religion

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Darkness and Mystery

milton paradise lostThe evenings draw in closer, the darkness growing as we make our way towards the winter solstice.  It is a time for deep thought, reflection and understanding – thinking and understanding so deeply you are hardly doing it at all.  In the darkness our minds are much less distracted by visual stimulation.  We can explore the darkness both within and without, as well as the great mystery of the unknown.

In Zen Buddhism, along the Eightfold Path we learn about Right Mind.  At this time of year, I apply it when journeying ever closer towards the rebirth of the light. It is in the darkness that the mind is truly explored. It is in the darkness that the world outside is truly confronted.  It is in the darkness where we find the greatest mystery of all.

Right Mind requires an understanding of the self, in order to see that the self is really not all that important.  First we must learn about our reactions to the world – how we relate to it, what is automatic and what is intentional.  By studying our selves and studying our navels, we look deep within to see where we might be able to work on living in full awareness of our actions in our daily lives.  If we have an understanding that we instantly react to the person on the social networking site who criticises us, we can then work on that so that there isn’t attachment to it.  We learn that we don’t even have to react – that it is within our power as to how we behave.  When our co-worker in the office won’t help us even when we ask for it, we learn not to instantly react and let it ruin our day. We simply get on with the job at hand, perhaps asking for help elsewhere.

We are not owed anything. Learning this lesson can be of great value in our own spiritual awakening.  People do not have to act as we would wish them to. Not everyone has to agree with us. People will have different opinions.  We don’t have to comment, criticise or even give it second thought if we do not wish to.  Our emotions, our passions should be the spark of inspiration. They should not be the raging inferno that takes over.

By looking deep within to see how our passions and emotions play through our daily lives, we come to an understanding of them. We cannot ever develop a relationship with anything, be it person, tree, mountain or deity without first understanding them to a certain degree.  We often do not understand ourselves, to our detriment.  Why do we behave the way we do? How can we live more intentionally?

Through daily meditation we can come to a greater awareness of our selves.  Once we have attained that awareness, it is best to let it go.

You may ask – why spend all that time learning about our selves, only to let it go?

If we are constantly looking inwards, we will neglect to look outwards.  Druidry and much of modern day Paganism are at the risk of becoming too self-involved, too inwardly focused.  Five words remind me of this on a daily basis. It’s not all about you.

We can become so self-absorbed in looking at our navels that the world passes us by.  There is so much out there that we need to become aware of, just as previously there was so much inside that we needed to be aware of.  Once we have achieved a level of competency in knowing ourselves, the best thing we could do is to lose that sense of self in order to understand the bigger picture.

This dropping of the ego, this letting go is not an annihilation of the self. It is not negation. It is immersion, integration – utterly being.  It shows us the boundaries between the worlds, between us and other humans, between us as the natural environment. It also shows us that these boundaries are simply illusion. We are all just energy.

We can then begin to explore the greatest mystery of all, within the nurturing darkness – that of not knowing.  After learning to understand our selves and the world, we lose understanding as well, realising that we really do not know very much at all.  In such a vast landscape, both inner and outer, how can we truly know anything at all?  Often in Zen this is referred to as Mu, or nothing.  In the not knowing we are open to everything, our minds not being closed off.  The great mystery of not knowing is where the true potential lies.  In not knowing, we are free.

Deep within the darkness, the journey continues.

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Reblog: November Skies

Here is a link to my latest blog for SageWoman at WitchesandPagans…

Nov skyThere’s just something about a November sky.

For many, November can be a month of hard coping, with the clocks changing, the nights drawing in, the colder air and wetter weather.  Yet we often miss the beauty of this month, lost in our own solipsism.  Looking around us, we see that there is so much more than our own worlds, than our own lives. As Bjork said, “nature is ancient and surprises us all”…

To read more, please go to http://witchesandpagans.com/SageWoman-Blogs/november-skies.html

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Spiritually Ill

At Samhain, by sunset I was in bed, the world was spinning.  I had just gotten off the phone to cancel the evening’s ritual. I had doggedly worked through the previous two days with a headache that just wouldn’t go away, and an all over body ache that I attributed to overdoing it in yoga.  Now nausea took over; I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. This was something different.

