Why is Feminism called Feminism?

Why is Feminism called Feminism?

Firstly there a lot of people who misunderstand or do not understand the basic facts about this movement or idea.

Feminism origins

Feminism as a idea if not as a word came about when Mary Wollstonecraft first suggested that women were not inferior to men but lacked education. Her work A Vindication of the Rights of Woman in 1792 was of course not given as much attention as who she slept with. (As things change, how they stay the same).
We tend to forget that women have been fighting long and hard for rights and autonomy for a long time. That this fight still isn't over. That women are still viewed as property, to be sold, bartered and domesticated like a cow, or even swapped for one.

More modern Movements

Feminism isn't a single set of ideas. It is wave after wave, ebbing and falling, like a tide coming in, 

First Wave Feminism

It is odd that when I think about Suffragettes I don't think of forced feeding, hunger strikes and arson (which there were plenty of) I think of Mrs Banks in her colourful sashes in Mary Poppins. Wealthier women had access to mass produced books, were educated and driven. While some made things better for poorer women important things like family planning, and domestic violence (much of the Temperance movement was based on the idea that alcohol created domestic violence and poverty, not just poverty) they wanted to have a voice, a say in how the country was run.

The odd thing about this first wave if how people some how felt they achieved this, yet the Suffragettes movement was largely dissolved because of the 1st World War. What changed was 16 million people died in or around the fighting.

Women got more jobs and freedoms because there were no men to do them.

Second Wave

The second wave came about much later in the 1960's. The time between women won the vote but it had been a slow process. Where as the first wave wanted to be treated wanted to treated better than criminals and the legally insane, the second wave wanted to treated as equal.

How women should be treated equally meant the fracture of the world and the idea of feminism. 

Many rights and laws were past increasing women's rights, but not bringing about equality. Many feminist who were angry (and some who were not) rejected anything that they thought repressed women, from marriage; to children; wars and military service; even bras.

This image of the bra burning screaming feminist, who hates men is a Germane Greer classic, but  my mother was one of these women in her own way. She did not have a high opinion of men, mostly from experience. While this wave looks like a shower of shits now who messed up a lot (which is true) they also made huge strides in how we treat women and how we treat each other. This wave over mostly over by the 1980's.

The Third Wave

This wave I was aware of, just, as a teen. Oddly enough we thought we had won but then, we had not. We still didn't get equal pay, we still got verbally abused in the street, raped and blamed.

I grew up with a feminist and knew for me and those who used the world it meant equality. This feminism broadened again and allowed people from all races, and religions and backgrounds into the forum. Herstories, especially those of black and ethic peoples opened up and we found new hero's and brave souls who did amazing things. They fought for reproductive rights, for anti-discrimination laws.

I never imagined that the seeming progress we made would have such backlashes, but they seem as constant of the waves of progress. 

It seems amazing to me that people think that feminism is about and for only women. That it belittles them, or that they have already won.

Yet the truth is we do not have equality. From the countries that still have child brides, or cover up wholesale celebrity child abuse. The the rapists are "poor boys" and the victims get death threats. 

It was not against the law to sexually discriminate in the Isle of Man (part of the uk) until after 2001.

In Summary

Feminism is an idea that women are not cattle. That they should have a voice, a vote. That they have a right to an education, to their own bodies, and they own sexual desires. How this feminism is expressed or held together will depend on who the feminist is. 

My feminism is no milder than my mothers. I do not believe marriage is a yolk that woman are slaves under, that children are anchors or millstones that draw out your creative and independence; but my passion to be treated and that my daughter is treated as an equal, that she should not have to worry about being harassed in the street, groped a work, paid a pittance, fired for being pregnant, or gay, or pagan, or different; is just as fierce if not more so. That she should not have to be hard, or bitchy, or one of the boys to get on in her carer. That she should have to pretend to be less smart than she is, shave her body hair (it is choice), have a certain size or shape to be worthy. That a man will talk over her, interrupt her and explain something to her like she is a child, simply because he is male and certain that she could not be correct, regardless of her knowledge on a given subject.

I believe in equality, for women and men, for anyone of the sexual or gender spectrum, and any skin colour. That how well we do our jobs should define how we get paid and that a living wage so that a parent can stay at home raise their own children is important. That employers need to change how they work and the hours people are expected to put in. That paternity rights and benefits should be up held and people should be able to adopt and foster more easily. 

My feminism will not be someone else's yet I am aware I sand on the shoulders of giants. That thousands if not millions of women chipped away at this wall of ignorance and assumptions, traditions and fear.

The work goes on.

Holy Holidays

Holy Holidays

Well this holiday season has been quiet. With all the lack of in-law-ness it has been serene and uncomplicated. We have feasted. Exchanged gifts. Played games together online and tabletop (I have to tell you that from dying three times, a run of bad luck of unprecedented magnitude I turned the tide and won the game, Munchkin is a serious business.) We have been swimming which was glorious and quiet too. I have done quite a lot of yoga, mostly because my sciatica has been giving me jip and when I discovered by doing a little how stiff and made of bubble wrap and elastic bands I was I figured I should do something about it. So I have rediscovered some of my flexibility even in just doing a little everyday. When not eating lots of rich food I have been quite good eating simply and making use of my beautiful new Chinese handmade tea set and drinking green tea or Ceylon. I have rested, napped and lay about reading and felt more "on holiday" than I have in a long time.

Mini witch (who is decidedly less mini) has had some wonderful moments (and some truly "I just turned 13" moments) my favourite been how much she geeked out about her Lantern rings. My other best one was last night where she turned to me Wednesday Addams style while we were waiting for Doctor Who to come on and there was some awful Christmas tatty TV on and said

"I think I just died a little on the inside."

Her timing was perfect and I roar with laughter and was unable to explain to TK what had set us off.

After Doctor Who we gamed a little more and then I did yoga and TK stretched. I found I was calm but quite stimulated and wrote my blog about Frankincense and took some photos. It was the best Christmas day I have had in a very long time, possibly ever. When we could (not hosting for someone or other) we eat fishfinger sandwiches and watch Doctor Who but this year we knew it was just us. A great weight has lifted and a sense of deep peace has washed over me.

Then TK mentioned something just before we went to sleep that kept me awake on and off all night, that is was suppose to SNOW today. Some part of my brain kept waking me up to look to see if it was all the time.

That and my damn hip.

