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Tour dates, Pisces & Aquarius
our threshold looks like deficient measurement
Firstly, I wanted to reorient you to this relatively new space I’m using to write and share music.
When you get this as an email, you can click on the title and it will take you to the platform, where you can comment, and where you can read the often better edited version.
You do not have to pay to be part of this. As most of you know, I offer all my work in the Gift Economy. So that means it is offered ecstatically as my service to the world, and anyone who feels prompted to offer a gift back, can do a paid subscription. But no one is left out.
Secondly, I thought I would let you know a rough sketch of my upcoming slow, curious, family pilgrimage (with a bit of a tour) this fall.
September 9-11 - Gdańsk, Poland - walking through the album Sanctuary at the WCCM conference
September 22nd(ish) - Glasgow - with my dear friend Simon Ruth de Voil (TBA)
September 24th - Holy Isle of Lindisfarne, St Mary’s Church, with special guest, Malcolm Guite
September ? - Kilmore Church, Isle of Mull (TBA)
October 8th - Universal Hall, Findhorn Foundation
October 12th? - Cumbria (TBA)
After these dates, we will be down in North Wales for a few days, and then down to the West Country, where I will be spending a particular amount of time sleuthing around in Somerset, for mysteries, and because this is where my great grandma Evans grew up.
There are a few other fun things to be announced regarding the end of this trip in London, but for now, that’s the update.
Onto a bit of a reflection:
As we continue to enter into deeper unknowing, some of you might be wondering what in the heck I am up to. I think this could be best summed up by my realization that life is indeed short, and we were born to quest into the mysteries, so, as a daughter born into the Christian household, I have chosen to quest through, not around, and continue to seek how our Divine Creator dropped keys throughout the ages.
I’ve found what might be a mirage in the desert, called Nuance, and I drink from it daily, and heartily, in the midst of an age that has lost its qualitative energy. Nearly all of our modes have become deficient and inert. They are literally chugging to a stand still, which I think is the real reason why we are at each other’s throats, and is possibly the real reason we have soon to be trillionaires profiteering off of pandemics, and frankly, starvation. Heaven forfend people in their places could have the agency to choose creative regenerative practices that won’t have much to do with far-off shareholders.
But these same modes, beyond the counting house, were once efficient.
And if they were once efficient, that means in the timeless realm, they still are. And our job in this age of integration, is to live into that. Our response to this culture war, is to perform acts of creation. To taste. To enjoy. To thrust an ecstatic breast to the stars in the ordinariness of our days and nights.
To express just how much we are in a deficient mode, look at what mathematician, astrologer, and megalithic expert Robin Heath says of recent English Heritage reports on Stonehenge:
“Of the ‘less important aspects of the monument’s design‘, such as its astronomy, geometry, and measurements, (all three disciplines are objectively measurable), the report goes on, simply, to inform its readers, within a single paragraph headed ‘Spiritual Values’ on page 19 of the 110 page report that ‘theories abound‘ and suggests ‘these can be but speculation‘. In other words, nothing from these sources can likely ever be proven. All that astronomy, geometry and measurement is untouched and unexplained within this report, clearly it is already ear marked for the lunatic fringe, don’t you know, so don’t even think or ask about these things. Don’t ask questions. Why would one think of going there, with all that complicated science and number stuff, when there’s snowy plastic paperweights of the middle bit of Stonehenge to be collected, and cherished on one’s mantelpiece?”
In Somerset, in the West Country of England, there was and is a culture of spiritualists and druids who saw Jesus as the age of Pisces come to its time. And they also prophesied the coming of the age of Aquarius, (which we apparently entered during the pandemic).
I had a strange bit of a download yesterday that may mean nothing, other than that it means a lot to me as a talisman for the times. I was watching a bit of old footage of the druid Mary Caine, an astonishing mind who passed in 2008 at the age of 91. In this bit of footage, she is standing beside Chalice Well, which has a symbol of Pisces on it. But Chalice Well is, to Mary Caine’s knowledge of the zodiac in Somerset, situated in the Aquarian sign… the age of the water carrier, or water poured out in healing.
Bear with me… I’m going somewhere…
In my upcoming folk opera album Hiraeth, there is a song about the banshee, or the bean sidhe, or the caoineag. It addresses exile, and banishment, and suggests that to oust something we don’t like out of our idea of the universe, is really to force it to mutate in the shadows of the nearby forest, never too far off from ourselves. In this context of the exiled keening woman, it also especially addresses repressed grief.
A line that gets repeated in the song is:
for every tear we don’t release
raises the level of the sea
Now this might sound strange, (what isn’t strange?), but the little download I had is that if the Pisces symbol is the fish, and could represent the age where conscious incarnation, and reconciling love stepped onto the stage, then what if this age we are entering is about giving that fish a place to swim? And what that looks like could be this kenosis… this outpouring…
Perhaps the fish must finally swim in our holy tears.
We’re all familiar with G.K. Chesterton’s famous line, “The Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found difficult; and left untried.”
Maybe this is what he meant.
At a time when we are literally parched for meaning, culture, beauty, for creative thrust, and for water, it might be our actual tears, beyond our own sad stories, borne by paint brushes - or hands… by instruments - or throats, by sensual openness, by lilting hips, and by our breath… astonished by love, that shape-shifts climate change, and hydrates the deserts we’ve made.