Read MoreWhen the summer is bursting through in all its fine greenery, and traditional May Day festival rites are kept to welcome in the luscious fertility of this time, I am keeping a lament, for this is the time that I gave birth to death instead of new life
Walking amongst the old tombstones of ancient Sussex churches, primroses, yellow and purple magnolia blossoms blooming in the Spring sunlight, I am a sacred fool talking to the dead
Read MoreRead MoreThe practice of Utiseta is an old Norse tradition. The wise women, the seers, would sit out on the burial mounds of their ancestors or that of a wise leader, to seek knowledge and to gain answers.
Read MoreMy voice now holds the voice of the storyteller; the voice of the poet; the voice of my ancestors and adopted ancestors whose voices I hear still echoing in the place of their trauma, waiting to be cleared
Young woman, you pulled up your roots,
to plant yourself in the land
of spice and lava
where shadow puppets speak
in strange tongues
Read MoreRead MoreA small dance of feathers directly above brought me out of my reverie, and I could see from the flash of pink red breast, black cap and grey wings this was a bullfinch.
The alchemy, the alchemy, the alchemy of lime. Black smoke, red fire, white slaked chalk.
Read MoreRead MoreFor every cloak has a secret pocket, a pocket where wisdom is kept, the wisdom which is gathered over a lifetime.
Read MoreI dreamed this blue full flower moon before it began.
Read MoreWe really felt like three muses, three goddesses, or perhaps a manifestation of the triple goddess herself, as we danced together laughing, twisting, and turning.
Read MoreTransfixed by this heady scene, I moved slowly around the vault in an almost trance like state.
Read MoreThe serpent will come from the hole
On the brown Day of Bríde,
Though there should be three feet of snow
On the flat surface of the ground.
