One of Ireland’s best-kept secrets is that it’s actually MORE beautiful in bad weather. Much as I – and everyone else here – grumbles about it, something about the deep grey of the sky brings out the colours of the landscape, most particularly the many shades of green here in the West. They look like they are illuminated from within when it’s overcast.

I meant to go shooting today, but the forecast showers had turned into incessant, lashing rain by the time I arrived in the North of Mayo. I spent some time with Harry, picking up a few new arrows and bits and bobs, and then decided to do a good-bye tour through my county, although it is a bit silly really – after all I’m not moving to Tibet or Africa next month but only a county away (no, I still don’t have anything definite, but there will be a decision in the next few days). My eyes teared up anyway on a few occasions, and I’m sorry but I didn’t photograph the most breathtaking views along the journey, mostly because I couldn’t stop the car on the small country roads.

Mayo is heart-wrenchingly gorgeous. I love all of the West, but the likes of Clare have a more sweet, “tame” kind of beauty. Mayo is rough and wild with its stark, bare brown hills and windswept coastline. It’s the county of Grace O’Malley (if you don’t know who that was, look her up. Do it. I’ll wait here). Parts of it look like they could be on the moon, like a wide plain of not much of anything, that I drove past today. Others are dramatic, lush, and green. There are loughs so huge they have waves almost like the sea, there are forests and streams, and especially in the North-West, the sea intrudes everywhere.

Something happens to me in Mayo. It happens more in some places than others, for example the stretch of road between Castlebar and Pontoon, which is never as beautiful as it is in August with the heather blooming. It’s where I suddenly hear the wind whispering: “This. This is where you belong.” Every time, without fail, from the first time I set foot here over 27 years ago. Don’t even bother asking, I have nothing resembling a rational explanation, only a bone-deep knowledge:

This is where my soul originates.

I’ve always gone to Mayo to heal. At 21, I was heartbroken by the end of a relationship with someone I’d loved very much. I got sick with bronchitis and the cough settled in my chest and wouldn’t budge even two months later. I knew what I needed to do but I was a broke university student and so I begged life for 1,000 DM (German Marks). The next day, I got a letter about a student job completed two months earlier, that I had forgotten about. It contained the pay: 1,018 DM.

A week later I was on a plane, and then I stayed in a youth hostel on the North coast of Mayo as their only guest (it was March) and walked 4-5 hours every day, in the rain and wind, to the rocky beach in my wellies and wax jacket. I found a small cave which wasn’t flooded when the tide was out, and there I’d sit reading Lord of the Rings. After four days, I forgot to cough. A week later, I had recovered completely, and left to travel the county some more.

You may remember me writing that I was coming here to heal, last year when I moved to Ballinrobe. And did I ever! My life is completely unrecognisable, and so is my health. Therefore, much as it hurts to admit, there might be a reason why I can’t stay now.

I can absolutely see myself living here when I’m old, a weird hag gloriously on her own, wandering amongst the trees and talking to birds. It’ll be brilliant. One day! But, as Aragorn put it, it is not this day. My soul may originate in Mayo, but my tribe (new people I’ve connected with recently, as well as some older friends) are in Galway, Clare, and Tipperary. I have so much life to live yet, people to love, and love some more, songs to sing, swords to swing, dances to dance, and conversations to have. That’s why I’m leaving. I hope I’ll end up not too far away, but in any case I’ll come back to shoot in Massbrook Woods as often as I can.

Not being able to shoot today made me grumpy at first, but then it turned out to be a perfect afternoon surrounded by all this beauty. Eventually I stopped in Newport and fled from the rain into a gorgeous, cosy craft shop / cafe where I met a wise, beautiful soul. We ended up talking for ages, discovering so many things we have in common (Amanda, if you read this: Your shop really IS magic. When I stepped outside, the sun was shining, and my Googlemaps started working again, haha!).

I drove home smiling.

