life

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Sacred Pilgrimage

Lisa and I arrived at Stonehenge mid-morning, alongside the bus tours and family tourists ready to go inside the fence and have a closer look at the world famous site.

Walking over the ditch into the complex itself, I asked the spirits of place for permission to enter, and to let them know that they were honoured.  The response I got – “Meh.”  They didn’t care.

Standing as close to the stones as you can get, it all looked rather small.  The jackdaws were having a lovely time of it, enjoying the attention. The stones, however, did not.  They still stood as tall and as proud as they were able, with the eyes of the world upon them, and yet they hated being a tourist attraction, a place where people simply come, look and then carry on with no real connection being made.  The stones themselves had withdrawn fully into their own being, not letting anyone or anything in.  They hated the tourists, unlike the jackdaws, who loved them (and the goodies that they brought).

For me, Stonehenge is a place of solemn ritual, not a place for hooting and hollering as the sun rises over that special point in the sky over specific stones.  It is a temple not unlike Notre Dame Cathedral – and you wouldn’t go in there and raise a racket, would you?  The original intention is lost to history, but if you try to feel it, to connect with it, there was something very wrong, and very sad about it all.  The intention wasn’t right.  I am perfectly aware that this is only my opinion, and that people may feel something totally different from the place.

Leaving Stonehenge we then made our way to Glastonbury; it was the destination to our pilgrimage.  We came in over the Butleigh road and saw the Tor shining in the sun – what a sight is always is!  Our hearts immediately opened to it, and we entered the sacred place that we call Avalon.

We made our way first and foremost to the Goddess Temple, to honour the Goddess. Inside was a Red Tent, which we smiled at the synchronicity of it all, for Red Tents have been popping up all over in our lives this past month.  The temple today was not a very restful or peaceful place, but I suppose that it is always shifting and changing. Children were running underfoot as we entered, and then the attending priestesses whispering loudly the whole time intruded a bit on my wish for silent reflection and immersion into the Goddess – along with the loud chinking of change right by my head as they emptied the donation pot to take to the bank before it closed. I know it is all necessary, but it certainly wasn’t peaceful. However, this was my first visit to the Temple, and so without going back to compare I know that my view is very one-sided.

Our B&B was on the hillside of the Tor itself, a lovely place with a labyrinth in the front yard and very down to earth, welcoming hosts with sharp wits and a love for the place that was infectious.  We climbed the Tor to watch the sunset and welcome the full moon as she rose, large and pinky-orange.  Time stood still on the Tor, and we have never experienced a sunset that slow, or a moonrise that took so long, but perhaps that was simply because the wind howled around us and we were freezing out butts off! Still, we gently drummed as we waited for the moon to rise on the sheltered side of the Tor, and eventually we did see it in its fully glory (though our best view was from the B&B itself!).

The following day we went to the White Spring, where we had booked an hour’s slot for peaceful ritual and awakening to this newly re-dedicated place of devotion to the powers of water and the Goddess herself.  The Victorians destroyed the old place where the White Spring used to tumble, covering the flora in calcite and making it a beautifully fey place, where green and white sparkled in the cove.  They had built a pumphouse in that very magical spot, to divert the water from the White Spring for Glastonbury town – a very foolish move, for it only lasted a couple of years before the pipes became so calcified that they could no longer use them. Glastonbury now gets it water from the Mendips, I believe.

At any rate, the pumphouse was reopened by the White Spring Trust, and is now one of the most evocative places that I have ever been. We were greeted by a lovely chap who showed us how to lock ourselves in, and then once we were sealed in the very dark, cavernous building we set to work.  Entering the threshold, the first view is of a large pool that the Trust built to collect water, a still and circular mirror surrounded by candles and fed in and out by a little waterfall.  Tall arched pillars stand to either side – it really does look like a film set, I thought!  So wonderful, so full of water – the sound of water was all that you heard, rushing down into the pool from the top of the left wall, and then out the other side, never disturbing the still surface of the large sacred pool itself. There was an altar to the Goddess, Brigit on the left hand side, and an altar to the Lord of the Wildwood on the right hand side.  We said our prayers to both, and sang our song of welcoming to the spirits of place, honouring them for all that they were. We disrobed, and then sang some more, honouring this very special place. Lisa took her drum out, and drummed softly.  We came together in front of the pool, and then it was time.

