Mabh Savage's Blog: A Celtic Witch, page 32

A Visit from Ratatoskr

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This beauty was in my garden first thing, calmly surveying her surroundings and ignoring my cat who was clumsily stalking her. I’m fairly sure this is a female; the males usually have a much bushier tail.

In Norse mythology the squirrel Ratatoskr is actually a red squirrel, not one of the invading greys (invaders for us in the UK anyway). Despite their ‘nuisance’ factor, I have a real soft spot for these cheeky rodents, who use cunning and skill to raid the bird feeders and anything else they can get their paws on.

Ratatoskr is a messenger, a role which implies responsibility, yet he actually revels in trouble making, delighting in passing insults between the hawk Veðrfölnir at the top of Yggdrasil, and the wyrm Níðhöggr, who is gnawing at the roots of the great world tree.

Ratatoskr is a gossip, a stirrer, and if you check out the squirrel’s somehow inherently cheeky expression, you can well believe this! These chattering creatures could be saying anything once they start scolding you; if only we could understand them.

Big Jim!

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Meet Big Jim the chilli! That’s the actual name of this variety. I haven’t tried the peppers yet as this is the first. They smell sweet as opposed to fiery, but taste will tell!

I haven’t grown too many plants this year what with a surprise pregnancy and some ill health, so it cheers me no end that my windowsill chillies are bearing such luscious looking fruit.

What should I cook with it? Answers in the comments please!

Book Review: Natural Born Shamans by Imelda Almqvist

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I love getting books from authors I have not read before, as I have no expectations and can approach with a totally open mind. I was particularly looking forward to reading Imelda’s volume, as it deals with supporting the spirituality of younger people and children. Having children myself (and another on the way!) and remembering how my own spiritual journey stems back to when I was very, very young, I was intrigued to read the thoughts of someone who deals with this every day of their life.

From the start, Imelda’s book is very accessible. Although there are some parts which deal with practical shamanic work which will be of most use to experienced practitioners, Imelda is clear to point out which sections these are, and even so, as a ‘shamanic lay person’, I found these sections fascinating and enlightening.

I don’t want to hyper-analyse the contents of each chapter, as this will leave no beautiful surprises for you as you read the book. And believe me, there is surprise and delight throughout this volume. Imelda uses the phrase ‘It takes a village to raise a child’ very early on in the book, and I immediately grinned, as we use this saying (and its follow up statement!) amongst our own tribe, as we allow our children to (within reason and safety) roam from homestead to homestead when we gather. I also resonated with Imelda exploring the idea that sometimes we strive for perfection as parents, without giving in to being ‘good enough’. I certainly struggle with this. Sometimes I feel like I am only just good enough. I need to realise that being good enough for my little ones is special, and not something to be criticised.

Imelda’s style is positive and direct, and she covers challenging subjects with a compassion and thoroughness which is so often missing today. Topics such as losing a child, either before or after birth, are often tip-toed around, but Imelda faces them head on and shows how the experiences can be understood at a deeper, spiritual level to help families heal. Imelda also writes at length and with authority on children with special needs.

One of my favourite sections was the examination of brainwashing and radicalisation. The sense that the separation from Divine Unity is occurring over and over made total sense to me.

I won’t say too much more as you really need to read this book. If you have children yourself, it is invaluable. If you know children, or are interested in shamanic practice, or simply have a keen interest in human nature and spirituality, you will appreciate the level of experience, knowledge, skill and compassion which shines from every page.

Sunbathing Blackbird

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This beautiful boy just hopped casually into the garden, flopped down, spread his wings and luxuriated in the sun. Why wouldn’t you?

Palm Weevil

[image error]This gorgeous creature is a good couple of inches long. We discovered it as it was clinging onto my fiancé’s foot on the beach of Port Cristo! I rescued it (and him) and sat it in the shade until it recovered enough to move on.

Sadly, these beautiful insects are seen as pests as their grubs destroy palm trees from the inside out. I love palm trees too, so I understand why the weevils are not popular, but I can’t help feeling the weevil has a right to life too… 

This one lived to chew another day, anyway.

Midsummer Moments

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Flowers!

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As this was growing, prior to flowering, it looked exactly like a gladioli. Not so much now it has flowered! I love having mystery plants move into my garden. We had some cyclamen pop up from nowhere last year. Magical! 

Devoted Mother

Arachnophobes, look away now!

A cellar spider (pholcidae) in our bathroom, clutching her egg sac. She’s been there for days, determinedly carrying the unborn babies everywhere she goes, and even fighting off a rival (they sometimes eat each other!). I’m moving her soon, as we don’t want the babies spreading out over the bathroom and drowning or being crushed by little feet. 

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Saturday Blues

There’s are days when getting up and dressed seem a major achievement. I found clothes! I put them on and don’t look utterly stupid!

But then I feel stupid for congratulating myself over such a tiny thing. How can I be proud of myself, an adult, a parent, over getting myself up and dressed? 

I have to fight this feeling, because depression wants me. Its black tentacles are oozing sinuously closer, to grasp at my heart. I can’t promise I won’t let it; I’ve never been strong enough to fight it all the way off; no, strong is not the right word. I’m certainly not weak; competent? Capable? Knowledgeable? I don’t really know. I know it’s no failing of me or my brain or body that depression lurks constantly, a serpentine cephalopod of silence. It makes me silent; I don’t want to speak, or even sing some days.

When I stop singing, I know it’s bad. Some days tears roll down my face when I’m singing. I can cope with that. If the emotion is still there, I can cope. It’s when it drains away; that’s when I start to crumble.

So today I got dressed. Must remember it’s ok to clap myself on the back. Now I have to go get a parcel; see friends; cook and eat. Must remember to eat, and eat well. Slap away the tiny tentacles that sneakily steal these instructions from my mind: eat, sleep, wash, smile. Cope.

June 9th, Britain

Sitting in bed

Waiting for the world to end

Or maybe to start.

My heart

A battlefield of friends 

And enemies

Love and passion

Embers fizzling in the rain

The aftermath.

Scared to read, scared not to read

Fearmongers long for both

But my eyes eat it all

All the bitter, nasty bile

Vile accusations and 

Trial after execution

Just like the last six weeks.

So many lies,

I can only hope

This is more of the same.

Lying in bed,

Waiting for the world to end

Bending not to my will,

My vote, my hope,

Or that of 

58% of the others.