Druidry

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The Dying of the Light

Dylan Thomas’ poem, “Do not go gentle into that good night” is often in my thoughts at this time of year, when the winter solstice is approaching and the ever increasing night draws close, the cold winds howling outside.  Yet I do not agree with the poem’s repetitive line – “Rage, rage against the dying of the light“.  

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

It would seem that the wise know dark is right, and yet their pride, hubris or egos get in the way of going gently into that good night, as their words “had no forked lighting” – they want to be remembered for their wise words, at least, is the suggestion. The true wise person has no need of such external gratification – wisdom is inherent, not granted externally. Written for his father, whom Dylan Thomas wanted to die raging instead of quietly, perhaps for his own selfish attachment or whatever reason, is still spoken of today when the nights are long and we seek illumination in every sense of the word. 

It’s all around us – gaudy, flashing lights – some set at incredible speed settings that I can only assume is to disorientate the viewer, often going up before the leaves have fallen from the trees and the ground not yet frozen.  Many, many people are raging against the dying of the light, putting up the Christmas or Yule lights, lighting the darkness and consuming considerable amounts of energy at this time of year in a display that is somewhat missing the point.  As pagans, we celebrate the return of the sun after the winter solstice, certainly – but we should also honour the darkness in the days leading up to the solstice with equal measure. 

Christmas or Yule lights can certainly be very pretty – if done tastefully, and using very low energy lights, turning off others that we would normally have on at this time of year to offset the energy.  But first we must come to grips with the darkness before we light the lights.  We must look into ourselves to see why and what it is that we fear, loathe, or deny in the darkness – why we are so hesitant to look into the abyss.  Is it because we, as Dylan Thomas did, equate darkness with death?

Yet it is the time of year when death is all around us.  One look at our gardens instantly confirms this – very few things are still alive above ground.  A cycle has ended, and the seeds of the next generation lie below ground to await the return of the light – but they know that this does not happen instantaneously on the winter solstice.  They respond to the growing light and warmth slowly, in the months after the solstice, in their own time, and hopefully not too soon, like some of my daffodils did last January…

Acceptance of death is key here.  We should not rage against it, but embrace it as part of the cycle.  Many people think that death is the opposite of life – yet death is a singular event, and as such its opposite would be birth.  Life has no opposite.  We do not rage against a birth – why should we rage against a death? 

Taking inspiration from the natural world around us, we follow its rhythms and cycles and turn inwards to nurture that which is most precious to us, to guard it for the coming year ahead. It is in that darkness where we can truly know ourselves, our thought patterns, our behavioural tendencies.  Looking inwards into our own darkness we can find that small spark of light that needs to be kept safe in the darkness until it is ready to come to light, and not be snuffed out like a candle in the winter wind. It is time to cease looking for a distraction from the darkness all around us, and instead focus on our own wellbeing, and nurturing that seed of inspiration within, as well as facing our own death and fear.  It is all too easy to lose that in the crowds doing late-night shopping amidst chintzy tinsel and bright lights, with tinny music being piped into the stores that are overheated because they leave the door open to attract more customers into the lure of consumerism.  If we must, we must, but then seek the darkness to recoup and recover. 

Honour the darkness for the wonderful rest that it brings.  Without it we would have no spring.  Celebrate the darkness – turn off all the lights and central heating during the evening of the winter solstice, if you can, and truly experience the time of year. At midnight, light the fire in the hearth or candles in the house to honour the change, slowly, very slowly, lest we become blinded by the artificial return of the light and stumble around unable to see.  Do not rage against the dying of the light – for all the rage in the world will not stop death or the darkening days leading up to the solstice. Embrace, embrace the dying of the light.

 

 

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Dreaming it all up again

The winter solstice is coming up – a time for many across the world to celebrate, whatever their spirituality, if they are religious or not.  For many pagans, and many Druids, the winter solstice is an especially important time of the year, marked in the public eye by the historic landmarks such as Newgrange or Stonehenge.

But it’s the more private celebrations that call to me at this time of year.  Tired after a long year of hard work (with over 30 performances from our dance company, as well as workshops, classes, and filming dvds, on top of writing the next book, Zen Druidry, and oh – yes, my marketing job for a music company…) I am really, really, really looking forward to a couple of week’s rest at the end of December.

