If there’s one thing I know about myself, it’s that I’m not afraid of change.
If anything, I’m a touch too far in the opposite direction – relishing change, constantly looking to bring it about in my life, whether that’s through incessant planning, sabotaging things just as they’re beginning to work, or taking weird little risks all the time…just to see what happens.
When I couple this with a powerful desire to ground, to put down some roots and physically build a life with my love and my cats… well, it’s a difficult combination to manage. Blame my busy-brained, ever-aspiring Aquarius sun fighting down my yearning Capricorn moon, or blame nothing, that’s just how it is. A battlefield in the stars that’s mostly exhilarating and joyful, and from time to time just bewildering and exhausting.
Change is winning out right now, but the grounding is built in. On Monday, I move north, far far north, to the Isle of Skye. Em and I visited for less than 48 hours last month, and something got under my skin. Something damp and wild and peaty and delicious. On the first day of the new year we rose at dawn, jumped into the car and headed back, that stunning nine hour drive through the Highlands, the dazzling wilderness of Glen Coe, so many freezing lochs and snow-capped peaks, the highest places in Britain, over the sea, to an island born of a volcano in the South Seas, that over 350 million years found its way to the north Atlantic and is ever moving towards Norway.
The places here have ancient names that hint at their ancient Nordic and Gaelic roots. Aardvasar, Taskavaig, Torkavaig, Ord. Scurr na Stri (‘Peak of Strife’), Galtrigill, Kilmaluag, Elgol, Uig. They’re weird and beautiful in my mouth, unfamiliar, old, existing indifferently, here in the north. It’s…something else.
We found a garden, overgrown with herbs and stone and tiny wooden homes built from found things, and a woman with a dream to share and teach and build. I’m back in Manchester now, just for a few days, preparing to move back to Rubha Phoil for the remainder of the winter. I’ll make myself useful, dig, clear, tidy and paint, and live on a caravan down on the rocky shore where I can watch the sun come up over those Highland mountains across the sea each morning.
Why? To ground. To turn off the computer, to unplug from the internet, to spend more time working with the earth than sitting at a desk, to watch the season change in a wild and foreign landscape.
It’s difficult not to be full of questions, and more, to be searching for answers, to be trying to pin things down into plans, resolutions, decisions. But that’s precisely my challenge. I’m going to Skye to simply be there, not as part of any grander scheme. Perhaps I’ll work the winter, and leave when the light returns. Perhaps I’ll stay a year and see the land through one complete cycle. Perhaps I’ll never come home.
Who knows. Who cares? Really though – why must I care about that? Now is a moment for being in that moment. That’s all I need to know.
I’m a 30-something writer, artist, tarot reader, and perpetual explorer of the space between thought, feeling, and action.
I believe that spirituality and ritual are for everybody. I’m about the journey, in all of its messy, non-linear, chaotic iterations. I am excited by anticapitalist business and living with my whole entire self present. I use tarot cards to bring forth hidden truth, and ritual to affirm my commitment, over and over, to my ever-shifting path.