The wild Rose blooms.Honouring the man in black and the Witch who was burned.

The wild Roses are reaching their peak in the Cunning man's tame and wild places, the timing of which is somewhat appropriate to the passing of Roy Bowers, to whom the fires were lit this week in honour of his passing many years ago.
Honouring those who have built the paths that we now travel is an important part of our Craft, those who still linger within living memory are equally as important to us as those whose shades have walked the circles edge for Milena, often they are one and the same, working alongside us all, unseen by all without the wit to look .

The blossom on Her tree has already started to turn brown and it seems it will not be long till the branches are heavy once more with the black fluid laden fruit, Bees are swarming and last night's full moon shone bright with orange hue, in reflection perhaps of her lover at his peak.
Restoration of the farmhouse has this week left this one burnt to a crisp, mixing Lime mortar in the full heat of the midsummer, building walls and removing the old materials, while my skin begins to turn to leather my mind is very much prone to wander.
Laborious tasks and Witchcraft are not great bedfellows, a tired body makes for a feeble mind, the craft demands more of creativity and thought than brawn, my working arrangements fit within my own structure and I soon will be able to blossom once more with my creative energy, comfortable with the fact that I have provided the proverbial flags, flax and fodder for me and mine, it is often plenty enough for me to return home covered in the dust and dirt of the building world to see the beauty in the creations of my beloved, who upon Fate has provided a fresh muse, one more week to go then some time to the self.

I met some good people today, perhaps the call has been answered, only time will tell, but I think Fate has thrown in her hand once more, she has guided me thus far and continues to do so, it is all about going with the flow, just occasionally having to swerve to avoid the eddies and pitfalls that happen along the way, a touch of twisting here and there and she takes good care of the rest, if it ever gets too much just step out of the flow and rejoin it elsewhere, ultimately she will always look after her own, as one of the above mentioned today.

The sky here is once more filled with Raven song, soaring high above the green yet slightly scorched fields, far above their dark brethren who flit between cultivation and pasture tutoring the fledged in the skills of avian survival, old Bran has been a large presence in our lives this year, when we came he was a rare sight, now he is ever present, even manifesting in T's artwork. As the messengers of Odin they bring wisdom and learning to my house, far from the portents of doom so often associated, one mans poison is indeed food for another.

Stonehenge, my initial joy at the smiling faces of the solstice celebration has turned to bitterness, due to those who decided to treat our sacred place as a makeshift landfill site, shame upon all those responsible, may they all be rendered infertile and unable to create any more over consuming filthy spawn, don't they realise that the local police and English heritage want one excuse to shut the whole thing down, graffiti started the whole thing(maybe deliberately by the above, we shall never know), stay at home next time, watch the sun rise over your local landfill instead, many of those are too young to remember those who fought for the right to be there, sometimes literally, show some respect to your ancestors living and passed or stay away.
So like wise, may all those who helped to clear up the detritus of these morons be blessed with love and happiness, as it is only through your actions that the party is able to continue, a big thank you all whoever you are from one who once but no longer walks the stones.

World cup fever grips the nation, our team, simpletons who are payed far to much money to kick an inflated pigs bladder around a grass field, Glastonbury festival, now not about the music as much as the being there and Wimbledon, Cliff , Champagne and Strawberries, not a Womble in sight.
Sorry about the rant everyone! as I said, tired body, feeble mind.
Time to throw the TV out of the window

FFF

Mad dogs and an Engish Witch go out in the midsummer sun.

Here we are, the Solar year has reached its peak.
This morning's news with pictures of all the people having made the pilgrimage to the henge fills my heart with joy, for what ever reason they go and weather or not I agree with that reason, it points to the absolute fact that we are still very much tied to this land, both physically and spiritually, long may it continue.

No such grand pilgrimage for this one however, a special time in a place that is of significance to me, high upon the Cornish hills a view that explodes with beauty in all directions, to the North the rolling splendor of Bodmin moor and to the South the sea, newly Shawn lambs bounce around this ancient hill fort, almost too large now to take the sustenance from their mothers, but persist they do, the hairy bees take to the wind between the Furze and the Fairy Glove, and all manner of tiny weavers bask in the radiant sun amongst the tufts of wool and drying grass.
A small amount of witchery and a longer meditation, soaking up the fire at the Zenith of the suns energy, I even lit my incense using an hand glass and letting Lucifer do the rest, a perfect day which began with me watching a Bumble Bee trace a perfect double spiral in the grass at home, pausing at each end before a return trip, I have never seen this kind of beehaviour before.
A truly remarkable day so far, one that beautifully reflects what has been a fantastic weekend.

The whole tribe gathered to celebrate my dear brother Andy's fortieth summer, together in an orchard in Worcestershire, new Friends and old, some who I haven't seen for many a year others more often, meeting with some of the newer editions, youngsters, the uncorrupted minds of the future that are as yet untouched by our often cynical world, proud to welcome all of you to our strange collective.
Much food and drink was consumed by all in an atmosphere of love and joy, to think there were those that at some point probably didn't think either Andy or indeed I would ever make it to this age, I often wonder how we managed it, the children who hedonisticly flowered as nettles and brambles to hinder what was then Thatchers Britain, yes it did feel good at the time, naughty boys we were indeed, too much substance abuse and not a care in the world, saved by my T and the craft itself to tell you the truth, I still like to think I can be the fly in the ointment of authority, but no longer in such a selfish fashion, there is still far to go and so much to see.
On the way home we popped in to see my friend the blacksmith, Oli has been at me for so long to visit his forge and what a pleasure it turned out to be, his work is a delight to see, as is his family, his daughter is truly the flower among the thorns of a deeply harrowing and turbulent relationship, circumstance beyond the control of her father, who has bounced back with the enthusiasm of the above mentioned Ovis aries. http://www.oliverdakersblacksmith.co.uk/

So this brings me to that point, news and thoughts of the ongoing season, for me the influences of others have been brought to the forefront, those people who have been there as we mature and ripen to a hopefully fruitful time, people who's work has been of significance, as writers mentors guides along whatever road we are on, many of my perusings have gone this way recently, as this year has been a one of new contacts, finding people within the craft whose authority I can actually respect, they are few and far between but they are there and they know who they are!

