Lady Of Avalon

The day I saw the Lady of Avalon…

Glastonbury is one of my favourite places on earth. So many times in my life I have driven there as if carried by invisible wings - in despair, joy, anticipation, escape. The familiar trickling sound of the Chalice Well spring as you immerse your feet and drink the sacred waters. The echoing Magdalene Chapel where time seems to stand still, where singing voices ring sweet and true, fingers tracing labyrinths. The Tor, every climb like a rebirth, there and back again, always changed.

There was one thing that kept me going in the first coronavirus lockdown as a single parent with post-traumatic stress disorder home-educating two children who suddenly couldn’t offer her soul work to the world in the way she usually did–

“When this is over, I’m going to Glastonbury”

I had joined a druid group and I decided I would do my first rite on the Tor. There was a sweet spot between lockdowns where we were able to travel and off I flew, my first time without the children in so long, only to find the Tor crowded and busy. A friendly man who wanted to talk monopolised a lot of my time and it was getting cold. I also got scratched on brambles doing a “wildie”. There is a peaceful field at the bottom of the Tor where you can admire it from afar and I can often be found there napping on days when I am lucky enough to go to Avalon.

I went into meditation to begin the rite, my body full of endorphins, invigorated by the climb and by the sheer joy of freedom.

And She appeared - with dark hair, violet clothing, luminous skin with a violet hue. She called me by my name as she stood in the space between Tor and fields. I cannot remember much about the meditation except that the air felt like it was humming, and I was filled with clarity and peace. I did not think She was the Lady of Avalon at the time, as I was not yet at that point on my path.

Imagine my surprise when months later I open “Priestess of Avalon, Priestess of the Goddess” by Kathy Jones to find the Lady looking right back at me, as I had seen Her!

Artwork by Thalia Brown

Cleavers

Cleavers

The Wise Woman's Folk Herbal Series

Cleavers is coming up all around us, and the children love to grab the stems and trick each other. There is something so foolish about having something stuck to your back, and they play games to see how long it takes each other to notice.

How long has it taken you to notice what isn't serving you? Do you laugh when you realise just how obvious it was, no matter how oblivious you were at the time? Do you feel like your weakness was like a target on your back?

I think of cleavers and its sticky hands and peppery taste - fiery like the Holy Spirit and present and abundant just like love if we only take the time to look. I think of those sticky hands with elongated fingers moving like smoke through the body, dragging, coaxing, caressing all the places we are stuck and stagnant. Filtering our spirit of sludgy buildup and low vibrations. Just like the Holy Spirit, cleavers says - "I am the great purifier."

Cleavers is the plant for those prone to excesses and overindulgences. That craving to be filled up, to want more love, to fill our houses with stuff, to eat that extra bite even though we know we are full. It is a craving that women often feel, especially if there has been some aching lack, some deep emotional craving that has never been satisfied. Just like some "sticky willy" stuck to your back, our addictions broadcast our pain to the world.

Herbal medicine is not about fixing, it's about restoring balance. So we let cleavers move through our body like a filter, removing physical and emotional buildup with its cunning fingers, allowing the waterways to run healthy and clear. Reminding us that we are love. Reminding us that the craving will never be satisfied by anything external. This isn't about changing, being "better", being healed. It's remembering we are all those things already, it's our knowledge of that that gets obscured from time to time.

Letting ourselves come home to the truth of that.

Two Caves

Two caves. The first one built like a stone circle, made for community and song, asked me for a tune and my voice bounced merrily back and forth as she accompanied me with her water song. Droplets like a blessing to my head. I called her Little Sister. The second, deep and dark... here I felt the primordial mother. Big Mother. Sheela na Gig. The home of St. Dwynwen's bow, which could tell you how long it would be until you wed, by how well you threw your stone over it. Remnants of an old fertility rite I am sure, like asking St Anne for a husband... in the stories you must always ask a grandmother. Devotional objects carved from stone. Mother in matter.

It all leads back to Her if you take time to listen.