Over the Moon.

Montol is a week passed. My blood imperceptably reacts to the incremental growth of the new born sun/son. The Blue Moon of 2009 haunts my wakeing world, as much as my dreamtime. How potent and swollen was she? Hoisting her mighty glowing face above the hill in the East. I listened. The scuffling of the fox in the hedge,stalking tiny mammals in the  powdery snow. The Moon mother illuminates the wide horizon like a phosphorescent globe, the countryside bathed in a fine blue shimmer. This is the landscape of the omen, the portent. All is symbol, for shapes are decernable, colour and context is not.

Sailing by the stars, yet out shining their sparks, she floats in the Maryblue heaven, her course true and finite, her purpose as the Queen of Tides, resolute and ageless. Snow flakes drift like ash from a paper fire, small spells landing upon the icy field walls, wishes and dreams sent through the veil at this portal in the turning year

Tracking the Sprowl of the ;Land

The Sun casts a cold single eye across the moors. It is early November, and in sharp contrast to the oddly balmy last days of October, there is a clean chill in the air, and a quality to the light that expresses the intention of impending Winter. A good day to wander the land and to partake of the life force that huddles in the liminal, magical places. Coiled like a beautiful serpent, sprowl gathers and collects in the "places in between" where the line 'twixt the earth and the other realms of existance is thin. To some this is "ley" energy, a matrix of lines of power running in alignment, and whilst Sprowl is an energy, its body is more amorphous, and its power more sublime; in order to use it, you must build a relationship with it, and like any sutble force, Sprowl must be treated with respect and deference.


The first frosty mists hang across the field on the Kings Walk like a departing ghost, and the glassy beads of dew quivver as if gently touched by an unseen finger. There above the field is my quarry, a style in a predominantly hawthorn hedge, planted hundreds of years ago and now home to a myriad of lifeforms, insect, mammal, bird and fey. The flustered clacking of a startled pheasant kick starts the adrenalin as I leave the stoney path, and up onto the slippy edges of the field. Im up on the style, perched like a novice gymnast in a move that needs more practice, but im comfortable enough and wrapped warmly enough,just to sit and gather my thoughts,, and breathe in the extraordinary beauty and otherworld quality of the land before me.

I feel a tingle, a friction of static in the air. I welcome the coming of the spirit of this place, I give praise and thanks for being here, I ask for permission and protection to the guardian, and thus prepared and the way opened, I settle into the reverie that is the embrace of the Serpent energy of Albion, and the genus loci of the hedge and boundary. I have with me several objects and tools for the collection of Sprowl; sacred and trusty friends that by their continued use and constancy will serve me well and know my methods. For an animist, such as myself, all that lives, and ever has lived has life force, and is treated with due honour and courtesy, as befits any of natures creations. I chant my charm of reaping and gathering, letting the energy flow to me and rest within these holy familiars. Coming out of the dreamstate and into this world again, I give thanks and praise for the great honour afforded me, and offer bread, seeds and wine in the spirit of reciprocation which is central to my path.

Im feeling chilly, although the Sun has risen and the mist has long since disapated, I have been sat on a fence, in the same position for about..well I dont know how long. Time has no relavence in these matters. Stamping my feet, to make sure and solid connection with this realm, I walk, a tad more biskly, back along the boney path of tree roots. Birds are singing, although ore muted than in the feeding frenzy of the breeding season, Crows are calling and carousing above the newly mucked fields, and so I wend my way home, thankful for the beauty of the day,and the precious gifts given by the serpent mother.

Frost insinuates the iron hard earth, and the stoney outrops like cabouchon jewels, glint in the lowering sun. Boney as long-ago skinned knuckles, the worn tread of the Ancient pass, offers up its snaking spine before me. Beneath my feet are the imprints of a millenia of journeying, a layered time cake of footfalls and wanderings, occasionaly glimpsed in a moment at twilight, or whispered on the wind when she barrels down the hillsides. In the wilderness of the heart, the Pass is a naked and vulnerable route. As darkness seeps across the raw and jagged outcrops, Shadows of travellers past call their dogs to heel, and gather the herd. A fragment of voices, a spark of torch and candle, as the procession of ages keeps vigil beside the horse and cart bearing the body of a loved one, the final walking of the pass, the artery that crosses the high body of the fells, becomes the silver thread, that when the destination is reached, is severed.

MARCH #1

March is here and I am aware that many of us are feeling quite unsettled at the moment.Alot of my pagan friends are experiencing a certain "out of phase" effect. I wondered if it could be something to do with the earthquake we had a few days ago? The one that I slept through, although Im not sure I know anyone who felt it here! But then, there does seem to be a marked sense of confusion about, the issue of climate change can be one culprit, as the fauna and flora are breeding and budding when they should under "normal" circumstances be sleeping and resting. The last time I remember a similar vibe was in the lead up to 9/11, which affected me very profoundly. So disturbed was I by my increasing feeling of despair and dread, I thought I was going bonkers. I was talking on the phone to a sister in London, telling her I had a terrible feeling that something catastrophic was about to happen. When we watched the planes hitting the towers, it became obvious. At the time most of us felt life would never quite be the same again; the order and predictability of life had been shaken. It is either a testament to our powers of recovery or a damning indictment of our arrogance, how quickly we seem to have recovered. I dont think it has left such a impression as many at the time said it would, with the very obvious exception of those who lost their loved ones and were directly affected. As a species, we dont seem to learn from our mistakes, and our delays are costly.
Spring is an itchy feet time anyway, with the urge to shake out of the winter slumber, and hoover out your brain cells and your domicile! Longer days and more light make us all feel more upbeat and energised, so Im going to take this apparent shift in awareness as a wake up call to bring into being all the plans and ideas I've had gestating since last Samhain (halloween) sift them through, and apply myself to some creativity! There will always be disasters and vile things happening in the world, and some of us have a heightened awareness when the "web" is vibrating. Our task is to remain focused and use this energy in a positive way, and try to stay sane!