This is a time of year when I really connect with my European ancestors and gods – Frigge, the lady of the hearth and home, stands by my shoulder as I spend the evenings baking for my friends and my husband.  I think of my mother’s beautiful hands, remembering them when she was cooking, or stroking the cat – how graceful they are, how unhurried and loving no matter what it was she was doing.  I think of my grandmothers, with their laughter and love, as I drink a toast to them with a little snort of advocaat.  Freya smiles as I snuggle into the warmth of the bed with my husband and cats.

The house is often bathed in the glow of candlelight, with pine scented loveliness drifting through, or the smell of woodsmoke as the fire crackles in the hearth.  Though it is often dark and cold out, the home takes on special importance at this time of year.  A big cleaning is undertaken in readiness for the months where more time is spent indoors, and everything is made just so, for comfort, ease and security.  That feeling of preparedness still hits me late November, early December – make sure everything is good for the next couple of months, for when we will be spiritually, if not physically, snowed in.

For at this time of year, it is the best time to look inwards, to discover your self once again.  Taking the time during the long dark months is perfect – a little meditation instead of the television, for instance, in front of that altar glowing with candles and the smoke of incense drifting through the room.  The nights are so long – what will you do with them? Please, please please – do not watch more television.  Go out with friends. Meditate. Bake. Make love. Walk in the frosty night. But whatever you do, make sure that you take time for yourself.

For me this is the dreaming period, an incubation of sorts.  Time to dream it all up again.  Think on the coming year, and make some plans – holding to them lightly.  Protecting the seeds of your dreams in the darkness of winter, to slowly unfurl when the light returns in the spring.  I absolutely adore it.  There is nothing better than sitting indoors with a cup of hot chocolate, watching the snow fall, if you are so lucky, and simply being in the moment – or walking out with the snow and evening falling silently all around, the smell of winter thick in the cold, swirling air.  Taking inspiration from it all and dreaming, dreaming deep – so deep that when you awaken you are refreshed, and ready for anything.

Take a step back from the manic lights and piped music in restaurants, pubs and shops, and step into your home, touching the frame of the doorway with a soft prayer to the household spirits for their sanctuary.  Let yourself slip into the darkness, lit only by soft candlelight, and let the mind and soul rest for a while.  And may you truly enjoy the holiday season.

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Compassion for the Self

It’s easy to have compassion for others, for the most part.  In doing so, we feel we are making the world a better place.  What we fail to realise is that compassion must first start with our self – that is where the change in the world begins.

A lot of people don’t take the time out of their lives to look at their own self, at least not without using some form of judgement.  And even if they do so, often they can feel guilty about it – they should be helping the kids with the homework or working at the local animal shelter instead of perhaps meditating on the nature of compassion.  What I would suggest is that perhaps this taking time out for yourself is the very best thing you can do, for yourself and for the world.

Compassion for others is often seen as noble – when all it really is, is simply compassion.  There is nothing noble about it at all – it is merely a way of viewing the world not merely as an exercise in inter-relatedness, but of a deep knowing that everything is connected to each other.  The iron in our blood comes from star-stuff, the computer I write upon is made of plastic and metal, which in turn is made up of a myriad things that can relate back to sunlight, water, human and other animals.  Compassion is seeing this in everything, and in doing so letting the barriers of the self and the other fall away so that we can see clearly, and in doing so, empathise and act accordingly with the world around us.

Not too terribly hard to grasp, that.  But what of compassion for our selves? We are taught, at least in the Western world, to judge anything and everything.  I’ve heard it said that this is what makes us human, different from the rest of the animal kingdom. It’s an interesting thought.  We can judge others fairly, harshly, unfairly or with loving kindness.  However, it is still a judgement.  We cannot have a judgement without having a sense of self – and yet how many of us have looked in the mirror at some point in their lives and said “Who is that?”.

There are many theories as to what makes up the sense of the self – from a mere collection of thoughts that we have repeated over and over until we believe them, the loudest pushing forwards, to an eternal and changeless core of existence that we try to return to again and again.  I can offer no ideas – I’m still searching. What I do know is that this sense of self, however we view it, can get in the way of compassion.

Believing in a self, means that we believe in a separate entity to all other things.  That’s not so bad – but it’s also where a helluva lot of conflict, judgement, and bad-behaviour can arise.  I can judge something because it is not me – or in a lot of cases, because something reminds me of what I don’t want to be, I shall judge it, and judge it either wisely or harshly depending on my mood.

