hedge druid

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Glastonbury Pilgrimage 2023

Well, I have just returned home from another Glastonbury pilgrimage. This time I seven lady friends and I from here in Suffolk went to experience the sacred sites around Glastonbury. We had a lovely time stopping at Avebury on the way, to walk among the stones and to get a feel for this ancient site, as well as having a lunch break at the Red Lion pub. We were surprised to see that their prices are still incredibly reasonable, even after everything that has happened in the last few years. In fact, we noticed that wherever we ate, we were spending around £5 to sometimes nearly £10 less than we would in Suffolk, for some reason. Since Covid hit, every pub and restaurant in Suffolk has increased their prices dramatically.  It made eating out on our roadtrip/pilgrimage even that much more enjoyable.

When we arrived in Glastonbury, a few of us immediately climbed the Tor. It was quite still, with very little breeze, which is rare on the Tor! Standing up there on top of than ancient hill felt like being on top of the world, as it always does. A few people were quietly sitting and watching the sunset, or meditating, and it was incredibly peaceful up there. The mists were beginning to gather in the Somerset levels below, and the setting sun peeped out through the clouds just before disappearing below the horizon.

The next day we began our visit to the sacred places all together. We began with the Red Spring (Chalice Well). It is a beautiful sanctuary of peace and love, with the waters of the Red Spring flowing through various gardens and areas before culminating in a gorgeous vesical pisces pool at the bottom. I always begin at the bottom, crossing the little stream and stepping through into the Otherworld before I continue my journey up through the gardens, and all the ladies did it with me together. It was wonderful.

We meditated at the pool and gazed at the flow forms, before heading up to the yew trees and walking through their gateway. We then passed beneath the archway with the wrought iron, archangel Michael’s sword over our heads, which we saw as the sword of sovereignty, rather than the archangel’s fiery blade. Once in Arthur’s Court, we took off our shoes and walked through the paddling pool, bathing our feet and beginning our spiritual pilgrimage in earnest. Afterwards we sat beneath the yews and just soaked in the atmosphere of that very healing spot in the Chalice Well gardens.

Next we moved up to the Lion’s Head, a tap where you can collect water from the Red Spring within the sanctuary of the gardens. After having bathed your feet, now you can take in the healing waters into your body and soul, having been purified and readied for the experience. We filled our bottles and, for many of the women, tasted the iron-rich water for the very first time. I love the taste, but it’s not for everyone!

From there we moved up to the holiest of holies, the wellhead. Here in this silent sanctuary we meditated on the waters with other pilgrims who gathered round in quiet companionship. Well, we tried to anyway. The pot smoke and noise across the street at the White Spring was growing, until someone blew a horn and the White Spring opened in earnest. Sigh. More on that later.

We ate a picnic lunch on the slopes of Chalice Hill, just beneath the apple orchards. The sun was shining, and it was an absolutely gorgeous day. We then headed down to the gift shop to pick up a few things, and then made our way to the Tor once again.

The climb up the Tor this time was different, with more people and the wind whipping around us. Thankfully the wind was at our backs, which felt like it was giving us a helping hand on the climb to the summit. Once there we came across a large group of people occupying the sheltered, sunny side of the tower, singing and chanting, and so we moved into the tower itself. It is a relic of the old monastery complex that used to be situated on the Tor, and is the second tower to be built there, the first having fallen after an earthquake.

We stood in the tower, looking out the doors and through the roofless structure to watch the few clouds scudding quickly across the azure blue sky. We spoke of the legends that surrounded this magical hill, and of who was said to dwell within it. We then sat in silence, taking it all in, when a lady and a man came in. She stood in the doorway and laughed, while he stood in the centre of the tower (and us) and began gyrating and shaking as if he was being electrocuted, followed by noises as if he was sexually climaxing. I rolled my eyes and left, resisting the temptation to give in to violence, and was followed by the rest of my ladies, bar one. She remained, giving him the stink eye while he continued, not allowing him to vibe her out of that space. Rock on, grrlfriend.

I then spent some time sitting on the hilltop facing west, and meditated, connecting to the energy of the Tor and the surrounding landscape, the elements and the myths and legends that abound in this magical place. I was interrupted five minutes later by some young teenagers nearby who, after smoking a joint, proceeded to record themselves making what they thought were sexual noises. Sigh again.