My blood boiled and the fever took over, running for the next three days.  Then blisters began to appear, and I knew – I had chicken pox.  I had managed to elude it for 39 years, and it finally caught up with me. My immune system was already weakened from a previous virus and an unrelaxing but still enjoyable holiday.

Halfway through the night we had to get up to change the sheets.  The fire in my body was trying to be quenched with sweat. The pounding in my head was almost unbearable.  As I dragged my aching body back into bed and into the blessed darkness, I wondered how I could deal with this illness on a spiritual level.

Using meditation techniques to calm the body and ease the headache, it was pretty easy at first. But then the rash came out, and all thoughts of coping with meditation flew out the window.  The fever comes and goes, a rush of fire through the body and that is quite easy to follow along, feeling it along my body and in my bones, through my hair and rising off my body.  It’s the stillness that is difficult in these circumstances.  I thought my Zen and meditation training would help to ease this. I was wrong.

It was impossible to sit still.  It was impossible to sleep. It still is.  Lying down, you feel all the nerves reacting to the virus, sending sharp little elf shots throughout the body and into the blisters.  You twitch. Even now, the twitching doesn’t stop.  The mind is doing all it can to get away from the pain, from the discomfort. Trying to type these words and form a cohesive thought pattern is a real challenge.

So what to do? How to deal with the chicken pox virus spiritually as well as physically? I’ve found that my skin is soothed outside, by sitting in the backyard, letting the sun and the wind ease the pain.  It doesn’t last for long – when I go back inside again it returns, but I am reminded of the moments of normalcy, of nature all around me, continuing on even as the fires rage within my body.  It is a reminder that the world is bigger than you are – when we are ill, we can so easily become despondent, self-absorbed ( I know – writing a blog about this is a tad on the solipsism side, but bear with me).

I look at my cat, who has been fighting with a stomach infection for months now.  She doesn’t seem terribly bothered by it – animals deal with pain and illness, death and dying so much better than most humans. They have an innate grace when it comes to it, all things considered.  And so I take inspiration from nature to help me combat the mental and physical challenges that lie ahead this week.

I let the awen flow.

I also hit the bottle of calamine lotion, and take some white willow bark.

I feel that this is also a turning point – the Celtic New Year has begun.  My body is undergoing some serious trials right now, and I feel that at the end of this journey I will have learned something valuable.  I was not able to perform any Samhain rituals, but did light a candle for the ancestors and leave it in the front and rear windows of the home, like I do every year, to guide the dead on their journey.  A couple of days later I was able to sit in my altar room and, after trying and giving up on meditation I turned to my oldest set of cards for inspiration.  What did I need to learn from this, I asked? The card I drew was Initiation.

And so, I feel that this is telling me to stop, to slow down even, to see the new phase in my life.  To literally do nothing. To deal with pain.  To deal with suffering.  To get on and be inspired by life.  To let go of all concepts related to my looks.  To let go of all thoughts of the future. To enjoy the moment. To simply be.  There is nothing like pain to get you in the present moment, if you truly open yourself up to it.

It has showed me that even though I talk about slowing down, and not taking on so many commitments, that I need to walk the talk.  I have talked about slowing down for months now, and yet keep accepting new work, birthing new ideas and letting the awen flow.  What I need to do is to retreat, to stop for a bit, to perhaps stem the flow of awen pouring out, and focus on it pouring back in.

This illness has really highlighted that for me.  Exchange, relationship. I talk about this a lot, and yet now see how unbalanced I was in it.  And so, learning from this episode in my life, I start the new year unable to do much except sit and read, or watch the birds as the sun sets a little closer each evening.  There are books to read, sacred places to visit.  A retreat from the world in order to better engage with it – this is what the monastic tradition is all about.  It’s calling to me at the moment. Time to ponder on thoughts of the self, to chop wood and carry water.  The cool breeze from the open window beside me is so delicious on my hot and blistered skin.

Is this how to deal with illness as a Druid? Maybe – each person’s journey is different, and sacred. May yours be walked in balance and harmony, in darkness and in light with equal joy and yes, pain.