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I have so much to tell you, I don’t know where to start! Life continues to pour its abundance over me in every conceivable good and bad way, it’s overwhelming, scary as shit, and I’m enjoying it waaaaay too much. Right now, the feeling is particularly intense because my hayfever is finally on the decline and I feel like an escaped convict. My head is clearing, I’m once again coherent, and I have more energy than I know what to do with!

I also got a tattoo last week, and because it’s on my left forearm I decided to refrain from shooting my bow until it was healed. I got incredibly grumpy and couldn’t figure out why, until I realised the other day that these 1 1/2 weeks are the longest time I’ve gone without picking up my bow since starting archery again in April. I went straight into the garden and remedied this… oh gods, the bliss! There’s something so sensual about the smooth, living wood under my hands and the whole fluidity of shooting. I can’t describe it – try it out if you haven’t already, you’ll see how utterly addictive it is.

I’ll go to our club’s range in Massbrook Woods later today for a bit of shooting. I’ve got to use the time I still have here in Mayo, because the thing I hinted at in my last entry is the fact that the house I’m currently renting is being sold (after I spent so much money on furnishing it only last year), and I’ll have to move out by 5th September. The rents have gone through the roof over the past 12 months, so by rights I should be worried and sad – I do love Ballinrobe – but in actual fact I’m giddy with excitement. I’m in love with change and insecurity, and now I get to make another change and nobody can accuse me of being flaky and inconsistent because I can point my finger and say: “It wasn’t me! THEY MADE ME!” I love it. I’m also absolutely certain that something perfect will come along.

About the video in the header of this post: Last weekend, my swordfighting club met up for three days of fundraising, tournaments, and workshops in the middle of absolutely nowhere in County Clare. It was insane amounts of fun! Still a beginner myself, I made myself useful by donating some food and helping sell it for the fundraiser, and also filming practically every fight. I’m very proud of the resulting video, check it out and let me know what you think.

The most remarkable thing about the weekend was all the amazing people I met. You see, the first thirty-something years of my life I was used to being surrounded by folks I could relate to. I have a lot of interests so it’s usually easy to find something I have in common with whoever I’m talking to. But then came the horrible years and me withdrawing from everyone. I’ve reconnected with many old friends by now, but I no longer take wonderful people for granted.

To meet several who are into any combination of practically everything I love – be it music, archery, swordfighting, sustainable living, books, paganism – that was just overwhelming and made me slightly drunk with happiness. I wanted to hug the world, which wasn’t quite appropriate with people I’d just met, haha, but fortunately the people I was staying with have a lovely cat and another couple brought their puppy to the event itself, so I got plenty of cuddles from the furballs.

I got to talk about swordfighting and archery all weekend without anyone falling asleep with boredom. It was sheer bliss! I’m still starry-eyed.

One of the reasons why my impending homelessness is a blessing is that it gives me the chance to move closer to where I actually know people. I’ve recently connected to a number of lovely pagans in the midwest, Shane is in Tipperary, and now there’s the club in Galway and Clare as well, so I’ll probably end up at least a little further South. Just as long as it’s still in the West, and within a reasonable distance to my magic town Galway, I’ll be happy.

I may have something in the pipeline already, but I don’t want to jinx it by writing about it now. Keep your fingers crossed! I’ll post pictures as soon as anything is settled.

P.S. Hopefully Tom Petty will forgive me for stealing his song title.

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I’m getting my ass kicked these days, oh boy. I’m being reminded of the fact that I dedicated myself to Life unconditionally eleven years ago, and I suspect it delights in these reminders. You will notice I haven’t been blogging in a while, and that’s because some weeks ago, life decided to pull out rugs from under my feet, yes, plural, and I was reeling and crying and trying to cling on to anything, anyone – and nobody was there, that’s the worst part.

Whenever things get really tough, we’re on our own. Isn’t that so true?

The thing is, it’s part of the deal. I am still happy. There is ALSO sadness, grief, and loss. It’s not things “going wrong”. It’s the deal. Functioning as an agent of change also means that I get hurt fairly regularly. When it happens, I curse it and wish I could return the gift, because it’s, frankly, awful, and it doesn’t get any easier or less painful through the years. However, I have been me for 46 years and I know that a. I have a 100% track record of surviving these things and b. it’s all happening for the highest good of everyone involved (even if I don’t believe it right now).

