Seeking the Sacred


I can’t do this. I can’t. It’s too much. Better to just hide, to let it pass. I’ll feel better eventually.


The voices come, tapping at my mind. No – that’s not right. Not voices, exactly, but knowing, thoughts, feelings. My subconscious is kicking me to move, to do, to get on. You have an idea. Get on with it, or it’ll be gone, and you’ll feel even worse.

I think back, to this morning. A story told to me by a beautiful priestess, of her own work with her Goddess, her commitment and bravery. I remember her smile, so very bright, and the hard work she puts in to her community.

This is spirituality. This is work, but it’s not – it’s just doing, being. A compulsion, drive, vocation. Making manifest what’s inside us.

I think back again, to the stories I’ve heard in the last week. Of doubts and accomplishments, madness and survival. The impossible but true. The voices of old friends and total strangers. Somehow, they know I’ll listen without judgement, and I do.

But where’s my voice? What am I doing with all of this? The current of inspiration is entering me, but then stalling, not flowing on. The connection needs to be reforged.

I call to those who listen to me. Random words – a prayer, a spell? Or just talking? Does it matter? I speak, and they hear.

I feel my stomach unclench, muscles loosen that I hadn’t realized were tense. My heart lifts a little. I reach out and fuss my puppy-dogs, who’ve been guarding me. One is curled up on my feet as I write this – one of his human companions, his safe place. Simple connection.

I remember what it feels like – the feeling of Self which that black fog blocks. I think of brief images from social media, as if friends have been rapping on my mind as well: wake UP, dammit! And myths of darkness, heading deep within to find what’s there – not evil or destruction (well, not quite) but treasure. A quest is pointless is there’s no challenge to battle through, with goal ahead and journey to learn from.

I love synchronicity. The map we have to remind ourselves to consult from time to time.

I remember love and laughter, joy in simple things. So easy to lose sometimes, but then easy to recall as well, if you know how and what you’re aiming for.

Yesterday, I was explaining to a random Interested Person about the sacred in the world around. He kind of understood, but the words weren’t sufficient – arm-waving was needed, and foot-stamping, and a lot of metaphor and random noises. We got there. Common ground.

And I was speaking to someone online who wasn’t really listening, caught up in their own concerns. Sadly, I had to step away. But I’m still here, and they know that.

I’ve been gifted two candles this month: one crafted, one foraged. They will light the way, as all of these people (and more) are inspiring me with their tales, bringing me back to what’s important.

The old tale of the Druid teacher is that they stand at the edge of the Forest of the Unknown, waiting as guide. Sometimes they point the way and let you step forward; sometimes they kick your arse to get on with it! Even Merlin went mad among those trees, but that wasn’t the end.

This is only the first step of this particular side-road. I can feel change in the air as my homeland turns into Autumn (my favourite season), and know it’s time to move. I’m not sure where I’ll end up, but the Fool’s journey has to begin.


I’ve often been asked about my writing process. It’s something like this. I would apologise for its randomness, but I feel it has to come out this way today – so here it is.

For an explanation of precisely what I’m doing, visit my main Druidry blog, The Catbox.

We step onto the winding road and head into the unknown…


Well, a little later in the week than anticipated, but a morning of Intense Cleaning has been accomplished! From the physical (vacuuming, dusting, tidying) to the spiritual (smudging, reconsecrating), the house is a bit closer to sparkly again.

I live in an old house, you see, and it’s hard to ever make it as pristine as some might like. It dates from the 1820s and was once a guardhouse to the hunting grounds on this hilltop. Due to this – and the more recent Dog Factor – I’m happy with it being Lived In. Full of welcome, good smells and many books.

While housework is a task which most of us would happily do without, and which doesn’t perhaps seem very spiritual, it is so important to feel comfortable in your own home. The effort of upkeep is certainly an act of honour and respect, and the house will be grateful in turn. It holds the roof over our heads, after all.

Now just got to find some tobacco for the guards…


Honour the Grey

A cold, almost wintry start to this March morning. I stared at the clouds overhead, feeling my spirits sink. Lots to do today, and not all of it good.

Then the thoughts begin to flow.

I’m only able to discern those shades of grey in the clouds because of the sun behind them. The wind is moving everything in a steady dance, while the rain waits in the wings, unsure whether to join in or pass over this hilltop altogether. People hustle past on the streets, worrying about work or school, oblivious to what’s going on outside their heads.

And I watch, from my window.

I’ve been reading lately of poets, philosophers and scientists who reject the value or sacredness of Nature because of its perceived ‘soullessness’, ‘silence’, or indifference to us. I find this hard to comprehend. Once you start to look, to feel, to acknowledge what’s outside yourself… there is so much going on!

Yes, a tree or a bird doesn’t necessarily care what we do, but we get cross at Nature for our own projected silly reasons, not any intentional ‘indifference’ on its part. The clouds have done nothing to inspire a feeling of lowness – we do that ourselves. And in so doing, we miss their intrinsic beauty, the value they hold just by being.

Like it or not, we are all part of this dance of life. We can see things in black or white, good or bad for us… or we can honour the shades of grey, for themselves.