Druidry
Dancing with Nemetona
I have danced with Nemetona ever since I can remember.
I may not have known her name, but she has always been there. My Lady of Sanctuary, of sacred space, of boundaries and edges – all throughout my life I have danced with her, the song flowing through my soul like deep nourishing water, bringing a stillness, a settling to my heart like no other.
I grew up in the same house until I left for college. A beautiful little bungalow on the edge of a village, with miles of forest stretched out behind. It was a house that was filled with warmth, with sound, with what can only be described as a good vibration. Filled with houseplants, as my father is a landscaper and my mother the daughter of a florist, every spare flat space had something growing, being nurtured, being loved. Indeed, that is how I often look back at my childhood – it was a beautiful space indeed, and I am ever thankful for it.
The house has its own spirit – not in a paranormal sense, but just a welcoming that brought a little sigh when you walked in. There was a soft scent too – difficult to describe, but again something that made you want to come into the warmth. The life of my family had seeped into the walls and foundations of that house, and yes, while we did argue we also loved each other, and still do, deeply. Home was a safe place – growing up we never locked the door when someone was home, and often it was unlocked if a parent was out and we were playing down the street.
My lady Nemetona was there, in that house, and in that village. When old enough, we pushed our boundaries further, to the end of the street, then the two other streets further down, then the village borders and deep into the forest, climbing over The Mountain and beyond. My parents allowed us that freedom to explore, with plenty of good advice, for which I am ever thankful. Yet there was always a feeling of security, and of sanctity. We were truly blessed by this goddess.
After leaving home, which was heart-wrenching for me, to go to The City for college, I found it hard to adapt. Yet I still managed, making wherever it was that I was living as “homey” as possible. People often commented, and still do, when they enter my home was a nice feel it has. It comes naturally to me, dedicated as I am to this particular goddess. A haven not only for me, but for all who are invited in, she gives her blessings freely.
I learned through Druidry her name, and also to carry Nemetona with me at all times, not just in a certain place, such as the home. Finding the edges of my own nemeton, that space around myself which none but those who I am intimately connected to are allowed in, I could work with those edges better, to define that sacredness and sense of sanctuary around me.
Nemetona gives us that space where we are allowed to be ourselves, fully without fear. She is a temple, a sacred space, both within and without. She was celebrated in forest groves, the classical sources tell us, but she is to be found everywhere. Sinking deep into her temple, dancing freely in the twilight, letting go of notions of that self that we have created, we have time to simply BE. We return to the selfless source, if we so desire. And yet, we must come back and define our edges once more, but this time they are perhaps softened, allowing more in, allowing sanctuary and compassion to those that need it. Though we may discriminate, Nemetona doesn’t. That is why she is a goddess.
Explore where your edges meet with another, whether it be human, cat or tree. Let go into the embrace of this Lady, to find out who you truly are. In her temple, we are all perfectly who we are at this given moment. Dance with her, and know what it means to be truly free.
P.S. I am currently writing a book, entitled Dancing with Nemetona, about my journey from childhood to where I am today, and how this goddess has danced with me throughout. x
Listen
They key to understanding and compassion often lies in the art of listening. Many people hear what you say, but not many truly listen.
Often, when we are “listening” to someone speak, we are already forming our own replies in our minds before the person has even finished speaking. It is impossible to actually truly listen to what they are saying when we are doing so. I make a conscious effort to truly listen, and still occasionally slip up, catching myself and saying “Listen”. And when the person has finished talking, and I’ve truly listened, then I reply, if the answer is worthy.
The art of listening, I fear, is dying. It isn’t simply physical sound, but also when we read articles, books – other people’s words in any form – that misinterpretation can happen because we are not truly listening to them, as we are too involved in our own opinions and attachments to the subject matter. After developing the art of listening, I find that I am reading books that I read a year or two years ago, and I am getting so much more out of these books, as I am simply paying more attention to the voice contained within the pages, and not my own.
I remember watching a parliamentary debate for the first time on television, and being astounded at the complete disregard there was for not only listening, but even hearing. Party members would get maybe a sentence or two out before their opposing party made as much noise as possible, expressing their displeasure before the person had even finished speaking. I remember thinking “is this the way that adults really talk to each other? No one can understand anyone else – what is the point?” It was rude and obnoxious, and saddened me that these were the people who were running the country.
Have you ever observed two young toddlers together, who haven’t learned to speak yet? More often than not, they will make noises and “talk” to each other, and the other will listen with rapt attention before replying. I love this so much – how is it that we have forgotten this simple wonder of sharing and communication with another human being?