I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to fully drop the sense of self, but what I can and am trying to do is to drop the judgement that comes from the sense of self.  In an earlier blog, I wrote about ceasing to expect things from other people – and how this can only be a good thing.  This leads on to a life without judgement as well. I’m getting better at it when it comes to other people. But when it comes to myself?  I am my own worst critic. How many of us have said those exact words? How many of us judge ourselves more harshly than we could ever judge others, or even worse, project these judgements of ourselves unconsciously onto others in order to feel better about ourselves or to outpace our own demons?

The key lies in finding compassion for your self.  To sit with your self, to see your self in all reality, in the “good” and the “bad” – whatever those may be.  In acknowledging all that you have done, and realising that, as in a Taylor Swift song, that “who you are is not where you’ve been” or “who you are is not what you did”.  Pretty deep stuff from a 19 year old in her song, Innocent.  I also really like the lyric “Lost your balance on a tightrope, it’s never too late to get it back”.  We have all made mistakes – we can stop judging ourselves and simply get on with living life to the fullest with all compassion, for ourselves and for others (which is really one and the same).

This last month has been a deep, introspective month for me, of looking deep into my soul and seeing the good, the bad and the ugly.  Coming to terms with all of this, with all past mistakes and glourious achievements, and realising that these are not what constitute my being – they are simply my past – has led to a mini-breakthough in the way I view the world.

I have compassion for my Self.

Getting to know your Self, in understanding, not in judging, is the key to compassion.  If we all simply tried to understand everything and everyone, instead of judging – as Sam Cooke sang, “what a wonderful world this would be”.  See your faults, see your errors, see your successes and your triumphs. And let them go. Return to the Self of the present moment, instead of living in the past, and letting the past define you.

Equally – stop living in the future. Stop judging your Self for not being where you want to be. Stop being so harsh for having dreams, even.  Let the future go, much as the past.  Sure, it’s okay to plan, but hold onto those plans lightly, for everything in this world changes. It’s the one constant, paradoxically.

Get on with life now – by having compassion for your Self.  It’s the best thing you can do, for yourself and for the world.  If we can let go, we can truly live in a world of love and peace.  End the judgement, and begin the understanding, both of your Self and the world around you. Have some compassion – for your Self.

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Letting go, lightly…

At this time of year, during the months of October and November, many people in North America celebrate Thanksgiving.  Leaving out any historical implications, this is a beautiful celebration which is appropriate for this time of year.  As we enjoy nature’s bounty in the final harvests, we also can enjoy the space to take time out, to step back and rest. It is a beautiful, (and my favourite) time of year.

For me, it is also a time of letting go.  This is much easier said than done.  But if we can let go of things that are no longer beneficial to us – if we can let go lightly, then we can go forwards into the dark of winter completely open to the possibility of change, or any possibility, for that matter.

Much as the beech tree lets go of its leaves in the fall, no longer holding on to them so tightly, for their task is done and it is time to move on – so too can we gain inspiration from nature and let go.  There are many things to let go of – people that no longer nourish us or people that hurt us, behaviours that do the same, outdated philosophies and restricted points of view.  These things we can hold on to, for we fear change in our lives.  We love stability – it’s in our nature in order to survive.  However, in today’s world we hold onto things that are of no value, that are actually detrimental to our very self, because we fear change so much.

Letting go does not make one cold, alone, or result in the loss of compassion.  It opens up the heart to be able to nurture that which we may not have paid attention to in the past, for our hearts and minds were fully attached to other things, people or situations that did not allow room for anything else.  So we let go lightly, as the leaf lightly falls from the tree.  The tree is not bitter, or hurt, nor is the leaf – it is a release into the natural world and its cycles. Lightly falling to the earth, the release is freeing into the next cycle.

And so I take inspiration from nature, and am letting go lightly of people, situations and behaviours that keep me in one cycle, not allowing the release necessary to venture into the next.  I also give thanks to the people in my life, such as my husband and family, my cats, and friends that bring me such joy and continue to – I truly have been blessed.  As I look out the window, the beech tree stands naked in her glory, in her release, humming with the songs of release and peace that a long winter’s rest  will bring.

