A FeyHearted Manifesto

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We believe in the wonder of the worlds.

We believe in joy and delight.

We recognise that the world is often full of danger, and that this does not diminish its beauty.

We see feyness in each heart, and are touched by the faeries.

We honour the Wild within and without, and we care for our world.

We pledge to live life as fully as we can.

We choose to share our Delight in the world!

Join us in crafting a New Zine for Feyhearted Folk… details to come. Dream on and watch this space!

A Call for Submissions For a Feyhearted Zine!!!

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It’s been a while, and the world being a busy place I suppose this is to be expected! It is time for this blog to have a bit of an overhaul.

Ttoday I would like to invite you to submit offerings to a new endeavour!

Do you play with the Fey? Have you seen them at the edges of vision? Have you danced in a Faery ring? Have you felt the wild feyness that lurks in every heart? Would you like to share your experiences with others?

I am offering a space to bring together Feyhearted offerings, an online collaborative zine (with paper copies a possibility perhaps) of wonder and delight, dark, shadow and light!

Manifesto and details to follow…

What is your Delight?

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I know you’ve got time,
But what are you waiting for?
~The Feeling

Every now and then it hits me: life is short. Life is wonderful and amazing and full of so many things to play with… and it is short.

I have so many projects on the go that its a rare day I find time for all of them, but they are all in pursuit of the same thing, the exploration of delight.

If I see something I want to do, I have started to just say yes. If I can find the time and the money to do something I’d love to (and if I really want to, I can) then I will. Which is why I have a billion projects or so! There is a pattern, as I said, all my projects are part of one project, one goal in life.

My game is Delight, what’s yours?

What would you do if you had the time and the money to pursue your game?

What makes your heart sing?

I write, study philosophy, make art, learn new crafts, travel, walk in the woods, play with my rabbit, grow roses, learn languages, play with poi, meet friends, perform amatuer dramatics, sing in the bath…

What makes you happy? What is it you wish you were doing? And how can you do it with the resources you have right now??? I’d love to have a garden and am in temporary rented accomodation, so I’m keeping roses in a fish-tank, and growing herbs in another. I’d love to travel more, so I put aside a little cash every paycheck and save up for interesting events. I carry a sketchbook and a journal with me everywhere. What little things can you do to follow your dreams? How do all these things fit together into a pattern?

What is your game, your delight?

Starting this site is a recognition for me of my over-arching game, my opening to delight.

What are you waiting for?

On Growing Roses and Losing Spider Plants

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For a long time I thought I could never keep plants. I kept spider plants, renowned for being impossible to kill, and they all died. I bought hardy plants specifically for the conditions in my bedroom, and still they died.

I gave up.

And then the dreams began. For the past few years I have been daydreaming of growing a beautiful garden. A place where the flowers smell gorgeous and transform themselves into fruit when the autumn comes. A place where the greenery is lush and deep and soothing to the spirit. A place to rest and work and play, for visitors, friends, and my family.

And I despaired! How could I ever grow this magnificent place of wonder if I couldn’t even keep a spider plant alive!

Last February, at Imbolc, when snow covered the ground, a friend gave me a bright bunch of daffodils. The flowers were like sunshine in the cold, cheering, comforting, and inspiring. I loved it and toyed with the idea of always keeping cut flowers on my windowsill.

And again, the plants in my care died. But this time they were cut flowers, so I was expecting it. And this time I decided to try again, but, flowers are so much nicer, I thought, when they are alive and growing and not about to die a week later. I chose life, I chose flowers that would keep blooming, that would stay alive, that would not have been hacked from the ground…

I went to the florists and found two blooming roses, one red and one yellow.

And they came home with me, as I danced through the snow, determined to look after these small pieces of life and light and hope for the summer.

They almost died within days. And I did not give up.

By some miracle (known as knowledgeable friends) I was guided in repotting them and I instigated a solid routine of care appropriate to roses.

Over a year later, my roses are still blossoming with hopes of summer and memories of warmth. They have grown to three times the size and are healthier than I ever expected them to be.

My dream of a wondrous garden seems that much closer now and I am collecting seeds to make a window box of herbs and flowers this spring. It seems that, with a little bit of determination, even I can grow a rose garden!!!

There are many things I thought I could never do because I have not managed it so far… and yet, every time I see my roses I am reminded that just because I failed at something once, it doesn’t mean I can’t do it, just that I didn’t do it then.  In the past I have given up on things when I couldn’t do them first time round, when they didn’t come easily. Now I’ve learnt that often, I need to learn at least a little more than what can be picked up in the first few minutes before I can do something properly, and I have also learnt that this is ok. Oh, and, that I can keep beautiful plants!

Checking in…

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Hello all,

I’ve been really quiet on here lately since getting a rabbit; between a funeral, starting rehearsals for a performance of The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe, the rabbit chewing holes in her shoulders (which are finally *touch wood* healing!) and my usual distractions of life, I’ve not been posting. The past 3 nights, however, I’ve been up at nearly dawn to relieve my sweetie on BunnyWatch, and I’ve been surprisingly productive in making a website 🙂

Otherwise, this past month I have: knitted my first pair of socks, finished my hoodie (sans hood, which I decided against), almost finished Hella’s Gate (an ‘oil’ painting), joined a beginners Spanish class, and written a shedload of notes on Heidegger’s lectures on Nietzsche for my Thesis. Pictures of the relevent pictorial aspects to follow! My roses are still going strong, and they are backdropped against snow, as they were that Imbolc last year when I acquired them!