Eventually we headed back down the Tor and went to see if the White Spring was still open. It was, and so after a health and safety briefing we all went into the dim chamber of the Victorian wellhouse. Before this structure was built, the White Spring flowed from a fissure in the rock, coating all the plant life around it with a calcified deposit, created faery forms and shapes all around it. When cholera hit the town the decision makers decided to use the water from this spring, ignoring the calcium deposits evident all around. In a short time the pipes that connected the spring to the town were filled with calcium, and water had to be found elsewhere. It is so infuriating to think that with just a little common sense, a beautiful and sacred landmark could have been preserved.

All that being said, the wellhouse has now been transformed into a water temple. Ten years ago it was a fairly quiet place to come, reflect on the mirror pool in the centre and listen to the sound of water running all around you, down the floor and through little rivulets. In the last seven or so years however, you are lucky if you can hear the water at all, with all the other noise that visitors to the spring make in that echoing, high-ceiling chamber. Such was the case with our visit this time, as it was the last two times I have visited. There just seemed to be no regard for others visiting the site; it was all about doing your own thing and to hell with everyone around you.

The water in the big, round mirror pool was filthy. I’m not sure if it has been cleaned in recent years, but it sure didn’t look like it. It had a brown cast to it, with an oily film on the top from people jumping into it and putting all sorts of chemicals from their bodies into the water. The dipping pool is off to the left-hand side of the chamber, but people ignore it and go into the main pool anyway, regardless of whether people are trying to scry, meditate, pray or do anything near it. At any rate, I was deeply saddened to see the state of the water in the main pool. I myself have been in the water, many, many years ago now when the dipping pool didn’t exist, and the main pool was the only way to get in the water. I had booked the space for a private ritual, an hour of quiet reflecting and soft chanting, prayers and verbal offerings of thanks to the water before the doors opened to the public. We had showered before coming, and gave the space the reverence it deserved. It was a beautiful time, when everything was kept clean and the waters ran clear. It is a completely different experience now.

We had a look at the dipping pool, which was crowded all along one side by four naked men watching a naked woman bend over in front of them to get her clothes so that she could dress after going in the waters. We walked between them, appearing to be tourists having a look around as we tried to give the woman some space from these blokes. They just hung around and watched anyway.

A couple of us then moved to the Brighid shrine, and spent a few of minutes there before a large group of people took up the whole space, and we moved on again, to the shrine of Gwyn ap Nudd. The drumming had already started again, by a chap who moved from section to section providing the visitors with what he probably thought was a bitchin’, trippy experience. All he did was give me a headache from his loud, continuous hard drumming which reverberated off the stone walls and from which there was no escape. Singing began loudly from the group in Brighid’s shrine, competing with the drumming. I could take no more and had to leave. I sorely miss the simple sound of the water, and the sanctity that once occupied this space.

We left the White Spring annoyed, and all the ladies commented to me that they felt the space had been taken over by men and unthinking, male energies. I had to agree. The White Spring has definitely changed in these last 7 – 8 years, and not for the better. I feel a deep grief for the beautiful, quiet, sacred space that it used to be, and which is now a free-for-all with people climbing everywhere, doing anything they like without any regard for anyone else.

The day was getting on, and so we decided to head back to our apartments and take some time to ourselves before supper. We ate at the Who’d A Thought It inn near the market cross, and the food was pretty good apart from one meal which had to be sent back, as it was not what it purported to be. Tired from the day, we had an early night.

The next day the rain came. When it rains in Somerset, it doesn’t kid around. It rained all day, a soaking rain that is what makes this landscape so lush and green compared to the arid climate of our home county of Suffolk. But it was actually nice to be in the rain, as we have had so little in the last three years that we’ve nearly forgotten what it feels like! We spent the day shopping, and there are so many lovely shops to visit on the high street, down the alleyways and arcades. One shop that I feel I MUST mention, and which I hadn’t been in as it wasn’t there since my last visit, was Sons of Asgard. This is a witchcraft supply shop, and an amazing one at that. Well lit, with tons of homemade kits for everything you could possibly want, even a magical housecleaning kit with everything you might need to magical cleanse the home, all components made by the staff themselves! The room sprays and aura sprays I delighted in, as with my asthma I can’t burn incense indoors. These homemade sprays were divine, with essential oils, flower essences, crystal infusions and more. The choice! There were also witch ball kits, spell kits of all different kinds, and a good old-fashioned herbal apothecary corner where you could order quantities of however much you fancy, much like StarChild just a couple of doors down. I really, really loved this shop, and highly recommend it for your witchy needs.