Stepping up onto the ledge, Lisa drummed and sang the Goddess chant, as I stepped into the pool of ice cold water.  The water was not very deep, but so very cold – I had been swimming in the deepest lakes of Sweden, and they were not this cold. Raising my hands over my head, I called to My Lady, to let her know that I loved and honoured her with all my body and soul, and lowered myself slowly into the black depths.  Once the water was past my waist, I could no longer breathe it was so icy cold – all you could do at that point was hold your breath and go completely under.  Coming back out, still unable to breathe, I gathered myself and rose up, standing with my arms wide, finally able to once again open my lungs and experience what can only be likened to the first breath of a newborn babe.  Exhilarated I raised my voice in zaghareet, my soul flung wide open to this Goddess of the Waters that was both so welcoming and so challenging. Grinning, I made my way out of the pool, and took up the drum as Lisa entered the still waters.

The beautiful follower of Elen, Lisa was all Earth Goddess energy blending into that of water as she slowly lowered herself, and came back up spiritually inspired to make the changes she so desired.  It was beautiful to witness and behold, as the candles flickered and the sound of the water falling mixed with my voice in chant as we gave ourselves up to the White  Spring.  Once out of the water, we drummed and danced in a soft, feminine way, and made our offerings.

Dried and with our time up, we left that dark and sacred place and stepped out into the sunshine once more.  We grounded ourselves and ate something, and then went to the Red Spring at Chalice Well Gardens, there to quietly reflect on what Glastonbury meant to us, and what we could give to honour it for all that is was.  A beautiful golden/yellow energy flowed from the wellhead, making  me smile as I sat beside it and opened my nemeton to this peaceful place, calling to my goddess Nemetona and letting my self release into her beauty in this wonderful place.  We need more places like Chalice Well and the White Spring, I said to myself, more places where one can open their soul in safety and honour the gods and goddesses that call to them, the spirits of place and the ancestors.  There were evocative places of reflection and communion.  I know that this can be found anywhere, but sometimes it is just nice to go to a place of beauty to be inspired, to open your eyes and see that beauty everywhere.  It’s difficult to explain.

We left the Red Spring and went back to Wellhouse Lane, just the other side of the wall to the road that now separates the White and Red Spring.  I took my bottles of water from each Spring and, with Lisa watching for traffic, stood in the middle of the road and brought the two waters together as they should have done, as they used to do, before the road was built and they were diverted from flowing together.  In the midst of the chaos of human life, I asked for peace and in the hope that one day these two otherworldly springs may once again join together.  A mother and a young child watched, and then came up to me afterwards, the young child wanting to speak to me.  “He thought you were a fairy”, the mother said, smiling as she later ushered him away.

We then spiralled up the Tor, making three circuits as we wound our way up.  Sitting at the top, with the spirits of the waters flowing from beneath the Tor, the ground rising up to meet the sky, the Spirits of the Three Worlds sang deep in our veins.  With so much elemental energy buzzing, I found it hard to connect – but moving aside I took out my medicine bag and reconnected with my self, and reminding myself before I could once again let go and feel that wonderful place again.  To let go of the self, you have to know the self first and foremost, I thought.  The sun shone brilliantly, the wind whipping our hair and the waters singing in our hearts.

After supper we retired back to the B&B, where we had our final experience of water in the land of Avalon, that land of water and mist – a lovely Jacuzzi!