On the internet, it is even easier to misinterpret, to not listen, because most of the time we don’t even consider that the person we are talking to is even a real person – they are an abstraction, an online presence of the real person. It allows for rudeness and trolling as well, which would, I hope, never happen in a real life situation with people you don’t even know (and worse if it is people that are known!). So many people will read a blog such as this, and not truly read it, but coming in with their own opinions, and without the art of listening, not really understand the message that is coming across. In our dualistic society, we have cultivated a culture of Us and Them, and if you are not with Us, you must be with Them, therefore what you have to say is irrelevant – oh, and I’m going to comment on your post. Or worse, people skim read and then comment – it is as disrespectful as interrupting someone in mid-sentence, or a parliamentary debate.
We can develop the art of listening in the Spring, when all of nature is awakening to the returning warmth and sunlight, the life-giving rains and flows of energy that run through the land and our very own souls. Go outside, and truly listen. Don’t simply think “I hear birds”. Really, really listen to each bird in the multitude, not merely hearing their song but truly listening. You will find a connection with that soul, and from there meet the multitudes of other souls we share this little planet with. You will also step outside the chattering of the self and experience a world of so many souls you cannot even begin to count, giving a much bigger perspective of the world by stepping away from the self.
In Druidry, especially in the Bardic traditions, we learn the art of listening. To play music, to sing a song, to tell a story, to recite history, to satire current affairs, we need to really know the subject, to take it deep within ourselves and make it a part of our own story before we can tell it with any sort of meaning. In order to do so, we must first listen with every fibre of our being – not just with our ears, but with our hearts and souls as well. Imagine if you did this with everything – your cat, your next door neighbour, the rising moon, a politician, the spider on your wall. Everything has a story worth telling, and worth listening to.
When we listen, we make a connection that transcends the superficial relationships that are so prevalent in today’s society. We reach out, soul to soul, in love and in respect, with honour. We don’t even have to like the person, but we can still do so honourably, acknowledging their words as expression of their souls, which is turn is an expression of everything in the universe.
It gives a whole new depth, a whole new dimension to explore, and is well worth the effort.
A Day in the Life of a Druid
The alarm clock goes off, Aerosmith is playing on Planet Rock. There is a small white cat lying between me and my husband, her little head resting on my pillow. A spotted grey cat is curled up against the small of my back, sharing in the warmth. My husband gets up, showers and comes back to kiss me goodbye. I sigh, stretch, and slowly extricate myself from the sleeping, furry softness to greet the day.
Standing by the top landing window, overlooking my back garden and the horse paddocks beyond that, down the valley towards the little nature sanctuary, my eyes coming back full circle to see the sun, rising over the North Sea (I cannot see the sea from here, but it is less than a mile away). I let its light wash over me – sunny mornings have been few and far between, and with eyes closed I drink it in. “Hail to the Day, and Day’s Sons, farewell to Night and her Daughters. With loving eyes look upon us here, and grant peace to those living here. Hail to the Gods, hail to the Goddesses, hail to the might fecund Earth. Eloquence and native wit bestow upon us here, and healing hands while we live”. Another deep breath, and so the day begins.
Headings downstairs, I get food ready for the cats, and boil the kettle for my tea. The cats slowly make their way downstairs to breakfast. After getting my lunch ready, I prepare my own breakfast, and sit down at the table with a cup of nettle tea, the young nettles picked the day before. “I give my thanks for this food I am about to eat. To the spirits of land, sea and sky, know that you are honoured”.
After breaking my fast I head back upstairs to get ready for work. Using toiletries that are from ethical companies, I grumble once again at the price of these organic, non-animal tested cosmetics, but then I catch myself. It is better than the alternative, and I am saving money in other areas of my life, in accordance with my vow not to buy any new clothing for a year – I can afford it. I get my Zen on, and get on with it.
After dressing, I say goodbye to the cats and head out the door to drive to work. I give thanks that I am blessed in that I both live and work in the countryside. (I work part-time for a music company and charity, as well as having my own dance company and being an author and priestess). On the drive to work, I like to listen to music, to hear the inspiration of others, yet to remain focused on my driving – winding slowly down country lanes, watching out for rabbits, hares and deer and the occasional oncoming tractor around the next blind bend. The fields have been ploughed and seeded, the cotton canopies protecting those crops susceptible to late frosts. The white blankets over the brown sandy soil glisten over the softly rolling hills, looking like little shining lakes in the distance. I pray for a good crop this year, as last year’s winter was too dry, and the summer too wet. They are already 3 – 4 weeks behind schedule this year, with the prolonged winter weather.
