A reading to start the week

I have decided to start each week with a single card reading, posting it here for you. This week's card is “The Messenger” and comes from “The Heart of Faerie Oracle” by Brian and Wendy Froud.


The message I am getting is “People do not value that which they get for free”. Ask yourself, is there something you are currently offering for free that you really ought to be charging for? Sometimes, our talent comes easily and thus we do not value it in the way we should. I was that way with my writing, offering to help people write this and that at no charge because I didn't feel right accepting payment. But I recently grew to value my talent and realized that there should be an equal energy exchange. Sometimes that involves money, other times it is another form of currency.

I did a “Wheel of the Year” reading in exchange for a beautiful handmade quilt. Both parties felt the exchange was equal and fair.

I did a bit of writing for a friend's business in exchange for a scone and a cup of tea while in Ireland.

With regard to the exchange of money for my services, I have yet to find anyone who takes issue with my fees and many who say I don't charge enough. So I am taking a look at that and making adjustments accordingly, including adding two packages to my freelance business that I will be launching soon.

This also applies to your career. The first step in asking for a raise or searching for a new job is to decide your salary. It's time to stop settling for “enough to get by” and start asking for a number that fairly represents what you bring to the table.

I offer private readings starting at $40. Options vary, from a three card “Past/Present/Future” reading to something more in-depth. You receive photos of the cards, as well as a detailed write-up. Please message me privately for details. Sidhe.Writes@gmail.com

Carrowcrory Cottage Part 1 - the Tree Labyrinth

"Welcome!  Welcome!", he said.  His arms open wide, he gestured toward the cottage.  "Go on up. I'll be right there."

The Pilgrims gathered outside, taking photos and chatting quietly.  Soon, they were taken though and out to the back garden, where the tree labyrinth was waiting.

The Woodland Bard shared stories, looking over his shoulder from time to time in order to show them where these tales took place.  In the distance stood a Hawthorn tree in the middle of a field.

"Even those who don't believe in Faeries wouldn't dare bring harm to a Hawthorn."

The time had come to make their way down the path and to the entrance of the labyrinth.  There, he told them to choose an apple.  They would dip it in the water and coat it with ash, carrying it with them.  When the path led them back to this point, they would wash the apple and continue on.  It was symbolic of transformation.  Leaving all that no longer serves behind and allowing yourself to emerge fresh and ready to move forward.

The labyrinth was beautiful and peaceful.  She went in, open to whatever might happen and emerged serene, with a sense of purpose.

The Faeries are calling.

Heapstown - Airmid's Cairn

The thistle calls out to me

more of a scream than a whisper

you'll never smell a sweeter blossom

you'll never feel a more painful sting

The bus took them down yet another country road, coming to a stop near a little house.  They disembarked and headed down the path toward the Cairn.  It was so unassuming, they all walked past it and had to be called back to the lesser-known path through the grass toward the cluster of trees.

Finally, the last of the wanderers joined the group at the base of the cairn.  She marvelled at how a sacred site could remain so well hidden from casual tourists and revealed only to those who sought it out.  Permission had been given by the farmer to hike through his field and to remain gathered there.  

They were told the story of Airmid, who was part of a family of healers and very knowledgeable in the ways of herbs.

It is said that, after her brother's death, Airmid collected 365 healing herbs, spreading them on her cloak.  In a fit of jealousy, her father pulled her cloak from the ground, scattering the precious herbs to the four corners of the earth.

Through Airmid, we can learn the power of herbal healing.  The Pilgrims were each charged with the task of seeking out an herb, connecting with it, and collecting it for a ritual.  Once done, they placed these herbs upon a cloak spread on the ground.  She reached into her backpack and took out one of the five stones she brought with her and placed it on the cloak as an offering.

They stood in a circle, connecting to the land and to the herbs they'd chosen.  Once complete, they came forward and together they picked the cloak up from the ground, scattering the herbs to the wind, offering them to Airmid.

"The energy of the Fae is strong in this place.", she thought to herself.  Taking the opportunity to explore her surroundings, she headed back to the path.  Once there, she turned away from the direction where they came and soon found herself staring at a tree.  It was wrapped in barbed wire and upon further examination, she realized the tree had simply grown through the fence.  You can't contain nature, nor hold it to your will.  

She heard someone calling.  "Time to go already?", she thought.  Turning, she made her way back down the path toward the bus, taking a bit of time to survey the scenery.  A tree, a flower, always something to catch her eye.  

Once back aboard the bus, the Pilgrims were shocked to learn that almost 4 hours had passed!  It didn't seem possible.  But then again, this is a magical place.

They're waiting.

While taking a walk through the woods one rather gloomy spring day, The Writer caught a glimpse of a young girl with short dark hair and dark eyes. There was something strange (yet not sinister) about her. She seemed familiar, somehow. The Writer continued on, searching through breaks in the trees until, much to her surprise, found herself face to face with her quarry. They regarded each other for a moment. The girl’s eyes narrowed and grew darker still.

We’re waiting.

The words were heard not with her ears but with her heart, for the girl’s lips remained still. The Writer wasn't especially frightened, not by the girl anyway. What scared her was the thought that the stories she loved so much may never be known to anyone else but her. 

So The Writer retreated from the mundane world to her cozy little home and immersed herself in the Faerie Realm. Sipping tea and losing complete track of the time ( as will happen when one visits the Fae ), she continues to document the stories they are willing to share. 


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