relationship

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The Spirits of Place Within Me

mont_tremblantAfter having had wonderful conversations with an old friend of mine, and currently reading “Pagan Visions for a Sustainable Future” the concept of the spirits of place has gained an even greater standing in my Druidry.

I have always loved the hills and mountains, the forests and rivers where I grew up in the Laurentians.  These ancient volcanic hills, softly rounded ,weathered and tree-covered sing to my soul.  They are not only a part of the landscape in which I grew up in – they are a part of very own self as well.

The water that I drank flowed from the rivers than ran between the mountains, fast in the spring with snowmelt, crashing over rapids and making its way southward through towns and villages.  This river fed the many lakes, along with mountain streams that flowed down the granite hills, bubbling and jumping merrily through moss-covered stones.  This is the water that I drank – it was a part of me, the rivers and the lakes, the mountain streams.

The clouds that scudded the hilltops gave rain that added to those mountain springs and rivers.  Those clouds were a part of me.

The sandy plateau in the midst of these mountains is where our house was built. It was the literal foundation for a very happy childhood.  Upon this soil I grew up. I tasted it upon my skin after a day spent outside, I inhaled the scent after a summer rain, smelt it on the cat’s fur when she came inside after rolling in the sand.  This soil is a part of me.

The sunlight beaming down upon my warm skin as we sat on the lakeside beach, slowly browning or freckling skin, drinking it in – that sunlight is a part of me.

The thunder and lightning storms that raged across the skies in the heat of August, restoring the balance and refreshing the body after the humidity of the day – those storms are a part of me.

The dairy cows in the lowlands fed by the river and other rivers gave us milk and cheese as we were growing up.  Those cows, the grass they fed upon, are a part of me.

The mulch thick and deep in the forest floor in late autumn, with mushrooms poking through and the wonder of life all around – that is a part of me.

Though I may now live thousands of miles away, all these things are still a part of me.  If we think about it even further, the minerals in our blood, the iron from stars in galaxies far away are a part of us – there is everything in us and we are in everything.

Go deep enough, feel all these things in your soul, have your mind blown time and again.  It begins to make sense, offers some comfort in our sometimes senseless society.

Words can give us glimpse – it is in the experiencing and relationship where the magic happens.

 

 

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Boundaries: Dancing with Nemetona

Akram Khan Dance Company, from the Vertical Road tour

Akram Khan Dance Company, from the Vertical Road tour

Having danced deeply with the goddess Nemetona this winter, which has also inspired me to write my second book for Moon Books, the issue of boundaries returns again and again in relation to human interaction, in every day life with people that I share this journey with.

Our own personal nemeton, that space around us that we do not allow anyone but those with whom we are most intimate with, expands and contracts with each person that we meet.  Some we might shy away from, some we might fling our souls wide open to.  What I have learned is that boundaries must be kept, in order to keep the nemeton intact.

This is difficult for me, as I enjoy ecstatic relationship –I crave it in my Druidry, in my life.  Yet I have learned with whom it is appropriate, and with whom it is not.  To utterly dissolve into the moment of the sunset, or opening my soul to the bluebell wood as I lie beneath the gently swaying branches of oak and sycamore, or deep within the heart of ritual where transformation, celebration, integration take place – these are the times when it is not only appropriate, but relatively safe to do so.  I know that the bluebell wood will not harm me, will not abuse the relationship.  Sadly, this is often not the case with many humans that we meet.

Perhaps that is why it is so much easier for me, as a Druid, to find relationship with the beech tree at the bottom of the garden, or the badger that comes looking for birdseed and peanuts, than the average human being.  I have not been hurt by these creatures – even when my soul is laid bare, I have not come to harm.  The seaside has not taken advantage of that moment when we are soul naked, seeking deep ecstatic relationship.  Perhaps this is because the sea does not want, does not need as we humans need.

Human relationship is so very different, for so much of it is heavily dependent on need, on desires.  We seek a give and take in our relationships, if they are to be healthy.  When there is not balance, it is unhealthy, and often advantage of another is occurring.

Saddened by and a little wiser by past experiences, I have to relearn again and again where my edges are, and where they meet with others.  Telling myself over and over again that I will not be hurt by certain people, or that I will allow love in from others – this is what is so very important.  This is what Nemetona teaches me each and every day.

By becoming aware of our own boundaries, we can then act honourably with other humans we meet, and indeed with all of nature. Sometimes it is wholly inappropriate to fling our souls open to the lake at moonrise – that is why in Druidry we ask permission to share our soul touch with others.  Maybe this is what is lacking in much of human interaction – that permission is not sought. It is either given when not asked for, or taken even when it is not sought.

In the midst of all this, all we do is dance with Her as best we can, sometimes ecstatically, sometimes deep within our boundaries, ever awake and aware of our relationship to Her and to the rest of the world.

“And those who were seen dancing were thought to be insane by those who could not hear the music.” – Friedrich Nietzsche

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Druidry – What is Awen?

In Druidry, we learn often hear the word, awen, being used, but what exactly is awen?   Loosely translated from Welsh, it means flowing spirit, or flowing inspiration.  Awake to our own energy, and stretching out towards the energy of nature around us, we begin to see just what awen is.  It is an opening of one’s self, of one’s spirit or soul, in order to truly and very deeply see.  When we are open, we can receive that divine gift, inspiration that flows, whether it is from deity, nature, or whatever it is that you choose to focus on.

For awen to exist, there must be relationship.  We cannot be inspired unless we are open, and we cannot be open unless we have established a relationship, whether that is with the thunder, the blackbird or a god.  It is cyclical in nature; we open and give of ourselves and in doing so we receive, and vice versa.  Letting go, releasing into that flow of awen allows it to flow ever more freely, and we find ourselves inspired not only in fits and bursts of enlightenment or inspiration, but all the time, carrying that essence of connection and wonder with us at all times.  There is, of course, a line to be drawn, for we can’t be off our heads in ecstatic relationship with everything all the time.

But just what is awen?  It is an awareness, not just on a physical and mental level but on a soul deep level – an awareness of the entirety of existence, of life itself.  It is seeing the threads that connect us all.  It is the deep well of inspiration that we drink from, to nurture our souls and our world and to give back in joy, in reverence, in wild abandon and in solemn ceremony.

Many are familiar with the Welsh tale/myth of Cerridwen and her cauldron, the three drops of awen falling onto Gwion’s finger and bringing his wisdom in the form of poetic inspiration, shape-shifting and prophecy.  Some liken this story to a Bardic initiation, or the three grades of Bard, Ovate and Druid.  In any case, drinking from the cauldron of the Goddess is to drink deeply of awen.

Many Druid rituals begin or end with singing or chanting the awen. When doing so, the word is stretched to three syllables, sounding like ah-oo-wen.  It is a lovely sound, that opens up the heart and soul. Sung/chanted together, or in rounds, it simply flows, as its namesake determines.  Our hearts literally can open if we let them when chanting or singing the awen.

Yet I am sure that the awen is different for each and every Druid.  The connection, and the resulting expression of that connection, the Druid’s own creativity, can be so vast and diverse.  It is what is so delicious about it – we inhale the awen and exhale our own creativity in song, in dance, in books, in protest marches – the possibilities are endless, as is the awen itself.

 

 

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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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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 😉