I have also started another blog to go with my website…

You know, looking over what I get up to, its a lot!

Life is good, and its snowing again. Pretty.

The Blank Page

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Its the beginnings that are the hardest, at least to start with. I find myself staring at a blank sheet of paper and wonder where to make the first mark, what will be the first sentance? What will be the first line? Getting past this is often hard, this pure white sheet of paper, perfect, unblemished, beautiful in the way only an unmarked page can be…

And then we fill the page with colour and lines and words and it moves from pure emptiness to a place full of life.

Here, in the overcoming of the blank page, something is created. In that hesitation I feel fear, my fear is that I will waste a page, waste an opportunity, waste the moment and make nothing but a mistaken mess. What if it turns out bad? What if I’m not good enough? What if, what if, what if…

And I breathe in the empty page, sit with the space for a moment, and empty out those doubts.

Whatever happens, its never a waste, it is fun, illuminating, inspiring, it helps to flesh out an idea, it is the process of exploring and beginning and is, above all, a chance to play.

That blank page becomes a playground, and while I’m always nervous about what will be built there, even if it is ultimately to be shredded, the cliche about the importance of the journey holds true. Every act of play is important.

I, personally, have often been so wrapped up in having to produce something, that I forget that production is not the point. Every time I sit down to make art, to write, to explore delight, I remind myself that to create is to play on the border of materia and immateria, the point where the physical world and the imagination kiss. Yes, there will often be something that is born of this meeting, but it need not be the focus of creation, and it certainly need not be ‘perfect’.

Perfectionism is where we are scared to get it wrong.

I wonder why beauty need be ‘right’?

I wonder why playtime is seen as a waste?

I wonder if we can sit with the empty page, take a breath, and dive right in with a smile…

Sometimes I do the daftest things…

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… like rescue a rabbit 6 months earlier than the earliest I intended to.

She is beautiful though. Meet Domino:

3 and a half months old, English breed, friendly, inquisitive, a little nervous but settling quickly.

Oh, and she is both happy cuddling and fine travelling. Exactly the kind of rabbit I was thinking of. 🙂

Also on the plus side, all her bedding and stuff is compostable, she’ll eat mostly veg when older, and therefore she won’t make developing self-sufficiency as hard as, say, a cat would. And since her territory is her cage, she’ll relocate happier too. (Yes, all my pets are cat substitutes. No, that doesn’t mean I love them any less for not being kitty shaped. Yes, stupid bunny has stolen my heart in only 24 hours.)

Green Fingers

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Having been thinking up ways I might be able to grow my own food while living in rented accomodation (last summer’s experiment in growing food in pots communally failed due to no-one knowing whose responsibility anything was, and the plants all getting moved permanently into the shade when the sun was too strong, rather than somewhere they could have both sun and shade…) and after my successive happy failures to kill my potted roses, (Yay!) which I am assured are difficult to keep alive, I’ve started looking at growing food indoors. And then I found this post: a vertical indoor garden.
Nothing short of inspirational.

I’ve kept an old plastic aquarium (which used to house my two mice) and am collecting milk bottles (square, tall, free, these should fit neatly together in a rectangular space) to plant plants in. I figure that trying different plants means I’ve a better chance of having something survive.

Next payday, I go hunting seeds and soil!

One of my housemates also seems enthused about the idea of a wormery… I’m considering it. Good idea, but is it too much responsibility? Looking after all those hundreds of lives?!?! Making sure it all rots down without encouraging flies? Probably better than a regular bin for that I guess… And, of course, how shall I transport them at the end of my contract in a student house? Maybe better to wait till I know I’m not moving for a year before I start a project like that!

Photos of set-up to follow once its set-up… and I’ve a working camera!

The Silent Smile

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Once upon a time… for that is how all stories must start, although there is always something before, and so it is also how all stories must end… Once upon a time there was a maiden who lived near a deep dark forest, a maiden named Rose.

When Rose was very small she would slip away into the forest and come home with twigs tangled in her hair and a silent smile upon her face. Her mother would ask her why she loved the forest so, and she would simply smile and shake her head.

One day, however, a sad thing happened. Rose stopped going into the trees.

All children grow up, and it seemed not in the least bit strange that she ceased her wandering home with twigs and leaves and moss entwined in her locks, and instead would come home with red lips and green eyeshadow.

And so Rose grew up.

She married, and they moved into a little cottage by the forest, next door to her parents. Sometimes, though, her beloved husband would catch her gazing sadly out of the window into the dark green leaves, but she never said why.

One day little Rose, who was not so little now, was ironing, or washing, or cooking, or somesuch chore as adults have to do but that seem never to be finished, and she heard a voice from outside the window.

A voice calling… singing… laughing…

And she ran outside (and I cannot remember if the dinner burned or the washing was left undone, for it really doesn’t matter today) and there, disappearing into the forest was a half-forgotten figure, a slender girl as green as grass and as naked as a newborn, with sunlit hair and the shadow of wings on her shoulders.

And Rose, of course, followed.

She followed the green-girl through the trees and as her feet felt the forest floor for the first time in forever, she remembered why she used to smile as a child.

And the green-girl stopped, and turned, and smiled.

And disappeared.

And Rose returned to the cottage, several hours later, with twigs entwined in her unbound hair, earth between her toes, and a silent smile on her lips.

And every now and again, still, though her hair is now grey and her feet less sure, she will kick off her shoes, unbind her hair, and slip into the forest to find her silent smile.