I, Druid

Life as a Druid has many rewards. Some are obvious, some are hidden, some you don't realise until it's too late

I didn't plan to become a Druid. I didn't wake up one morning in the certain knowledge I'd found my path, or even with the desire to look into it. I was looking for something, that much is true. Somewhere out there in this great universe there had to be answers, I knew that even before I was sure what the questions were, and I looked for those elusive answers everywhere I could. I was looking for peace, I think, something to fill the spaces in between my everyday existence and I wandered, lonely, through the crowds in a seemingly fruitless search.

I was looking for something which could make sense of my past, make tangible the present and lend a guiding light to my future...

... and I found it unexpectedly one day, in the basement of a bookshop, when a strange old man in a dirty mac sidled up to me and asked 'have you seen the lights?'

I edged away and shook my head and wondered at my infallible ability to always attract nutters, but it was under his steady gaze that I realised at last what he meant, and that I had indeed seen lights, hovering infuriatingly at the edge of my vision. Maybe he wasn't a nutter after all...or maybe I was.

That man became my teacher, and more than teacher to me. He showed me the heart of darkness and the way to the stars, he opened my heart and eyes and soul to wonders I had never imagined. He made me think and question, always. He was harsh and kind and too beautiful a soul for this world. I watched him open his door to strangers in need, I saw him draw serenity around him in the face of adversity. He was quick and clever and gentle. He was cantankerous and difficult and he made me work harder than I have ever worked. He taught me that I can hide from anyone but myself, lie to anyone but myself, and that the past will always catch you no matter how fast you run. He made me face my fears, discover myself, he showed me my future.

All this he did for me and yet I barely knew him. Of his life before I had only hints. I knew only that he was Druid; of the old ways, bound by no one, he walked his road alone. I was not his first pupil but I was his last and I miss him still. I always will. It will be fifteen years in October since he left this mundane world behind and journeyed on and I still ache at the loneliness he left behind, I still yearn for his wisdom, and still fume that he was taken before my training was complete, and yet in many ways I know he is still with me, still guiding me, still kicking me up the arse when I don't work hard enough!

Trylionn, this mighty man, this Druid, left a legacy of life. He taught me how to find the sun, and learn from the dawn. He taught me to listen to my heart and feel its beat in the earth around me, he taught me to be still, to hope, to find, to live, to see beauty where others see none, to extend the hand of friendship, to help others, to offer hospitality even when I have nothing, to share, to love, to dare to be who I am.

These are the duties and responsibilities of a Druid. These are the rewards. Thanks to him this is the road I walk.

The Druid, The Witch and The Wardrobe

Hi, remember me? It's been a while hasn't it?

The last few months have been a roller coaster of highs and lows, twists and turns that have kept me off balance, busy, exhausted, shell shocked and downright knackered.

I had an operation on my shoulder which, as it turns out, was not as successful as first thought. I had a wondrous few pain free weeks of being able to enjoy normal movement. You know the sort of thing, pulling a t-shirt over my head, picking up a mug of tea, the things we all take for granted until we can't do them, and then slowly it began to return. I'd reach out and find my cursed arm would only go so far without making me scream. Damn! I have to admit I probably overdid it right at the start, the absolute joy of being able to move without yelling out in pain ran away with me a bit and I did develop a habit of flapping my arms about like a demented duck just because I could....



Hand carved staff

It hasn't stopped me working on my staffs though, I've kept at it while I could and when I couldn't I've been busy sketching out new designs. I went through a phase of heads; Kings, Druids, Warriors, and I have to admit I became quite fond of some of them, each had his own distinct character and I enjoyed drawing that out, finding the spirit dwelling deep withing the bough. I fancy having a go at animals now though, I thought maybe a fox, although my witch wants a frog. Trust her to be awkward. 