 

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Reblog: The Ancestors from Moon Books’ blog

Here is my latest blog for the Moon Books’ main blog page. May the ancestors guide you well! x http://moon-books.net/blogs/moonbooks/ancestors/

Samhain is a time to think on the ancestors, as it is often said that at this time of the year, the veil between the worlds is thin.  Our ancestors can mean so much to us, and yet, how much do we acknowledge them in our lives?

If you stop to think about it, you are the result of hundreds of thousands of years of ancestors, their numbers legion.  You, right now, are the result of evolution.  Taking a moment to stop and think about this can have great impact upon our lives.  We may suddenly realise that we are not alone – that we have the songs of millions of ancestors running through our veins.  That we are part of a grander cycle of life, death and birth that makes the little dramas, worries and events in our lives pale by comparison. It also reminds us that we are connected to all living things – that if you go back far enough, we have the stuff of stars in the minerals of our blood, the water of the vast oceans in our bodies, the sunlight and storms of times gone by.  In this way, there is absolutely no way we could say that we are an entity alone on this planet, and yet so many of us feel to be disconnected from everything and everyone around us.

Why do we feel this disconnection?  Ancestor worship used to be common, and still is, among many societies around the globe.  While the word worship may prove to be difficult for some, perhaps simple acknowledgement of the ancestors would be more apt. We have the good, bad and the ugly in our heritage – we need not worship any of them. However, connecting with and knowing that they are there, with all their glory and all their faults allows us the time and space to truly see life for what it really is – a culmination of everything that has previously happened, and the potential that lies within the future, with this present moment the very real blessing that it is if we are awake enough to immerse ourselves within it.

So why have we lost this connection to our ancestors? I don’t really know – I can only speculate.  Our real, blood ancestors may have been replaced by myths from the dominant religion, or pushed aside to form the secular culture of today.  Patronymic and matronymic Names such as Svensson or Gudrunsdottir were pushed aside by governments and churches in order to identify people according to the fashion of the time.  Women were forced to give up their maiden names when they married, and whole lineages were lost in a patriarchal society.  Voices were muted, or forcibly silenced.

What we can do now is to piece together the fragments that remain, in order to connect with our ancestors.  For some this is easier than others – broken homes and families, orphans and adoptees face a very and ever increasing challenge in coming to know and understand the ancestors.  Through rising conflicts in various countries, researching your genealogy might reveal some truths best left hidden from your social peers.  There may not even be access to records available – so what is a person to do?  We must remember that it is not only the secular world we live in, but also a spiritual world, where our ancestors await us if we choose to meet with them.

And so we do, in an odd fashion, at this time of year without really knowing why.  Stories of ghosts and witches and the dead coming to life flit through the minds of children and adults alike, as they dress up in ghoulish costumes ready to tackle the dark streets with other like-minded adventurers.  I remember fondly my years of trick-or-treating with my brother and sister – roaming the streets full of children, very little adult presence, dressed up in scary or not so scary costumes, out past the normal time allowed and going onto neighbours’ properties, walking beneath the bared branches of the trees, the moon shining spookily through just like in all the pictures we’d been drawing in school, a cat running across our path.  Ghosts lurked behind every bush and darkened window, witches flew on brooms past the rounded face of the moon, skeletons danced in the graveyards.  These images of the dead, the scary, the ancestors were still so evocative and ignited the imagination of every child wandering and testing the dark streets of both their neighbourhood and their soul.

We have a very real fear of death in our society.  We do not talk about it. We go to visit dying relatives in the hospital and tell them that they will be okay.  When they do die, we send the bodies off for preparation by someone most likely not a family member – if we are lucky, the family knows the undertaker through their previous work.  On this night, the night of Samhain, Hallowe’en, we the masses are allowed to talk of death, or if not talk about it, act it out in a sugar induced high as children, or an alcohol induced platitude in our adulthood.

