Ask the Priestess

There are many signs spring is on its way: longer days, warmer temperatures, blooming flowers and green leaves popping up on trees.  But nothing beats leaving work on an afternoon and seeing boats upon boats of relaxed Dutchies in sunglasses, shirtsleeves, and smiles along canals and rivers alike.  More often than not, there will be drinks involved:  Wine is for the more elegant boats, those whose wood is polished, whose metals are burnished. Usually, there will be expats who're either in the process of, or have already completed, immersing themselves in the social traditions. Wine is also for the gastrotours, organised to bolster company identity, to promote staff gatherings. Every sip is an attempt at closeness, at letting guards down. Beer, on the other hand, is for the scruffier vessels, owned by generations who've been in the city since before it became cool and desirable. They now hold between 5 and 6 people, often young men, raucous but not poisonous, not a jacket ...

Sisterhood. Sorority. The union of women. I grew up in a female environment: my mum, my grandma, my sisters. Even the cats were female. For the earliest period of my life, I attended a nun-run, female-only school. I even define as a witch, a traditionally female role. I may not have intended it, but I certainly learned the value of female inter-support. Many people talk about the strength that a sense of brotherhood grants its group; army life, for example, is highly dependent on the feelings fraternity brings to the battlefield. Similarly, one finds it creeping through as a sign of sturdy reliability on each other for organisations such as the Masons, gangs, or even college houses. On the other hand, female relationships are often observed with a certain level of mistrust, women considered more prone to backstabbing and 'catfighting' over minor issues. As such, their unions and clubs, their societies, receiving less praise, are kept in a greatly shaded area. I'm here...

I like silence, be it the kind that makes you hear ringing at night; the kind that spreads wide on a hill surrounded by space; or the kind one finds in libraries and similar locations. There is also the murmuring silence, where there is a group of people, sometimes even a large group, yet everyone speaks softly, shortly, secretly. This is the sort one finds at a centre of prayer such as churches or synagogues; the sort before a classical concert; the sort that populates the water, once we are totally submerged, or bathes in a crackling log fire on a cold winter night, cosy in fleecy socks. Yes, I like silence, with its comforting hush and pillow-like sense of emptiness, of potential. Living in a society plagued with noise, silence has always been a precious commodity. Particularly when one attempts to share its joy with other people. Most people, I'm sure you'll agree, claim to want 'peace and quiet'. Except, dictionaries to the contrary, their quiet does not mean...