Everything was ticking along quite nicely until my wife decided to buy a wardrobe. Well, OK, we decided to buy a wardrobe but if I say it was all her idea I've got someone to blame for the destruction of my workroom. Seriously, its absolutely devastated. How can one wardrobe do so much damage? I think I've mentioned before that my work room is in fact our small, spare bedroom, so it doesn't really take much for it to look in a state, but I keep it pretty much alright. It might look chaotic to some eyes but its my chaos, and I know where everything is. Enter shabby 1960's wardrobe.

The wardrobe from hell, Beelzebub's closet.

We rarely buy furniture new, preferring the character of second hand, older items. Character! This hadn't got character, it had a personality defect, psychotic tendencies in fact! And it was out to get me. You think I'm joking don't you? Trust me, I'm not. What should have been a simple act of stripping it down and re-staining became well... have you ever watched groundhog day? I stripped that thing again, and again and again. And it still doesn't look right, but its in the bedroom so I'm only likely to see it when I'm half asleep and its dark. You wouldn't believe how close I came to taking it outside and setting fire to it! It's killed my trusty belt sander and covered my room in an inch of dust, its drunk almost every drop of stain I owned, broken blades and screwdrivers and robbed me of my sanity.

Oh, no wait. My sanity ran for the hills years ago.

My work room is currently closed for renovation which my shoulder is very grateful for. Maybe this is the Lady's way of saying 'slow down', or maybe its just her way of saying 'DON'T BUY ANOTHER BLOODY WARDROBE!'. I can take a hint. The next time my lovely witch says 'that'd look lovely once you've stripped it down' I'm going to say DO IT YOUR BLOODY SELF!

I can hear you laughing. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that I'll do it all over again next time she asks. Oh really? Will I?

Oh alright then.

But only because I love her.

And because sometimes, even after all these years, she can still surprise me.

My wild and wonderful witch is running next year's London Marathon in memory of my grandson, who sadly was born too soon last month, to raise money for Tommy's. Please take a look at her blog, Every Step For Dillon.

Dillon's time in this world was all to brief but his spirit, and his memory, live on.

Out of the Dust

I have been a bit lazy recently when it comes to blogging but I have still been busy. I may be a stranger to my laptop but my workroom and I are bosom buddies. My poor wife thinks she has been abandoned for my dusty mistress, but when the wood calls I am helpless to refuse.

Many an hour has been spent slowly turning a branch in my hands, lost in the intricate patterns of the grain. Many a day has disappeared in the blink of an eye as the spirit of the wood has slowly emerged and a pile of bark and shavings has appeared around my feet.

Clouds of sawdust and incense have diffused the light as I work. Flickering candles have danced to the music of the plane and saw and blade. Magic has been made.

And finally I have emerged from the dust to find that spring has crept across the landscape and the heady, intoxicating, sweet scent of green is returning to the land.

It was on a mist shrouded afternoon that we headed for the moors to renew our spirits and feed our souls.

And to take a few photo's, of course.  I even managed to persuade my lovely witch to model a few of them for me.

Hand Carved Staff

Hand Carved Druid Staff

My first attempt at carving a head. He's not quite right, technically speaking, but I like his character and I learnt so much from him.



A Witch, the moors, and a staff of twisted willow

Twisted Willow Staff with Carved Head

Weather Magic

Don't Mess with A Witch!



So now you know what I've been up to while I haven't been blogging.



Can I really be a druid?

It's a question I've been pondering quite a lot just lately. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and ask 'Is that who you really are?' At first the answers seemed obvious, and the question silly, but over time it niggled away at me. Is 'Druid' what I really am?

I have often found it hard to reconcile my past with my faith today. My military career, a career that was in my blood, doesn't sit easy with the peace loving druid. From the moment I was born my Dad raised me to be a soldier, and although I fought against his brutality, and was released from any pressure or obligation by his death, a soldier is exactly what I became.

