nemetona-sanctuary

New blog!

Thu, 23 Feb 2012 13:26:35 +0100

I now have a new blog site up - please see http://www.octopusdance.wordpress.com.

Fire in the Head

Sat, 10 Dec 2011 18:38:06 +0100

Fire is like our mind. Like our mind, it is bright, full of energy, of thoughts, dancing like flames. The flames of our mind can bring forth inspiration and beauty, or they can destroy all in their path. We must tend to the fires of our mind, to know the spirit of fire, and so by doing know the spirit of our own self.

When our mind is free of harmful thoughts, towards ourselves or other beings, then the fire burns bright and clear. It is a steady flame, blue at its heart, warming and nurturing all that it needs to. However, when our mind is full of negative thoughts, the flames burn inefficiently, sparks flying from dark pockets of pooled negativity trapped within the wood that we feed into the fire of our minds. Our minds must be cleared of these thoughts, and to begin we must first notice these thoughts.

The fire of the mind must be fed correctly. Fire is hungry. Our minds are hungry. We always want more, desire filling our minds, burning hot. We must feed this correctly, and by doing so, feed our needs more so than our desires. Desire burns quickly and fades, our needs are a constant thing. We should feed our minds thoughts that are like the hardest of woods, which will burn long and true. Desires burn like soft wood – good for getting the fire going, but burning out long before the nurturing heat can set it that warms the heart and warms the soul.

Feed the mind too much, and the fire in the head burns out of control. We process so much information, it is no wonder our thoughts burn constantly in our minds. We must learn to stockpile our thoughts correctly, so that we feed the fire slowly. Noticing our thoughts in meditation, they soon settle, and the fire which at first rampages burns more constantly. Soon, all our extraneous thoughts become the flames, dancing, flickering, playing in our minds, giving light but not that much heat. When these flames settle, our thoughts burn like the coals beneath, shining with their own inner light.

We must learn not to disturb our minds with too much information. If you are constantly playing with a fire, it will never settle and burn correctly. Let the thoughts settle, and inspiration will burn brighter than ever. Sit, and simply be, every day, for as long as you can. Meditate before a fire, and you will soon understand the fire in the head.

The Green Man

Sun, 17 Apr 2011 13:53:29 +0100

It was Lady Raglan who first coined the term "Green Man" in her 1939 article "The Green Man in Church Architecture" in The Folklore Journal. He is often seen in relation to Jack in the Green, a figure which is gaining popularity in many seasonal celebrations, pagan or not. Other names for this figure are Puck, Robin Goodfellow, the Wild Man and the Green Knight. The Green Man has survived centuries of Christianity, and is currently enjoying a popular revival, in both paganism and folklore customs. But just who is the Green Man?

For many, the Green Man is an old British character from folklore or myth, decorating churches and other structures with pretty and fanciful artwork – a motif. It is a popular pub name, and also a popular alternative or pagan shop name. For me, the Green Man is much more than that. For me, the Green Man is deity.

A god of growing, life, decay and death, the Green Man for me is a god of the life force behind all vegetation. Where the Horned God is the spirit that lies within all animals of the wild, the Green Man is the energy of the plant world in its continual cycles. He is that which causes a seed to sprout, he is that which causes that sprout to reach for the sun. He is the intention behind all growth, and the result of it.

The Green Man is not a compassionate god (in my personal opinion, there are very few, if any). He lives to live, at whatever cost. In the spring, everything seems wonderful – renewed and happy for the warmer climes and returning light. The blossoms burst on the trees and the new leaves unfurl with the most exquisite yellow-green light within them. There is space to grow, to reach for that light – everything in seeming harmony.

Come summer, all of that has changed. Like the calm before the storm, the spring can lure us into a sense of sun-inspired complacency. There is a struggle and a fight that lies ahead of us, and the Green Man knows this. He is the inspiration behind that. The flowers, grasses, trees – indeed, all vegetation, soon begins a competition for space and light, hungering for all that they can get in order to fufill their potential, following their own songs of earth and sunlight. The Green Man chokes riverbeds with weeds, kills young trees as their older siblings block out the light. Nature does what is its nature.