At work, it is a busy time, but I try to stay focused, remaining in the here and now a much as I can, giving every task the same attention. At one point, a colleague does not help me when I ask for it, moving heavy boxes to another location, and I feel anger rising within me. I then breathe deeply, and another colleague from another department offers to help, for which I am thankful. I move the boxes, and release the anger – I cannot expect people to behave the way that I think they should. I can only lead by example, and not let it affect it so.
The day is tiring, and when home time comes I am thankful. Physically and mentally tired, I walk back to my car, taking the time to decompress. Where I work is one of the most beautiful spots, along the river with the reed beds swaying in the wind, the large Suffolk skies opening out before me. I listen to the birds and breathe in the salt marsh air, and smile.
The drive home is in silence. I open the car window slightly to feel the breeze against my skin and to smell the emerging spring scents. I am wholly focused on driving, feeling the ground through the tires and the steering wheel, the sand that is slowly taking over the roads from being washed away from the fields over the winter.
I pull into the driveway of my home, and turn off the car engine, giving thanks once again. Walking to my front door, I notice the crocuses, tulips, daffodils and primroses all out at the same time, stretching towards the late afternoon sun. I too am going to stretch towards it. I walk into the porch and, coming through the front door, touch the doorframe, whispering a soft prayer to my goddess Nemetona, Lady of Sanctuary.
After greeting my cats and feeding them, my growling stomach demands attention, and I eat, giving thanks once again to the spirits of land, sea and sky. My husband comes home, and inside I smile at the welcome, comfort and love that I am blessed with.
After dinner I wrap up and head out into the backyard, walking around the perimeter, singing songs of welcome to the spirits of the land within my head. Some bluebells, foreign plantings by the previous owner, are starting to come through alongside the daffodils, crocuses and tulips. The irises are starting to recover and grow back after being munched by the muntjac deer early in the spring, and the lilies tipped with black edges along the leaves from frostbite. The leylandii hedge is also suffering from frostbite, and I am not sure it will recover. However, that is something to worry about when the time comes.
The apple trees have little buds on them, and the first frog spawn is in the pond. I whisper words of welcome to the new little lives, hoping that the pond will not freeze again. I know that little newts are secretly lying within the mud and leaves at the bottom of the pond, and wonder whether they will emerge this year.
The beech tree calls, and I go to sit under its majestic canopy, still bare but far-reaching. The tree is about 80 years old, and I feel a kinship to it at this point in my life – it feels like a middle-aged tree, strong and comfortable within its skin. I feel the edges of my nemeton touching the tree’s, noting where they meet and where they blend. We are still getting to know each other, the tree and I, and little moments like these are splendid.
I sit by my little altar under the beech tree, on the mossy ground. Placing my hands upon the ground, I feel the earth slowly stirring from the long winter slumber. I simply sit, meditating upon being present, feeling the warming ground, hearing the children at play on the football fields several fields over, the neighbours saying goodbye to someone. The blackbirds are singing and fighting over territory, and a little wren is looking for tasty morsels among the leaf mould. The watery sun hangs low in the sky, the warmth fading fast as night approaches.
After my meditation, I head inside for a hot bath. Sliding into the warm water I sigh with pleasure – the scents of chamomile and the soft oats feeding my skin and my senses. I honour the spirit of water and think of where my water comes from, honouring that source as well, giving thanks for the luxury of clean, hot water.
After drying off, the sun is setting, and once again I stand by my window on the top landing, looking out over the little bit of land that I am getting to know after a few years of having lived here. The light is fading, and the only birds are the blackbirds with their large eyes, singing in the dusk. The owls and their young will soon be hooting in the ash trees, the cuckoo will soon be here, the crickets singing. I long for summer, then catch myself – be present. I take a deep breath, and ground myself, centring on the here and now. “Farewell to the Day, and Day’s Sons, hail to Night and her Daughters. With loving eyes, look upon us here, and grant peace to those living here. Hail to the Gods, hail to the Goddesses, hail to the might fecund Earth. Eloquence and native wit bestow upon us here, and healing hands while we live.”
With pleasure I crawl into bed, cats coming to join me, and later my husband. I read for a bit, and then when eyes are too tired, close the book and enter the world of dreams, thankful for all that I have.
