In October 2016, I was given the story you are about to hear, knowing it was a part of something much bigger. I have told this story in a darkened basement, in the midst of a Moroccan market place, to hedgedwellers and skyflyers, and now, dear Substackers, to you. It is an ending of sorts, but also a beginning. For the next year and a day, because of course, all the best of witchery is often held within the spell of one year and one day, we will excavate a little more of this bigger story. It may appear for us in the middle of the night, or when the noon day sun shines through a dusty window. The moon might have wandered out of our sight, or be at its brightest. For who can know the way of a thing that lives outside of human linear time. With this in mind, the fragments of tale that arrive will not be in the expected beginning-middle-end format but as and when that particular part wishes to make itself known. Beseeches and offerings will, of course be made, to the One who first gave me the story all those years ago and we can only hold our collective breaths that she will answer and grant us the priveledge of more. So, join me as we begin, with this Winter Solstice New Moon, the cycle that will call forth the ash and bone of the mythic…
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In October 2016, I was given the story you are about to hear, knowing it was a part of something much bigger. I have told this story in a darkened basement, in the midst of a Moroccan market place, to hedgedwellers and skyflyers, and now, dear Substackers, to you. It is an ending of sorts, but also a beginning. For the next year and a day, because of course, all the best of witchery is often held within the spell of one year and one day, we will excavate a little more of this bigger story. It may appear for us in the middle of the night, or when the noon day sun shines through a dusty window. The moon might have wandered out of our sight, or be at its brightest. For who can know the way of a thing that lives outside of human linear time. With this in mind, the fragments of tale that arrive will not be in the expected beginning-middle-end format but as and when that particular part wishes to make itself known. Beseeches and offerings will, of course be made, to the One who first gave me the story all those years ago and we can only hold our collective breaths that she will answer and grant us the priveledge of more. So, join me as we begin, with this Winter Solstice New Moon, the cycle that will call forth the ash and bone of the mythic…
On a gorgeous evening in May, I sat by a well-tended fire with a group of people I didn’t really know as stories were told in the best of possible ways. It had been a long day and I was all ready to go snuggle up in my tent, rising from my seat to do so, when one name caught my ears. Coyote. My behind found itself plonked firmly back into the chair as my body leaned forward eager to be engulfed by the story that emerged from Joseph Heywood’s lips. The next day, on seeing Coyote tattooed on my inner right arm, Joseph insisted it was a story I had to carry with me from that day onwards. Just as he has carried it after being gifted it himself by an Indigenous Elder (my apologies for not knowing who this Elder was). It is a traveller kind of story I think, one that likes to meet new people. Peer into them, through them, with them. What you are about to listen to is not a verbatim speaking of the story Joseph told that night by the fire. It is how it moved through me one morning. Next time, I suspect, it will have something different to tell us all. I had tried to sit with this story for the last few months but it always felt to be there, yet at a distance. As if sat at the far corner of the room from me, though willing to share space, not willing to converse. I wasn’t sure how it wanted to use my voice, or if it was even possible that the two of us might be companions. As much as I delighted in its company, I wasn’t sure if it was happy with mine. But then it suddenly arrived. ‘Now’ the story said ‘now we are good to go.’ It proceeded to pour through me in the way you are about to hear. Taking me as much by surprise as it might take you, for I have the suspicion that this particular Coyote is not done with either of us yet. We shall just have to wait and see…
The Faerytale Apothecary
In October 2016, I was given the story you are about to hear, knowing it was a part of something much bigger. I have told this story in a darkened basement, in the midst of a Moroccan market place, to hedgedwellers and skyflyers, and now, dear Substackers, to you. It is an ending of sorts, but also a beginning. For the next year and a day, because of course, all the best of witchery is often held within the spell of one year and one day, we will excavate a little more of this bigger story. It may appear for us in the middle of the night, or when the noon day sun shines through a dusty window. The moon might have wandered out of our sight, or be at its brightest. For who can know the way of a thing that lives outside of human linear time. With this in mind, the fragments of tale that arrive will not be in the expected beginning-middle-end format but as and when that particular part wishes to make itself known. Beseeches and offerings will, of course be made, to the One who first gave me the story all those years ago and we can only hold our collective breaths that she will answer and grant us the priveledge of more. So, join me as we begin, with this Winter Solstice New Moon, the cycle that will call forth the ash and bone of the mythic…
