Merryn Bowman

this gives tipping the velvet and I'm here for it.

As hard as it was emotionally for me to process a beautiful bird into meat for the pot, I feel so deeply grateful. Something sits awry every time I buy meat from a supermarket. I want to fully feel the sacrifice, the gratitude, the death that feeds my life. And so this is another step along the path

My suburban younger self would be impressed. Or horrified. I'm not sure. But there was something profound about the whole experience. Blessings offered. An meaningful alternative to Pukeko becoming flattened roadkill. Shared learning. Tangibly understanding where my meat was coming from. Honouring.

Well, today I picked up a freshly killed Pukeko off the road, and the children I work with guided me in how to process the body for meat, and how to know if it's safe to eat. We marinaded it, and cooked it with veggies to share for lunch. Everyone grinning from ear to ear, sharing a bountiful gift.

He seems to be a very smart and intuitive fellow. It feels good to be forewarned & have an idea of what's to come. And that fostering community is a helpful way forward. No simple task to dismantle the old paradigm within though!

This is a powerful watch, thank you for sharing!

Moments from our Lughnassadh celebration in the Far North of Aotearoa. This is our second year of celebrating the seasons as a community /|\ #pagansky

We learn ceilidh dances, laughing and swirling as the last of the sun departs. The children are like lost spinning tops, free-wheeling through the procession, laughing and full of wonder.

We collapse and depart in waves. Hearts full of love and abundance as we drift away to our homes.

That same young woman is leaving home, towards life in the city. We stand in a circle as she steps up to each of us to receive guidance & blessings. Her best friend hugs her as they both shake with love and grief. Her mother cries. Her mentor is so proud of her bravery as she claims her own path.

A 16 year old youth steps up to run our Eistedfodd. She’s thrown a curveball when a young couple asks to be handfast for a year & a day. She scrambles through her notes, she’s studied this, she knows how! But she’s nervous.
She speaks the words from her heart, with grace and power beyond her years.

A no-money market of shared skills & abundance was held amongst general chaos. Homemade chocolates wrapped in banana leaf swapped with beautiful pastel art. Tarot readings and hula hoop lessons. Capsicum seedlings and a grinning 3 year old asking everyone to read out the haiku he had help to write.

Trickster youths ran rampart, teasing out laughter when once there had been scowls, fond exasperation finding root in harried frustration. They don’t even notice the changes they wreak, running barefoot from chaos to chaos.

A young mother became the Loaf Priestess, gathering seeds from families who had brought them as offerings from their land. She made dough, adding all the seeds, and we consecrated our newly built clay pizza oven by baking Lughnassadh’s first loaf within it. We ate it in circle, with gratitude.

After completing our opening ritual, we heard a crack. A kereru fell to the ground, its neck broken. Everyone, from babies to youths to adults gathered around. We said a blessing, small hands stroked feathers, and we spent the next hour listening to each other, exploring what it meant, what to do.

Moments from our Lughnassadh celebration:

A young father volunteers to cut the first corn. He takes it to the top of the highest tree. Young and old gather beneath to watch his ascent. There's a hush as we strain to hear him, far above, shouting praise to the land as he scatters seeds far and wide.

oh this is exquisite.

Today in Te Hiku, our wee community is celebrating Lughnasadh, first fruits of the harvest. We plan to bake bread using the first grains, and to have a 'no money' market, where we trade our abundance, from food & crafts, to sharing our skills with each other.

May yours be as fruitful /|\ #witchsky

Don't listen to anyone else's life advice just because they're older.

But when you meet older people you admire, listen to their stories. Stories are where their lived experiences and your yearning curiosity meet and spark something in you - something only you can recognise.

I read that the Gods turn those who are devoted to the muses into cicadas, so they can sing endlessly, with no need for food & drink. Can you imagine?

Eking out every moment of your short life in praise of art, until even your body succumbs - a final offering to artful life. /|\ #witchsky

Welcome! <3

Oh that sounds so wonderful, it sounds like you have such a great team & a place that feels nourishing and uplifting to visit. <3

They can be such a wonderful way to connect with nature, right? Especially when we live in cities or suburbs. What the one you volunteer at like?

I had it 20 years ago when I was a teen and have since passed it on to a young witchy friend. It's beautiful. Full of simple spells to do in nature, which prompted me to get outside and try things, and inspired me to create my own simple nature spells too.

An eel drawn in a spiral, surrounded by river plants, swirling eddies and life. Art made by me

Here in Aotearoa, the tuna (Māori word for eel) are the guardians of the waterways.
Ancient and mysterious. Lurking. They're nearly blind, but their senses are so strong. They're in decline, like the health of their river ecosystem homes.
When I meet one I feel my heart race. I feel blessed. /|\

I AM THINKING ABOUT IT

I see too many community gardens that don't understand the power for peace, healing, and thriving community that they could provide. A thread of my thoughts on what I've seen, and what they could become. /|\

Gratitude means a hell of a lot more in the long run than a couple of hours of someone's time when they're burned out and running on empty. You don't keep volunteers for long that way.

It'll take time to transition, but you'll see things shift. Trust. Nature knows what she's doing.

Nature lies fallow every winter. Sometimes, when a garden has been worked too hard for too long, it needs longer than a season. Give people the same faith. Give them time to heal, welcome them, feed them, let the garden soothe their souls. That's what community gardens are meant to be for.

When you're in survival mode, a bag of garden greens, freely given every week without shame or judgement can mean a lot. A green space to exist for a while, have a cup of tea made with fresh picked herbs, while your kids play.. that's balm for a weary soul.

But it doesn't surprise me when these places have become places of privilege and gatekeeping. Another oppressive tool upholding inequality, judgement, ableism, and class division.