There is a separate mailing list. Small and localised in magick for invitations to be sent.

The word Gwenen came to me in meditation on the moors — between the wind and the call of the yellowhammer. I heard it before I understood it. I slipped it between the pages of my journal and carried it there until its meaning found me. Gwenen. The Cornish word for a group of honey bees.

Telling the Bees is one of the oldest and most tender customs in British and European folk tradition. The bees of a household were considered far more than insects; they were held as family, as witnesses, as messengers moving between the human world and something older and less nameable. When someone died, was born, or married, the keeper of the hive would go to the bees and tell them. Quietly. Formally. As you would tell anyone who mattered. If the bees were not told, it was said they would leave — or worse, fall silent. They were understood to be intimately woven into the life of the land and the people who tended it. Oracles. Guardians. Carriers of souls between worlds. In Celtic tradition, the bee was a messenger from the Otherworld — a creature that moved between the seen and the unseen with ease, gathering what was needed and bringing it back transformed.

We do talk to the bees, but we also talk to each other and to the land herself. Sometimes we choose to walk in silence, only listening to what the ground beneath us is carrying. Other times, we follow a song line or a thread of story through the landscape. Circles are often held with a preplanned intention, weaving a ceremony into the natural contours of the place. In smaller gatherings, we each contribute to the ritual — tales, song, and the kind of listening that only happens outside.

Gwenen gatherings move through listening, shared devotion, and seasonal ceremony. We follow each group's wheel of the year. We let the land set the tone. We come not to be filled with wisdom or to take from the land. We venture out to remember what we already carry within

Together, in the open air, rooted in the living world of Kernow, held by the Cornish granite and those wild moors. When we meet on the land, we are not just choosing a 'nice' location. We are choosing a different quality of listening. The earth beneath our feet is not a backdrop; it is a participant. The wind, the light, the season, the particular patch of ground we stand on — all of it is present, all of it is teaching, all of it holds the ceremony as much as we do.

THE ANNUAL GATHERING MAY 1ST-2ND

A quiet gathering at Beltane. For those within a short distance.

Once a year we come back to this — women on the land, another turn of the wheel marked between us. The pattern rarely changes, and that's the point. We gather as friends. We hold ceremony. We close the day around the fire. Morning brings breakfast, and whatever adventure the land offers next.

Invitation only. Few words needed — you'll know if this is yours.

Come as you are.