordinary, even drab world at the end of winter, can be. So real and at the same time so like a dream.

Paths in the Witchwood

I've been wandering, lost, on the fey paths, led astray by my own desire to find the darkest part of the dark wood. To discover a faun to walk or dance with me.

But here I am back in my glade again, looking for some sign of another on the path. There are some that I come across in posts about the misty places, the magic gateways and the groves of the enchanted forest.

Perhaps we will meet on one of the winding paths of the Witchwood. If so, take my hand and let us walk together.

Jack Frost

The cold weather seems to have the effect of turning me in on myself. I noticed it last year, which was the longest spell of really cold weather I remember. But this year it's different. I now have a better way of turning to my inner world.Trying to get warm in a chilly cottage by a small fire can be bleak. But my way now is to dream the weather.To become the cold world.

Last night I was out under the stars, wrapped up in warm clothes but still feeling the chilly air in my bones.Jack Frost came to me and I took his hand. We walked together in his icy world. I know this is perilous. When I came back inside I was chilled to numbness. Ice crystal images followed me to bed, even though I was cuddled up with a hot water bottle.

Jack followed me in my dreams. Next morning it took a while to adjust to the day as it slowly got light.But all this is OK. I don't feel lost and isolated by things like this any more. I feel in contact with the elements in a positive way and walking a path I want to follow, not lost in a dark place.

A Journey

I’m inspired by the journey into the Otherworld described by Heron in his Fern Law of Faery blog and encouraged by his comment on here and replies to me on his blog to try a focussed meditation for myself. So I went to the woods today.

It was in two stages. First I walked up along a path that zig-zags across the slope through the trees to a seat with a view along the valley. I sat here and prepared myself. I imagined myself entering the Otherworld and thought of the paths through the trees as spirit paths. When I had tuned into this I left the seat and continued up the slope to a higher seat under some trees which has a view across to the hills on the other side of the valley.

Now I was walking along the narrow path like it was a winding tunnel into the hill. The path was my gateway into the Otherworld. When I got to the higher seat I was ready to sit down and ‘journey’ properly, though I already thought I was half out of this world before getting there.

I wrote up my journey in my ‘Mystic Book’ and I don’t want to record all the details again here but I do want to record that I used the technique mentioned by Heron of looking out for something familiar to find a helper. I’m really pleased with this but I do need to keep it private at least for now.

It’s like there are some bits of the map in place. They could change, but even so I now have something to look for, or is it a key? Neither and both. But I’ve released the lock and taken a step on the path.