I think I will do some baking today. I don't know whether to just make a savory pie with the left over lamb and leek cawl or use my chestnut and macadamia nut butter and the puff pasty to make some pies (nicer and lighter than mince pies which I like but get a bit sick of).

I still have incense and some candles to make I just want to hold onto this feeling a little while longer.

Bright Blessings xxx

Frankincense

Frankincense

Frankincense is a resinous sap tapped from a desert tree. My preference has always been for the Boswella carteri, as it tends to have a wider range of notes within it's fragrence, and rightly or wrongly I think it has more of it's medical propeties. 
People have been using this resin as perfume and medicine for over five thousand years. It has been used in spiritual practices just as long and by all who encountered it. Though grown only in the middle east and northern Africa it was traded as far as China and the colder parts of Northern Europe. Because it is a solid oil it burns with a lot of smoke. The tiny particles and fine oils making it have a blue tinge. When smoldered on charcoal pyrolysis happens (a thermochemical decomposition without oxygen) changing it from one state, to another that can not be undone.
Frankincense lifts people. It heals them inside and out. It is more than cleansing in the sense that it remove impurities from a space, it also changes the people within it. It seems to hang in the air like a spirit just about to form, watching, waiting. Peaceful, radient even. Frankincese is a blessing, a healing spirit, a whisper of something ancient, sweet and beautiful.

It is so simple to not exprience it's wonder. Yet unforgetable when you have.

Bright Blessings xxx

Twas the Night before Yule

Twas the Night before Yule

The day before Yule was rather frantic as we knew we would be having guests and we did our last mad dash to get all the gifts we were giving made, the treats we were sharing baked, and the house in some semblance of order.
Gifts were given, tea and alcohol was drunk and a jolly good time was had. As they left to continue their travels and visits we got on with decorating the living room. Much grumbling and some fish supper later as a family I tried to get everyone to sing with me.
Mini witch was joyous and rather tuneful for the most part but TK just glared at me. Still the room was dark save for the fairy lights in the tree (growing in a pot from last year). Singing sounds of joy and tenderness reminded me of concerts and caroling as a child. Of Plygain. Of standing in a open courtyard with lots of other people, all of us holding candles and singing together. It was magickal. I feed all the house spirits and lit a candle in the front window in a lantern before I turned in. It was a simple act but felt meaningful.
I found sleep did not come easily that night. I luxuriated in the tender darkness. In the dreaming. (We all dreamt vividly that night too).
The grey of morning hung heavily on us and Mini witch got to open her first two gifts (if you don't count what she was given by our friends). In an unfortunate twist we had forgotten a few things and had to brave the supermarket. Suffice to say this was not the high light of my day.
After a simple but filling lunch I was exhausted. I went to nap but it took a while for sleep to take me and I awoke at the time I had wanted the bird in the oven!
When most of the food was in the oven or pan we sat together and watched Firefly. It was wonderful watching mini witch fall in love with Wash and Kaylee, but oddly sad too.
The meal was really great, though I forgot the pigs in blankets! For desert we had the cake and sweet treats made and given by PMK, which we worked out way through sat together watching Firefly some more.
It was quiet and peaceful.
It has been a weird year. I gained three students, who don't want me to teach them. The Old Ones are nothing if not ironic. Yet I suppose they have all come and gone for their own reasons and brought gifts and lessons too. I feel oddly at peace with it all. I will quietly keep doing what I have been doing, writing. If things are not meant to be, that is the way. I can not make other's believe in themselves, or in the work, or in each other. You have to find your own peace, not someone else's.
We all went swimming yesterday and it was wonderful and very peaceful. As I always do I prayed while floating to water and to The Goddess. We swam a great deal but I was not tired at all until I stepped out of the water.
The feast was the same as the first (sweet potato stuffing with bacon, spiced green cabbage, turnip and potato mash, baby potatoes, chunky carrots and parsnips with smoked paprika and onion seed salt, roast chicken, Yorkshire puddings, pigs-in-blankets and gravy).
It was as wonderful the second time as the first and much more relaxed as with the exception of the pig-in-blankets and chicken (re-heated with super hot gravy) everything else was just warmed through by TK.
This is how I imagined my second edition of the book would be. Simpler. Calmer. A matter of table dressing. It may yet be.Today I will make chutney and maybe some Hecate incense, eat chicken and stuffing sandwiches, make cawl for tomorrow and dwell in my own little world.

Bright Blessings xxx

The Morrigan

The Morrigan or..

Great Queen

Last night I spent my time with The Blood (red wine) The Feather (crow) and The Egg (duck).
A lot of people think that The Morrigan is one Goddess. She is of course a multitude. All her names have deep meaning and symbolism.
In a culture than minimises emotion and women she seems all the more odd. She has links with the Fae of course, for her memory is old and deep.
 Badb The Feather. The Crow. Omens and meanings. The whisper of souls returning. Fate and glory. Death and loss. She morns. She sees it all. She keens. Mortals do not listen well. The guide of the restless dead.
Macha The Egg. New beginnings. False starts. Painful births. Secrets revealed. Fragile life. Small sacrifices. Promises. The land speaks. The land listens. Matriachal lines. Women's wisdom and curses.
Nemain The Blood. Passion. Frenzy. Fury. Untamable. Poisonous rage. Burning in the fight. The peace of letting go fully to the desire. The singing red mist. A whirlwind of blades.

There has always been much of the Morrigu Morrigan Morriganua about me.
As someone who speaks with and for the dead. As someone who gives warnings and messages to the living (rarely listened to) and someone with the red mist in her blood, with a power and fury that makes most who see it re-think women as the weaker sex.
Yet she has always frightened me. Proctected me but I felt and was shamed by this warrior in my blood. Yet she has kept me alive. Protected me as I protected others.
The red mist was a sign of my weakness, not my strength. Yet as I trained. As I punched and weaved and listened to that fury just under my surface, we worked together.
Only when some asshole tried to break my leg did it bloom into the red flower I feared would kill or mame.
So then another Godess held me gracefully in the cup of her small hands. The bloom grew, then whithered and died. For The Blood, also quietened me. My daughter's presence saved me, and them.
How powerful The Blood is. How much passion and power, love and family bind us in ways we do not understand.
Last night I honoured all of that in my dancing. In my healing, and accepting of my frustration. My sublination of rage was not working. I was just snapping at other's instead. I had to admit I was angry. I had to admit that depending on other's makes me vulnerable. That people will let me down. That that is part of life. That being vulnerable and trusting other's is part of the process. I am not The Great Queen. People won't do what I want them to, when I want them to. People will treat me like I am an idiot. Yet that is their problem, and letting it make me angry is not smart.
I am at peace with my passion.

