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   I grew up in a house surrounded by trees. The backyard maple was a favorite perch for reading the afternoon away when I was a child. Before I climbed I was careful to loop a rope around the branch above me so I could pull a basket of apples and books up after me. The willow tree often found me seeking faeries among her branches, and later, after I had deemed myself too old for tree-climbing, reading or drawing, imagining myself one of the elegant ladies I read about so often in my beloved faerie tales. More and more I would seek the willow, both a source of wonder and magick as the Pagan Path opened before me. My greatest heartbreak at leaving home was that there were no trees near my new apartment.

   Four apartments later, I now have some trees, not many, but enough for the dryad-at-heart to feel satisfied if not happy. A leggy young maple grows against my back steps, towering over a neighboring lilac bush much in the manner my nineteen year old son towers over me. Indeed, in tree years, the maple may very well be his contemporary. The grapevine that coated the back of my building, lush, leafy, gorgeous; the grapevine that grew so prolifically that one of my kitchen windows had a beautiful green screen was torn down earlier this year, a sacrifice to the siding that needed to be replaced. (Probably due to said grapevine. I'm no fool.) She has taken her own back, however. A newer grapevine grown from sturdy roots has wrapped herself around the lower railings and is beginning to wind herself around the maple. Outside my bedroom window grows my favorite of the trees, a crab apple, so close to the building that her branches tap the window every time the breeze sets her dancing or a bird leaps amid her branches.

When I tell people I follow a Minoan spiritual path, one of the first things they ask about is the labyrinth. Often, all they know about the labyrinth is what they've heard from the Labyrinth-and-Minotaur story.

The thing is, the Greeks invented Theseus as a culture hero centuries after Minoan civilization had ceased to exist, so the Minoans never even knew about him. In the later Greek tale, the labyrinth is a deadly maze full of confusing twists and turns, impossible to escape without the help of Ariadne's thread.

Here is a 13 minute basic mindfulness meditation that I created which can be incorporated into your daily practice. I also use it before prayer and ritual, to ground and center myself, preparing for the work.

Jews in Britain celebrate their heritage and their survival in the face of centuries of persecution. A Taoist offers perspective on mourning and facing death. And an interfaith calendar is provided which outlines some of the most important holidays and festivals of the year. It's Faithful Friday, our weekly segment on news about faiths and religious communities around the world! All this and more for the Pagan News Beagle!

Whenever I’ve gone to a quiet place in my head, it’s been the same.  I find myself on a path in the woods.  It’s always fall and always leads to a pool with a waterfall.  There’s a stone there large enough for me to sit on or lean against.  For years when I sought out a quiet, centered place in my mind, inevitably this is where I’d end up.  I could feel the crisp coolness of the autumn day, smell the fresh air with a hint of drying corn (yes I grew up on a farm where we did this), and feel the bite of winter.

The other night when I sought out my center, my balance.  I didn’t go there.  I tried.  I was tired, wanted to destress and wanted the familiar and the comfortable of this scene.  My mind didn’t go there.  Even when I tried to visualize it, I couldn’t find it.  It was like a door closed in my mind.

Blessed be thy knees, that kneel at the sacred altar.

-from the Five Fold Blessing

Warm water bubbles beneath my knees. I feel weightless. The pool is just deep enough that I can't sit, so I let my feet touch the sandy bottom while the rest of my body floats. The water must be the same temperature as my blood for I feel neither warm nor cool, as if heat and cold were a foreign concept. In these hot springs it is easy to forget where my body ends and the water begins. I run my hands up and down my legs. I expect little bubbles to rise to the surface, the way they do in the hot tub, but instead I feel a thin slimy film upon my skin. I wonder about the mineral content of the water. The smell of rotten eggs announces sulfur and I wrinkle my nose, then quickly re-frame my association from disgusting-gaseous-anomalies to miraculous-healing-waters and manage to enjoy the odor.