That energy, from the first sprouting seed to the choking death of late summer – that, for me, is the Green Man. The urge and the surge to rise up, to be all that you can, to fulfil your potential with the songs of rain and wind. It’s very easy to get caught up in it – but then again, submission to any of the gods will only lead to ruin. Dancing with the Green Man can be a wonderful experience, yet is can also be devastatingly exhausting. He cares not. The trick lies in knowing when to stop, for we, of course, are not a god.

We can take our inspiration from the Green Man, following in the cycle of nature, of growth and decay. We can honour him for all that he is – a deity of plant life, with that unique soul song. And we can dance with him, for a little while, at the very least.

The Wild Gods

Sun, 17 Apr 2011 11:38:56 +0100

I love the word wilderness. It conjures up images of windswept moors and heathland, dark tangling forests and craggy mountaintops. That spirit of the untamed, the uncivilised, that spark that humanity cannot touch, much in the same way as deity is traditionally viewed. For many Druids, that wilderness is deity – it has the power to give or sustain life or the power to kill. It has not and, in many places, cannot be touched by human hands, existing without any human interference. I like to think that same dark spark exists within our own human souls as well, offering us the sanctity of the wilderness within.

The concept of the “untouched” wilderness is an interesting one. I rather wonder if it has anything to do with secular religious views that have crept into our culture predominantly for the last thousand years or so. The concept of the virgin forest, the virgin wilderness – I have to say, I really dislike the term. It is nice to think that there are places in the world where humans have never been – but still, it’s the terminology that is rather uncomfortable. I have been to places where humans have lived with the landscape, and who live there no more – the wilderness has returned. Where stone buildings once stood, nature has reclaimed it, slowly destroying it until nothing remains but the songs on the wind. Virginity cannot ever be reclaimed – and in this regard, I find the term does not work within the context of the natural world. As it works in cycles, what happened once can be undone.

As wilderness flows with the cycles, it shows that it cares little about anything else. It exists to exist – there is no other. It follows its own song, and will continue to do so. Humans may interfere with the existing wilderness, “taming” it if you will, but it will continue to carry on attempting to restore itself to its original state. It is that spirit, that sense of soul song reclaiming itself again and again that I find so fascinating. The weeds will continue to sprout in the garden, whether we are farming organically or not (I really hope that all reading this do!). The wind will continue to blow regardless of skyscrapers, bridges, mountaintops or 500 year old yew trees.

This could be seen a thoughtless – and, when examining it closer, it is. Nature does not think – it simply does. The rose blooms because that is what it does, the fox destroys the hen house because that it what it does. When we humans enter (albeit very briefly) a state of grace where thoughts are pushed aside and we simply do (giving birth, for example) we experience this whole other realm of existence. I believe that when we enter this state, we very much come close to our gods.

For, in my personal views, the gods don’t care. They exist to exist – nothing else matters. Prayers to them are for establishing a relationship, not to make them care more about our personal lives. And so the gods of the wildnerness are truly wild.

How we treat the wilderness both within and without should be made with respect to the gods of the wild places. If wilderness is viewed as deity, then our whole perception of it is changed. We may leave it alone – as deity can kill. We may work to protect it, fighting fiercely for it like one of our own. However, any way we look at it, we look at it with new respect. We honour its song.

My personal treatment of these wild places is to leave no trace of my human passing, should I venture into an area of wilderness. Taking a pedantic view, no area will ever be the same – our footprints tread on beetle under leaves, our passage destroying the spider’s web spanning from branch to branch. However, nothing is every the same – life is continually happening, being born, being created, living and dying all around us. My aim in life is to honour this cycle, most apparent in the wilderness of the landscapes around me, as well as the wilderness in my own soul. You don’t mess with the gods. You don’t sublimate to them either, but still you don’t mess with them. We may seek to understand, to establish communication, a relationship with them, but we should not interfere in their song in these places where it is so strong, so precious. For it is in these places where we see clearly the divinity within nature, and so seeing the nature of the divine.