Paperback edition of new book now available!
Paperback version of my new book is out today – ebook will be ready soon! A big thank you to the Druid, Buddhist and Pagan community, who continually inspire me – may we be the awen! http://www.amazon.co.uk/Pagan-Portals-Druidry-Natural-Awareness/dp/1780993900/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1365503883&sr=1-1&keywords=zen+druidry
Mud and Blood: The Ancestors
I spent this long weekend live role-playing in a new game system called Empire run by Profound Decisions (www.profounddecisions.co.uk). It was a very good event, in very challenging conditions, and unexpectedly for a fantasy-based game, brought me more in touch with my Druidry and the ancestors than I would have expected.
The weekend was cold. Not just an uncomfortable cold, but a bone-chilling cold especially when temperatures dipped below freezing. This was the coldest event that I had ever been to in my 15 years of LRPing. I knew it was going to be cold beforehand and so, like I usually do for the first event of the year, booked a B&B so that I could get some rest at night, and not drive home exhausted from the event once I was sat in a nice, warm car. Others toughed it out, sleeping for three to four nights in below freezing temperatures.
There were no buildings to warm up in. The first few days had no hot water in the shower and loo blocks, due to pipes being frozen and generators malfunctioning. It was achingly cold to be out in the elements for four long days without our modern conventions of central heating, hot water on demand and above all, a cup of tea only minutes away. I was thankful for the battles that came that weekend, for moving around was the only way to keep warm, and kept you warm for at least a half hour afterwards.
I was camped in the woods with a large nation that can loosely be described as a cross between the ancient Celts and the Rangers from Lord of the Rings. We had no buildings, and no big tents in which large numbers of people could gather (and share body heat) – we were outside the entire time, with only fires to keep us warm. The fires were hard to keep lit – the cold and damp just seemed to seep into the firewood no matter how dry it was, and required constant attention. Take a step away from the fire, and the cold hit you once again.
I was hugely thankful for returning to the warmth after midnight in the hotel room, and even more so upon arriving at home. I felt that the experience of being out in that drew me closer to the ancestors, giving me a real sense of what they had to go through every winter and every spring. The constant work of keeping warm, and of keeping fed, was challenging to say the least. The mud – oh THE MUD was everywhere, well above the ankles and sucking you into its cold embrace wherever you went on the field or on the roads through the wood.
Sitting beneath the trees after the first battle in an almost empty camp, with some bread and very cold water, the snow falling softly around me, I felt a connection with the ancestors – this is what it could have been like for them. A muddy rath in the winter and springtime, food especially scarce in the spring, and the longing for the warm days of summer flowed through my mind as I listened the blackbird singing above me. Hearing the cold wind pass over the little hollow with the last rallying cry of winter. Praying for warmth. Honouring the cold and the dark. Honouring the mud.
I was blessed with a brief glimpse of what the ancestors had to put up with – never being clean, never being warm, the ease of summer living months away – it was a real eye-opener, to say the least. I usually go on holiday for a couple of weeks in the year to get away from it all, to reconnect with nature – but as a Canadian, I’ve always done it in the summer. We know better.
With the cold and the mud and the wind came an acceptance of life as it is – complaining about the cold did absolutely no good. I noticed the first couple of days people’s conversations were rife with comments about the weather, and then as the weekend wore on, less and less comments were made as people either tired of the topic, or came to accept it, as I did – it was as it was, and there was nothing that could be done about it. We were all in the same boat, so to speak. We were all cold, and tired, and hungry. It brought us together – I have never been to an event where people were so open and so kind. I do think the weather had a lot to do with that – when the stakes are high, people pull together to ensure that the community survives. This community did just that, with my eternal gratitude for being able to be a part of it.
Spring was the hardest season for our ancestors. The cold, the wet, the lack of food and waiting for the crops to be planted and harvested was always on their minds, death always at their door. I was honoured to really experience that, and will remember this event always for that reason.
Some lovely reviews of my latest book, Zen Druidry!
“This is a fascinating book that lays out the core concepts of both Zen and Druidry, exploring the points of overlap and the ways in which these two traditions compliment each other. The writing is precise, lucid and beautifully accessible whilst managing to put across a vast amount of information in a very small space. I would say that even if you aren’t attracted to the idea of Zen, this book is still well worth your time, because of what it shows through the contrast between the two traditions. Joanna draws attention to the importance of being as present in the moment as we can be, and as open to life as possible. That’s an issue for Druids of all flavours to consider. Druidry is very much about here and now, and what we do from moment to moment, after all.