Taking a step back from all this and really acknowledging the season for what it is, for what it means to relate to our ancestors, is what Samhain is really about for me.  I acknowledge not only my human ancestors, but all those who have gone before, whether they be cat or tree, mountain or sea.  The tides of time and life and constantly changing, and death is always around us, as is life.  However, at this time of year, where here in the UK the leaves are changing colour and falling to the ground, the ground foliage dying back and bare earth being exposed for the first time in many months, the smell of death and decay all around – it is easier and much more obvious to honour the cycle of death.  Rebirth will happen when the sun begins to warm up the earth, when the days begin to become longer. Right now, the darkness awaits, and in that darkness, the stillness of death. Taking a moment to be still ourselves, to experience a little death on this most hallowed night, is so utterly freeing and grounding at the same time.

We are so often not human beings, but human doings. To stop, to cease doing things, to stop being active is to become old, or worse, dead.  Yet we are not annihilated when we cease to run around on the hamster wheel – instead we are immersed in the wonder of life and death, of creation and destruction.  That immersion is, for me as a Druid, what it is all about.  Dropping that sense of self to be free within the world is all important.  Knowing who you are first is essential – for when you know who you are, you can then let it go into the dark void of potential, into the cauldron of unknowing.

So this Samhain, take a moment to stop and connect with the ancestors.  Realise that the threads are always with you, shimmering along ethereal lines of connectivity in a grander tapestry of life.  Some may have faded with time, some may need mending, but we have the magic lying within our very souls to do this.  Pick up the veil that lies between the worlds, and see the shimmering lives of the ancestors on the other side – and know that there is no other side in truth.  We are all here together, but our minds create the gauzy veil between the worlds.  Lift that veil.  Look death in the eye.  Smile, and death will smile back at you.  Rejoice in the impermanence of all things, and know that one day you too will be an ancestor, your threads still connecting you to all that is within the web of existence. Dance in the present moment, with the ancestors of past the future dancing alongside you.

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Reblog from SageWoman: Samhain and the Ancestors

samhain

digital artwork by Pumpkin Photography, available on devianart

Reblog from my post over at SageWoman’s blog channel – Samhain blessings to you all!

What with the rage of the storm St Jude passing over our area on Monday morning, we were without power for a couple of days (as well as being without land line phones -mobile masts were also out).  At this time of year, when the clocks have gone back and the nights are drawing in, the change can be quite dramatic, especially when you are living without power.

The weather had turned cold in the evenings, but luckily we have a fireplace, so the evenings were spent gathered around the hearth, with the darkness all around just outside the circle of candle and firelight, and the wind howling outside. Pretty much confined to one room in the light and warmth, we took the time to simply be – to sit together and watch the flames dancing in the darkness.

Preparations had to be made before the light began to fail.  Food was prepared in the daylight, and the candles and fire readied for when darkness fell.  There’s nothing worse than being caught out in pitch blackness, looking for a match or a torch and stumbling in the darkness.  Time was very much in the forefront of my mind – I had to make sure things were ready.  The days and nights seemed to stretch in length, without the distraction of any media to divert our attention away from the inky blackness outside our windows.

Outside, when it was safe enough to go out, we looked up and saw even more stars than we can usually see.  Living as we do in a rural area near the coast of the North Sea, we have a pretty amazing night sky as it is, without very much light pollution. These last few nights were something really special. We also noticed just how many planes were in the sky as well – an alarming number, all things considered.

At this time of year, the ancestors are often in my thoughts – in Druidry, we have the ancestors of blood, of place and of tradition to work with.  I felt even more connected to the ancestors of the past, without any electricity, filling my days with manual work and enjoying relaxing by the fire in the evenings.  My blood ancestors hummed in my veins as I watched the flames in the fireplace, seeing lines stretching off into the darkness of the past and stretching to include hundreds, thousands of people who have gone before.  The ancestors of place were all around me, and the very real notion that the living are walking, working, living and loving on the bodies on the dead was very real to me.  The bodies of all flora and fauna who have gone before provided this very land upon which we live, and at this time of year when it appears that everything is slowly dying to the coming winter, it really hit home.  Every morning I was also reminded of the life amidst the world of the dead, as the stags were calling to their does, and the rutting season beginning here upon the heathland.  The ancestors of tradition opened up my mind to all that was occurring around me, allowing me to see and experience the mysteries firsthand. I wondered what the future ancestors would experience from our legacy.