Bright Blessings  xxx

Walking in Circles.

Walking in Circles

What is a circle? Or at least what do I mean by a circle. A circle is a an energy bubble cast for ritual purposes. It keeps energy in (until you channel it somewhere) it keeps things out (with some exceptions) and it defines a time and space. 
A temple (or church) can have many circles held within them, yet every circle is different.It is a lens in many ways amplifying the people and energy in a space.
Circles can have one or many within them. When I "hold circle" it is not a coven meeting because coven for me is a different beast entirely. A circle can be open or closed. A coven for me is a closed and invited space. It is the ultimate trust. An open circle is not a dedicated group of core teachers, students and devotees. Yet many of the same practise happen within. Dancing,drumming, singing, meditation, herb craft and so on.
A circle is that breath of Anwen. Of depth. Of a space that is between places. Of a place out of the usual flow of time. (My student and friends notice the time weridness at my circles often; a ritual lasting an hour can feel like a whole night has past, or feel like an hour when five have past).
Time in a circle is to dwell within the dreaming while awake.

How do you cast a circle? We you pull up energy from the soles of the feet and hold it in the chest. Then you draw down energy from the top of your head and again hold it in your chest. Joining the two you cast the energy like a bubble around you. To release of course you suck the energy back into you and through you and release it out of the top of your head and out the soles of your feet.
You can make it a single layer or many. You can visualise it as trees, brambles, white light, smoke, ice, or fire. It can be stone, or crystal. Practise makes it easier. Yet what is borrowed will be restored.

Bright Blessings xxx

How to write a Spell

How to write a Spell

(I feel I have written this blog before but I can't find it so there you go).

Writing a spell sounds intimidating. Yet as your knowledge of magick grows and a deeper understanding of how magick works you can understand that each situation is unique and requires a delicate touch.

The formula for a successful spell is as follows:

Symbolic object+Connection+Power= Magick

The symbolic objects (or processes) are often the easiest part to obtain and are a creative part of the magick. It is important that the symbols are used with knowledge and are not muddled or mushed together.

Using natural things like stones (tiger's eye is a protective stone and is symbolic of an eye) wood and leaves and some black cord you could make a hundred different spells. 

A charm is a radiating spell that sits in a space. The more simple the intent the better they work.

If you don't know what your symbols are saying your "like attracts like" will be muddled you will get weirdness. That is not to say your magick won't work, but you might not get the desired results. This is where research and practice come in. This is why eclectic magick practices often have difficulty or patchy results. Their symbols are from everywhere and are not as defined as someone who walks a singular path.

The next thing you need is the Connection (Contagion) part. If you are doing a spell for yourself, that is easy. Anything from your hair, or saliva, tears can be used. If it has D.N.A you can use it. (Just because it is the connection doesn't exempt this from also being symbolic, choose your connection wisely). If you don't have a physical connection (an example of this would be my Aunty Anne got sick and though I haven't seen her in years I did some healing) you can (if you have the skill or practice) connect to the person on the astral plane (in The Veil). It requires a lot more work and journeying there while you do the spell. IF you are being bothered by someone it is easier because you can follow the thread back to them.

Power can and does come from many places. You need to be able to draw power into you and channel it into your work. You can use objects (tools mostly) that have great power to aid you, or you can use the power of a place (even if you are not there physically). Yet power from chanting, dancing, drumming and the like increases the power to put into the spell. It is free and easily available to anyone.

Magick is about winding your intention through the symbols and connections carefully and focusing the power (through the symbols) for an out come. You can choose to be very specific or very general. The middle ground tends to be the worst. If you don't care HOW a thing happens so much the better. The Old Ones are nothing if not creative (and with a very distinct sense of humor).

A decent witch can use anything to do this process. Though having a stock of herbs, woods, tinctures, essences, salts, rocks and so on helps. Much like cookery if you understand why an ingredient is in the mix you can use a substitute. So if you are using rosemary because it is cleansing you can use another herb or resin (rosemary and frankincense are often substituted this way); however if you are using rosemary because it is symbolic of remembrance, Aphrodite, or the sea you can not, nor should not substitute it.    

If in doubt you can always get so help or advice or buy a focus from someone who has done the leg work!

Bright Blessingsxxx

The Privilege of Parent

The Privilege of Parent

I am a High Priestess. I have been on this path in one way or another my whole life. It is hard sometimes. It is a duty that sometimes can feel overwhelming. The "things" that need to be done, the planning, the cleaning, the organizing, the careful inter play of energies coming, holding and releasing; it is hard work. Yet it is a boon. A gift and most of all a privilege.

I see things, know things, experience and allows others to experience amazing spiritual moments.

It is an honor.

So too the title Mother sits with me.

Something happened to me, right around the second trimester of my first pregnancy. Firstly I could feel a person inside me. Not a blob or a thing but the spirit of a whole persons, complex and interesting inside me. I could feel her aura. Her energy. Her hiccups. She felt like the smell of thunder storms, the blue before the setting sun, powerful, calm, deep and peaceful.

I also felt this doorway, a place inside me that I had not known before. A connectedness to something instinctual and powerful, a knowing, deep beyond measure. Something wild and fierce in me. 

My birth experience was not great and I ended up having an emergency C-section under general anesthetic. I awoke to find this screaming worm fighting against my body and to an agony in my womb I could not bear. 49%  of me wanted to push this weird creature that was hurting me away, 51% knew she was mine. MINE. There was a snarling dangerous beast in me that wanted to destroy anyone who came near her. 

My eldest daughter didn't nurse well. Didn't sleep well. I had no help other than TK who was working split shifts 6 days a week. It was just me and Mini-witch. I was fascinated by this person staring at me with these deep knowing (slightly judgmental) eyes. I would spend hours singing to her, talking to her (not that there was anyone else to talk to) holding her to my face. It was awful. It was amazing. I got no more than an hour and a half of sleep for 4 months. I barely ate. I spent anytime not with mini-witch (while she slept) cleaning. After we began supplementing breast feeds with soya milk formula and she started sleeping it became easier. 

I wanted to explore this new power in me, this whole ancient force flowing within me. More than that the idea I would give her to someone else to look after physically pained me. If I went somewhere, she came with me. If I was teaching she was there. If I did readings she would sit there too. Good as gold. Those large eyes looking the clients up and down too. 