If you’ve been attracted to both traditions all along, this is, quite simply, the book you have been waiting for.” – Nimue Brown, author of Druidry and the Ancestors and also Druidry and Meditation
“Back in the distant past when I was taking early steps along the Druid path, I was also studying Eastern ways – Buddhism, Daoism, Confucianism, Brahmanism, and the like. I stayed on the Druid path and became Druid because I better understood the imagery and symbolism which allowed me to better shape my own metaphysical stance. But I have never ceased to be a student of those other ways.
It was a pleasant surprise, therefore, to pick up this little book which outlines both Zen (a school of Mahayana Buddhism that developed in China during the 6th century) and Druidry (the modern name given to a spiritual path developed from that overseen by ancestral Druids) and shows how they can work together. It is a little book, so you might not expect too much of it. You will, however, be pleasantly surprised. It manages to pack a lot into its 74 pages, largely because it is written without fuss or pretensions – indeed, very much in keeping with the subject matter. That alone speaks to me about how valuable this little book is. The author not only knows her subject inside out, she clearly practises what she preaches.
I found the application of the Buddhist Eightfold Path to the eight annual festivals of the Druid way to be of particular interest. Meditation is important to Zen and I have long felt that following the ritual year is a form of extended meditation. And here we have an extra layer to contemplate, integrate, and practice as the seasons revolve.
The greatest connection between Zen and Druidry (for me, at least) lies in mindfulness. It is, perhaps, an attribute common to all spiritual paths, but it is of especial interest to those who recognise their rootedness in this world, who recognise that the worlds of spirit and matter are as integrated as everything else. From the extempore prayers said by Celtic peoples over everyday tasks and events, words that spring from an awareness of working in the now, to the formal ritual built up around significant events in the life of the planet, the individual, the family, and the community, a Druid needs to be mindful. But it goes well beyond word into every aspect of our being – our thoughts, our dreams, and our every action. All this is simply and powerfully highlighted by this book.
So what we have is an engaging and thoughtful introduction to a pertinent fusion of ideas. A book which beautifully illustrates that when you strip away the fluff, the images, and the symbols there is very little that is different between the paths. And whilst it is something you could read at a single sitting (as I did), it is worth revisiting on a regular basis so as to be able to return to that clear and simple vision on which it is based. A book I would willingly recommend to anyone.” – Graeme K Talboys, author of The Druid Way Made Easy, The Path Through the Forest: A Druid Guidebook and Arianrhod’s Dance: A Druid Ritual Handbook
“This little book gives an outline of druidry, what it is and how it works, followed by an introductory tour of Zen teachings and then shows you how to bring both ‘traditions’ together to form Zen Druidry. Very intriguing concept, well written and interesting for anyone on a spiritual path.” Rachel Patterson, author of Kitchen Witchcraft, Grimoire of a Kitchen Witch and Hoodoo Folk Magic
The Little Pagan Monastery – it’s happening!
Spurred on by my blog posts and comments regarding living a pagan monastic life, I’ve decided to organise weekend “retreats” that will follow and incorporate monastic traditions such as daily prayers, meditation, talks, lectures, chores and ritual for the Pagan.
Set in the beautiful and sacred Chalice Well Gardens, this three day, two night weekend will follow a strict routine and regime that hopes to inspire you to incorporate more spirituality in your daily practice at home. Take what inspires you and run with it!
The first weekend will be on 11 – 13 April 2014 at Chalice Well Gardens. We have booked St Michael’s Lodge, which is a lovely guesthouse designed for peace and relaxation in mind. Rooms are either single or shared, so be prepared to possibly share with a new friend! There is a library where books may be borrowed, but please return them at the end of the weekend. There is also a lovely kitchen, and a meditation room for daily practice and connection.
The Meeting Room set right up against the gardens is where most of the weekend’s events will take place. We also plan to do some work in the garden, as well as take trips out to Glastonbury Tor and the White Spring, weather permitting. Come and experience the beauty of land, sea and sky atop the Tor, or take a healing plunge into the sacred pools of the White Spring, or simply come to enjoy the beauty of the Red Spring and the serenity of Chalice Well. The weekend will end with a ritual (if possible) by Chalice Well.
All food (vegetarian and vegan), drink and accommodation are included in the weekend retreat price. A £50 deposit must be made up front to guarantee your booking, and will be non-refundable if you cancel within two weeks of the booking date.