Life does look after me, but it does so in its usual blunt way.

One of the “rugs” being pulled was Ray announcing he might give up the Village. Those of you who’ve known me for a while, will know what a huge factor the Village online community has been in my life (about 50% of the people close to my heart, I met through the Village; my own spiritual development leaped forward in my first years there; to name but a few things). I’ve been away from the Village for six years, so I’m in too much of a glasshouse to throw any stones, but to hear this bit of news just when I’d found my way home, was devastating.

Right now it looks like the community might pull through, but we do need more members. People who won’t just sign up but spend some time there once or twice a week and actually participate in conversations. If you don’t know how forums work, they are open places where everyone can jump into any topic and add their two cents to it. There’s no “but I don’t know these people, what will they think?” going on; as long as people are respectful, everybody’s invited.

So if you read this and are pagan, get thee over to http://www.ipagan.org/cottage/, sign up, wait until you’re approved, and then bookmark the page and start posting. You’re welcome.

The last weeks have also reminded me that I promised myself I’d never stop feeling again. The crap IS worth it. And I’m finding my happiness again, especially since something else happened – which I’m not quite ready to share publicly yet – which looks like another calamity at first glance but which I’m actually fairly excited about. Don’t worry, I will share it, perhaps as early as next week. I am still determined to find a more regular blogging rhythm again!

In the meantime, I deal with all the emotional storms in the tried-and-tested hagish way: by dancing. You see, I have come to finally, fully realise that my energy is indeed kinetic. What I mean by that is that I’m most completely me when I’m in motion. It’s why there are so few good photos of me – I’m just not suited to being frozen in stillness. Video me and I start coming across as authentically me.

The tragic thing is that because of my weird hip bones which make me so stiff in the back, I’ve been ridiculed so much growing up that I had this image of myself being “bad at sports”. It’s taken me most of my life to move past that and discover that not only do I “like” moving, it’s actually the ESSENCE of my being. Kinetic energy. Motion. To be quite honest, now is the first time in my life that I really, truly live according to this principle, apart from maybe the years in Austria where I walked 1-3 hours in nature every day. Now, I dance, shoot, swing around my sword, spear, and axe, do yoga or aerobics, and am happy. So, so happy.

This relates to something I mentioned in the last blog entry: The observation that junk food and things like wheat and dairy make me sluggish to the point of dropping off. Recently, I’ve been feeling exhausted because of my hayfever. This made me crave food that’s bad for me more than usual (I usually keep it to a few times a month), and in turn I was getting even MORE tired. Last week, I finally gave in to it. And gods, was I miserable! Thankfully, the season of the pollen I’m allergic to (grass) is drawing to an end, and so I’m resurfacing now, I eat the gorgeous food which fuels me and I move again. I’m determined to be back to my full workout intensity by next week.

This is not about “being good”, it’s about doing what makes me feel alive, living my own truest nature, expressing my Self. Will the real Sibylle please stand up! Everything else is not “indulging” or “being good to myself”, it’s thinly disguised self-sabotage and I’m not ready to tolerate that any longer, from anybody – including myself.

Hugs are still very welcome…

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                               At the end of the tour, still slightly shell-shocked from all we had                                                               learned. Lee in the middle, Inga on the right, and me third from left.

I’m in a state of hagish bliss, which may seem over the top to some, but it’s actually authentic. With all the intensity that comes with being me, I know myself quite well and know what I need at any given moment. Recently, I’ve moved across the country and healed from a period of isolation, and I’ve only just started reaching out to people around here. These things take time, and so what I needed was an injection of people, inspiration, mental floss, and hugs in abundance. That’s exactly what I got this past weekend in London.

Usually I dislike cities, but earlier that week I’d had a heart-opening experience (I love it when people do that to me without even realising it) and I was radiating so much love and warmth that I attracted/met only the kindest, funniest, nicest people you could imagine, even complete strangers like the cabby on the way back to the hostel on Saturday night. As for my friends, I have a lot to make up for after years of withdrawing into myself, and it was doing me so good to reconnect and spend quality time with the utter blessing which is Inga, and catch up with my lovely “adoptive daughter” Penny.