Someone had said (I don't remember know) that if you didn't invite your children into your life and allow them to know you, experience you as a person, they would not have anything in common with you when they were adult. That showing them "parent" was not enough, that you needed to share yourself with them. This process for me (and the fact I was young) allowed me to find out who I was and share that journey with my daughter.

I LOVED (and still love) being a mother. TK and I decided to try for a sister for Mini-witch and I got pregnant straight away. The pregnancy was different. She was orange and heat and summer meadow. 

That is how Kara came into our lives. We had to move. There was a lot of stress. It was far from perfect, but it was amazing. The birth was long and difficult. My old C-section scar re-opened and and my sudden instance on a C-section saved our lives.Unlike last time I bounced back quickly and Kara slept straight through the night from the get go. I was teaching, working magick, caring for 2 kids under 2, yet it felt that I was doing what I was made for. Mini witch was not jealous but loving and impressed by this small warm person. She nursed straight away.

The morning we found Kara dead was oddly sunny for December 9th 2003. She was seven and a half months old. First came shock. Then pain. Pain the like of which you can not imagine. I don't want you to imagine. 

Loss.

Lost.

Agony.

That primal part of me roared and gnashed it's teeth.

I refused medication because there wasn't anything wrong with me. I did not want to numb the pain. I hurts because I miss her, It SHOULD hurt.

Yet that primal animal mother, got me out of bed. Made me read to my Mini-witch. Made me eat. Made me sing songs and care for her. That small but insistent voice made me live, not for my own sake, but because I had a purpose. I had someone to look after and she was all the more special because she was mine.

It is that part of me that rages in my heart and head when people piss on the word "mother". Or when I watch people ignore their children. Or lean over the pram with cigarette in mouth. Not because it isn't fair. Not because I did everything right but because they do not see their parenthood as a privilege. As something fragile and fleeting and more important than your facebook page, your ipad, or going out and getting drunk or working every hour. They are not sandbags that hold you down. They can be the most beautiful and powerful part of your whole life, if you spend sometime looking deep into their eyes and learn how to see your privilege. 

Crystal Healing

Crystal Healing

As a child I would collect rocks. I particularly like fossils. For some reason I kept the ones that were my favourites in my dressing gown pockets. This was what lead to the end of my collection as my "mother" picked it up and promptly dropped it on her foot. She threw them all away. By the 1990's (how old does that make me feel!) I had been healing for about 18 months (spirit healing) and a crystal healing course came up at a local college. I ended up attending. I can remember very little about it except we used a lot of quartz and talked about cleansing and programing crystals.Something clicked. Whilst I read a lot more I never had another lesson. No qualification to speak of but I noticed how crystal use the white spirit light I was working with. I noticed I could "wake up" stones, ask them to cleanse or heal, then tell them to "rest" or sleep again. I began building a collection and by the time I had finished University most of what I have now was set. I was rather lucky. Crystals were larger and cheaper back then. I got some interesting and more rare pieces and notice that crystals come in fashions and waves. I kept healing with crystals, in fact the way I didn't starve post-University was through people paying for healing and readings.

After a while I helped out M's shop in Manchester and was paid in crystals. Not only that I gave free healing and a crystal "perscription" to customers. I got some rare angelwing selinite and calcite formations from that time. I wished I kept some desert roses, some moldvite and cheap lazer points, but hindsight and all that!
After meeting TK my relationship with crystals changed. After he touches a crystal they bond instantly. This was both wonderful and irritating in eqaul measure. I sort of felt a bit rubbish compared to him so I didn't do any healing with them in a long while.
TK has a modest collection of his own and my is now growing again. Saying that the Holy Stone collection is so huge is made the house sing when they first got here but they are quieter now. Humming to the sound of the house in general.

I taught a few workshops about crystal healing but folks don't really want to understand the complex creatures, they just want a "this for this" remedy kit. They don't quite work that way. They sing. They open and radiate places on the body and spirit. Something wonderful for one person is awful for the next. It is the song, the sound the whole that is important.

Bright Blessings xxx

What are Runes?

What are Runes?

Runes. Well everyone knows what they are right? Well I do not consider myself an expert. I have read a great many books and more than that was friends with a Master Runesmith for years, but that education left me with the certainty that there was a depth and knowing, a language within I could glimpse at but that I didn't know.
Now runes are based on an alphabet but they are based on sounds and ideas rather than shape. It was a written language to reflect personal and social experience, send messages and transcend time (Northern European and Germanic cultures were big on that idea). The "I was 'ere" part of the language seems fairly straight forward. Even taking into account the multiple variations of the written forms.
Then we get to rune magick. To wear a rune, to cast one, to paint it on a rock or doorway, and this, this is where most people get it horribly wrong.
Mostly because many early books on the subject were....generous with their imaginings? Or sparse with the truth?
At any rate some of the complexity was washed away. X means gift, is fine except that it within a bindrune, a sentence or word it doesn't just mean X. The context of rune work is intricate to the point of mind boggling. As far as I can tell (and my friend would tell me, very hush hush you know) each rune belongs to one of Nine different planes (places/energies/dimensions) and how you evoke the rune (and where, and when, and with what) will affect the relationship to that particular place. Adding to the complexity each rune also belongs to an Aett or "family" of runes and interact with different Aett runes in new and interesting ways.
Runes are ancient. I mean really really ancient and have great power. Even the crap ones. The ones on clay tablets or painting gleefully onto pebbles have the capasity to do powerful magick, except, mostly they don't.
Firstly this is because they are connected to their respective planes by the tiniest thread. Secondly because people using them have almost no clue what they are doing.
The casting of runes is to whisper to the Norns, to rattle the cages of the crows and ask old Gods (who are grumpy and cantancerous as well as generous and wise) to pay attention to the caster. To draw them does the same and how they are drawn matters. Where they are positioned and how they interact matters. The same runes for new growth and good beginnings mangled together can mean dark endings and death to your beginnings. "What about intention Lucy? What if all I intended was good? Won't only good happen?"
No. You are working with code. Much like computer code if you put it together in the wrong way you don't get what you want. This is not the codes fault. This is the failure to understand the code AND how the system works.
Also remember that runes were used to curse as often as heal. Not because they were bad people, just people. The ripple, memory of that curse is still out there in the planes.
As a planeswalker, journeyer; fey traveller in strange and wonderful places I have become more aware of how runes and for that matter signs an sigils can and do connect to places. That doesn't mean I don't use runes (though I haven't casted in a while). I am just wary. Gentle with what I write and how I write it.
TK has a gift for understanding the art and poetry of this work. He connects to those places with ease and grace. I marvel and wonder at how such simple lines in his expert hands become something magickal.