After our vegetarian organic breakfast the next morning – this B&B had such a wonderful ethos – we made our way to Avebury.  The sun was hidden in a grey mackerel sky, for which we were thankful – our eyes did need a break after days and days of sunshine.  We walked the circle from quadrant to quadrant, honouring the stones that still stood and those that still lay beneath the ground, as well as those now broken up into wall boundaries, or buildings.  The most poignant part for me was coming to the inner circle where the Obelisk stone once stood.  Walking the circle as much as I could (for a church and other buildings were now in the place of where some of the inner circle lay) my gaze looked out and saw the stones as they would have been, as they should have been, though they were no longer there.  They were clear as day to my eyes, and Lisa’s chant that she received as a gift at the top of the Tor rang through my head the whole time.  I spiralled inwards towards the marker where the Obelisk once stood, and saw it standing huge and dark before me. I spiralled in and out of time, sometimes taking steps in this time, with the cars and tourists on the road, children playing on the banks, other times in a place of serene quiet where the huge sky overhead surrounded this massive stone. Flying through the shifts in time were the jackdaws, one who flew right next to me over where the Obelisk once stood – and through it where it now did stand, flickering in and out of time.  I made my offering there and then, and took out my stone that I have had for over twenty years, with the raven on it.  Another jackdaw alighted on the ground next to me, and I smiled at the little feathered fellow, saying my prayers to the spirits of place and honouring the ancestors.

Emerging back fully into the present time, we then visited the last two quadrants, where little newborn lambs with their umbilical cords still dangling down pranced near their mothers in soft and fuzzy joy.  Upon completing our circuit of the stones we then headed back home, stopping at West Kennet Longbarrow and Silbury Hill.

When we reached the barrow two youngsters emerged from the dark tomb, one with a drum, smiling at us and greeting us.  A felt a surge of energy follow them as they left, kind of pushing them back out into the sunlight even as I smiled at them and greeted them back.  I stood at the entrance and said a prayer to the ancestors and to My Lady of Sanctuary, knowing that I was entering a very sacred space.

The tomb was beautiful, but felt wrong – not because it was not a place for the living, though that could have been a big part of it, but that the energy there again was not right. Rose petals were strewn on the floor in the main back chamber, and unlit and dead tea lights were left in niches in the walls where the previous people had decided to leave them – littering, in my opinion.  I whispered my prayers for the ancient dead and left.

Standing out in the now emerging sunlight, we turned and looked back to the tomb.  It felt halfway between the open and welcoming energy of Glastonbury and the “piss off” energy of Stonehenge – it was withdrawing into itself, but hadn’t gone as far as Stonehenge yet.  The people who were coming here were had perhaps the best of intentions, but still not quite seeing the original intention, which is now lost to the mists of time.  However with a little common sense could it be sensed once again – it was a place of the dead.

Drumming and raising energy were all wrong for this barrow.  This was a place of silence, of darkness and of cool earth energy.  People were walking on top of the barrow, further leading to the erosion.  Why was this not fenced off to preserve this ancient monument of the dead?  Wildflowers grew upon the top of the barrow, being trampled by tourists and ritualists alike, along with other fauna that we heard in the yellowed grasses that had overwintered there – mice or birds squeaking deep within the sheltered blades of grass.

I think that the main thing for the barrow and Stonehenge was a loss of respect, something that was still quite evident and strong at Avebury and Stonehenge.  The Goddess was still be honoured at Glastonbury, but the intention at Stonehenge and West Kennet was lost.  They needed to become holy places once more. Failing that, we needed to create new ones.  Simply because something is ancient didn’t make it more worthy of honour that a newly built stone temple or place of burial for our dead.

Driving slowly through to the last stretch of home, through “Antler Alley” as I call it, where herds of deer live nearby, as well as the badgers, foxes, owls and other creatures, I considered the weekend, asking myself what I got out of it.  I then realised that a pilgrimage wasn’t about what you got out of it – it was about what you put in.  A pilgrimage was about giving yourself, of making the most of the time and energy that you put into it and offering yourself to the journey and the places themselves, which was what I had done.  It was a sacred time to stop and to honour all that which inspired you, to give of yourself without asking for anything in return. The gods, spirits of place and the ancestors should simply be honoured for what they are, not for what they can give us.