Yesterday, Inga and I spent much of the afternoon and evening with the thoroughly wonderful Lee, starting off with his tour “Egyptian Magic and Enlightenment” in the British Museum. I’d been meaning to take this tour for so long, and I’d had sky-high expectations but Lee still managed to blow them out of the water. He proceeded to spin a web of symbols and meaning and context all around us in so many layers and dimensions, it was staggering. Apart from his vast knowledge, he has such passion and joy in the subject, it would be impossible to listen and be left untouched.

The sheer amount of facts left me reeling – in the good way! Seriously, if you are ever in London, if there’s only one thing you do, make it this tour. You can thank me later.

We went for a cup of tea afterwards and amazing Japanese food in the evening, and it was an all-around perfect day, with lots of talk and laughter and red wine, all combined with a mild spring evening in a wide-awake city. I felt a little surreal after a night of 1 1/2 hours sleep, but it was strangely appropriate for the experience – no chance of hiding anything, when I’m sleep deprived I carry my heart on my sleeve and I felt like hugging the world, not just the two people in front of me, simply because it’s been so long since I’ve spent any significant amounts of time around people I actually resonate with. When Inga and I got back to the hostel, we kept talking – seriously, we must have talked ourselves hoarse over the course of this weekend, and we’re not nearly done.

One of the insights I gained from talking to Inga is that there’s no need to figure out an ultimate destination in my life. I’m exactly where I need to be, and if “where I need to be” changes in the future, then that’s the way things develop, rather than the correction of an error (huge difference!). This refers to my living situation, as in the whole question of living in Ireland or moving to a different part of the world, as much as it refers to relationships. I’ve always struggled to explain to people how I remain flexible in the way I relate to the men in my life. I’ve been in relationships at times, but for the most part I’ve had what I call “loving affairs” which suit me much better most of the time, because they honour my contradictory needs for independence and a deep connection. The point is, both have had their place at different times in my life, and that’s how it still is.

It is SO GOOD to finally, once again talk to people who actually get these things. Who get this weird, happy, cuddly mess that is the hag. I’m back home today and while I’m still tired, I can’t stop smiling.

“Life, I love you, all is groovy…”

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This is me at around 3 a.m. on Bealtaine, partied-out, sweaty, exhausted, and ecstatic. I had done my ritual on Bealtaine eve, and then drove an hour to Spiddal to go to a Retro Club with some of the best 70s and 80s music I’ve heard in years, and great people who made me feel welcome. I proceeded to dance my hagish ass off for hours, chatted to some of the aforementioned lovely people, and then drove home feeling like someone had lit me on fire, in the good way. I took the picture just after stepping through the door.

A few minutes later I discovered that my period had started a full 2 1/2 days early, and so I spent Bealtaine (and the following two days) curled up with a hot-water bottle, grumpy and ache-y, and VERY far from feeling sexy and up to all sorts of things the way I should have. It’s times like these when I actually look forward to menopause!

Luckily, this is Ireland where “Bealtaine” means the whole of the month of May. So it doesn’t just all hinge on the one night and day, and there’s plenty of time for mischief. I’m a very happy hag these days, most of my time is spent running around and doing things, and dancing until I drop so I’ll stay grounded enough to not float away.

The process of slowly gaining back my strength and endurance is ongoing, and will likely take another while. I’m well past the point where I had to push myself to do exercise; these days, I have to stop myself before I do damage to my body. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, actually – you all know that Prince died about two weeks ago, and as it turns out, he wasn’t a junkie but died from complications of his medication for chronic pain, which he suffered from as a result of his dancing (here’s an article about it).

Music has been one of the few constants in my life. I’ve wanted to sing and dance since I could stand on my own feet, but a problem with my hip bones means that my lower back is fairly inflexible – other people struggle to touch their toes, I can hardly reach below my knees, and I’ll never get any better at it – so dancing professionally was out of the question.