Bright Blessings xxx

Shameless self promotion

Shameless self promotion or....Sorry I am bad at this, I'm British.

I do a great many fairly (you see what I mean) talented things. I am (in general) rather pleased with what I do (I never think it is perfect, except that lamb dinner I made last week, could not have been improved on) and I work hard to be better, brighter and closer to that "perfect" while accepting it is unlikely to reach it and there come a point when I have to stop tinkering with it or I will ruin it.

Yet the self pride in the work and belief in myself (which took years and is still a work in progress)is there, the whole shouting, smiling, pushy BUY MY THINGS, is as uncomfortable as wet cold jeans.

Yet I see folk brazenly selling crap for far more money than I sell my decent, lovingly made things and it both makes me jealous that they can, and infuriated in equal measure. How? How can you crow so loudly, make so many posts? It is like those awful (and secretly very funny) shopping channels that make me glad I don't own a television. How can they stand there with a straight face? 

As a Brit, we all get a bit embarrassed by that sort of thing. We don't like it much either. When people are proud (not for themselves at any rate) we get a sort of smug derision. Pride is either a pint of beer (don't ask it is revolting) or something reserved for a team you support. Pride in yourself is a social foe pas, a clumsy and unwelcome emotion, which will come before a fall. Even accepting compliments is a complicated mixture of emotions. To willing to accept and your smug confidence is enough to crucify you in some social settings. Pride and self belief also come with a good dollop of social and personal shame. 

Yet I make and write things to sell. I happen to really like my own creative products (gasp). 

I spend hours making incense. I spend weeks researching, making notes, making it in my head, re-making it. Trying to balance it's magick ingredients with a landscape of scents to create something.

Something I AM proud of, that I would put my name to. Yet the ability of other to throw three herbs from one Scott Cunningham's reference books into a jar or bag and call it incense, incenses me. 

I have come up with countless blends (many lost to time as I didn't write it down). Yet the more I do (I am very impressed with my Faery blend and my Goddess Hecate blend) the better I get. 

I love working with others too. TK made and pyrographed this wand, but I did the design work and placed the symbols appropriately. Isn't it lovely? Simple, elegant and not covered in toxic choking varnishes or oils that transfer and stain? It would suit a lefty in my opinion too. It is very traditional (old school Gardenarian/Alexandrian) in some ways but would work well with any Wiccan's work. 

Recently, a few months ago, I got removed from a facebook group for self promotion. I was as mystified and shamed as any self respecting Brit should be. The "promotion" in question was responding to questions or debates by pasting a link to this blog with an answer to (usually in great detail) the said question. I was at first mystified, then just sort of glad. I don't have adverts or make money from this blog. TK also got removed for reporting admin for breaking their own rules and more importantly the law. 

I genuinely had not seen it as self promoting. Just a quicker, more streamlined way to answer some questions, requests for help and so on. Especially as the same questions got asked repeatedly. Copy, paste, done! Yet maybe that is all promotion is. Answering a question posed by someone.

I write books. Books about Craft and poetry. 

The Key is getting a serious edit for second edition at the moment as well as having diagrams and art work added. I have a large chunk of book two written also. I really want to get second edition done before Yule but I am waiting on art work and understand not rushing is probably a great idea. 

Poetry has been a passion since I was a child. It was Samuel Peeps that was my first inspiration into pure poetry rather than just song lyrics. I was about 8 years old. Poetry makes sense to me, the way mathmatics makes sense to others. I understand the multiple meanings, the multitudinous kaleidoscopic ways a single word can paint different pictures. I adore it. Yet promoting my work which is so personal, is the worst of all. I do not want to shout about my poetry not because I do not think it worthy but because it seems alien to me. 

So here goes. Buy my things. I make them because I don't know how not to any more. Most of it is better than stuff people spend a fortune on. I ship world wide (though I can't send incense to New Zeland or Australia because they have strict laws about none native plants.)

Sorry.

I mean.

My stuff is brilliant and full of magick. It is really good. No bad reviews. 

Bright blessings xxx

Bah- Humbug!

Bah- Humbug...or Why I love Yule.

I don't come from a traditional lot. I also come from divorced parents. This meant that my festive season wasn't busting with twice the fun, just two lonely cynical people did crazy and sometimes drunkenly argumentative crap and I had to be the grown up.

No turkey for me. Sometimes it was pizza. Sometimes something gourmet (dependent on which parent I was with). The white synthetic nightmare (and probable fire hazard) that was our tree for a few years was the best of the trees I got (needles in the carpet) until I was old enough to get my own. Oddly my evil ex's whole family also sucked at Christmas. I mean at least they did the meal but they just brought a fully decked tree home from where they sold them. Everything was still fake,

I have fond memories of the huge trees in churches which I often did readings and sang in (ooh my little witch heart loved it). I loved the smell. The lights. There was and is something magick about all that green inside. There is a joy to this season, which ever holiday you celebrate that I love. "Sensible" "grown up" people bemoan it's faults (it IS hard work and pine needle DO get in the carpet) and miss the joy, numbing it with expensive gifts, (or massive amounts of alcohol) they miss the collective-ness, community and family, the magick.

Yule is awesome. 

Yule in particular for me is amazing, because we do the major "work" (the first feast, gifts and so on) days before. So while everyone else is running around stressed beyond measure I am mostly done. It is like finishing a test before everyone else. We tend to feast either just as a family or have friends or students eat with us. We tend to cook an evening meal (sooooo much easier than lunch) and have about 3 big meals over the season. Christmas day is "Dr Who and fishfinger sandwich day" unless we were looking after Pop's.... Mini witch gets a gift every day for two weeks. It is odd because you wold think "dragging" it out would make it more stressful but it doesn't. She can have a big gift on Yule or when we manage to get it. (Less pressure). If we have a fuck up of a meal, (not happened so far) we have a do over. Mini witch gets gifts and is grateful for every single one. There is no hierarchy because it all happens at once.

Our feasts are not just about food, but, ya know, YUM! There is something about coming together and eating. We ted to have ducks or pheasant (a goose if we have a lot of people). I also like getting smoked salmon and making a mouse to have with crusty bread and crisp leaves.