The things I was trained to do, the things I was expected to do, are not the things expected of a Druid. I was no angel. I fought hard, played hard, lived each day like it was my last. Hell, it could have been! I saw things no man should ever see, did things no man should ever have to do. I thought things I should never think, felt things I wish I didn't feel.  But I was a soldier, a warrior. I was loyal and true, and brave, and scared. Just like every soldier, every warrior, before me down the centuries.

Civvy street was not, is not, somewhere I feel comfortable. I was a fish out of water. I still stumble from day to day, still struggle to find my feet.

So can I be a Druid?

I am at odds with OBOD, or is it that they are at odds with me? Either way I don't fit that 'druidic ideal' that so many aspire to and feel comfortable with. I don't read the 'right' books and like all the 'wrong' ones. I voice opinions that make others uncomfortable and I don't conform to what others expect. I take my inspiration, and lessons, from the strangest of places. I don't observe things I should observe, I talk to the Gods in a manner some, most, probably all, would consider disrespectful, so, I ask the question again, Can I really be a druid?

But then I think Can I really be anything else?

It's me you see. It's the way I am. It's what is deep inside of me. It is the beating of my heart and the rising of my chest. It is my breath on cold winter mornings and my sweat under the sun. It's the light in my eyes as I gaze at the stars, and my whispered prayers in the dawn. It's the love I hold for my wife, for my children, my grandchildren, my fellow man. It's the trust I have in the Lady, the hope I have for each new day. It is what I was, what I am, and what I will be. It is everything. And more.

I am a warrior. I am a druid.

I am me.

Time Out

I've been a bit quiet on here lately, not because I haven't wanted to blog and certainly not because I haven't had anything to say (hell would freeze over, hens would grow teeth and rocking horses would produce enough fertiliser for the whole south west before that happened), but rather because I have been on a roller coaster ride of feeling so ill and run down I could barely move one minute and working like a demon to make up for lost time the next.

My dragon fixation seems to have faded and been replaced with heads. Druids, Kings, Knights, Warriors, all have been filling my head and finding a place atop a staff. So far I've chickened out of attempting a female face - you can hide a multitude of sins with a beard- but I think I shall make that my next project. This is all new to me and I'm learning as I go. It has been frustrating at times, and some pieces have gone through several incarnations before a character has emerged that both I and the wood are happy with, but ultimately it has been very rewarding, if challenging, process.

All work and no play makes Jack this druid a dull boy however, so I haven't been entirely confined to either my sick bed or my work room. As Imbolc loomed on the horizon I was struggling to prepare for spring having not really seen or felt much of winter this year. As much as my aching bones enjoy the milder weather we had been experiencing, on a more spiritual level it seemed unnatural to be greeting Bride without having met with the Hag. With that in mind, when out running errands we spied a blanket of white across distant hills, the pull towards the Snow Queen was strong.

I am only a weak willed Druid, married to an even weaker willed witch (seriously, she was bouncing up and down with excitement, squealing 'can we go play in the snow? Can we? Can we, Pleeeease?') so we abandoned our plans, turned around the car and headed towards Dartmoor and the sprinkling of white stuff. I just can't say no to my Lady, not the one I'm married to nor the Lady of the Winter Wilds.

Dartmoor Snow

The peace I always find on the high moor was multiplied ten fold by the hazy sky and the crisp winter moor. The air was bitter cold but it told me I was alive. The wind cut like a knife but carved away all my troubles. The snow chilled me to the bone but cleansed my soul.

Hazy Dartmoor Moods

On the day before Imbolc, winter finally arrived for me.

Winter Sheep

Snow Dusted Moor

Free Will

What is it you want when you petition your Gods? When you light your candle and say your prayers? When you make your offering and listen for a response? What is it you are really asking for?

I imagine the answer to that is different for all of us, even if on the surface we are asking for the same things, be it money, love, health, protection. How many of us have given it much thought? No, I mean REALLY thought?