When our power did finally come back on, in the early hours of the morning a few days later, I physically felt it.  Fast asleep, I awoke in the darkness that was not quite so dark, wondering why I had just sat up in bed. I felt a buzzing in my body, as if everything around me was humming. Looking out the window, I saw that our neighbours across the street had their outside light come on, and that the darkness was not so thick, both inside and out.  I could feel the electricity come back on.  The heating then came on, and I listened to the sounds of the furnace firing up, and the house creaking under the sudden change in temperature. I was a bit saddened by the return of electricity – it meant that deadlines were now due, that work awaited me when all I wanted to do was retreat into hibernation mode.  It meant that we would have to make a special effort not to sink back into the luxury that is electricity, and to not take it for granted. (I was, however, very much looking forward to a hot bath in the morning).

I welcome the darkness, with the rest after a long and busy summer that it brings.  I look forward to the shortening days until the winter solstice, when the evenings stretch into hours of sacred time and sacred space. I will fill these hours with meditation, with ritual, with remembrance, instead of ignoring the darkness with the buzzing of electricity and the drone of the media.  I will remember our days spent closer to the ancestors, and will welcome the connection to them in the growing darkness.

http://www.witchesandpagans.com/SageWoman-Blogs/samhain-and-the-ancestors.html

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Samhain Musings…

Samhain, the time when the veils between the worlds are thin… I’ve been wondering about this term of phrase lately.  Why, on certain dates of the year, should the veil be thinner than at other times? Is there even such a thing as a veil between the worlds?

More and more I lean towards the negative – that there is indeed no veil, that the dead and the living walk side by side.  That there is no Otherworld, that the Otherworld and this world are all the same – it’s only our perception of it that makes it “other”.  We like to separate things, we human beings, to classify and put them in a place where we can understand them from a stand-offish perspective.  I would posit that, looking at nature, nothing is that simple, or can be tied so neatly to an idea.

Taking inspiration from the natural world around us, we see the living and the dead working together all of the time, whether it is autumn, winter, spring or summer.  Things are dying around us constantly – there is no specific season for it. Animals die, plants die, cells die – it does not wait for autumn. I admit, in the Fall we see the foliage around us withdrawing into itself, the leaves falling, the grasses returning to their roots, energy moving in different directions, from out into the sunlight to deep within the earth. This is not a death, however it may appear – simply a reversal of direction.

Like the double helix, energy is always moving, and never in one direction only. When everything appears to be dying here in the Northern Hemisphere, it is beginning to come to life in the Southern Hemisphere. The tides and times of life follow no one set of rules.

I may die in the autumn, I may die in the spring. Whenever I do die, my body will in turn nourish the soil, plants, fungi, animals and legion of other living beings on this planet in that great symbiosis of simply being. It does not rely on a season.  I do not cease to be, either. I simply cease to be in some form or other – my body will take on a new form. My soul – I believe that too will take on a new form, if nature has taught me anything.

In our agricultural year and society here in the Northern Hemisphere, we are at the end of our harvest season, and in that time we are able to take a break as the final crops have come in.  But we are still making our preparations for winter. Is there really a time to rest, to relax, before the snows come?  For some animals this is the busiest season, the squirrels squirreling away their stores, for example.  I’m sure our ancestors would have been busy all throughout the year, just trying to stay alive.

I’ve often thought of autumn as a time of rest, of rejuvenation.  I see now that perhaps “rest” wasn’t quite right.  Autumn is more a time of reflection, of going through what we have learned through the year, and through all the years of our lives.  It is a time to not stop, per se, but to take stock.

Along the way, our ancestors, who are with us always, can help us, guide us throughout our lives.  Having a special time of year set aside to acknowledge them is a good thing, but I would posit that we should honour where we have come from, our stories and our heritage, all that brought us to this point in time each and every day.  It is not a one-off thing. Like the holiday of Thanksgiving, I really enjoy and appreciate the sentiment, but carry that same sentiment with me throughout the year.

All that being said, this IS my favourite time of the year. I love the colours, the smells, the feeling in the air of the approaching winter, the stories of summer lingering upon our lips in reflection and contemplation.

Side by side with the ancestors, I honour the season, the tides and times of life, death, and rebirth.