Part of me wishes we did Thanksgiving over here. To fill that gap between Samhain and Yule (now-ish) where it is cold and dark and unforgiving. I see why it creeps (it isn't about buying stuff). We want the sparkle, the light to remind us of the magick.

Mini witch and I make our tree decorations every years. We often make gifts for each other too. My BFF told me if I didn't my gifts for her as usual this years she would think I "didn't love" her anymore! Whether it is Yule-mas cake, or giant chili chutney jars, food hampers of spices and unique foods, paintings and poetry; making gifts started as a need but moved into a tradition.

So long as there is a tree, an orange pomander and sparkling lights, and each other it is a good Yule.

Oh I should mention the shop... buy stuff here...or don't!

Cultural appropriation in pagan circles

Cultural appropriation in pagan circles.

Firstly I must say that this is a hugely sensitive and complicated thing. On a personal level picking a faith because of their cultural "coolness" or poor research (I recently had someone shove their supposed Cherokee heritage down my throat as more pagan than thou and it was clear that even if this ancestry was true she had no actual clue to the beliefs and practices of the seven tribes, the upper, lower and center worlds or The Long Man) irritates the piss out of me. 
On the flip side of this I have had spiritual teachers (in spirit and flesh) from all parts of the world and from all backgrounds. I also like to use what works. A good idea is a good idea after all.

I am from a minority culture. As someone who is Welsh, from Welsh parents (my father was even born two miles from my childhood home) and Welsh grandparents, and only when we hit Great-grandparents does the Irish come in. I am in fact the first female member of my family to marry an Englishman since 1642. Though he would say he was a "man of the North". The Welsh are still subject to much racism, ignorance, misrepresentation. When you speak of Welsh culture many people actually laugh at you. As though this is a joke. 
So let us look at culture. 

What is a culture.
  the arts and other manifestations of human intellectual achievement regarded collectively.

  the ideas, customs, and social behaviour of a particular people or society.

  maintained (tissue cells, bacteria, etc.) in conditions suitable for growth.

This is where it gets tricky. When someone hangs up a dream-catcher are they admiring an art form, using a good idea or internalizing someone else's culture?
Culture is often defined by "otherness" and collective ideas and customs of groups and sub-groups. Some groups are seen as "authentic" and "exotic" while other are perceived as dangerous, threatening or worse, worthless.
This changes because they are not viewed by one set of otherness but all different kinds. In the States having ancestors who were not white (and European) is not a glowing, spiritual and cool thing. At least in certain places. In fact having African heritage is preferable than Indigenous people. Yet this assumed (and often European) idea of spiritual simplicity and purity, of authenticity of "noble savages" persists especially the further you get from the US.
Likewise cultures in Amazon that are like new specimens to preserve something wild and raw are now avoided to protect their unique-ness.
Yet while we are all African in our D.N.A, all descended from a few families that made it, we evolve into cliches and groups at the earliest opportunity. We are endlessly drawn to find something human, something universal but socially the more we seek the more different we become.
Like islands evolving (socially) in stranger and stranger ways. This "otherness" and "togetherness" this cultural identity and heritage should be balanced with kindness and support.
We do both terrible and wonderful things as cultures, a word I far prefer to "civilization". This dichotomy of "noble savage" and "civilized man" are set on at best shaky ground. Civilized "man" was, civic, social and fair (although not to women, too much savage in them I suppose) and just (if not more) brutal than the barbaric savages (with deep, sensitive and co-operative ideals of their own).
Once we break this dichotomy and understand that while cultural differences can be glorious and beautiful. That dominant cultures are not dominant because they are"right" or "better" but like trees in the forest grow and take up the most light. Those underneath wait for them to topple so they can grow.
I think it is a good idea to be sensitive about the spiritual and sacred things you appropriate. Coming from an external view point distorts the deeper meanings you will be culturally blind to. Yet sincere work, work with research and dwelling within a culture (being inside is the only way to know) can bring about cross pollination that can bloom into beautiful things.
After all I live on a island which was trading with Egypt by the Bronze Age (our tin has been found) and conquered by Rome (and the multitude of colours, races and beliefs it brought), then abandoned. Fought, won and lost to Danes, Angles, Saxons, in waves of migration, invasion and war. We then got conquered again by French Danes (the Normans) bringing new exotic ideas and creating weird hiccups in our language (because the people who could eat the expensive things used a different language to those that reared them). Our royalty (to the victors the spoils) is related to almost every other royal family and pretty much everyone is descended from Charlemagne (randy old goat 19 kids).Thousands flooded in when we had a "tolerant monarch" from all over the world to work and live. They brought technology and weapons. Millions poured out when we didn't. Then we conquered half the world and in return they lived here too (well we did steal or buy your country). We still live with this fall out today. We moved thousands of Indians (maybe millions) and when they got their country back Kenya kicked them out. They couldn't go home, they could stay and this Island had moved them in the first place. So even though they fought in our wars, even though they were told they were "British" (what ever the hell THAT means) there was no warm welcome for them, even today. Others came after fighting in wars expected to be treated as hero's but they were too different, too many.
Through all of this (and maybe because of it) the people who lived here before the Romans, up in the hills and valleys, pushed into the margins, stuck it out. Protected their ideas and music. Lost and found themselves a thousand times.
It is strange for me to feel a sense of pointlessness in separation from other humans, and a fierce defiance of my own. My language, my music, the land that captivates and draws me like no other in all the world.
I love new, old and interesting cultures, we often have so much more in common than we think (did you know Cherokee have little people too?). Yet maybe your real culture is not the one you choose, but the one that chooses you. While intellectually I can see and abhor the "noble savage" and cultural appropriation that goes along with it, I understand that yearning for something pristine. Deep. Ancestral. Yet maybe if we look at ourselves, really look at ourselves we would no longer need to find it somewhere else, we would find it within.

Dear Mother...