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Expectations…

It’s so hard to let go of our expectations of other people.  If, like me, you would do anything for your friends, it would seem likely that you would expect the same in return.  And yet, I’m looking more and more into letting go of expectations of other people – and in doing so, not being let down quite so much.

You might ask – what is the problem with setting high standards, or any standards, for people?  Shouldn’t  we all have people in our lives that we can rely on?

The answer that I’m pondering, is “no.”

This is not the say that I’m going to be 100% self-reliant – that’s impossible. It doesn’t necessarily mean cutting people out of my life. What it does mean is that I cannot expect people to be there for me.  It’s far too easy for me to fall into despair, for giving someone all I can and not “getting” anything in return.  I still view a relationship as a give and take scenario – but I also see the dangers inherent in any duality. So I’m trying to adopt a different worldview.  A few friends have let me down recently – but after much thinking on just who the self is, I’m also wondering just “who” is this person that they’re letting down?

If we view the self as a myriad of thoughts that we have retained, thoughts that we think pertain to this body, this behaviour, this person, then who exactly are we? Thoughts are not reality – and they change all the time.  What if our view of the self is only those thoughts that are the loudest, that we have repeated to ourselves over and over again until we believe them?  How limiting is that – and how free could we be if we drop the idea of a self?

But I digress.

Should we expect people to help us, friends to help us, in our time of need? Sometimes they just can’t, as they are dealing with their own battles. Sometimes they are just crap. Either way, they are simply being themselves, and that we cannot control that in any way.  If we dropped our expectations that they will be there for us when we need them, then we will also avoid disappointment.

This may seem a little nihilistic, but only in obliterating these assumptions can we attain the freedom and open the door to possible happiness.  Sometimes breaking down walls – a little deconstruction- is a good thing.  The question remains, however – if we do not expect things from people, what happens to our standards?

We won’t have any.

Yikes. I know – it’s a scary thought. But who are we to have such standards? Who is this self that sets standards for other people? If we don’t have standards, will people then walk all over us? Of course not. Not having standards doesn’t mean we become doormats. It simply means we have dropped all judgement of others and take things as they come.  We will not be disappointed anymore.  Isn’t that a good thing? And, if people do mistreat us, we then simply walk away. Without judgement, if possible (though highly improbable – I’m not that enlightened).

There are, of course, limits to this. In work relationships, we do have to expect certain things of our co-workers if we need them to get the job done.  But in our personal and private lives, we can let this go and see what happens.

What about our partners? Should I expect anything of my husband? No, not really.  I’ve had the joy of always having a husband who is “there” for me, but if I did “need” him and he wasn’t, I’d be devastated. Unless I adopt this new strategy.  This doesn’t make me an “island” – I am not cutting myself off from everyone – rather the opposite. I am engaging in non-judgemental behaviour that brings me closer to everything and everyone. Interesting.

Perhaps even harder than giving up the expectations of other people, is giving up expectations of yourself.  We believe we are a certain person, that we should react and behave in a certain way. I know that this weekend, when dealing with a car accident, I was shocked at my unwillingness to walk towards a smoking vehicle and help people out – fear and horror making each step leaden as I went towards the smoking ruin.  I expected myself to be able to jump out of the car and run heroically to save people, and was shocked at my initial response. Needless to say, of course I did go to the car and help, but I learned that I was not as brave as I thought I was.

Also, the accident was caused by an oncoming police car responding to an emergency call.  I went to the aid of the car that they hit (which was right in front of us) but didn’t go to the police car afterwards to see if they were okay.  I saw one officer come out, and then returned my attention to the “victims”.  It had been the police car’s fault – I made a judgement call. I expected them to know better than to overtake with no room – and then expected them to help out with the other victims when they came out of the car, having had all the proper training.  I should have had compassion for them as well – they had just been in a horrible accident as well, and were the cause. How awful they must feel. Even if they didn’t react “properly”, whatever that is, I should have tried to help them as well. So I’ve been beating myself up about that too.  I have such high expectations of myself.  Drop them, Jo. There is so self, remember? Just a collection of thoughts and judgements.  Drop the expectations and life will contain much less suffering.

I’m going to give it a go.  It’s going to be bloody hard. You can wish me luck, but I’m not expecting you to 😉

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Excerpt from new book, Zen Druidry

We are not “away with the faeries” in meditation – we are truly and more aware of what is going on around us than most people at that moment.  We are also aware of our own bodies – any tightness, any pains, where we are relaxed and where we are tense. We can adjust our bodies, again without attachment, releasing tension and the moving on to full awareness of everything. 

