A few weeks ago I resigned from my job and promptly had my hair dyed so many colours, even a unicorn would blush. Call it peri-menopause, mid-life crisis, or simply living, but I was driven to do certain things and I did them. I mean, what is the worst that could happen? I could have sat there umming, ahhing, and over analysing of what could possible go wrong (or right), but I am an ageing woman so sooner rather than later, as time is of the essence for this incarnation.

So, with my new fluorescent mop and jobless status I took myself off to Glastonbury for a couple of days to think of what to do in the next chapter of my Book of Life. Originally I was supposed to visit Glastonbury in November, along with my gorgeous Hubby McHubster. However, no matter how much I pushed, pulled, and forced for things to work out in a beautiful rainbow coloured logistical dream, Glastonbury was a November no go.

Now, hindsight is a simplistic and wonderful creation, and I came to realise that I was not supposed to have come to Glastonbury back in November with Hubby McHubster. Unbeknown to me, fast forward to February, and here I was, a glow-in-the-dark rebellious traveller, visiting Glastonbury in what turned out to be the start of Imbolc. Imbolc, the Celtic/Gaelic/Pagan (apologies if I have missed anyone) festival, marking the beginning of Spring and new beginnings. Here I was, a feisty red haired goddess searching for insight into my own new beginnings, right in the midst of a festival about new beginnings. I know, brilliant, right?

So, fuelled on by a diet of all things raw, vegan, nut and berry based (hence highly hilarious pun title of Glastonberry) I took myself off to Glastonbury Goddess House, to fully embrace all things insightful and healing. Now, I have tried many weird and wonderful healing modalities over the years, but even I was unprepared for the wonder of Soul Essence Healing with the totally fabulous Anna-Saqqara. This wonderful Priestess who chanted, whistled, blew, rocked, pummelled, spoke, shouted, stroked, rattled, spritzed, belched, and even whacked me with feathery items, has to be the most confident spiritual practitioner I have ever encountered. Despite the cacophony that surrounded me, it was such an awesome and liberating experience, I strongly recommend for one and all to try.

After my spiritual bashing, I went on to have a peaceful and deep guided meditation in which I was told to “start writing again” as I am obediently doing so now. And so my concluding point to this long awaited ramble is that I have tried to force so many blocks in my life; job opportunities, house sales, planned trips and more, but the fact of the matter is that life seems pretty much laid out just how it is supposed to be. As someone recently said to me “What is meant for you won’t pass you by.” So, with a wonky knee (be it a physical injury or a spiritual interception) I am forced to stop and rest for a while, and without trying to write the next chapter in my life, I am going to do just that; stop and rest for a while and see what life has for me.

Love and feather bashings,

Shelley x

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