I'm a copywriter, designer, author, pilgrim. But in the end of the day, what's in a name? Keep reading, or drop me a line at hello@fabiobarbosa.net.

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For now you must rest.

For now you must bend your will and descend to the dark chamber where all senses are suspended and only that slow and incommoding longing for movement remains. Because now is the moment to rest your body to free your mind, and as in the heavens, your movements are getting more and more stationary. Minimal. Primary. Fetal.

Do as you were instructed. Embrace Winter. Become Winter.

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“How do I start?”

I would say that paying attention, indeed, cultivating your attention, is key. If you don’t already, start meditating. Do the basic mindfulness exercise of being aware of your breathing, of your forehead, between your eyes, or wherever comes easiest for you.

With time, you might want to add some questions to your practise as you grow more and more acquainted with calm and awareness. Calm and awareness usually beget one another. For there is a Presence within Silence, and being aware is how you will come to find it.

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I often ask myself what is it that makes Druidry what it is. Or rather, what makes Neo-Druidry such a different path from others, especially considering the many influences it shares with other currents of spirituality. Setting aside for a moment the seminal divide between Revival Druidry and Reconstructionist and/or Polytheist Druidry, which I personally think are often complementary as seen in some individuals’ practice, I prefer to ask what is the finality of being and calling oneself a Druid. What good it is to all beings that you practice this path in particular. And more specifically, how can one manifest in the world certain typical roles of a Druid in our current world, in our jobs, in our daily, overtly connected, ever interrupted lives, much unlike the priestly classes of old.

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There is no way around it… But through. As the days become shorter to give way to wintery darkness, I feel, rather, I know some deep change is about to happen. So did my ancestors, as they harvested the last of the crops and faced the big Unknown of the cold season. Whatever the three harvests had collected would determine their fate: either plenty and merriment by the fire of the hearth, or great losses, hunger and death.

Samhain is a time of liminality indeed. A time to reap, but also to start sowing the next crop, to slaughter most of the cattle for meat, except for a few selected breeders. A time to trust in the deep, ever fertile silence of the Earth.

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“Are you a Druid?”

I was taken aback by the question, an unlikely side dish to my breakfast at the guest house that morning. It was my first time in Britain, a trip I had been dreaming of since I was a child. I was staying at this little town somewhere in Wiltshire, and the Autumn Equinox was nigh. The sunrise at Stonehenge was, of course, the main attraction, and my host seemed curious.

“Well, isn’t that what Druids do, go to Stonehenge to celebrate the seasons?”

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