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How Druidry relates to the Environment

Tue, 12 Apr 2011 16:55:00 +0100

Druidry, perhaps more than any other strand of Paganism in the wide weave of spiritual traditions, takes the environment into consideration on so many levels. Druidry – most commonly believed to be from the old Irish words dru and wid meaning “oak knower”, or even the Proto-European deru and weid “oak-seeker” acknowledges this communion with nature in the very roots (pardon the pun) of the word. Heathenry – one from the heaths, or Wicca (most commonly believed to be from the Saxon wicce, to bend or shape, as a willow branch can be bent or shaped into something quite beautiful) have similar nature-orientated origins, however, the communication between the natural environment and the Druid is even closer simply in the name.

How do Druids view their environment? Many, if not most Druids are animistic, believing in the essential spirit of everything, whether it be rock or tree, raindrop, beetle, horse or the sea. There is a sense of consciousness in everything. When I use the word consciousness, I don’t mean in the scientific sense of the last two centuries, where it was used to differentiate between humans and other animals and also “non-sentient” beings. Consciousness, to me, is a part of the greater whole web of life, where threads are woven together, separate but still connected. It is what makes something what it is – whether it is the rose, a cloud or the moon. It is its own inherent identity, or, more poetically, its own song that makes it what it is.

With that sense of consciousness in all things, it is much harder for the Druid to disregard any aspect of the environment. No longer are wildflowers plucked for their beauty, to die within days on our dining room table. No longer is it an option to squash the spider in the living room who seeking warmth from the coming winter. Our entire perception is changed once we view the environment both as having its own consciousness and as we do so conscientiously. We gain both a greater and broader view of the web of existence, at the same time as finding our own place within it. How wonderful is that?

That world view brings with it a responsibility. No longer are we allowed to remain ignorant in the ways of our own environment. If we are to view it as a whole, then we must truly see every part that we also play within it. If the whole of nature has a spirit, then issues arise such as the taking of a life for food. Many within Druidry are vegetarian, if not vegan, and yet there are still many others who eat the flesh of an animal. Some do so, claiming that ethically raised and slaughtered animals for food are perfectly acceptable to put on our plates. In my own vision of Druidry, the damage caused to the environment by the raising of animals for food does not allow that luxury of thinking. It takes much more energy and resources to raise animals for food than it does to plant in the same amount of land a sustainable, organic crop for food. In giving up animal meat and animal products for both food and other commodities, we are caring more for our environment and also, at the same time, sacrificing our ignorance of the weighty issues behind such matters to become fully aware. We must accept responsibility for our part.

The word environment has many meanings, however. Our immediate response to the word is the natural environment – nature. There are many other environments, however – little worlds created by human consciousness. We have our work environment, our home environment, our villages, communities and cities. There is the issue of human to human interaction as well as interaction with nature (though as humans are a part of nature, I realise that I am contradicting myself in some ways, but please bear with me). Our own sense of self, or self-awareness, creates a thorny path through which we must navigate carefully, in order not to injure ourselves or others. Unless one lives as a hermit, the Druid will have interaction with other human beings, some Druids, some not. As with the Druid relationship with nature, sensing the inherent consciousness within it, Druidry teaches us that same sense of consciousness in human interactions. I admit - it is a lot easier for some people to respect an old oak tree than most human beings, however to be fully aware of our relationship with others we must act with a certain sense of honour, that same sense of honour, in fact, that we give to nature. We may not like some human beings, much in the same way we may not like broccoli, but we still acknowledge and respect their place in the wider web.

So how do we relate to our environment? Within Druidry, there is a beautiful Welsh word, awen. Various meanings range from flowing water to divine inspiration. I prefer the inspirational route, however, this is not an “out of the blue” inspirational experience, but one that is crafted through time and dedication to one’s environment to develop a rapport with both nature and inspiration itself, until they both work hand in hand. To the Druid, inspiration lies all around us in the environment, whichever environment that may be.

