Days 16-18 Powerful Ritual, Dating Myself and Far Right Fears.

Hello Lovelies,

This entry covers three days—mostly because Day 16 ended in an afternoon drinking session. These days, I’m such a lightweight that three and a half pints (not enough to make me drunk—I don’t do drunk anymore) was more than enough to keep me from doing anything else. No regrets though—it was a gorgeous afternoon with great company.

Day 17 started early, with just a touch of anxiety. That night, Gwen and I were holding our very first ritual here at the house. We’d invited friends and some women from our workshops, so I wanted everything to be just right. To settle my nerves, I hitchhiked down to Scala, spent time on the beach, had a swim, and treated myself to lunch.

One of the best things I’ll take home with me from this trip is a renewed love of my own company. I enjoy taking myself on dates, having no need to fill the silence, and letting my thoughts—be they good, bad, or downright ridiculous—have space. Turns out, I’m really good company.

Later, I met Gwen for some last-minute supplies, then we headed back to the village to prepare. We cleaned the yard, hung fairy lights, and decorated with bunches of rosemary and lavender kindly given by Anja. She joined us later—absolute legend that she is—bringing a beautiful buffet and even fashioning an incense wafter from her chickens’ feathers.

We built an altar from treasures found on the beach, along the road, and around the house, then washed away the everyday world with showers, shifted into Witch mode, and centered ourselves for what was to come. Gwen went to meet our guests in the village, while I waited at the door with a smudge stick, ready to cleanse away lingering mundane energy.

The ritual itself was powerful, magical, and deeply moving. Our guests stepped into it wholeheartedly, and the blindfolded shadow meditation in the middle stirred tears and bravery alike—especially as many had never taken part in ritual before.

Anja, not one for group activities, served as helper and bouncer. I couldn’t help but laugh at the look on her face when I spontaneously announced that anyone overwhelmed should go to her. I could almost hear her thinking, “But I am German, I don’t do emotional!” Yet last year, in my raw grief, it was her calm, steady presence that made me feel safe. So there was method in my madness.

It was, without doubt, the best evening I’ve had here. Even the wind, forecast at 31kph, dropped and stilled for the entire ritual. Gwen and I had never done ritual together before, but it felt effortless, like we’d been practicing side by side for years. Everything flowed. We worked with Hecate, whose presence was undeniable, and cacao opened our hearts as the magick took my breath away.

With my Witch Sister Gwen

Afterward we shared wine, conversation, and fellowship long into the night. Goddess is good.

The next morning I woke a little tired but glowing. After breakfast I hitchhiked into Scala for our third workshop. Another wonderful session—this one on shadow work and inner child healing. Our group wrote letters to their younger selves and crafted healing poppets, and it was deeply moving. I felt strongly compelled to bring some of what we do at home here to Scala Eressos. Last year I attended workshops myself and noticed how much trauma and healing so many women carry with them here. At The Witches Hat, La and I believe those who come to our door are guided there. So I came here with the same trust: that the right women would find us. And they have. I’m proud of what we’ve created and how well it travels.

Afterwards, I headed to the beach, soaking up the sun with my head tucked under the boardwalk—until someone spilled a drink above me and I ended up wearing it (Bacardi and Coke, I think). I cleaned myself up, only to have mop water and bleach rain down next. That called for a swim to wash it all off.

The day improved though. I wandered to a group painting event (surprisingly impressive results) and attempted to see an exhibition of 70s–80s Butch photography by Shelby, a fascinating American woman from one of our workshops. I got the venue right but the day wrong—typical me. That’s Friday. So instead, I took myself to dinner and watched the sunset. The fasoulakia was the best I’ve had since the 1980s, when I first lived in Greece. I ended the day with a deep sense of contentment.

I’m surrounded here by incredible queer women, yet I feel no pull toward romance or dating. I’ve promised myself never again to love someone more than I love myself or to let their needs take precedence over mine. Right now, I’m happy being solo, doing the work. Watching the dramas unfold among regular visitors is enough to remind me why.

I’m now two-thirds into this trip. I miss my family, my shop, my boat—but I’m happy here. Still, it’s hard not to see the rising tide of hate and far-right rhetoric back home. The recent march in London filled me with sadness and shame. I read about the killing of a man whose views I opposed completely, but violence against him is not justified. To watch people cheer while a billionaire immigrant from South Africa incited violence—gathered by a man with a history of stalking, fraud, and violence—was sickening. Is this really who people look up to?

I see crowds shouting about Christian values—many of whom probably only set foot in a church for weddings and funerals. Do they realise Christianity came to Britain on boats, born from the teachings of a brown-skinned Middle Eastern prophet who preached love, compassion, and hospitality for strangers? His golden rule was to treat others as you wish to be treated. If only they lived by that, they wouldn’t be vandalising roundabouts or screaming outside hotels.

The truth is, the only minority we should fear is the billionaires and the 1%—those who fund politicians, profit from wars, and use divide-and-conquer tactics to set us against each other. Ordinary people suffer while the rich laugh all the way to the bank.

Open your eyes. Research. Question. Fear feeds the machine, but love rebuilds communities. Hatred drains us, but solidarity strengthens us.

I won’t lie—I’m scared of what I’m coming home to. History tells me that when they come for immigrants, they soon come for the gays. I don’t want to live in fear, but I know what’s coming. Still, I will not hide. I will return home ready to fight—for love, compassion, and truth. And I trust that when they come for me as a queer woman, someone will fight for me too.

Rant over. Time to head to the beach.

Thank you for reading.

Much love and bright blessings,

Bex xx