I'll put my hand up and say I hadn't, not really. I thought I had. I thought I had enough experience to know exactly what I'm doing each time I light a candle on my altar. It would be foolish to do otherwise, right? My prayers are second nature to me now, and I liked that. I could no more start work on something without having lit a candle, blessed my workspace and made my devotions to The Lady, than I could fly to the moon or breathe without air. It was instinctive. A ritual I couldn't imagine ever forgoing. Still can't.

But something happened recently that made me see my devotions with new eyes. When I ask a boon of The Lady am I asking her to take over? Am I relinquishing my self control? Is that really what I expect? What am I actually asking for? I have always said, always believed, that the greatest gifts She gave us are Life and Free Will.

I shouldn't work when I'm tired, I know that, nor should I work when I'm in pain. It's when I make mistakes, it's when I have accidents. I know all this and yet sometimes there is an unknown force which drives me, a need which cannot be ignored. Sometimes the wood calls to me, pesters me and will not let go until I give in and take it in my hand, turning it, feeling it, knowing it. Last Friday was one of those times. I tried to ignore the urge, I really did, but the call was strong.

I began as I always begin. I prayed to The Lady and lit her candle, I cleansed myself and my tools with purifying sage, and I asked for Her blessing on my work, that she may help me work with the spirit of the wood, and I asked for Her protection.

And then I sat down to work and dug a brand new blade into my hand.

Things had been going so well, the piece of twisted willow I was working on was positively singing. The ideas flowed freely and I felt that hope which always accompanies the start of a new piece. I was happy. And then Bam! A tough grain suddenly gave way under the knife and....blood everywhere.

It was careless, it was stupid. It was deep. And it wouldn't stop bleeding. Damn my heart and those blood thinners! And just before I left for the hospital I turned to my altar and said 'I thought you were supposed to be looking after me!' (Before anyone takes offence, I have the greatest respect for Her but she knows me and I'm a straight talker!)

My wife quite rightly pointed out then that maybe she had indeed protected me and that there was no telling what damage I would have done had She left me to my own devices.  Thank you my lovely witch, for those words of wisdom. Harsh but true! The Lady will protect me from from many things, but not from my own stupidity.

The greatest gifts The Lady gave me are life, and the free will to cut myself to ribbons if I choose.

Oh, and just in case you're wondering, the lovely nurse at my local hospital stitched me up a treat and I'm recovering nicely. But shhhh, don't tell my little witch, she might stop the extra TLC.

Giving Something Back

I had an interesting conversation with my ex-wife back in December, a very interesting conversation, and one I never expected to have. You see, she's a cradle Catholic- as are our children- and has always viewed my pagan beliefs to be, well, weird. She just didn't get it, and that was OK; each to his -or her- own, after all. Only now she does get it. Now she's kicking herself for not having seen it earlier. Now she has a deep and profound respect for Mother Earth. I am overjoyed. Not because she said 'You were right, I was wrong' (although that was good too), not because she's become a fully paid up, tree hugging, goddess worshipping member of the pagan community (because she certainly hasn't), but because it has brought her an inner peace, a connection, an understanding, and that is always good to see.

In all the hustle and bustle of pre-Yule, all the visiting family and excitement of new babies, I didn't really have that much time to think about it; it kind of got bundled up with everything else. But something my wife said to me the other day brought it back. I asked her who the candle was for, merrily flickering away in the kitchen, and she looked at me a little surprised and said simply 'I always light it when I cook.'  'Yes, I know, but who is it for?'  It wasn't for anyone specific, she told me, just a more general 'Thanks', to whoever happens to be paying attention. That seemed odd to me. When I light a candle on my altar I know exactly whom I'm lighting it for, and for what reason. I deal in specifics. For my lovely witch however, her kitchen altar is more about generalities. It says thank you for the food we have on our plates, and the hope that our bellies will always be full. It is thanks for the sun that ripens, and the life giving rains. It is thanks to the hearth spirits, and to the Earth, and a nod to whatever spirit it is who keeps pinching the teaspoons or hiding the salt. It takes in everything, and everyone, it needs to. It works for her, so who am I to question it? It takes just a moment of her time but every time she cooks, be it a slice of toast or a roast dinner, a candle burns and a portion of the meal is given, in appreciation of all we have and the light that guides and protects us. 'It's about giving something back,' she said, and is just one of the many things she does each day.

