Come walk with me...

So you can't be here, in Dulverton, on beautiful Exmoor...  Never mind.  Come with me on my morning walk.  We'll take it slow (I'm not feeling so great today)...
The SP is bouncing like Tigger but he always waits for me to open the first gate...

...and then the second gate...

We walk through town as it starts to wake up...past the familiar shops, and the familiar cars and familiar people.

And then we cross the bridge and turn up into the woods.  It's steep and somehow steep on tarmac is harder than steep on earth so we take it easy.

The wild foxgloves are bee buzzed bells...

Most people go straight on, following the wide track down to the river.  But we veer left, through this narrow opening, and up the steep track known locally as the Chimney.

Past ancient beech tree hedgerows, moss-crept, sinew-rooted...

The bluebells have sunk back into the earth now, and bracken reigns.  The woods open out as we dip down and up the old ramparts of the bronze age hill fort.

We pause at "my" tree, of course, wondering again how it survived when its brothers and sisters were felled. Happy chance.  Sometimes I meditate here, sometimes I just lean back and listen to the birdsong, the distant sounds of the town.  If we're very still, sometimes the deer come.

The path widens and we come across the den, a little camp constructed around a tree.  Weeks back I decorated it with a rib-cage, placing the skull to watch in a nearby tree but now they've gone.

We have a choice.  Sometimes the SP and I turn left and make a full circuit but today my energy is flagging so we veer to the right and pick our way downwards.

Past the hawthorn tree, past this little moss-sprung spring...and back to the wide path, down down down, over the bridge and...you get the picture.  It's only a small walk - an hour at most - but every day it is different, every day some new fresh detail.  It comforts me somehow.  Even if life is basically meaningless, it can still be beautiful.

Winning Euromillions!

It’s been a funny old week.  I’ve been battling with myself – yeah, again.  I’m not the stroppy type – I only ever pick fights with myself. It’s mad, it really is.

Anyhow, I need to get a grip, make things happen.  Because we’re the ones who hold ourselves back, right?  And I’ve been in a holding pattern for a while now. Stuck. Unable to see the next move, the right move, clearly. 

Right? Rite! That’s what I needed. Something to figure out where I was going wrong; why I was being blocked (blocking myself); to get to the bottom of what I didn’t understand.  Magick.  Shit yeah.

Magick (with a k to distinguish from the rabbits out of hats malarkey).  Call it summoning powers and entities and whatever.  Or call it, if you prefer, getting in touch with your higher self, the part that isn’t a bonkers numpty. The part that knows. Oh, call it whatever you like. It really doesn't matter.

Anyhow.  While the world was whizzing around getting in a tizzy over politicians and journalists (umm, short aside: why did it all come as such a surprise, eh?) I cut off.  Did my thing.  Went dark and witchy.  

Candles were lit. Incense billowed. Circles were cast.  Sigils were drawn. Shadows danced. 

Questions were asked. Requirements were discussed.

It’s always a bit precarious and I’m wary about this summoning business now.  I used to demand; now I request.  I used to think I knew exactly what I needed: now I ask to receive what I need. 
Sometimes uncanny coincidences (hmm) occur. Sometimes the universe has a stonking great belly laugh at your expense. 

I’m not ashamed to admit I’m strapped for cash right now (holding patterns are crap for generating income).  While debating all kinds of deep and meaningful spiritual questions, I threw in a small request for some dosh.  Okay, hands up,  the lottery crossed my mind.  How much could I ask for?  In the end I went for the fall-back position (just as a test really) – let me win (no earning required) exactly what I needed.

And I bought a Euromillions ticket.

So, today the SP and I were going up to the hillfort and we stopped at the shop and bought a drink and a packet of sweets. I fumbled in my pocket for the right change: £2.60.

‘Ooh, hang about. Check my ticket will ya?’ I said to the girl serving.
She went over to the machine and turned back.  ‘Hey, you’ve won!’
My heart leapt. ‘What?’
‘Yeah.  But don’t get too excited.’

She handed me my winnings.  You’ve guessed, right?  Yeah.  £2.60.  Ho bloody ho.