And so I danced on my own, in my room and later in clubs. Just freestyle jumping-around, to whatever music inspires me at the time. I dance to 70s disco music and to prog metal (if you think metal is only good for headbanging, think again) and everything in between, and I often say dancing is my sanity, because it’s my way of processing my intense emotions.

It’s a sign of how much of myself I had shut down in the past years, that it was the only time in my life when I wasn’t dancing. I was numb to my emotions, otherwise I wouldn’t have been able to bear it.

Now that I’m active again, I find it scary when my back hurts, or my shoulder. Often, it’s simply muscle stiffness, and that’s a good sign and means I’m getting stronger again. But other times it’s clearly just overuse, and I’m painfully aware of the fact that the years of sitting on my ass and eating crap have taken a toll on my body. I’m determined to find a way to keep moving and currently I think that building muscles is the key. There are plenty of examples of athletes of very advanced age; if you’re on Facebook, just check out the pages “Growing Bolder” and Alex Rota’s photography. I’m not going to slow down, not when I’m 70 and certainly not now. Moving my body, actually USING my body the way nature designed it, makes me way too happy to give it up.

The happiness also means that the darkness has mostly passed. I knew it would (if you remember, I wrote about it a few entries back), it was just a question of time. When I first started to truly feel my emotions again, there was a lot of shit which bubbled up with the happiness. It was quite a rollercoaster for some time, with scary lows. But now that the first wave is over, I’m beginning to settle into myself again, and the highs and lows are more manageable. I’ve always had them, it’s part of being the hag and also part of being highly sensitive, but the extremes are gone for the time being (normal people still find my emotions extreme, but they do anyway).

In the meantime, I’ve gotten so much done, I’ve been to Germany to see my dad, my sister and her man, and my dear friends Andreas and Karola. Next weekend I’ll go to London to spend a two days with my favourite Hulder! I’m not planning on sleeping, I’ll be too busy painting the town red. I’ll be home by lunchtime on Monday, and I’ll have the rest of the day off so I can catch up on sleep then.

I hope you’re having an equally beautiful month of Bealtaine!

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Ahem. I really do need to get back into the habit of blogging regularly, as in, once a week regularly, rather than once a month (I first typed “hagit” here. What would that be, I wonder – a hagish habit?). I promise I’ll work on it! The thing is just, there’s so much going on, the days are flying past and I never get to do everything I am planning to. It’s a great way of being, after the inertia – or rather, the one-sidedness of sitting on my ass and working day-in, day-out – of the past years, but it can get a little hectic.

So what’s keeping me busy? My new bow, among other things, check out the picture above. Isn’t it gorgeous? I’m currently working on re-building muscles in my shoulder and back after not shooting for so long, so I’m doing 30 shots every day in the garden. I’ve also fiiiiiiiinally started with HEMA (Historical European Martial Arts) after really really wanting to for years. Only a few weeks in, I’m already getting used to the dialogue every HEMA person knows by heart:

Me: “I’m into Historical European Martial Arts. In other words, swordfighting among other things.”

Other Person: “Oh, is that like fencing? Like at the Olympics?”

Me: “No, it’s historical fencing, the way people did way back when.”

OP: “Oh, more like re-enactment then.”

Me. “No, not that either. It’s *actual* fighting, based on historical training manuals dating anywhere from the Middle Ages to the 19^th century.”

OP: *blank stare*

There’s a lovely documentary if you’re interested. Even just the first five or ten minutes of it will give you an idea.

I’m also still doing yoga and aerobics, and I dance to at least a few songs every day, so I think it’s safe to say I’ve healed and regained at least part of my old strength and endurance! I’ve also lost around 40 of the 47 pounds I’d put on between 2010 and 2014, which I know because I finally weighed myself when all my clothes fell off me and I got curious. I don’t care about the number on the scales but it’s yet another sign that things are definitely back to normal with me.

And in my case, “normal” means ecstatic, happy, and intense.