LANDSCAPE AND RESPECT

Hello dear friends, Hope you're a patient lot, as these blimmin' blogs are rather sporadic Im afraid, but nevertheless, heres the latest from the land of wind and squally rain. My last missive on the subject of the desecration of the landscape of Tara, has got me thinking about the British attitude towards enclosure and landscape; we do seem to be obsessed with parcelling up land and proclaiming limits to where we can go, and what we can do on it. I would probably have to include allotments in this, but as their very existence is as a consequence of the common people being denied ground to feed their families from the Norman conquest, and subsequent violations by various feudal hierarchies thereafter, I consider them a triumph for the people, albeit a rather diminished one. In the Anglo Saxon period the land considered waste by those that owned it was apportioned to the common man, as "common land," in order to gather fuel, or to graze livestock, this being the only way of life the common people knew, so to be dispossess of this way of life lead to one of two things, leaving to the ever expanding towns, or starve to death, under the noses of their Norman landlords. Territory, and the gaining of it seems to be the upshot, and owning the land means owning the people, and lets face it, you'll never find a more developed class system than here in Britain. In the intervening year many noble beings have tried to bust the stays of the aristocracy and gentry by refusing to play the game. Gerrard Winstanley was the instigator of the "DIGGERS" a band of renegades who set up their own agricultural community on private land in Surrey, in 1649. They were protesting at the increasingly prohibitive inclosure's act, which made it more difficult for those not fortunate to be born with blue blood to feed their families. The landowners retort to this was to destroy all their crops and burn them out of their houses! It all got a bit out of hand which lead directly to the "Riot Act of 1715" which was read aloud by the landowner to any rowdy starving crowd who might be just a bit tetchy at having their existence on this earth plane threatened. With the odds still stacked in favour of the landowners! All this and the countryside fenced off so that only those privileged few born into wealth and position can enjoy it, and you can see how abused the land and its people have become. We do now have extensive "right to roam" unless you roam into an oncoming tank or missile on MOD land, which will curtail all future roaming. But Landscape and our connection to it is so very integral to our culture and our expression of ourselves as natives of these Isles. Our ancient and most sacred monuments are testament to a culture attuned and connected to the rhythm of nature, the land and its seasons. The Earth was to be placated and treat with honour and respect, as it was the provider of all, to all. Arguably territorial ism emerged when hunter gatherers became agriculturalists, and by the nature of growing crops became a static population, and if you'd ploughed hard graft into your plot, you might not be best pleased when some other tribe muscled in on your plantation. We dont know, but I would like to think that you wouldn't stand by and watch your neighbours starve. Presumably the art of barter would be put to good use. What is being practised here is an existence where needs are met, and all are fed."Communist" I hear you cry, well, der!! Common sense and fairness, I reply! Anyway, Im too much of an individualist to be communist!
Banging Weekend to you all, lovelies1
xxxxxxxSparkyxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

VOTE FOR TARA!

The irish government, for reasons completely unfathomable, is bulldozing and destroying some of the most ancient and sacred landscape Ireland possesses, to build a motorway. Why are the government refuseing to listen to EU directives, why are they refuseing to listen to the people of Ireland and the rest of the committed campaigners who tirelessly represent the views of the majority by their physical presence at the Hill of Tara?
Are they too blind and ignorant to realise that they are shooting themselves in the foot? By destroying this most beautiful and mythical place, they are laying waste to millennia of culture, history, archaeology; surely the building blocks of a proud and poetic nation, and a heritage to positively exploit, in terms of tourism, and indeed pilgrimage. For thousands of years this most holy and sacred place has been the graves of our ancestors, the venue for ceremony and process of law, the crowning place of the Irish Kings for goddess sake! I cant shake the notion that there is more to this than meets the eye. The sheer bloody mindedness and deafness to public opinion stinks of something else beneath.
So my dear friends and all those who care that our past is of as little consequence as a bloody motorway, vote on the irish post website www.irishpost.co.uk and also drop a letter of protest at press@heritageaction.org , afterall what would happen if they decided to bulldoze Stonehenge and pile a dual carriageway through salisbury plain?
If you are ever fortunate enough to get across to Tara, the protesters camped there could always do with food and blankets etc, and im sure you can donate to the appeal.
Blessed be,
Sparkyxxxxx

FIRST OF MANY!

Hello chums, welcome to my new blog site. Looking forward to sharing the contents of my addled mind with you again, on this Valentines Day. You'd be forgiven for assuming that theres not a lot of love in the world at the moment given the tradgedy in Darfur, Kenya and a miriade of human rights abuses being perpertrated world-wide, and it is very hard to keep positive amidst all the bad news. I think some people will also feel guilty about feeling good when so many others are suffering. Empathy and compassion are the cornerstones of good society, as long as apathy and indifference doesnt set in.
Shorty to start with friends, just to say im back and send my love
Sparky xxx