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Divination using toys? No, I haven’t lost my marbles. I collect them instead. I do psychic readings with everything in my environment. All of life is sacred. Fun is sacred.

I collect marbles. A few weeks ago, I thought it’d be fun to do divination with them. Since I view everything is my environment as an oracle, it was only a matter time before the idea of using marbles for oracle work came to me. ... Hm, honestly, I’ve probably used them that way before this, and not even remembered it; that’s how much a part of my life using everything as oracles is. ...  In any case, this blog is about a psychic reading I did a few weeks ago using marbles.

A conversation with Rommy Cortez-Driks,

author of 

The Trouble with Wanting, 

and Other Not-Quite Faerie Tales

I met Rommy in 2008, when she started studying Faerie shamanism with me. Early on, she showed me some of her writing. I was gobsmacked. Hers was an exceptional gift. She is a true bard.

The creative gift can be fragile. Day jobs and family responsibilities can make it near impossible to find the focus to write, let alone the time. That can be so discouraging that a writer throws in the towel, especially since the inevitable naysayers try to shake one’s confidence and destroy one’s spirit. Piled on top of that are inner demons trying to tear down the visions and drive that great art demands. And all the while, editors and writers with hidden agendas dole out bad advice, e.g., praising a writer’s worst writing as their best, so the writer produces mostly their worst. Add in the actual writing process, which is complicated and demanding if the book is going to be original and moving. ... Well, it’s a wonder any good books ever get written. 

In the court of the royal dún was found one morning a strange stallion, known to none. He was a well-made beast, and beautiful, but strangely-marked, white with red ears, like the cattle of the sidhe. But he laid back his red ears and bared his teeth, if any dared approach him.

Only for young Govan, of all the king's warriors, would he stand still.

So Govan mounted the horse, saying, Take me where you will.

The gates were opened, and they left the dún. To a green hill the strange horse bore him, and as they approached it, the hill opened, and they entered.

Govan found himself in a high and mighty hall, filled with fair people in many-colored clothing, and in the high seat a lordly woman, fairest of them all.

Welcome, son of Gawan, she said, so he dismounted and stood before her.

It’s been a busy time for me lately. As a magical mother I’m always doing two things or more at once, every day an endless list of practicalities, and my spiritual life is by necessity deeply enmeshed in the mortal physical world. I see no separation between magic and the mundane, I walk through the worlds seamlessly.  But there are times when I feel particularly blessed, when the realms of spirit come to me and I am given space, connection, without purpose, without focus, other than to touch and feed the soul, just a time to revel  in the love of the Otherworld.

Yesterday I walked the dog and child through endless meadows filled with knee high golden buttercups, purple clover and wild white cow-parsley, like sea-foam, as the glorious heat of the day began to subside, and the mists rolled and billowed from the many rhynes, or watery ditches that lace the fields around my home, in the marshes that surround Glastonbury Tor. I waded through clouds of gold and green and white flowers all wrapped in the white mists of Avalon. Soon the Tor ahead of me vanished into clouds, and the meadows became wreathed in their own eerie shimmering light. A buzzard, my ally and kin from the realms Above swooped overhead and vanished into the white encircling walls of mist, and it seemed we had wandered into Faerie. Dog and child leaped and played, and I gathered armfuls of fresh herbs, and the sound of crickets grew still. I breathed and felt the earth beneath me so full of life. We walked for a time in some blessed realm. And my heart was full to the brim.