The word – inspiration – to inspire, breathe in. Breathing in must, of course, be followed by breathing out – exhalation. Breathing is the most primitive and simplest way we relate to our environment, and the most effective way of remembering that we are a part of it. The air that we breathe is also the air our ancestors breathed 50, 100, 1000 years ago. It is also the air that the willow, alders and yew trees exhaled 50, 100 or 1000 years ago. The wasp breathes in the same air, the grasses and wildflowers exhaling into the deepening twilight. We can relate to our environment by simply remembering how to breathe, what we breathe and how it is all connected. From that, we literally gain inspiration, as well as being inspired by it. The inspired Druid then exhales that inspiration, whether it be a song to the darkening skies before a thunderstorm, giving thanks before partaking in a meal, writing a symphony, throwing paint at a wall or dancing in the light of the moon. This establishes a communication between the Druid and the environment – speaking to each other, even if it is without words.

We relate to our environment though inspiration, and we are all related, as the Native American proverb says. It isn’t simply communication with our environment, but a soul-deep sense of relativity – we are all related. By being related, this instills within us a sense of responsibility, of caring for the environment, whichever one it may be. If we see that we are related to the badgers living in the brown-land area soon to be re-developed, then we also see that we must take action to ensure that they are safe. If we see that we are related to the food that we eat, we will ensure that we eat organically and, if possible, grow our own food as much as we can to develop that relationship even further. If we see that we are related to our neighbour next door, we are more likely to establish an honourable connection to them and the rest of the community. It creates a sense of caring for the environment and all within it, and it is no easy task.

The challenge that faces the Druid is to see clearly these relationships, and to act honourably in all regards. If this challenge is accepted, then the worldview is broadened considerably, as is the environment. The web of life will shimmer with inspiration along every thread. May it do so for you, all my relations.

Autumn Song

Nemetona

Mon, 05 Jul 2010 15:19:41 +0100

Nemetona

Hail to my Lady of the twilight, of stillness and sanctuary, who calls and welcomes me into her cool embrace, offering shelter, comfort, stillness and the freedom to simply be. You of the sacred grove, of the temple, of a quiet room, of calm in chaos. I honour you with all that I am.

Little is known of Nemetona, a goddess whose veneration was once widespread around the area of Trier, Germany by the people known as the Nemetes. An altar to her was also found at Bath, England. She may have been known to the Gaulish people, as at her altar in Bath states, the maker of which had completed his vow (he or she being of the Treveri tribe). The word Nemeton is translated, for the most part, into “sacred groves”. There are many place names in France that contain this word, and even one in Spain. Three place names can be traced to this word in Britain as well, though they are now known as Willoughby, North Tawton and near Strathclyde.

To me, she is the goddess of sanctuary, of sacred spaces. She can be found in the quiet of a small shrine in the backyard, or in a wooded glade deep within the heart of the forest. She can equally be found in a back bedroom, away from the household noise, and indeed, in the office loos – when you need to get away from everything and everyone and know that you won’t be disturbed there!

She is a liminal creature, who is at her most powerful at dawn and at dusk. She holds the space, usually a circle, when in ritual or simply sitting out. She is that which lies between – she is both of this world and another. The blackbird if often her messenger, singing to her in the still softness of dusk. She is both peaceful and powerful, slight of built yet shining with a deep strength that can hold at bay that which you seek respite from. She has long, shining black hair that falls straight as shadow along her back, her skin a luminous white. She appears young and lithe, with black eyes that hold the wisdom of thousands of years.

I have created an altar to her in my back garden, which I also use to honour the land wights and household spirits. Every Monday I make an offering to them, for the peace that I know and love so dearly. I feel Her when I step through the front door and the quiet house is greeting me, when I enter my altar room, when I breathe the calm evening air. I do not know what I would do without her. Within her space I can create poetry, I can write, I can dance and sing with wild abandon. For all that she is, I honour her with all that I am.

Mid-Summer Madness

Fri, 02 Jul 2010 13:25:54 +0100

Mid-Summer Madness

Summer

With summer fully (and finally!) here, we are reminded of the sun’s strength and power. The crops are ripening under golden rays, the wheat growing tall and the barley yellowing in the long summer days. What we have sown, what we have tended so dearly to in the early spring, and nurtured throughout a tumultuous season of returning frosts and cold north winds is finally coming towards a harvest. All very nearly ruined by late frosts, many crops – both those of the backyard self-sufficient gardener and that of larger farming industry is showing signs of fruition. Apples are greening on the trees, and flowers have come out in full force, along with the bees and butterflies, moths and beetles.