 

This first phase of meditation is exceedingly important.  Once we have attained a modicum of discipline, we can then open ourselves up to what is going on around us without instantly jumping into thoughts about everything we see, hear or smell.  We have already modified our behavioural patterns into something much simpler, much more integrated with the world around us. 

 

The next phase is to allow the thoughts that arise, releasing the focus on our breath and our environment.  We do not become absorbed in these thoughts, however.  We let them bubble up, notice them, and then without paying any more attention to them let them go.  This is the key – like an angry child with a temper tantrum, the more attention we give to our thoughts, the louder they will become, until they have completely absorbed us into their own little world.  We must realise that their little world doesn’t even exist – we must learn to stop living inside our heads.

 

Some of the thoughts that arise might be full of emotion, leading us to joyous recollections or into the pits of despair.  Again, we must simply see the thoughts that arise in these first stages of meditation, and later find the space to deal with them should they need to be dealt with.  The idea of mindfulness is not to push aside the feelings, not to suppress them in any way. You truly have to feel them – and with such feelings like rage, it can be difficult. But it is possible to feel these emotions without acting upon them. It’s why I haven’t murdered anyone – and I hope I never will! Because we live in honorable relationship to the world, we know that to act on certain feelings is morally unethical. We can still feel them, acknowledge them – hell, we’re only monkeys with car keys after all. We honor the feelings of our own human nature, dance with them, surrender into their flow for a time, but never ever submit, for to do could quite possibly mean our death, or the death and harm of others.

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An Enlightened Druid?

Many people ask – what is enlightenment?  Oh for an easily explained answer.  The Buddha, when choosing his successor, simply held up a flower and one of his disciples was enlightened and smiled – he then became the successor.  There are many stories in Zen philosophy and spirituality about enlightenment, but none of these stories actually tell you just what it is. And nor should they – it is something to be experienced, not read or talked about.

Outiside of Japan, most Zen practioners experience enlightenment gradually, as opposed to the full smack upside the head that satori can create.  It is through meditaiton, and being completely aware that you gradually gain enlightenment.  As the ego starts to fall away, the so-called “real” self emerges.

To allow the ego to fall away, one technique is to use the “Don’t Know” mind.

“Everybody says, “I” — “I want this, I am like that…” But nobody understands this “I.” Before you were born, where did your I come from? When you die, where will your I go? If you sincerely ask, “What am I?” sooner or later you will run into a wall where all thinking is cut off. We call this “Don’t know.” Zen is keeping this “Don’t know” mind always and everywhere. When walking, standing, sitting, lying down, speaking, being silent, moving, being still. At all times, in all places, without interruption – what is this?” – taken from http://zen.buddhism.org/about-zen.html

It’s a hard thing to admit that we don’t really know anything.  And yet, any true scientiest will tell you that it is impossible to know 100% about anything – there is always margin for error.  When we embrace the fact that we don’t really know anything, whole worlds open up for us.  We can examine ourselves more deeply, and then ponder even on the notion of self if we were to take it one step further.  Enlightenment is said to strike when we realise that there is no self – that we are all part of everything else. In Zen, the term “oneness” is often used, but I don’t like the monopoly that this word invokes – instead I think of it as a “wholeness”.

When we are completely in the moment, when our chattering minds are stilled, when our sense of self falls away and there is only the now, we become enlightened.  In this state, many great things can happen – the perfect haiku is written, the archer and the target become one and the bullseye is hit without thought, the music simply flows, the painting emerges.

This reminds me of a similar term in Druidry, which is awen.  Many people now believe the Welsh word’s translation to be something akin to “flowing spirit” or “flowing inspiration”.  Is this any different to the Eastern version of enlightenment?  As Druids, we gain awen from the world around us, which inspires us to create or to be still, to act or to remain passive, to be in complete and total relationship with the world around us.  Not so different to satori, is it?  Again, to be in a perfect relationship with the world around us, we must learn not to separate the I from the It – instead viewing the world as a whole rather than as separate.  In this way, the inspiration or flowing spirit can flow freely down all channels directly into our soul and out into the wider web of the universe.

So, am I enlightened?

Don’t know.

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What is Zen Druidry?