We then had lunch at the Blue Note Café, which is still awesome. The food is just so good there. I had a wrap with a bunch of salads – you can get five little salads on the plate or chips instead, but I always go for the salads as they are delicious: potato, cous cous, coleslaw, bean and greek salad complimented my wrap. And all at pre-Covid prices too!

We visisted the Goddess Temple next, which opens from 12 noon to 4pm. I love the Goddess Temple. It’s just a room in the top of a building in a courtyard, but it’s so filled with love and energy and devotion that it has taken up a spirit of its own. You truly feel like you are entering sacred space because, well, you are! In their own Wheel of the Year, they are in the element of water for the summer months, and so the temple was decorated accordingly, with super soft music to reflect that energy. Both times I visited they were playing Jennifer Berezan’s “Returing” song, which is one of my favourites for meditating on the divine feminine, and which is also a firm favourite with the temple. I spent a large chunk of time alone within the circle of nine morgens, feeling their energy and blessings whirl around me in a clockwise circle as The Lady of Avalon gazed down at me from the large painting on the altar. Pure heaven.

We then did some more shopping before our feet and legs gave out, and we retreated back to our housing for a cuppa and some R&R before supper. We ate that night at Gigi’s, an Italian restaurant again near the market cross, and it was superb. I highly recommend their pizzas, and the risotto had rave reviews from the ladies too.

Another early night, followed by an early start awaited us. We filled up bottles of water at the taps outside the Red and White Springs before beginning our long journey across the widest expanse of England, back to Suffolk and our homes on the east coast. From east to west and back again we made our pilgrimage over four days, and we came away with some special memories. Glastonbury, thank you for your beautiful, sacred places, and I hope that they all maintain or redeem their respected status, now and forever more.

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New Video!

Well, I decided to get the drone out, regardless of the weather and the wind. I went into the forest, where there was some shelter, and thought I’d put into images what I wrote in my last blog post. So, enjoy!

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The Deer’s Secret

The fallow deer stags have shed their antlers on the heath and in the forest in the last few weeks. As I found one atop a small rise next to ancient Celtic tumuli (burial mounds), dropped on the grassy tuft of a half sunken oak stump, I was gifted with this beautiful reminder that we all need to let go of certain things in our life.

It can be hard to let go. Whether it is past experiences, trauma, emotions or loved ones, eventually we will have to let go at some point. If we don’t, we will hinder ourselves as we travel through life on our own personal journeys. Just as a deer must shed his antlers in order to grow new ones, so must we shed that which no longer serves us in our lives. If the deer doesn’t shed his antlers properly, fully and completely, complications arise when the new ones begin to form. When the time is right, the stag knows when to let go. Sometimes it is with a simple, gentle shake; other times the antlers need to be knocked off purposefully on low trees branches or stumps. Either way, the setting is created for new growth.

The stag’s antlers grow throughout the summer, enabling him to display them proudly come the autumn rut. When growing, the antlers are covered in a beautiful, soft velvet to protect them and allow for room to grow into the shapes destined for that year. When the antlers are full grown the velvet begins to fall off, and the deer helps this process by rubbing it on trees to shed the last of the strips and allow the antlers to fully dry out and harden in the early autumn sunshine. The older the deer, the more points on the antler appear. There are some majestic old King Stags on the heath, whose great strong necks hold up a crown that is almost impossible to imagine. These antlers will help fight off any challengers to the does that have chosen to be with a certain stag, and are both an aggressive and defensive means, one tool of many for the continuation of the herd. When the antlers are no longer needed they are shed, demonstrating the cycle of life, death and rebirth, and the need to let go of that which no longer serves.