In the meantime, I continue to do my rituals and looking forward to spring, such as it is around here. I also still wonder what’s going to happen to me in the future, as in, where I’ll live. In my head, I’m making lists of pros and cons, along the lines of:

Ireland cons

• I miss seasons. I am used to lush spring and sunny summers (and, you know, actually wearing t-shirts and shit. Irish people do too, but I’ve long determined that they are genetically incapable of feeling cold) and outdoor rituals, lying on the ground instead of in a puddle, seeing the sunrise on Solstice morning rather than clouds, seeing the moon more often than twice a month, and all that stuff. Hmph.
• The almost complete absence of walking paths is getting to me. I used to walk all the time, spending 1-3 hours outside daily in “my” fields and by the river. Here, I walk along roads. This really interferes with my pagan practice.
• No proper internet outside of towns. I’d like to live somewhere even more rural than here, but I need wired broadband for my job and my business.

Ireland pros

• Whenever I go, well, anywhere here in Mayo and also Galway and surrounding counties, I breathe a sigh of, hm, relief? Recognition? This is where my soul originates. It’s simply where I need to be.
• I love the people here, and now that my life is finally taking off again, I definitely don’t want to leave.
• The air. THIS air. The intoxicating, ravishing, beautiful, yummy air. Every breath here is a joyful ritual.

I don’t want or need any “advice” on this, it’s a purely subjective thing and right now, only an abstract thought experiment anyway, so don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere! It’s just where I’m at and I thought I’d share it with you.

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This astounding painting, “Forest Husband” by Mychael Lee, hangs behind my altar, a fitting representative of Earth/North. Check out Mychael’s website!

I just noticed that I never explained where I got the title for my previous post. When Judith Jannberg published her journey from a 70s housewife and “wife of…” to becoming a force of nature and witch, and completely independent, she wanted to title the book “I am an Earthquake Zone” (in German), but her publishers talked her out of it and the book is called “Ich bin Ich” (I am me) instead. I’ve always liked the intended title, and it was so fitting I had to use it for the post.

The whole re-awakening process is ongoing and at times, extremely painful, hence *this* post’s title. Don’t worry, it’s a good thing, I’m working through stuff, and while it’s horrible at times, it’s a process and leading somewhere. I’m still clawing my way back out and being fully awake and FEELING also means feeling a lot of crap I’d suppressed. Can’t have one without the other, but this is the dam breaking and it’ll calm down eventually.

I’m also back in the very reduced remnants of what used to be the several-thousand-users-strong Pagan community The Village. It’s very small and quiet these days but even to see those who are left is like a homecoming and blissful. I owe this place so much, I’m determined to pour all my love and care into reviving it properly. I’d love to see some of ye there.

Also, Happy Equinox! I think I mentioned in some previous post, that I have started to actively practise my religion again but it felt awkward at first so I didn’t do proper rituals for the Solstice and Brighid. I wanted to avoid “play-acting rituals” and forgetting the chants and invocations so I got into a regular everyday practice again first.

Well, I’m happy to say that today I did my first full ritual in seven years and it was amazing! I’m giddy with happiness. It feels like I’m really, truly the hag again. How I could have lived so long without feeling this particular power pulsing through me, I don’t know, or rather I do: by shutting off the largest part of what makes up myself and mostly exist, rather than living.

I was giggling with joy during my invocations, and thankfully seven years are nothing to the Powers That Be (I know people use this expression to refer to politicians, but I’m talking about the *actual* powers in this universe), and I was welcomed back with more of an “oh hi there” than the indignation I had half expected, haha.

It didn’t go without hiccups either. Note to self, old charcoal might malfunction! I had two tablets which refused to ignite properly and I felt like an idiot standing there all ready and then wasting 20 minutes to get the effing incense going. In the end, I laughed. I’m not the only one who’s a little rusty, apparently.

There was so much joy and ecstasy in this ritual. I’m in full spring mood, and I danced and stomped up a storm. I could never be part of a coven! I need to follow my own direction and do what comes up. I half expected something sexy, but that wasn’t happening at all, probably due to the lack of a suitable horned-god type these days, but I held a lot of anger which needed releasing, and gods was it powerful. By the time I danced to my Equinox song, I was all soft and joyful and ecstatic again.