So, what is Zen?

Zen is living your meditation, being fully awake and aware.  Bodhidharma (528 A.D.) said: “Not dependent on the written word, transmission apart from the scriptures;  directly pointing at one’s heart, seeing one’s nature, becoming Buddha”.  It is not about sitting on a cushion all day meditating – it is about awareness of everything, and bringing that awareness into every aspect of our lives, seeing our own nature.

Zen is often likened to a philosophy or an attitude rather than a belief. It doesn’t require a belief in anything, not even Buddha.  It is about relationship, and understanding our relationship with everything around us – we are not entities alone in this world.  We are individuals, but we are also a collective of individuals.  Zen is about experiencing, fully.  It refuses to be distracted by the illusions of the constructed world around us, from the prisons we create in our own minds to the material consumerism we see running rampant around us.  Zen means not only going with the flow of the world around us, but being the flow itself.  It is about the true joy of life itself.

So, what is Druidry?

Druidry was the spiritual tradition of the natives of Britain and Ireland and parts of Europe.  An ancient pagan tradition, it was a relationship between people and the land which is maintained in modern Druidry, with a focus towards more individualised relationships with the natural world. Druidry today includes relationships with the ancestors and a cultural heritage, as well as encompassing many other worldviews.

Druidry, like Zen, is often likened to a philosophy – it is indeed a way of life, that does not require a belief in any external deity or concept.  Druidry seeks to strengthen our bonds of relationship with the natural world, gaining inspiration and wisdom from studying the patterns that nature constantly unfolds before us.  At its very core, Druidry holds a reverence for nature.  It is about attuning to the cycles of nature around us that we often find ourselves distanced from in this modern world, and finding the wisdom of the oak.

So, what is Zen Druidry?

Zen Druidry encompasses both teachings from Zen and Druidry to combine into a spirituality that is infused with an awareness of the natural world around us.  Both Zen and Druidry are all about relationship, and how we fit into the world around us.  Through meditation and concepts such as non-attachment to thoughts and experiences coupled with high levels of concentration, Zen Druidry allows us to see the world for what it really is, and in doing so, to honour it and hold a deep reverence for nature in her all glory.

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Mad as a March Hare

Standing on the edge, with a cosmically delineated point where the tide turns from winter to spring, we teeter on the brink of the spring equinox.  It is a time for madness.

Many of us are not yet ready to run full tilt into the light of the summer sun – not yet ready to pull away from the skirts of winter and face all that summer will bring.  Some of us are more than ready, like a horse left too long in its stall, ready to kick free and run in the fields with the spring grasses underfoot.  Often times these two will clash.  Some of us don’t feel a change at all.

Whether you are ready or not, if you are at all sensitive to the times and tides of nature, this is a time of uncertainty.  Much as with our previous agrarian lifestyle, we don’t know if our crops will fail, whether the seeds we are planting will come to anything.  Our dreaming of winter hangs in the balance – do we dare to take those dreams out of the darkness of inception and into the growing light, or do they need more time, in case they are exposed to the uncertainties much as a late spring frost could easily kill our early seedlings.

It is a time of courage.  Like the seed that sprouts, not certain if the soil is good, its position prominent and well taken, we must go forth into the world out of our winter’s hibernation.  We must find that spark deep within that allows change to happen, for we cannot hibernate forever.

It is also a time of hardship.  All those creatures, especially the herbivores, find this the hungry season, where food is scarce after the long winter’s cold and the summer’s bounty still yet to come.  Our ancestors knew this as the hungry time as well – the last of the winter cabbages and apples gone, awaiting the time of new lambs and calves to provide extra nourishment.  The first of the nettles and primroses are now shining through, with their beneficial nutrients.  We can take this opportunity to learn what it means to be hungry, and also what is available in our own landscapes that can nourish us both physically and mentally.

Hares are visible in the stubble or newly ploughed fields, or running across little country roads.  Boxing males and females are spotted under the light of both sun and moon.  Are they mad as well?

It is a time of great tides, such as the Severn Bore.  Combined with a full moon, rain and storm surges it can cause havoc and severe flooding.  Like the tides of spring and autumn equinox, we can ride them either into the growing light of summer or the fading light of winter.  Is your raft well crafted? Will you be able to hang on?  Are you able to ride the tides and see where they take you?

Like I said, it is a time of madness.