Though many in the Pagan community use the festival of Samhain to reflect on what no longer serves them in their lives, for me here living with the local deer community it is the month of May where I find this inspiration. Closely observing the deer, hauling buckets of water out onto the heath for them in the last two years as we have had so little rainfall, leaving offerings of seeds and song, I have established a relationship with them that is so beautiful and inspiring. They know me now, and I have watched as young prickets have matured into stags, and lead does hand over the power to a younger female as their reign over the herd comes to a natural close. I have spent an amazing three years with a white doe, always catching her watching me as I roam the heathland and knowing that she carries messages from the Otherworld in her spiritual capacity. Though she is now gone from us, her spirit lives on in the dappled light of the beech wood and the gentle breeze that blows the heather bells, ringing the faery bells in both this world and the Otherworld.

If we are unable to let go, we cannot move forward with health, vitality and authenticity. We will hinder our progress, sabotage our current situation and be mere shadows of who we could be. The deer remind us that letting go is not a one-time affair, but a process that happens again and again as we work our way through the spirals of life. Every year they must shed their antlers, this cyclic dance of the Antlered God reminding us of the process, and how to move through it.

Some of what holds us back are shadow aspects that no longer serve us in the present moment. While they may have been necessary coping mechanisms in their time, in this present moment they only stop us from being our true, authentic selves. We may have been hurt in the past, but that hurt lies in the past, and carrying it always into the present moment is a burdensome thing to bear. Instead, letting go again and again is the way to move forward, to develop the skills necessary to cope with what life is doing at this very moment in time. We must learn to shed that which no longer serves, and grow into our antlers of sovereignty. And when the time comes, we shed those antlers too.

From “Stories of the Knights of the Round Table” by Henry Gilbert, first edition, 1911.

The sword Excalibur that was given to King Arthur needed to be returned to the Lady of Lake upon Arthur’s death. We return that which no longer serves to the earth, to the waters of the subconscious, to the Otherworld and the Goddess in order for it to be transformed and wrought anew when the time is come. This cyclic myth may have been created through observation of the natural world, and the cycles of the flora and fauna that inspire Pagan mythology. We wield our swords of sovereignty, and then return the power to the land when the time is right, ready to forge anew what it is that we need in the next cycle, like a stag shedding his antlers and then growing anew.

As I look out over my laptop and out into the verdant green of the garden, the beech, ash and birch trees swaying in the light breeze, I am filled with the beauty and mystery of this earthly life and its cycles. We have come out of a long, difficult winter and now the summer is in full swing. The world has turned soft and lush, the bare branches of the trees now heavy and singing in full voice of the songs of summer. The blackbirds join in the song all day long, and the house martins beep beep overhead as they dive and glide to feed their young. That all important Mystery that lies at the heart of Pagan traditions is so abundant all around me, and I am so grateful for this journey. I know what it is that needs letting go, and I do it each and every day, until I find that I am no longer carrying it but have instead stored it away neatly on the shelves of life experience. I walk forward free, able to grow and be in my full, sovereign self.

Thanks to the Deer’s Secret.

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Is Nature Indifferent to Us?

I love this Calvin and Hobbes cartoon, by Bill Watterson. It speaks to me on so many different levels, not least of all as a Mother of Cats. But it’s mostly the first part that I’ll be pondering over in this blog post today.

Is nature indifferent to us? Well, perhaps on the whole, yes. Nature could be indifferent to everything. The entirety of nature is such a vast concept, to me it’s like pondering deity, for in my own religious and spiritual view, nature is deity.

However, in my own personal practice, I feel that the gods are not indifferent to us, so where does that leave me with regards to the above? I’m just not sure. Could it be a paradox, that the deities care and don’t care at the same time? That would make them truly similar to cats…

It’s hard to come to terms with the darker aspects of nature, the pain and suffering that exists. Just yesterday there as a fox in the garden, and it looked like s/he had been hit by a car. One of their back legs wasn’t working, and there was definitely trauma to the back leg and hip. The fox had worried all the fur off of the back leg, hip and tail. It was taking respite from the wind in our garden, sheltered as it is by hedges. It also had a nice long drink from our pond.

After a while I went out to see just how badly it was injured. It couldn’t hear me above the wind, and I didn’t want to startle it so I called softly out to it. It turned its head and then quickly stood up. I gave it a quiet wave and it ran on its three legs back through the hole in the hedge and was gone.