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Sacrifice

(This is from an article that I wrote for The Druid Network a few years ago…)

Many people in the pagan community have differing ideas on the concept of
sacrifice. Here I can only offer my own view, to share with others. These words,
much as the notion of sacrifice, are a purely personal experience.

Let me first describe what to me is the difference between an offering and a
sacrifice. Offerings can be daily elements of the ritual of our lives; offerings
of incense, of songs to the dawn, food from each meal. Offerings are often given
in thanks; for the day, for the restoration of health to a loved one, for a
wandering pet’s return. For some, offerings are a return of what we have in
abundance, for example, a farmer returning a sheaf of wheat to the land, or some
of the autumn’s blackberry port that was made poured back beneath the bushes
from whence the fruit was obtained. Offerings are used to establish a
relationship, to give back for what we have received in turn from an honourable
existence. They nurture a relationship. So, in that context, what is sacrifice?

For me, sacrifice is something that you just don’t want to give up. It hurts.
Yet, to be able to move onto the next level, to deepen a relationship further,
instead of just nurturing it with an offering, a sacrifice must be made.
Sacrifice is giving up something that is sacred to you. It can’t be easy. It
can’t be something that has outlived its purpose. It can’t be something that you
don’t really care about, or that you have in abundance. It can’t be something
that can be replaced. It has to show dedication, devotion, commitment. It has
got to hurt.

When I speak of hurting, I don’t mean physical pain, although that too in a
way can be seen as a sacrifice. If something will forever be changed because of
it, then perhaps it can be deemed as sacrifice (a tattoo, for instance). To push
through barriers of pain can be a sacrifice of what we strive for as human
beings – comfort being one of the greatest drives. Yet there can be an emotional
pain in sacrifice as well. That the physical pain in sacrifice is our own cannot
be questioned – we should never harm another being in the name of sacrifice, or
for whatever reason. If we are to sacrifice our own personal comfort, then it
must be sufficient to move onto a new level of relationship. We may not always
be willing to sacrifice, however, we can be ready to.

Some argue that time can be sacrificed, yet I would argue that if one has
come to a relationship with the god of Time, then one will find that they have
all the time in the world to attain what they wish. Time, for me, can only be an
offering, even though it can be seen as irreplaceable. Time is not a sacrifice
when it means spending more time at the local soup kitchen and less time in
front of the television – it is merely a reprioritising of time, and what is
important.

Can money be a sacrifice? Again, this for me is more of an offering than a
sacrifice for most people. Money can be replaced, for instance. Yet, if one
gives all their money to another, is that not a sacrifice? Perhaps yes, perhaps
no. For me, money can always be made, yet I live in the luxury of not worrying
too much about where my next meal comes from. So, for me, money is an offering,
much as food and time.

So what constitutes sacrifice? In my own experience, an item (so far it has
always been an item) must be thought over for hours, even days, as to whether or
not I wish to sacrifice it. If I can find other things that I would willingly
sacrifice before it, then they are not worthy. Some might think of this train of
thought as merely masochistic. Again, it comes down to what is truly sacred to
one’s self, and what one needs to do in order to progress to the next level.

Recently, I spent all night in my tepee, knowing that I had to sacrifice
something in the morning before the ritual. I knew that I wanted to go deeper
into my druidry, and that the spirits of place and my gods required it of me. I
hummed and hawed over it, wondering if I had anything else in my pack that I
could sacrifice instead of my beloved and sacred bead bracelet. I didn’t. It was
either my eagle pendant or my bracelet. I couldn’t sacrifice my wooden beaded
necklaces, they were just too easy – I didn’t have a large enough emotional
attachment to them. The spirits of place would not accept that offering, as I
felt. It was not sufficient in order to attain the deeper relationship
that I craved. My eagle pendant, after long thought, was replaceable, though I
would miss it dearly in the months that it would take to find another one. My
bracelet, however, one of a kind with many dear memories attached, was not at
all replaceable. That would be my sacrifice.

