When I was little my Nana would talk to me about my dreams and show me how some of the things I could hear and see were useful information. She taught me that I could access these things even when I was not dreaming. She taught me how to read a plain deck of cards, to see what was, is and could be. She taught me to speak to and honour the Garden Fae. How to read what Mother Nature shows us in the sky, water, fire and movement of the plants. To listen to the whispers of the trees. To cook and bake with intent and love. To have faith and humour. And to have manners and respect for all beings. She made the colours of childhood much brighter.

I lost this amazing Crone when I was twelve. The same year I lost my Mother.

I knew early on I was a Witch. I knew the wisdom that had been passed to me was ancient at its core. The small superstitions and rituals my Nana had instilled in me, took root and bloomed in me when I was a teen, as I discovered the Craft.

But I was very young, angry, sad, lonely and had no guide. I devoured what I could about Witches, Pagans, spells, rituals. I had much of it romanticized in my head, mixed up with the core connection to the Elements.
I was not a very respectful or responsible Witch. I did spells and ritual without having the respect of the meaning and connection. I wanted so bad to manipulate the energies around me for my gain, the harder I tried, the less anything good happened. It was disappointing to not be immediately gratified. It took discipline I did not have and wisdom I was too impatient to learn.

Slowly over time the shiny color of the Craft became muted. I never fully lost my connection to the Gods and Goddesses, but it was a very small, quiet piece. And life went on. Through my twenties and thirties I would call on the Tarot now and again, the odd observance of the Moon. For many reasons I kept a fairly tight lid on my calling. 

As I approached the age my Mother was when she died so many things happened in that watershed three years. The year approaching, year of and the year after. This story is centred on my (re)union with the Craft.
Slowly into my 40s I began to revisit some of the childhood colours my Nana had created. I had a daughter of my own ( my Nana’s namesake), and I wanted to give her some of that so special magic. Gardening ( when there was time), honouring the Fae who would watch over our plants. Cooking with intent and love. Watching the sky, talking to the animals and hugging the trees to hear their whispers. 

At 43 ( the ‘year approaching’) a fuse was lit. A small stream of air, feeding the embers that were beginning to grow in my soul. As random as the connection seemed at the time, looking back, I really don’t believe that at all. I know not the full extent of the meaning, but at the time was a catalyst for much of what was to come. But it hi-lighted the need, the draw, the pull, that I had to fall fully into ritual, cards and magic. It came on like a runaway train.

Of course at the start of this reawakening, there was the rush of familiarity, the hum of playing with Energies, calling on the Spirits of the Ethereal.
But as the ‘year of’ began to wane, the reality of how much work there was to this, the responsibilities, the knowledge yet untapped, started to set in. There was still an air of fun, play, discovery and connection. But this too, would undergo much fracture, change and alteration. 
As the ‘year after’ came to pass, the lessons and detachment were becoming obvious, self reflecting and painful. That what I believed, this journey was to be undertaken not as a Solitary, but that there were others to walk at my side, was indeed false. And an unfair assumption. The harder I wanted to hold on to that rush, bright coloured, beautiful light, the faster it seemed to slip away, some reasoning understandable, some still confusing. 

As yet another tidal wave of change began, and healing was sought, I fought hard to keep my faith. I opened my eyes to the truth that no one walks a journey with anyone else. We may be side by side, but perceptions and needs are never the same. We may be side by side for a little or a long time. We may part, temporarily in this life, or understand we must wait till the next to again share a piece of the path. 

In this understanding I noticed something else. There was a difference this time. An evolution. That if I were to be true to my calling I needed to begin to study my relation to these Elementals and to myself, first.
Only then will I have an understanding to my relation to the world and people around me. 
As I look to honour my Nana, I delve deeper into the history of where my soul comes from. My connection to the Elemental Magic grows in technicolor.

I am grateful for all that has happened, what it has stripped away, mined from the depths. I am blessed to find a home within the Craft once again. This time with more mature, respectful eyes and heart. 
It’s hard to not want to share every bit of the colour, shape and sound of what I am and what I am learning with those who are similar in heart and sight. But this too is not the way it is to be at this time. There are moments, but no shared Sabbats, bread broken to share, wine/mead raised in celebration of the larger clan. I hope the time of celebration in this time will come again. But I am not alone, as the Ancients are always with me.
Until then, I study, I listen, my heart and eyes open, my hands ready to help. This journey is not easy, but it is so worth it 🔮

Blessed Be My Brothers and Sisters-