It is always with a degree of surprise and wonder when I reach the end of my journey inward. I don’t know why I am surprised; I’ve always arrived, no matter how rough and interrupted the journey has been.
Resist and Remember were my beacons on the journey. The question was “HOW?” In addition to doubling down on the things that the coming regime seeks to destroy, I intend to live my life more boldly, taking up more space, calling out the false narratives when I encounter them, and finally taking on more of the mantle and responsibilities of a crone. I must acknowledge that I have some witchy wisdom after all these years, and I must begin to share it. How does a hermit do that?
There are these tales from the Jolly Bungalow, which will resume a mostly regular Tuesday schedule in early January. I am writing a course on Maximalism in Magic, as a method to increase the power of your intentions. I may offer that locally, and there is a possibility of offering it online, with the theory that I might be able to reach more than eight people that way.
The beauty of the journey into the heart is that it is a nurturing and protective space. Here, seeds are planted and tended. The journey back to everyday life is also six weeks in length, and is perfect for sprouting those seeds, researching what I do not yet know, and growing ideas that can stand alone by Imbolc’s arrival.
I give myself permission to linger here a few more days, finding more possibilities and engaging a dreamy reverie of “what if” while the nights remain long.
My grandmother lived very close to the land and the seasons. She did not use the word retreat for this season, yet she spoke fondly of the “quiet time when you can hear yourself think.”
Blessings of the Solstice to you all. We are going to make our world be alright.
Tales from the jolly bungalow 