Dropped on the floor when the song ended, and trance just happened, easiest thing in the world. I’m losing my focus faster these days, but that was to be expected after the long break. Kept it short and planted three sunflower seeds with intentions, before grounding and opening.

Afterwards, I walked around with my lavender candle to say farewell to the wintry spirits in every room of the house (which took forever. What possessed me to rent a 4-bedroom house??). Closing with “… and merry we meet next winter again” every time, I was tempted to add: “… and now kindly fuck off,” because it’s been rather cold again the last few days. Ah well, spring is definitely on its way. I forgot to mention that I took my Equinox walk with the last light of the sun in the afternoon, and it was beautiful! Blossoms coming forth everywhere, the day was glorious and the jackdaws have built so many nests in the tall trees next to the main road, it’s like a cawing, feathery city up there. I look forward to all the young ones visiting the feeder in my garden in the coming months.

Have I said “Happy Equinox” yet? Have a beautiful one, my dear tribe, and enjoy the light and the new life bursting forth everywhere. It’s such a magical, ecstatic (and sexy!) time of the year and just so fitting with my current state of awakening.

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Aaaaand here’s a new Hag’s Den page. Bet you didn’t see that coming! Mwahahahaha!

Yeah, and I know I haven’t blogged in something like centuries, in internet terms. To be exact, it’s been since the early days of January. Truly sorry about that, and I solemnly swear I’ll work on it! The thing is, I was working on a major creative project, in addition to a full-time job and a part-time business, and there simply weren’t enough hours in the day. I think it was worth it, though – and now I’m back.

Actually, I don’t even know it’s true that “I” am back. Those of you who’ve come to know me over the past years, have come to know a rather reduced version of what makes up the hag. It was a chronicially sleep-deprived, unhealthy, low-energy, exhausted version who didn’t even have physical space for pagan practice and who saved every last cent of money for a dream and therefore didn’t even go out to see friends more than a few times a year.

Fast-forward to 2016, when the downsizing of my life (started in September with moving back West, quitting my job and getting a much nicer work-from-home one, albeit with lower income) is starting to pay off, and you’ll see a very changed hag. So changed, in fact, that you might not quite know me any longer. However, I do, it’s almost like I recognise myself in the mirror for the first time in years, and I am SO HAPPY with what I see!

I’m just telling you this so you’ll be prepared for changes.I’m only just beginning to wake up from my enchanted sleep, and I fully expect more revolutionary things to happen. For now, I’ve started exercising again, slowly, painfully starting to regain the strength and endurance I used to have. I’m also starting to go out and meet people, because frankly, while I’ve needed time on my own to heal, I’m very alone here. I like alone – love it, in fact – but right now it’s too much of a good thing, and I’m getting up, getting going, and getting a life again. Finally.

With this “revival”, the old hag is back. The hag who wore black lace and danced herself silly every day just in order to keep a resemblance of sanity and to stay grounded. And the hag who was always good for a surprise. I’m radically calling into question everything I thought to be true, and when I say everything, I mean absolutely bloody everything. Including living in Ireland and including the bird sanctuary. Yes, really!

I don’t mean that I’m moving away tomorrow (or at all), or that I don’t want to have a bird sanctuary any longer. Fact is, the Cauldron Community isn’t going to happen here, they’re looking in Northern Ireland now. As for the bird sanctuary: What I’m questioning is, do I want to do this on my own? If I did it now, I’d be completely tied down every single day of every single week, month, and year, and what if anything should happen to me? I wonder if it’s the responsible thing to do unless and until I find people to share the responsibility with.

For now, I need to LIVE. I’ve put it off for far too long. Up to my mid thirties, I was right in the middle of life, surrounded by people I loved, by music, writing, pagan practice, ecstasy. Then came the financial collapse and the much-needed recovery, and it had to take precedence, it simply was too urgent to be put off. Now that that’s done, though, I need to catch up with the rest of my life. I said it before and I’m saying it again: Watch this space!

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