If you desire to taste the monastic life, to pray, meditate, work and enjoy the silence in a special holy site with like-minded people, then this is the weekend for you!
£180 per person, cheque or paypal payment only. Please email autumnsong@hotmail.co.uk to book your place. If you are booking for more than one person please let me know and we will allocate you the double rooms first.
Many blessings!
Face the Abyss…
As per my latest blog post, I’ve been inspired to go media free one day a week, when I am home and have access to the internet, television and radio – it’s easy to go media free when on holiday, for instance, but not when we’re home alone, and have to be alone with ourselves. No phone calls, no internet, no television, no radio. One day a week, to get back in touch with myself. To remember a time before all this media and social media became so important. A time to remember what really matters. A time to read, to meditate, to go for walks, to sing, to dance, to play an instrument, to create.
Look into the abyss, and the abyss looks back at you…
Enough Already!
How often you do say “enough already”? Mostly, when you’re sick of something, and really don’t want anything more, or anything more to do with it. These past few months I’ve been applying the “enough already” to my life, though with different connotations.
What are our needs, as human beings? Food, shelter, clothing and something of a sense of security go a long way to making our lives happy. Social interaction, music and literature also go a long way to making our lives better. Yet in our culture, we just can’t seem to get “enough”. Our economy, if it isn’t growing, is in recession – if our GDP isn’t constantly on the up, then we’re seen as failing. We need more news, faster, and through all kinds of media. We need bigger houses for all our possessions, multiple cars and swimming pools. This is the measure of success in our culture, not happiness.
I would pose that we need to relearn just what enough is. We’ve got things galore, but do they make us happy? Looking up the word galore, I came across with an interesting little find – galore also means enough. Irish go leor enough, plenty ( Scots Gaelic gu leòr, leòir ). To have enough is plenty.
Some 20th century modcons make our lives much easier – the telephone, for example. We can talk to people and distance is no longer a factor, though money still is – you must be able to afford that phone call (though I would say that even this is a stretch, for I know people with mobile phones who manage to pay their mobile phone bills but not their rent). However, do we really need phones that do everything, with all the latest apps? I have a mobile phone that I have for emergencies, ie. if my car breaks down on a lonely country road, I can call for help. This phone is 10 years old. If people want to reach me, they have my landline. If I’m not home, they can leave a message. It’s not life or death if I can’t be reached 24/7. It rarely is for most people. (I often wonder if this 24/7 reachability gives people a sense of self-importance – and if so, that’s something that saddens me terribly).
I don’t need to wait in line outside a store for hours for the latest IPhone release. Why on earth would I want to do that? I have a life to live, in all honesty, that does not revolve around bowing down to the gods of consumerism. My phone is enough for my needs, which are pretty basic when it comes to phones.
A computer is also a necessity in my line of work. For writing, for my other jobs, I just couldn’t do without one. Social media is also a necessity for me, to share ideas and get feedback, to promote events and subjects that I feel are important, to keep in touch with my family who are thousands of miles away. But I don’t have a Twitter account, or pininterest, or the host of other things that create an online presence – I have what I need in my line of work – a blog, a website, a Youtube account (for my dance company, visual is the most important form of media) and a Facebook account. This already seems like a lot to me, and I don’t want to expand this any further – so much time is already spent on all of these, and there are, after all, other things I need to be doing for my work, like writing and choreographing to say the least!
When is enough plenty? When we can find something to wear that doesn’t take more than a few seconds to think about. When we eat until we are 80% full, knowing that we will feel full in a few minutes. When our grooming habits take less than 20 minutes for a usual day. When we don’t feel the need for the latest “thing”.
A good exercise – take a look around your house, maybe just one room, and note all the things you absolutely need. Write them down. Now make another list of everything that isn’t essential, and then compare the two. A few items, such as a gift from someone that you love and want to display on your mantelpiece, for instance, shouldn’t really count against you. But all the things that you don’t love, that don’t have meaning, that you could just as easily do without – these are the things we need to think about.
Before each purchase, I always ask myself – do I need this? If the answer is no, then I won’t buy it. It’s that simple. I made a vow last year (the second time I’ve done this) to not buy any new clothes for a year. I still have license to buy whatever I would like from charity shops, but even then I always ask myself – do I need this? If the answer is still no, even if it is only £2, then I won’t buy it. I have enough. I have plenty.
Down the Forest Path 