As we observe what nature shows us in the seasons, flora and fauna, so too do we see a reflection of that in our own lives. At Yule, we dreamt of what we would achieve in the coming year, blessing and dreaming over the seeds at Imbolc, sowing them at the Equinox and, for many of us, planting the seedlings at Beltane (and running them back inside every night with frost warnings!) to grow to fullness in the coming summer months. With the sun at its full height, the days so long and the nights so short, we ride the tide of this high energy, where nothing can stop us as we carry our dreams and aspirations to fruition. But now the tide has turned, and if we have spent ourselves at the time of high summer, we will have nothing left to give when the real work, the harvest-time, begins. So we must learn to pace ourselves, to not over-commit, to nurture ourselves as much as we are nurturing everyone and everything around us in this season of sun-inspired madness.

Here in East Anglia, ever since the North Wind has stopped, the sun has been out in full force, scorching the grass and wilting my tomato plants. The waterbutt has run dry, and everything that I hope to harvest needs special attention, much as I do now. Having just finished a crazy three weeks of working for an international festival, I feel much like my tomato plants, wilting in the heat of the sun, and not as yet bearing fruit (or even flowers). And so I withdraw, into the shade, into my spirituality, soaking up the quiet times of evening’s enchantment, in the cool night air where my soul can expand without withering away in the noon-day sun. Like the deer in the forest, I retreat to cooler climes, seeking shelter and shade. I must prepare myself for the work ahead.

And so I urge you, to take a moment and to rest a while. Do not let all your dreams and work earlier in the year be in vain. Let nature inspire you to follow in its cycle. The real work is yet to come!

Connection

Fri, 02 Jul 2010 13:24:51 +0100

Thursday, 24 June 2010

Self &the Forest (a clumsy pun on Sex & the City)

Forests are special places. Every time I come across a certain birch wood, deep within Tunstall Forest, my heart just expands, my soul dissolving. I become a part of the forest, losing my sense of self and recognising that I am a part of things, and not separate from it.

I cannot find this deep sense of connectedness in other places so easily. I think that this is because we can be in a forest. We can be upon a windswept plain, a mountaintop. We can float upon the sea, or swim near the surface. But the forest – ah, the forest. We can be in the forest. It surrounds us, letting us go inside, losing that personal identity, gaining a new one which is part of the world that surrounds you. You become a part of the forest, and the forest becomes a part of you.

Stepping out into the sun dappled birchwood, my soul expanded, and I could feel the wind shimmering on the high leaves of the trees, hear the crow cawing and know that it too was a part of me (me being the forest). I was the earth warmed by the sun, the cool shade. I was the spider, the ant, the deer sleeping in the depths. It’s an incredible sensation.

Sitting upon a hilltop, gazing at the mountains around me, I have felt something similar. Yet, that sense of self still remained – I flew upon the wind, but was still in my self. The edges had not blurred around my own nemeton – they simply took on the colour of that which was around me. Deep within the heart of the forest, the edges melt away.

FEEL

Fri, 02 Jul 2010 13:23:44 +0100

Wednesday, 28 April 2010

Walking through Tunstall Forest today, I saw some deer trotting through the dry undergrowth as I came to a very special spot - a young birchwood. A small adder crossed the path in front of me, and the words that you see posted by railway crosssings came to mind - stop, look & listen. The words rang through my head, followed by the word, FEEL.

I sat down, put my hands onto the warming earth, and, with eyes closed, felt the forest. The warm energy beneath my hands seeped into my body, and something told me to open my eyes - be one with the forest, don't shut out any part. As I opened my eyes, another young adder came towards me. Close to the Mother, I thought. So close to Her body, Her bones, enjoying the warmth of Her Spring embrace. How close to the Mother is the snake, every inch in constant contact with Her. Reminding me to be like the snake. But just as the adder had reached my foot, I moved my head, slowly, unsure. The beauty of the young adder, the danger. So like Mother Earth. Turning away, the snake slid off into the dried birch leaves and twigs.

So close, I had been so close.