And then it dawned on her that neither one of us had answered my ex-wife when she asked what should she do to give something back? (My fault, once I get talking my mouth runs away with me and no one else gets a look in. I go off on a tangent -just like I'm doing now- and the original topic gets lost). So where was I? Oh yes, I remember. As has happened to so many people before her, my ex, having had that realisation about this land, and how we are connected to it, and what the Earth gives us, came to that ultimate conclusion. I need to give something back! But what?

As a pagan, and a Druid for many years, the answer seems simple to me now. But if I'm honest, back when it was all new, I hadn't got a clue what to do either. We take so much, we are given so much, that we find it hard to think of something suitable, something big enough, to say thank you. A prayer? a candle? An offering? How can that possibly be enough?

But then, one day the truth finally dawns. When the Lady has claimed you for her own you never stop giving back. Every thing you do is in Her honour. You give something back in a million different ways, you do it every day, every month, every year. Small things, big things, simple things, everything.

Some of us do it consciously, in a manner that is obviously 'pagan', some find ways within their more mainstream belief system, others do it without even knowing. Like my in-laws. They aren't pagan, they aren't even particularly religious at all, but they are the Lady's children, they move with Her cycles. They are connected to this Earth, and blissfully unaware, they give something back. The birds in their garden are well fed all year round, their allotment is thoughtfully tended, providing for most of their needs and cutting down dramatically their reliance on the big supermarkets, and all the waste that goes hand in hand with easy, one stop, grocery shopping. They make jams, and pickles, and beer, and wine (on a huge scale! My father-in-law is the King of Home brew), and share this bounty with family, friends and neighbours. They recycle, not just enthusiastically participating in the local scheme of doorstep collections, but anything they find that others have discarded and thoughtlessly dumped is put to good use. They go out of their way to help others, in any way they can. To them this is all just normal, everyday things, but it is still giving something back.



You can plant a forest full of oaks, or a single seed. You can whisper a prayer of thanks on the wind, or shout it to the world. You can feed the birds, or the homeless. You can commune with nature, or with the lonely in your community. You can volunteer in big environmental projects, or just pick up litter while you are out. Plant a tree, sing a song, create a wildlife pond, grow your own veg, rescue battery hens, say a prayer for road kill, take your children for a nature walk, leave the car at home, shop local, support a charity, smile and say 'hello', spread the word.

In short (if I can manage that), it doesn't really matter what you give, or even if you are consciously aware of why you are giving. It doesn't matter how you give, or the size of the offering. What matters is that you give, and give often. Just think, if every one of us were to give back one thing each day, what a difference we could make.

Turning the Pages

The valley in which our little town sits is muted by a veil of misty rain. Everything is hazy and still. The only movement I can see from my window is the swoops and swirls of gulls on the wing. All is silent, all is calm. Tonight will be very different as the streets fill with revellers, all whooping and hollering in drunken song, and the sky will be lit with fireworks in that time honoured need of the human race to mark the passing of the year.

As a pagan, as a Druid, I mark the year as it turns in many ways. Small, yet significant, ways which mark not the end of one long year and the starting of the new, but the highs and lows of the seasons, the hope and the harvest, the sun and the snows, the rains and the four winds and the turning of the tides. I know there is no end of one year, no starting of the new. Nature knows no end, no beginnings, only an ever continuing cycle. A cycle of repetition and change, of life and death and rebirth, but no endings, no beginnings.