I put some food out for it later that day, and will be doing so each night. I fear that the chances that this fox will survive are pretty slim, but at least it won’t die on an empty stomach.

I meditated that night on the suffering that goes on all around us, every second of every day. That poor fox was in lot of pain, but there was nothing I could do about it. Even had I called the Suffolk Wildlife Trust, chances are that by the time they got here the fox would be long gone anyway. I wondered at how such a thing could happen, could be “allowed” to happen to a beautiful creature as this fox. Tears flowed as I struggled with the suffering of so many lives right now.

People are in the hospital, wars are going on, wild animals are being hit by cars, the oceans and rivers are full of raw sewage and plastic – I could go on and on. It sure seems like the majority of humans today are indifferent to nature, so why shouldn’t nature be indifferent to us?

But nature hasn’t been indifferent to me. I have had wonderful experiences of true connection. I understand how we are all part of this one, great whole. I just wish that others could understand this, in order to save ourselves from our own self-destruction, and the widespread destruction of nature all around us.

But nature is also indifferent. The wind blows whether we like it or not. We have no say in earthquakes, sunshine or rain. Perhaps this is not indifference, but our own inability to see the bigger picture, the whole. 

I am not offended by the seeming indifference nature has for us. Rather, I see it as an opportunity to show nature how much I really care. I aim to live in this world as best I can, with as much sympathy, empathy and compassion as I am able to give. I seek to be a contributing, functioning member of my own local ecosystem, and thereby a part of the wider world too.

Maybe nature really is like a cat. Sometimes it appears indifferent, and other times we can feel the genuine affection that it has for us, if only we are sensitive enough to feel it and open enough to accept it.

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New Video: Spiritual Downtime

It’s okay to take a break 🙂

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New Interview!

Last week I was interviewed by Pagan for my new book, the Path of the Hedgewitch. The podcast is now available, so please go on and have a listen, and check out all the other great stuff on there too!

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New Year, New Video!

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New Video: The Longest Night

Enjoy! Happy holidays to you all, and all the best for the new year. xoxo

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Mist Drum Song

At the end of filming on the heath this week for my next video, I took some time out as the mist was settling in. I felt called to pull out my drum and sing to/for the mist, and this is the result 🙂

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Surrendering

Since the release of his book, Surrender, I’ve been thinking about this concept that Bono talks about in so many different ways. In one tale, presented live on the “The Late Show” (see video below) it really struck a chord within me (pun totally intended).

He talked about how he had (and still has) to approach his wife of 40 years within such terms. He spoke of approaching her like this: “Only if you arrive at her fort defenceless, do you have half a chance in challenging her own, almost unbroachable defences”.

I thought that this was utterly beautiful. It could be applied to so much in life, not just your loved one. For me, it’s about being authentic, about being truly and utterly you, to whomever it is you are trying to connect with. It could be your life partner, your parents, your children, your gods, your ancestors, your community.

When approaching the gods, there is no point in putting up a mask, surrounding yourself with defences. They are gods. They see through all that crap. If you choose to open up your soul to a god, then there is no need for games, for duplicity or falsehoods of any kind. There is only you, and the deity.

It’s much the same with your life partner, family, ancestors, even those of your community. Those who think that they are fooling you with guises and masks are only fooling themselves. People are more perceptive than many think. We know when something or someone is “off”, it’s just that often we choose to ignore that instinct.

Authenticity is about surrender. It’s about being utterly human, being utterly you. It’s acknowledging the good and the bad and everything in between. It’s about working towards being the best person you can be, without masks, without disguises.

This doesn’t mean you have to let go of all boundaries. But if you truly want to connect on a soul-deep level, it is about being totally, utterly you. Letting down your defences also allows those to come to your aid. Keep them up, and they keep everything and everyone out.

The concept of surrender, and of defences, is one that I am going to chew over for quite some time this winter. In the stillness and silence of a winter’s day, in the overarching darkness of a long winter’s night, I am taking this to heart and really experiencing what it is to live in this manner. It will will, I think, open up new ways of living and being that before were only imagined.

This winter, I am surrendering.