A sacred pilgrimage is an act of love and devotion to all that you consider sacred, and will reawaken your soul so that you can carry that into back to your homes and lives, sensing and seeing the sacred in everything.

 

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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

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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.

 

 

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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

BOOK

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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

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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!

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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…

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Back to Reality

Reality is a slippery little devil.  Our minds are so adept at creating our own version of reality that the boundaries between what is real and what is not can become so blurred as to be indistinguishable.

Our thoughts can control us so much that they can keep us running around in circles, spinning off into the depths of our minds and in doing so, missing out on all the wonders and also the reality of the present moment.  Most people don’t enjoy being in the present moment – they avoid it at all costs. However, this is because they have probably, for the most part, never ever truly experienced being in the present moment. (See my previous blog post on mindtraps for more on this subject – https://downtheforestpath.wordpress.com/?s=mindtraps.)

But I digress.  Problems arise when our perceptions of reality become twisted with the imaginative and creative thought processes that our human brains are so capable of.  This was made clear when my husband received a phone call last night from someone he hadn’t heard from in a long time.  When he queried why the person hadn’t been in touch (he didn’t have their number) they stated that he had become upset at their last conversation, and that he had put the  phone down on them.

This was not true – I don’t believe he has ever put the phone down on anyone, and especially would never do so to this person.  This person had left the real conversation months ago, and was not satisfied with the outcome.  And so, this person developed in their minds ways that it would appear that they had been wronged, so that they could continue to avoid reality and live in their preferred state of being the victim.  They may have told and retold the story of the conversation in their minds over and over again, changing the details until, after a period of days, weeks or months, reality had changed. Stories change with the telling, we know this.  But we are fooling ourselves when we keep changing reality to suit our own egos and emotions.

I remember times when I’ve done this myself in the past – sometimes it is to justify certain behaviour, or to explain events.  The key is to become aware of when you are doing it, to stop and say “Right.  I know what the facts are, and I’m going to stick to them, and not change them to suit my own desires”.  I still get surprised when I see this in other people – I’ve had people accuse me of certain things, of promising others and of creating a totally separate reality to that which actually occurred.  It can be hurtful, at times, until you understand the thought process that creates this – you then realise that you had no part in it, that it became an entity totally foreign to your own being.

This doesn’t mean that you are not responsible for your actions – we all must be the best human beings we can at this present moment. Actions have consequences. However, we must also be aware and have some compassion for those who are caught up in their own realities, to a certain extent. We don’t have to live in them, or even partake of that reality, but we can understand the reasons why.

We have to learn how to live in the here and now.  Being alive and present in the here and now allows no time for emotional attachment to our thoughts and feelings – we still respond emotionally to situations, but we don’t become attached to the emotion itself.  As I left work yesterday, after a long staff meeting, my colleague was upset at what was said about our department, which was, unwittingly or not, derogatory.  Not only does this emphasise that we need to think very clearly before we speak, but also that we also cannot attach to the emotions that follow after a certain event.  I too was very displeased with the outcome of the meeting and the insinuation, and driving home could feel anger welling inside, threatening to ruin the whole drive home and run well into the evening. However, I caught myself, and brought myself back to reality and the present moment.  What was the present moment? Driving home, in the late afternoon sun, putting miles between myself and the event, figuratively and literally.  It was no longer happening now, except in my head.  I could either let it continue to live in my head, or simply enjoy the evening. I chose the latter.

This doesn’t mean that the issue will not be dealt with. It will, in a calm, rational and compassionate way.  But it won’t dictate reality for me – reality is what it is, and nothing more.  When the time is appropriate, the issue will be raised without undo emotional attachment to the residual event that still exists in our minds, which may have altered slightly or even greatly since the actual event occurred – reality is a slippery devil indeed.  I will not go over the event again and again in my mind, perhaps changing reality in doing so.  I will deal with the facts.