And yet the man I am will look back on this last year and will take stock regardless, and start out with new hope, new ideas for the new year. Because I am human and it is our way. We have a need to mark the passage of time, to box up and label the memories, to start a new chapter, to pat ourselves on the back or kick ourselves up the backside- whichever is more appropriate. And hopefully from there we will build on what we have achieved, or learn from our mistakes and move on. 

Happy New Year, may 2012 be full of blessings and may you follow your dreams where ever they may lead you.

Winter Walks and Granddad Grinch

Its fair to say I'm not a huge fan of this particular season. The cold is not a friend to my aching bones and all the Christmas hype and commercialism really gets up my nose. The temptation to dig a big hole in the garden and hide there from December 1st through to January, emerging only for the Solstice, is incredibly strong. And before you cry 'Bah Humbug', I bet you'd join me if you had the chance. Go on, admit it, if you could avoid the endless and shameless consumerism, the family rows, the financial headache and the obscene over-indulgence, you would, wouldn't you?

I do however, have a confession to make. I don't hate it all half as much as I make out. But I have a reputation to keep up. Having long ago donned my scrooge cap, it is expected of me. My wife and daughter dubbed me Granddad Grinch a few years ago, and taught my second grandson to say that long before he understood what it meant. It provided much amusement for them and I was happy to play the part. But still, I think there is a tiny part of all of us that yearns for roaring open fires, roasted chestnuts, and quiet snowfall blanketing the frozen earth (as long as I don't have to go out in it). But shhhh, that's a secret. You can keep a secret, can't you?

We've just come back from a week away visiting family and doing the 'santa run'. With nine children and seven grandchildren between us (number 7 was born during our visit much to my wife's delight) santa was particularly busy this year! I got to meet my youngest granddaughter for the first time and lost my heart. She's beautiful and a real charmer at just seven weeks old. It was great to see everyone, catch up and chew the fat even though the Grinch in me is glad to be home.

While half the planet is getting excited about the imminent arrival of Santa Claus, I've already had everything I could possibly want, a beautiful new Granddaughter, a wonderful wife, and a plentiful supply of wood. Everyone from my in-laws to my ex-wife have been collecting wood for me and my little work room is bursting at the seams. I have tall pieces, short pieces, twisty, curly pieces, strange pieces, amazing pieces and my imagination is working overtime. I have to say a huge thank you to everyone who now spends their time outdoors searching the floor for anything I can use. I can't wait to get going.

The first few days of our visit were spent dashing about trying to get to see everyone, making sure all the presents were delivered, but once 'Santa's' work was done there was time to relax before the long drive home.

I absolutely love this wood my in-laws took us to visit. It is a heavily managed woodland, copiced and cared for by teams of volunteers, yet still maintains a wonderfully tranquil feel.

Full of surprises, we came across a recently cleared section of woodland and discovered this wonderful chair. Needless to say, my wife now wants a couple of them for the garden. I've got a lot of work to be going on with, but I am looking forward to trying something different.

As the sun began to set we came across a wilder section of the wood with a magical feel, every inch alive with creatures of this world and other world, just beyond our sight.

 I hope everyone had a wonderful Solstice, full of light and love and laughter.

Sometimes...

Sometimes we need to take a bit of time out.
Sometimes we need to realign our focus.
Sometimes we need some space.
Sometimes we need reminding we are great.
And sometimes we need to see how small we really are.
Sometimes we need to feel real power.
And sometimes we need to let that power go.
Sometimes we need to put things in perspective.
And there is nothing like the might of the Ocean for doing that.

Another Year Bites The Dust

It was my birthday on Friday.

I don't particularly like birthdays. I don't really understand what all the fuss is about, I'm another year older. So what? I celebrate my mother on my birthday, she was the one who brought me into the world, it is her day not mine. Maybe I feel that way because I lost her all too soon or maybe I feel that way because she truly was a remarkable woman.

My wife however loves birthdays and will always make a fuss of me no matter how much I protest. This year was no exception and she surprised me with a book I've been hankering after for ages. I don't know how she knew, I hadn't told her, but she always has had an uncanny knack of knowing exactly what to do, or say, or buy.