One such influence on my journey was and is the remarkable Doreen Valiente, I was a young petulant youth when I happened across a book called Natural Magic, the metaphorical metaphysical light went on as it were , it still shines brightly in the head of this petulant adult.
Because of this lady's work I went further,I kept looking much as she did in her own life, an exploration of the occult sciences and it varying methods of achieving the truths and wisdom, I kept reading, looking and asking questions, it was through her that I became aware of "the Man in Black" and a certain Mr E J Jones, those methods and his legacy, are ones that still fuel me on today.
this brings me neatly to my news.
The Centre for pagan studies and the Doreen Valiente trust held a competition to design a cover for the re issue of Doreens first book "Where Witchcraft lives", I submitted a painting of mine and I am overjoyed to tell all that my Artwork will grace the books jacket.
Many years ago, Doreen showed me that in order to find the wild natural magick, one was to look beyond and often into the wild places of nature, so I did, I found it and learned to work with it on many levels, both practically and esoterically, I still look, I still find and I am still learning to work with it today.
For my work and my name to appear on the same publication as Doreen Valiente is a complete pinnacle in my life and a true honour. This lady's work set me upon the path many years ago, Thank you Doreen, and may you continue to watch over this wayward child.

Flags, Flax and Fodder.

Midsummer,Tubelo's green fire and Storm

A new moon and a glide into the heady warmth toward the peak of our solar year.
The May trees that seemed only yesterday to be heavy with the bounty of white blossom, have turned red to brown, our winged fellows roam the Skies above field and hedgerow in constant search of sustenance for their constantly hungry broods, meanwhile Reynard steals into our garden at the break of day in order that he may provide for his whelped, by helping himself to one our our chickens.
Needs must my red coated Friend, a lesson learned and I guess a willing sacrifice, we have hens a plenty and new chicks growing by the day, not to be unexpected when one dabbles in the arcane art of poultry keeping, the others are locked down a little more securely now, so dine well my foxy fellows, for next time your meal may not be so easy to catch.

Fate has once more stepped up to the mark to ensure we have some finances coming into our home, another months work renovating a beautiful old farmhouse, flexible days as well to allow for my own chthonic activities.
The world continues to turn as I ponder over the coming change of tide, I am comfortable and secure upon this solitary path for the moment, my ritual is lead by instinct still and until I truly find my place in the space of others this is the way it shall be, this fool will enjoy the company of the hidden and not have to suffer the company of other fools ( until I find the right fools of course).
My midsummer will be little more than a walk and a meditative time ( a picnic perhaps) within the wild places of my land, beneath ( with some luck) the rays of our sun at the zenith of its power. An Englishman among the mad dogs, my thoughts already reaching out to consider one mans decision to sacrifice himself upon this day, which in turn leads me back to a work of study that has consumed much of my time over this past month.

Tubelo's green fire, a collection of essays by Shani Oates, maid of the clan of Tubal Cain.
Well, what can I say, a book that has taken me and continues to take me on an intellectual an spiritual voyage, through the ideas and constructs of the clan itself. Never one to blindly except the writings and opinions of others, this book has guided me toward cultures and concepts which I have often considered to be out of my cultural sphere, therefore of little importance to me, each to be examined in greater detail, together with a re-examining of things I had already known, A collection of work that has forced me to address parts of my intellect that I have found were indeed lacking.
Not a Grimoire full of spells and invocations, but an aid for the study of the greater truths, for every door opens to reveal more doors, no answers only pointers to aid the seeker of knowledge.
I had always thought of myself as well informed, only now to realise the human capacity for ignorance, a refusal to step beyond the comfort zones of ones own ideas and my own ethnicity, the similarities between my own cultures and that the world over are astounding, origins, history and faith, love, beauty and understanding, my world is richer for having read this book, although I worry how much my Simeon brain is capable of holding. Thank you Shani, I think the above mentioned would be overjoyed at the evolution of his clan.

There was good news for the Cunning man this week, a connection to one of the great Women of the craft, a true honour for me personally, unfortunately I am not able to elaborate any further at this time, but I hope to at a later date, needless to say this one is in euphoric mood.

Finally, I would wish to confer the blessings of the solar year upon my youngest, it is her birthday on Thor's day this week, somewhat appropriate as she has always been known as Storm, a name conferred on her by her own fairy godmother as a baby, even then she would smoulder quietly for a while before unleashing an hurricane upon the household, she has become calmer over the years but is still prone to the occasional tempest, happy number twelve J my love, I am very proud to have shared my time with you,Through the ups and the downs you have enriched my life and often forced me to examine my own failings, I love you, and your sister very much indeed.

FFF