Ask the Priestess

I am staring into a dark place, and its unresisting pull scares me. I know it of old, and I wonder why I have to come back again. I left it behind, glad to do so, way way back. Yet now, when the days are getting longer, lighter, warmer, inside I shrink, shiver, cower. Why do we have to revisit the dark places? The most interesting thing, for me, is the fact that I am fully aware of the gap, the step I teeter on but mustn't take, the abyss I dip into one day, look at from the shore the next. I guess that's the part I have already learned, and for it I'm grateful. I am now trying to relearn how to raise my gaze, to reacquaint myself with the stars, with the creatures that wait for me up high. So I call out, awaiting for an echo of inspiration, a breath of help, a hand to hold on to while I steady my legs, while I walk away. Dark places are not bad: we all have them, because we all need them, so we all can learn from them. It doesn't matter how 'strong' you a...

We all live together on this planet, we huddle close is cities, we cram into popular pubs, and yet... Are we together, or are we alone? And I'm not talking about aliens. I have had for quite some time a feeling of contradiction: I live in one of the biggest cities in the world, I commute daily with a few other millions of people - a few thousands at the same time as me, I cross an incredible number of individuals wherever I turn, and yet...I find that people are starved for human contact, for human recognition, for human kindness. Seriously, the more people you find together, the less acknowledgement you'll observe. And I talk from lengthy observation. Take, for example, a rural community we visited at around New Year's. We stayed in a secluded cottage, in a remote farm at the bottom of a valley. There was no internet connection, no mobile phone signal and, being the darkest time of winter, the short days meant we'd be back 'home' in the afternoon, not to ge...