We spent the day out and about, running the usual errands but also having a great time together. We took a trip over to Exeter and spent some time on the moor. It was bitter cold and dark by the time we got there but that didn't matter. We stood in the still, calm magic of that place and gazed with awe at the stars. Away from the lights of the towns and cities, they shine so bright. I know I am truely alive wrapped in a Dartmoor night.

And so I am another year older and as birthday's go, I actually rather enjoyed this one.

Beauty in Extremes

It's not often we have a day out just for the sheer pleasure of doing so, usually there is some kind of plan, some mission, some chore that drags us out of our comfy home and we make a day out of it. We turn the mundane into the magical by way of our attitude. The most basic of shopping trips can be turned into a day out by the addition of a little detour, a flask of coffee and a few sandwiches. But last week we made an exception. We planned a day out just for ourselves, no little jobs, no errands, no shopping, no chores. And it was long overdue.

For a long time now we have been planning to visit  Wistman's Wood on Dartmoor. We'd seen pictures of it, we'd even seen it on T.V but for some reason we had never managed to visit. Last Thursday we changed that.

On the way we stopped off in Tavistock, a lovely market town, and there I lost my heart to a woman of such devastating beauty I didn't know if I should laugh or cry. She took my breath away. Her skin glowed with a milky luminescence and her soft hair tumbled over her shoulders to her rounded breasts. She was demure and sweet and yet the flowers in her hair spoke of a wildness and a passion that stired up my soul and stole my heart.

By the way, did I mention she was a painting? I don't want anyone thinking I'm having adulterous thoughts about any woman but the one I'm married to! My lovely wife was just as smitten with her as I was. To me she was the most perfect representation of the Goddess that I have ever had the honour to behold. She was painted by an artist named Lee Woods and, so I'm told, was painted to suit the stunning gilt frame he found in a flea market. They are indeed a perfect match and having looked at some of his other work on the internet, she was something of a departure from his usual style.

Never before have I been so moved by a piece of art and I felt a physical pain when I had to drag myself away.

But drag myself away I did and we eventually made it up to the moors. We took it slowly, to ease my aching back, knees, hip... and also to allow ourselves the time to simply drink in the wonder of the wild landscape. It was a grey day, but mild and the rain held off much to my relief and my wife's disapointment. I love my insane little Witch but I draw the line at trudging across the moors in a downpour.

 

I often struggle with walking, especially in the damp, but My Goddess it was worth the walk! A more magical, sacred place I have never seen. The calm I felt beneath the stunted oaks was beyond compare. I truely felt a part of the wood, a connection with my brother Druids from ages past. The raw energy of that place seeped into my weary bones and gave me a spring in my step I haven't felt in many a year.

We ate our meal beneath the trees, sheltered from the wind by the mighty strength of a great overhanging boulder and we walked amongst the oaks, marveling at the tenacity of these trees to survive in such a landscape. With great boulders littering the ground like remnants from some long forgotten game of giant marbles, the shapes now blurred by moss and litchens; the trees too wearing great cloaks of green across their trunks and branches. It is a truely etherial place and one that has taught me much, about clinging to life in the face of adversity, about the dependancy of the small on the mighty, about the true beauty of wilderness and hope in the dark.

Am I the ONLY ONE who hates Halloween?

I really don't like Halloween. It grates at me, it gets my back up, it infuriates me. But I'm surrounded by people who think its fun so I swallow what I'm thinking and keep quiet. But this is my blog and what's the point of having it if I can't let rip occaisionally!

I love Samhain. I love everything about it. I like that feeling of the veil thinning, it is comforting to feel my loved ones near. I enjoy giving thanks for the final harvest and thanks too that the weather has allowed us to have a final harvest at all. I like to sit back with a glass of mulled cider and reflect on what has happened over this last year. I put things to bed that I cannot change, and move on having learned from the experience. I protect the things that were good, keeping them close through the dark of winter. I plan what I shall do through the dark time, what I hope to accomplish, what I hope to learn.

