journal — mabon
On witches, mull, and bathroom notes
Hello.
To mull has many meanings.
Towering headlands disturbing the coastline. Humus, or the organic component of soil, in non-acidic ground. Thin cloth joining the spine of a book to its cover. Mingling with spices. All are transformative — iconoclastic in some cases, I suppose. To mull is to break the norm.
As I consider how dreadfully busy and achingly idle I’ve been over the past few months, sadly without anything warm & spiced to hand, I consider what needs to crack, shatter, rearrange itself soon — before fracturing myself. The finite pixels available in my digital ink well each day spill across work that pays the bills. Little goes elsewhere. Not the stories & debates & sparks in my head, nor the order & honesty & expression I find in the process of journalling. To steal, cut, and repurpose a line from
, jaded I think by similar feelings: once, I dreamed.I was going to be a writer.
Instead, I became overwhelmed by trying to write within the vice of an ordinary life, the handle tightening with each bill & loved one & death & chore & trip to the vet. When I do find the time, old voices materialise in sour whips of smoke.
can I share a reply to this letter my grandfather wrote to me about the immensity of grief’s absence, can I talk about the stubborn toxicity of other people in my family without being bothered by the inevitable cry of ‘eggshells!’ to put me down, what genre or style or length should I focus on, what right do I have to start when I’ve had no writing training.
This letter — over one year old, with a handful of gaps between — always existed with simple purpose: to share a bunch of things I wanted to remember, followed by what I wanted to work on myself. The first I can do; the latter I don’t.
Right now is the perfect time for balance.
Whether it’s autumn equinox or mabon for you, daylight & darkness now reach us in equal measures. Before reflecting on what has been lost this past year at the end of October, now is time to harvest everything I’ve put into the past year. I have worked hard, but for others more than myself.
To proceed with balance, then, means focusing on how I might restructure my life a little — with the right people beside me.
So, let’s start in the usual spot, before looking at the coming season.
Here are ten things since my last letter I’d like to remember.
one
two
Here’s a discussion in quotes.
The mind abhors a vacancy & is wont to people it with phantoms.
Cloud Atlas — David Mitchell
I keep wanting to do something instead of consume the experience of it. But seeking new ways of being, I find only new ways of spending.
Saving Time — Jenny Odell
And it started to dawn on me, I suppose, that a lot of things I’d always assumed I’d plenty of time to get round to doing, I might now have to act on pretty soon or else let them go forever.
Never Let Me Go — Kazuo Ishiguro (2005)
Which do you think is more patient: an idea or a hope?
Lanny — Max Porter
three
four
Fascinating how-to on using Substack as what appears to me as ‘scrapbook marketing’ — showing the process and the context around what you’re writing about, in a way I believe other social media tries and fails to do. Luke discusses his surrounding material, his research, then publishes a book with mounds of additional material. I’ve not nailed down an idea to pursue, but I love this use of the tool.
five
After experiencing drastic changes in my environment, I looked for other experiences that might profoundly affect my perception of self. I came up with another experiment where every day I took a different drug or intoxicant and drew myself under the influence. Within weeks, I became lethargic and suffered mild brain damage that wasn't irreparable. I am still conducting this experiment but over greater lapses of time and presently only take drugs that are prescribed to me by a doctor.
Recommended by
. As well as my three favourite examples in the Under the Influence series by Bryan Lewis Saunders (valium, bath salts, klonopin) — which reminded me of the spider study by NASA (!) below — there were three things I loved about this series.Commitment to a series in general.
Influence of things on your mind.
Self portraits as insight into self-reflection.
six
Wonderful podcast series on the contemporary existence of witches, with a strong, encouraging eye on the history of persecution — be it disgruntled doctors competing with midwives and herbal healers, or simple superstition. I don’t understand a whole bunch about Wicca or pagan beliefs yet, but as I become more fascinated with this rooted way of living, it just feels beautiful to hear someone give a line like this: it gave her permission to grieve for someone who she had never met in person, but really, truly missed.
seven
Notes from an Edinburgh loo, July 2023.
eight
Father Mulcahy from M*A*S*H:
When the doctors cut into a patient, and it's cold, the way it is now, today, steam will rise from the body. And the doctor will warm his hands over the open wound. How could anybody look upon that and not feel changed?
nine
I liked it — snow. I always did. I was born in a sharp, hard-earth December, as the church folk sang about three wise men and a star through their chattering teeth. Cora said that the weather you were born in is yours, all your life — your own weather. ‘You will shine brightest in snowstorms’ she told me. Oh yes … I believed her — for she was born in thunder, and was always stormy-eyed.
Witch Light — Susan Fletcher (2010)
My date & time of birth in Exeter, using this website, tells me I was born during cold, cloudy showers, shortly before a waxing crescent moon.
ten
Work trip to Portugal (one more day).
& in the coming season, this is what I’d like to focus on.
get a regular journal process going.
find a competition to write for, and a purpose to write for.
find someone to talk to and be held accountable by for the writing.
I’m Daniel Kelly, a writer living in Somerset.
Welcome back! Looking forward reading more, and hearing about which writing competition you're going for.