Let us continue to tell stories, but not make up the story of our own life.  Our own lives are brilliant and fascinating enough – we don’t need to add more drama to them.  By doing so, we will miss our own lives, living instead in our minds and foregoing some of the wondrous nature that is constantly unfolding right before our very eyes.  We can hurt other people by making up stories to suit our egos and our needs, and the person whom we hurt most is ourselves.

Reality is not such a bad place.  Really.

 

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Little Pagan Monastery

chalicwell1So, after a lot of interest in my previous Pagan Monasticism blog posts, it looks like I will be co-running a retreat weekend this winter at Chalice Well Gardens, called the Little Pagan Monastery.  The dates haven’t been confirmed yet, but we’re looking at something between October and December 2013, and then again in the summer of 2014.

The Little Pagan Monastery will give people a brief glimpse into a pagan monastic life – the weekend will be structured around daily prayers, meditations, lectures, chores around the houses and Chalice Well Gardens, as well as outings to the White Spring and Glastonbury Tor.  It will be a weekend of the contemplative life – a time to devote yourself 100% to your gods and spirituality in the tranquil setting of Chalice Well Gardens. It is open to all pagans.  Expect to rise with the dawn! We will also have out of hours access to the Chalice Well Gardens, and will end the weekend with ritual.

Prices have yet to be determined, as we need a rough estimate of numbers first.  We are aiming to keep the cost of this weekend as low as possible, to enable everyone no matter what their financial circumstances are the opportunity to dip their toes into pagan monastic life.  We’re hoping that everyone will go away nurtured by the weekend, and finding new and imaginative ways of incorporating more spirituality in their daily lives, should they so wish.

If you are interested, please email me at autumnsong@hotmail.co.uk to be put on the sign-up list.  When we have a good idea of numbers, we will then let people know the financial costs and proceed from there. Space will be very limited, so please get in touch as soon as you can to be put on the list.

We hope to see you there!

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Ancestors

I’ve been thinking a lot about the ancestors lately.  When people think of the ancestors, the first thing that comes to mind is blood relatives from the past.  In Druidry, we honour our blood ancestors, but also those ancestors of tradition (those who have shared our worldviews) and of place (those who are a part of our land).  Yet it is not ancestors of the past that currently occupy my thoughts – it is ancestors of the future, those yet to come, that are my main guiding force in life.

I am childless by choice.  I will not have direct descendants, though I share my genetic makeup with the rest of my family, my nephews, cousins and more, which will be passed down through blood.  However, I will become a future ancestors of tradition as well as having future ancestors of tradition, and the same can be said for being and having future ancestors of place.  It is mostly to these ancestors yet to come, my future ancestors of all three groups, that direct the way in which I live my life.

Our ancestors of the past have helped to shape us, to make us what we are, though we are our own person and always have our own choices to make in life.  We can repeat past mistakes or we can change – it is up to us.  Our ancestors of the future do not have the luxury of choice – they are stuck with whatever it is that we provide them.  With the world being in such a mess, alongside the moments of pure beauty, I worry about what I will leave for them.

Emma Restall Orr states on her website that she endeavours to live a life of which her ancestors would be proud.  That is a beautiful and motivating sentiment – and is especially poignant for our future ancestors.  We have the option of learning from our previous ancestors to make this world a better place, in however big or small a way, for our future ancestors.  Apathy has no place in my worldview – everything we do matters.

I have made mistakes in my past. I have had glorious achievements.  I can acknowledge all of these, and today be the best person I can be, for the sake of my future ancestors of blood, tradition and place.  There is no time to wallow in guilt, or to rest on my laurels – every single deed, every single action right now will have an effect on the future.  The past is there to teach us, the future is there to direct us, and the present moment exists to capture all that we can be in this moment in time.

Heathenry, or the Northern Tradition in paganism, has a beautiful saying – “We are our deeds”.  We must live up to it.  The past is gone, the future ungraspable – so make this very moment count.  Live honourably, with awareness.  To my future ancestors, know that you are honoured.