Dear My Ancient Mother,
that woman called today. The one who I have the same eye colour as. The one who abandoned me and hurt me over and over. Some how she feels that carrying me in her womb, making sure I didn't die, some how she has the right to call me daughter. The right. All those years I would flee from her into your safe green arms only to have to leave you and to live in that house.
That hole where the love, support and kindness should be in a person was never there for me. She taught me many things. Things that with your strength and wisdom I have healed so much of. It wasn't so much that she chose her other biological offspring, though she can still do no wrong. It was that everyone, anyone was more important, more deserving, more worthy than I. Every crime, real or imagined was my doing.
When other's hurt me, under her guard, it was me that was to blame. Her lover. Her step-son. Both abused me. Both hurt and violated that sacred trust a child bestows on a person. Yet it was me they cast as outcast. Evil. Shameful, tiny hurting little child who just wanted to be loved. Who after she was truthful, and honest and brave was told she was anything but and who wanted to die. At 8 years old because the pain and shame of living in this hell were too much. This was not treated as a "cry for help" but ridiculed and used as evidence of how awful I was.
I lived in house constantly full of people, alone. I cooked my own meals, avoided everyone and gave my affection to the animals without lies on their tongues and cruelty in their eyes. I learned to be an adult very young, yet that sting of not being wanted, welcome, worthy sticks in my memory like the wet, bare leg slaps at the pool on holiday.
People sometimes marvel at my strength and pain tolerance, it is just scar tissue is harder, tougher. I have walked through hell and everything else, life, is just a blessing.
I just find a balance, a peace, a place of pity, not rage, a place of forgiveness for an abused child, who grew up to abuse, when she does something else. As though this forgiveness is permission to carve into my healing heart over and over and over again. When the person I once called sister (before I knew it had another meaning) put me in hospital this year and she was screaming down the phone at me for "making your sister feel bad" I knew something had to change.
I collected bones, all shapes and sizes. Listened to you love, and kindness and support. Carved her names onto them and scattered them in the midsummer sun, in hedge rows and ditches, crossroads and country lanes. I scattered her, grieved and to me I was at peace.
Yet now and again she would call. I would just hang up. Just refuse to acknowledge she was there.
Yet watching TK speak to her, even briefly like a person (a right I was not blessed with) set fire to something in me.
A rage and pain that until I laid my head against your heart I could not let go of. I wore it close to me, I slept in it, I eat in it. I could bare the touch of no-one, except my daughter, my gift from you and TK.
Mother I know you will protect me from this woman. That you will heal me, like you always do. I know that because ever time this person fails to be a woman, a friend or "mam" you, always you pick me up. You send me gifts. Wipe away my tears. Warm and soothe me. I am always good enough, worthy enough, for you.
Thank you my Mother, my Goddess.

Your ever loving daughter.

xxx

A planet that sings

On a planet that sings...

there are a relativity intelligent species descended from a long line of social hominid apes. These creatures are very diverse in culture and social groupings, skin pigmentation and other factors. They are sexual reproducers, who use sex in a variety of social ways.

They experience gender on a broad spectrum from a to b with a great many varying degrees of sexual and gender preference and traits. However for at least it's recent history the a.a end of the spectrum has been deemed "better" and have been the dominate force in most (though not all) in much of their memory, especially written myths, legends and history passed down. However with it being in the interest of some of the a.a group to erase, ignore, revile and demonize anything believed to be different than being a. 

This does not mean that the rest of those being on the spectrum are not interesting, important or inventive. Some of the greatest of the whole species have not be true a in gender, or sexual preference. However there are either not recorded, not passed on in written histories or accounts, works not displayed in galleries, have their memorial defaced for be somewhere other than a..

This bias does many things. It occasionally breaks out in to violence. Sometimes in the extreme. Being b; or not being as a as the cultures demands (demands vary greatly in different cultures and socio-economic areas) is an huge pressure and can explode in violence against other a.a's (fighting for dominance of non-a deemed people) or more commonly directed towards those deemed less, weaker or closer to b on the spectrum.

Interestingly non-a social hominid apes, though different are not weaker, per say. Some b S.H.A's are stronger, smarter and more talented than some defined as a.a S.H.As. 

Biologically it is the b S.H.A. that gestate and rear the young. If a b S.H.A. raises a child alone it is often pitied, reviled, and can sometimes be at the mercy of extreme violence towards the off spring it's self, sometimes leading to death of the b. Sexual consent and autonomy of their own bodies is occasionally allowed so long as this does not offend a powerful or successful a.a. individual. 

The conditions and rights for those deemed non-a differ enormously all over the planet. In some places non-a S.H.A's can vote, marry, hold office or power; though these rights are hard won with many victims and martyrs along the way. Some a.a  refuse to educate non-a's at all. They tend to breed and isolate b S.H.A's before full sexual and mental maturity has developed. Though this has no benefit to the offspring or the b S.H.A. The perceived power over the b S.H.A. elevates the standing with other a.a.'s.

In places where non-a S.H.A. give permission for more equality (until an a.a. pulls rank, either through privilege and or threat of violence) the fight for rights continues slowly. It would be heartening to say that their right to vote, marry and love who they wished had happen purely down to their own efforts, but this is not the case. There were two huge wars fought roughly 100 solar rotations ago and then again about 70. While non-a's were involved, fought and so on, predominantly it was those were regarded as a's who fought and killed each other in enormous numbers. this lead to the break down of many traditional a.a social and economic roles. This allowed non-a's to work, gain education, and be seen as capable and useful members of society. 

After these wars governing bodies did what they could to re-assert the roles and lack of right but non-a's fought and little by little they gained some rights and freedoms. This has lead to backlashes by those who are (or even those who wish to be) a.a.

Non-a's currently do not have the same rights and proclivities as those deemed a, or a.a. As a planet there is no equality, in fact speaking about this privileged position can still cause threats and insight murder. Many a's can see how rejection of a large percentage of the S.H.A. population is unfair (apes having keen empathy and understanding of such things). Some use this position to further the cause of those not born a's. They can see how the spectrum gives diversity and doesn't make their place on it less. They support and admire their b or non-a off spring. They have friends and bosses that are non-a and do not find this threatening or upsetting. They love these non-a S.H.A. and give them autonomy over their bodies and rights. Sadly this makes them targets for some a S.H.A's. 

These are strange and wonderful creatures, who are inhabiting this blue planet that sings.

Sacrifice

Sacrifice 

I am writing this blog in response (and agreement with another blog here) because I wrote an intelligent and rather eloquent response in the comments section that was eaten by the site/internet/computer beasties. I in no way shook my laptop in rage, I am a grown up! 

I will now try and remember the clever and beautifully smart things I said....

Firstly if you asked me if I made sacrifices, I would probably say I don't. Offerings sure, but sacrifice sound either like a dodgy business arrangement (scratch my back and I''ll scratch yours) or some biblical test of faith by destroying a person, animal or thing that is very important; I don't have any need to prove my faith to my Gods.

