Conversations by the Fire

Eight years is a long time. As Chiron returns to Aries for its final seven months, I'm finding myself looking back at who I was then, what has changed, what I've carried - and wondering what might be ready to live through me now.

I don't really like humans... And yet, I'm becoming more interested in what happens when we gather differently. When there is room for difference, space for repair, and the possibility of belonging without having to disappear.

Yesterday, at Avebury, before the crowds arrived, I sat beside one of the stones. For a while there was only stillness. Stone. Sky. Grass. Breath. As I sat, I found myself noticing how the ancient circle has been cut through by roads, houses, and the passage of time. What was once a single flowing whole now seeming fragmented, interrupted. And later, as more people arrived, another sadness arose. How easily what is sacred becomes something to consume. Something to visit. Some

A reflection on the stories, imprints and old protections we slowly learn to meet, soften and weave back into wholeness I’ve been sitting today with an ache for us as humans. For our tender, complex, patterned, trying-so-hard human selves. For the way we live with the stories of our past - not always as clear memories, not always as something we can name or point to, but as something that keeps showing up, time and again, colouring the present. The things we thought we had fi

I stand here, in the centre of the timeline. Present. I turn towards the ones who came before me. I see you. I see the sorrow that was too much to hold. The pain that had nowhere soft to land. The places where life was cold, where blood was spilt, boundaries crossed, and support was scarce. And I feel how, out of deep loyalty, out of a young and innocent love, my body tried to carry what could not be completed before me. Today, something completes. I am ready. The burden can

It has taken me some extra days to arrive here... to this moment of sitting down and connecting with you through this page. Over these past weeks I’ve been immersed in the world of the Womb Surround, and I notice my hands and heart are still quite full of that quiet, ancient atmosphere that lingers afterwards. There is always something difficult to put into words after being in those spaces together... something that asks not to be rushed back into ordinary pace too quickly

There is a particular kind of quiet that arrives just after a peak… after the moon has been full, after the month has already found its stride, when the initial rush of becoming starts to soften into something more saturated. I’ve been sitting with a certain weight lately. Not a heaviness that needs fixing… more a sense of the collective pressing in. The noise, the movement, the sheer muchness of everything. And alongside that, a very human realisation: I don’t quite have the

There is a lot of noise right now about "fixing" or "hacking" the nervous system... but from a somatic and PPN (Pre- and Peri-natal) perspective, your nervous system isn't a problem to be solved. It is the most sophisticated, biological intelligence on the planet. It is a living story. This story didn't begin with you... it is a long, ancestral epic passed down through your lineage that found a unique new expression in the fluid of your mother's womb. Every nervous system car

A Somatic Path Through Resistance and Softening Gratitude... Some days it feels effortless - a state of consciousness, a natural river I can slip into with ease. Like the other morning, when out of nowhere - or at least it felt like nowhere - I stood at my window suddenly aware of how grateful I was simply to be alive. For the breath moving in my lungs. For the colours of the day rising outside my window. For the sense that, somehow, I was in right relation with Life herself.

Nervous system regulation isn't about being calm all the time. It is about developing a relationship with our bodies, recognising what we need and finding our way back to presence, connection and choice.

This morning I woke with an ache in my chest, a widening in my heart, and a hush in my bones. What a strange paradox we carry… to ache...

Recently, I spent time in community. It wasn’t just being around people… it was feeling the net of support that community can create. There was space for me to breathe… to soften… to take a step back and rest. I didn’t have to be constantly “on”… responding to the needs of my family or tracking those around me. For once, I could attend to what I needed in the moment. And what I noticed was this… it wasn’t only because my partner was caring for me, or that my child was cared f

Have you ever caught yourself thinking, I just expected them to know… or I shouldn’t have to ask… or I should be doing better by now…? We all carry expectations. Some are simple and unconscious. Some are deeply entangled with emotion. The word expectation comes from the Latin expectare - to wait for, to hope for, to look out toward something. There’s a sweetness in that, isn’t there? A sense of possibility. Of being open to what’s coming. Like when we say someone is “expectin

Dear Friend, This time of year carries a particular kind of intensity — the long days, the full light, the pull toward doing and blooming. And yet, here we are, first quarter moon, in that space-between: not quite beginning, not yet full. A threshold. A place where integration is needed. Where the fire of life meets the quiet of home. This month I find myself at one of those thresholds too. Having just moved house, I’m feeling the tenderness and complexity of new beginnings

A Moment for Reflection and Alignment At the threshold of the longest light, I sat by the sea. The tide was soft, the sun warm but not demanding. All around me, life pulsed not with urgency, but with presence. And I found myself listening— not for answers, but for alignment. The summer solstice brings with it the longest stretch of light— a moment to pause at the peak, to breathe before the turning begins. It is a threshold of illumination. A place where fullness meets stilln

Dear Friend, As we stand in the turning of spring towards the fullness of summer, with the Solstice on the horizon, I’ve been reflecting on how this time invites us to stand in our wholeness. To open to the light within, even as we remain rooted in the deep nourishment of the Earth. This month, I’ve been sitting with the rose as a symbol of this dance between roots and bloom — how its beauty is not separate from the thorns that protect it, nor the roots that ground it. Ev

Full Moon in Scorpio – May 12, 2025 The moon didn’t let me sleep last night. She called me down and in — into the places I’ve neatly...

Dear Friend, I’ve just returned from lying on the green grass, sunlight on my skin, the sound of birdsong wrapping around me like a lullaby. My body softened into the embrace of the earth, and as I lay there, breathing in the stillness, I began reflecting on Beltane, which we mark today — this ancient celebration of love, blossoming, and the great fire of life. But as I lay there, it felt like a Beltane rich with deeper undercurrents — not just a celebration of the season

I’m living in one place, and dreaming another into being. The walls around me are familiar— marked by years of memory and rhythm. And yet, there’s a quiet pulse of something new gathering shape just beyond them. I’m in the in-between. The old isn’t quite over. The new isn’t quite ready. And I’m learning how to move here— to dance in the shifting space between. Some days feel like flow— a gentle unfolding, a sense of knowing my place in the steps. Other days, the rhythm breaks

Lying on the sand, the sea breathing before me, I watched the mist roll in — soft, rose-tinted tendrils curling toward me from the ocean’s edge. Above me, the sun poured its golden warmth through the folds of water and air, a gentle flame shimmering in motion. I lay there — within it all, in the heart of the dance — as rose met gold, as water met fire, as breath and light danced together in playful devotion. They didn’t blur, didn’t strive — they moved with one another, givin