Yes, I love Samhain but I bloody hate Halloween.

I know that this will be controversial but I'm not one to shy away from controversy. I see Halloween as something of a p***take of my beliefs. It makes a mockery of the things I hold dear. Plastic skeletons? Glow-in-the-dark skulls? Fancy dress and the my-pumpkin's-bigger-than-next-door's-pumpkin syndrome. Pur-lease! When all is said and done it is yet another PAGAN festival that has been hijacked by Christianity and watered down, fluffed up, stuffed up, and cheapened.

I know most pagan's just join in the party. I know its meant to be fun. But how can it be fun when so much of what we believe is being walked all over, bits pinched here and there, in the name of entertainment. It's just wrong.

I said this to my wife last night but she just said 'I don't have a problem with Halloween'. She makes the distinction between Halloween and Samhain quite easily. Thankfully she doesn't go in for all that pumpkin carving, cobweb hanging nonsense (well, not often anyway) but she's full on O.K with those that do. To me that is just so wrong. We didn't get into a debate about it. We are both firmly entrenched in our views about it and nothing was going to sway either one of us and neither one of us wanted to spoil our Samhain by getting heated but.....

.....I can't be the only one who hates Halloween, can I?

An Experiment!

Remember that back breaking piece of hazel I dragged in from the bottom of the garden a few weeks ago? Well once I'd cut it down I ended up with one lovely staff sized piece and another bent bit that might have made a staff for a hobbit. I could have made a walking stick, but I wasn't in a walking stick mood. Besides, I like a challenge.

So...I had a root through my box of odds and ends. In there I keep all the odd little pieces I don't know what to do with but are too interesting to want to let go. Most are odd shapes and not really usable for a staff but there, lurking at the bottom was a piece of driftwood about a foot and a half long. Hmmmm. Could I do a bit off staff surgery?

Faced with two pieces of wood, neither long enough to do much with on its own, I set about joining the two. I loved the pale colour of the hazel and also the darker colour of the driftwood (its a fruit wood of some sort I think, possibly cherry) and I didn't want to lose either colour by staining. But how was I going to join them with out it looking a bit...well, wrong?

This is what I came up with. And I love it. Varnished, the hazel has a look of ivory about it; and the rich colour of the driftwood glows. The natural beauty of the wood shines through, cracks and all. I like that. I haven't tried to hide the joins, its as honest as it comes. What started out as something of an experiment has turned out better than I could ever have hoped for and I learnt so much in the process...Result!

Just Drifting

Yesterday I went beach combing for the first time in what seems like ages. It was just on a whim really. We were on our way home from doing the shopping. By that I mean my wife was doing the shopping. I'm not allowed in the supermarket. She thinks that's her idea but was in fact the result of careful planning. I didn't have to 'participate' in very many shopping trips before she stamped her foot at my antics and confined me to the car :) Now I get to sit in the car park with a book while she plays dodgems with the trolley and competes in the 'checkout wars'. Besides, it all adds to the magic of her kitchen mysteries if I don't get to see the basic ingredients.

Anyway, we were on our way home when I suddenly decided to take a different turning and go to the beach instead. We couldn't stay long, not with a car full of frozen food, but it was great to walk along the sand again. I've avoided the beach, pretty much, over the summer. I don't like its sanitized, high season feel. But now the holiday makers have mostly headed home, it is peaceful again.

There is nothing like picking my way through the sea weed to make me really appreciate how lucky I am to have all this on my doorstep. Whenever I start to take it all for granted the smell of the sea comes along and clips me around the ear and reminds me that life is good. We didn't have time for a good root around but I still came home with a couple of really interesting pieces. I think they will make fantastic carved tops for staffs, but I'll give them time to dry out properly and then see what they have to say.