Yet sacrifice also means to offer. THAT I do all the time.

I feed my family, friends, fae and Gods (and Goddesses) on a regular basis. Sometimes in a ritual context but just as often just when I am cooking (baking in particular).

So animal sacrifice sounds like something I don't do (kill an animal to pleased, placate or bargain with those beyond the Veil) except that when I give offerings, make a dumb supper plate, put the fatty bits in a tree, in a way I am.

There is no blood on my hands per say. I wouldn't hurt or harm a pet, mine or anyone else's. Yet if I needed to take a life to feed my family, friends, fae and Gods, then I would take an animals life. I would take it as swiftly and painlessly as I could. I would honour their passing. Respect all it gave me. Growing up on a farm I saw the souls of animals up close and personal. While I wasn't allowed to hunt (not woman's work apparently) my step-brothers sometimes did, and their friends did far more often. It was not uncommon to find "payment" for hunting being hung up outside the door when we went out in the morning, be it a goose, rabbit, or in one case a bag of eels, (not bad eating though they did stink out the microwave for a while). I learned to pluck, gut and clean (women's work apparently) and eat all sorts of food.

Sacrifice (in the context of offerings) for me is a conversation, a connectedness. What I have I freely and lovingly shared with all those I love and care for in my life. It is not a burden. I always pay close attention to the food I eat. I never forget that I am eating something that had a soul or spirit and I engage with that.

There is a snobbish bitchcraft, holier than thou bunch of people on the pro and anti sides of this argument. Much of it stems different class systems in different countries (either the very rich or the very poor tend to hunt in the UK) and the generally snobbery of who is more witch endlessly irritates me. Witch is something you do. Not what you eat. 

If someone I knew was sacrificing animals (especially if was for ritual food) in a safe, humane and legal way (like rabbits or wood pigeons) I would totally get it and support that right.

This is not the same as animal abuse to use their body parts in spell work (I knew a guy in Crewe who neglected his pets to death and did just this, but because he did't snap a neck he felt he was and I quote "clean of the death". This is disgusting on every level.

Then we have the folks who respect any animal, except of course the human animal. They grant beingness to grasshoppers and fleas but can not find compassion or acceptance for the human spirit if they do not agree with their particular branch. 

For me the consuming of a meal in ritual context, the offering of what I have with others is a significant and spiritual thing. When I did the Hunter Journeying at the Hunter's full moon, eating venison was a very sacred and special part of that. It was not an abstract idea of "Stag" it was the meat in my bowl, in my mouth, in my body. 

The acknowledgement of the death in my life, from the yeast in my bread, to the meat and vegetables I harvest from the garden (many slugs died in the making of those beans) it connects me to the cycles of life and death. It roots me in the real, in the past and present. It teaches me, and my daughter who will always remember, that death is not some distant frightening specture we must avoid at all cost. It is a part life. It gives context and meaning. It is a sacrifice we will all one day make.

Bright Blessings xxx

(no this wasn't as good as the original but ho hum!)  

Fear of Flying

Fear of Flying

When you change your life for the better. Have an attitude shift or just radiate kindness, many great things happen. You know what else happens? It draws out the spiteful, the tyrannical and cruel. That light you are shining draws them as well as the good. They mock, bully and try and shame. For the longest time I thought that when people misunderstood, made cruel comments or hateful words that it was me. That I provoked this cruelty. In a way I did. Yet how other people view me, judge me by their behaviour and standards is not only not my fault. It isn't my problem. It can feel that way but I have come to the point where I let it go.
You can often tell their problem by their words.

If they say you are "fake" they are insincere.
If they say you are "a fad" they don't know their own path.
If they say you are "stupid" they fear being stupid.
If they say you are "less" then they feel threatened.
If they say "you can't'" it is because they can't.

A lot of my life I have come to points where I was opening up and shining only to be hurt by the cruelty of others. I could not see that it wasn't me. That my light, and my art and my words are worthy and unique. That if people didn't "get it" or "get me" that the fault lay not with myself but with others.
Some of the loudest voices, especially when I was younger were my family and friends. The ones you want to love and support you the most. I let go of all that pain, in dribs and drabs over the years. More than that if I don't have something positive, or at least kind I don't say it. I don't always agree with all the crazy ideas and schemes but I do not need to poop in someone else's paddling pool; especially when I know how devastating it can feel.
When someone I called brother told me I could never be an artist, not one that could pay the bills; I was crushed. I put down my brushes for nearly 2 years. I didn't even get angry with him. I just beat up myself for daring to dream I was good enough!
Funnily I don't see it that way now.
I see someone who was told he would never be an artist and he spoke the cruel words that were drummed into him.

I know now that I am worthy, even if he thinks I stink. I know know that what I choose and do that bring me joy are what I HAVE to do.

When some people see you flying, their instinct isn't to marvel at the wonder before them, it is often to shoot you down because they don't fly. When you are brave they bombard you with their fears, blame and guilty and if that fails then spite and malice. Yet if you keep flying, following your joy, their arrows look tiny. They look even smaller.

Bright Blessings xxx

The Storm

The Storm

Well the storm hit. That "something is coming" feeling was the death of my father-in-law yesterday morning. It was a long and weird day for all of us here. Yet there was a relief too. He has been sick for so long, dwelling in a place of neither living nor dying for years. This was his choice much as we tried so hard pull him into living, letting him go feels the right thing to do.
My daughter saw her first dead body. Though he looked peaceful, like he had fallen asleep without the snoring.
I cried, not at first. A silly thing on BuzzFeed set me off.
TK is doing well with it. Lots of deflection though. He is in fixing things mode. Yet we slept well for the first time in ages.
The rain that woke me about 6 am was not the storm I was expecting and I didn't mind it at all.
I have all this energy I want to do something with but I am hanging back and not cleaning like a crazy person, not organizing a hundred different things. I am just dwelling in my moment.
I sat and meditated about an hour last night. I burned a lot of citrus oils (I will keep that up for a week I think, good to let go of things.)
Here comes the rain again lashing against the window.

Lay in Rest

Goodnight, goodbye my friend

I pray you lay in rest.

Lay in happiness and peace

Lay in the light of your love

Let those who nourished your being

Liberate you in peaceful death

For all time, undoing all sorrows.

Goodnight, goodbye my friend

I pray you lay in rest

Lay in hush and comfort

Lay in the gentle dream of tranquility

Let those who sustained you in life

Liberate you in unity

For all time, lay in true rest.