I have much yet to write, though I had hoped to place some of it between the covers of my book by Michaelmas. Part autobiography, part spiritual guidance, with the various threads of a life woven through it, the book must wait a little longer; certain passages still require something of me that I cannot hurry.
I keep a reasonably firm appointment with my work, but I have learnt to allow Father Time a chair at the table. He has a habit of arriving whether one invites him or not.
As of late, I have felt troubled, and I spoke a little of this on my YouTube channel. The telling eased some of the pressure, though the circumstances I last wrote about continue, and those earlier words still hold. What I have learnt, however, is to let a difficult feeling pass through without furnishing an entire room for it.
So I read, quite fervently at times, and return to my writing and painting; these familiar occupations help me find my footing. Our big blue marble carries a great deal of bleakness, and a tender heart can scarcely look about without finding something to grieve. Yet, in the quiet of meditation, I keep returning to the same small mercy; after a proper, deep cry, I find that I can rise and attend to life again. I think of Lady Mary on Downton Abbey assuring Carson that she never remains down for long, and recognise something of that resolve.
I owe much of my own steadiness to Spirit, and to the daily practise that grew into The Alchemy of Mermaidology, the subliminals I created under that guidance. In my experience, this work has helped me gather myself, stitch by stitch, when life has pulled at the seams.
Before I began tending so deliberately to the beliefs I carried, I spent far too much of my life answering old hurts. Many childhood lessons followed me into grown rooms, and I scarcely settled one disturbance before another demanded my attention. That keeping watch over every feeling left little strength for the life I wished to make.
I suspect some women recognise this exhaustion, even when they have very little to say about it.
Within our little Stillwater, there may be ladies who feel deeply troubled by what they see in the world, yet hesitate over how to speak.
I understand the hesitation. Once one steps forward, others may expect an argument, an allegiance, or an explanation for every word; a woman can find herself defending a position when she had only meant to open a conversation.
I should like our conversations to leave room for thought, and for the gentleness that allows a person to remain at the table. I intend to keep using my platforms to encourage honest reflection, spiritual growth, and the integrity I understand through Christ consciousness.
These things ask something of our conduct; they reach into how we speak to a woman whose beliefs differ from our own, how we receive her confidence, and whether she leaves our company feeling that she must conceal herself to belong.
That matters very much to me.
It lies at the heart of The Carter Settlement, which I founded with the hope of giving this work a place in the world; somewhere for workshops, small gatherings, useful learning, and the pleasure of women encouraging one another. We have yet to secure a permanent home on land, though I continue to hold the vision of a door we may one day open together.
I imagine a lady arriving with her sewing, her questions, or simply a tired heart, and finding that someone has put the kettle on.
A woman of religious faith will be welcome there, as will a woman still finding her way. No lady should have to borrow another’s convictions to earn her place amoung us.
After many years within two organised religions, I came to understand that I could no longer remain within certain expectations and keep faith with my own conscience. That belongs to my journey; I have no wish to prescribe another woman’s. I do, however, intend to take care of the spirit in which we gather.
I have known circles of women where an unspoken examination seemed to begin almost before one sat down. I have also recognised, in myself, the anxious wish to arrange everything and everyone until life felt sufficiently safe. Fear can make control seem useful for a time; eventually, one discovers how much effort it takes to keep a hand upon every door.
I speak of this with some tenderness because I have spent more than a decade questioning what I once accepted, and loosening habits I once mistook for protection.
This is part of why I share my subliminals, and why the work remains so personal to me. I wish to help a lady hear her own thoughts again, consider what serves her, and recover the parts of herself she put away while managing all that life required.
I have little appetite for fastening a label to a woman and deciding that the matter of her character is settled. We rarely know the whole history of the person before us. I am quite prepared to stand by that conviction, even if I find myself keeping a solitary patch of hillside for a while.
As the book has waited, small portions of these thoughts have found their way onto Instagram and YouTube; others I have shared only with my beloved gardener. The fuller telling belongs in the book, and some pages must remain private whilst I find their proper words.
Meanwhile, I am grateful for this little blog. I keep it quiet, unhurried, and free of advertisements, with no subscription required to open the gate. I should like it to remain here for years to come, carrying something of those earlier golden years of blogging, when one visited a familiar page and lingered over the words because one cared for the person writing them.
Women need places where they may arrive without having to make an occasion of themselves. That is how I think of our Hedgerow Post.
Helen Allingham, my favourite artist, painted Witley Post Office, and I chose it for the lovely correspondence it holds with the little post office in the hedge in Little Women.
I first knew that pleasure through my blog, and I recognise it amoung the dear souls who gather on my YouTube channel. A few thoughtful words can make the distance between two lives feel remarkably small.
Come to think of it, much of what I create begins with that same hope.
Our dear Letterbox-in-the-Hedge remains rather quiet, but I have a good feeling about the company it may gather. You are also very welcome to leave a little something here if the sentiment strikes you.
Brooksville, Florida 34601
Raquel@RaquelCarter.com
I tend the blog comments myself, making room for kind conversation and quietly attending to unpleasantness when necessary. It may seem a modest task, but a thoughtful reply gives another woman somewhere to begin; in time, we come to recognise one another.
I intend to keep that gate open, free of charge.
My hope is that these exchanges will lend a familiar warmth to the day we finally meet at The Carter Settlement, having already shared something of our lives across the hedgerow.
If you feel inclined, perhaps you might include our future home in your prayers, or hold it in your own quiet imaginings; a place made possible through a generous benefactor, a gift of land, or several helpful hearts bringing their means together.
Until then, I shall keep writing, tending this little corner, and leaving the letterbox within reach.
Wishing you a lovely autumn, my dear hearts.
Most affably yours til my next enchanting swim,
Lady Raquel
