Walking the land of north Wales I’m reminded of how normal it feels to be surrounded by castles, when of course this isn’t the case. Many of the castles across this region were built by King Edward I of England in the thirteenth century as a way to subdue the indigenous Welsh peasants, to squash any further uprisings as, led by rebels such as Owain Glyndŵr, the Welsh battled for their freedom from English rule. Still the echoes of Edward’s work reverberates across the centuries as Welsh culture is dismantled by various following monarchs & bureaucrats who create draconian rules such as those in nineteenth century schools that forbid the Welsh language to be spoken. Even the word Wales isn’t the name of this country, it’s Cymru. The language isn’t Welsh, it’s Cymraeg. Most people in London couldn’t tell you that because nobody’s taught the real history of these isles. I feel a deep love for Cymru & support now, more than ever, the movement for her freedom. How do I reconcile this with feeling a belonging only to the earth? Now that I believe all borders should be dismantled? Now that I can no longer say I love one mountain more than another? Perhaps I cannot. Perhaps this is one of those contradictions I will have to hold in the mind like two warring birds, both who I love dearly but who can never be reconciled. I stand barefoot at Castell Dinas Brân & survey the land below, breathing deeply, in then out, an unexpected fire rises through feet. The soles are warm, tingling & shimmering orange in the mind. Eyes closed, I explode into a series of flaming red kites scorching the sky. What does this mean? For me, fire always symbolises a razing to the ground of old ways of being, of thinking. Fire cleanses fiercely, thoroughly, leaving only a fertile ash from which new ideas might begin to grow. Fire allows for a complete & organic regrowth unhindered by old structures of thought. How else can we dream new futures into being? The prophecy is all in the art of course. We will see what she will bring.