I have also sacrificed a medicine bag, and a wedding ring. None of these
items I wanted to let go, but just knew I had to if I was to progress
along my spiritual journey. I miss them dearly, but the value in giving them up
makes up for their loss, in a sense. I have a deeper understanding about myself,
about what is important to me, and by sacrificing these things to the spirits I
feel that they know me better, know my intentions more clearly, and that we have
a stronger, deeper, newer and more committed relationship for it. To me, that is
the true nature of sacrifice.

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Reblog from SageWoman: Samhain Approaching

My latest blog for SageWoman’s online channel: http://witchesandpagans.com/SageWoman-Blogs/samhain-approaching.html

Digital art by Ado Ceric, http://www.adoceric.com/Digital7.php

Digital art by Ado Ceric, http://www.adoceric.com/Digital7.php

As I sit here, writing this, the rain taps at the window, the wind howling down the street, carrying with it the scent of winter and the first of the autumn leaves. The sky is fast moving and furious – low dark grey clouds set amidst a backdrop of pure white/grey.  The central heating has been turned on.  The apples are juicy on the trees.  The starlings are flocking together. Welcome, Autumn.

My favourite season – as you may have guessed. From bright, sunny days where the sun shows the last of its strength, to watery, wind-filled days like these, it is a season of change like no other.  Quick, altogether too quickly, it is over, at least the Fall is, when the leaves change and drop to the ground.  After that, it seems Winter is here – only allowing Autumn a brief time of grace to shine in her beauty before all is blanketed under the dreamy cold slumber of Winter.

It is third week of October – and the hectic days of summer leading to the Equinox have long passed.  I feel I can almost catch my breath – almost.  The main bulk of the harvest is done – both agriculturally and in a personal sense.  I have worked hard this year, and the rewards have been great.  There are always disappointments – from the tomatoes that didn’t do well to the vagaries of life.  But Autumn, with her beauty, captures our hearts and our minds, our attention, and causes us to stop, to listen and watch Her before She is gone.

Samhain is just around the corner.  Time to let go of that which did not come to fruition. It is also a time to carry forth and collect the seeds of our new intentions – for we cannot throw these to the winds just yet.  We release the dross of our lives into the flames of Samhain fires, and protect the seeds of new ideas and next year’s harvest within the larder of our souls.  We cannot release everything – we must hold onto something to take us into the new year, something to sow our intentions with. It could be lessons learned, ideas that did have the time to grow, or ideas that came too late in the season to be utilised to their full potential. And so carry them over we must.

I hope your harvest has been bountiful, and that what you carry over be blessed as well. May the release of Samhain and the dreamy slumber of winter nurture you. May you find beauty and strength in this, the most inspiring and beautiful of all seasons.  May the Goddess of Autumn bring you joy as she does me. x

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Reblog: Awen and Despair

From my blog channel at SageWoman: http://www.witchesandpagans.com/SageWoman-Blogs/awen-and-despair.html

Sometimes being a Druid in today’s society can seem so futile, so pointless.  When people are driving their SUV’s and other gas guzzlers to the corner store, or changing the goalposts on the UK badger cull to suit the targets that they set out in an insane attempt to murder as many of the creatures as possible; when people are leaving lights on in their home or their computers on all day because they are too lazy to turn them off, when we keep using plastic bags because we’re too lazy to carry our own into a shop, when we buy cosmetics that have been tested on animals and judge homeless people on the street as ‘good for nothing’ – how on this earth can one go on? And in the name of Druidry, no less – how can we still follow the paths our hearts take us on, when everything around us seems to be crumbling under the weight of the ills of the so called “modern world”?

We may often feel like a tiny drop of water in a vast ocean of futility.  But what we do, matters, even on the most basic level.  It can be horrendously despairing when we hear news of our beloved planet being raped, and we may feel powerless to stop it.  I ask myself so often – what can I do?

Oftentimes, there isn’t an obvious answer. The rage and helplessness have nowhere to go.  It builds up inside, until we are cynical of absolutely everything.  How can we avoid this, how can we continue to walk the earth’s paths with awe and wonder when around us everything that we hold dear is being destroyed?

When this feeling hits me, and it often hits me hard, the answer is to go out. Go outside, go out in nature and find the wonder again.  News from around the world can bombard us with the negative, and we can redress the balance by finding the wonder again in the natural world.  It isn’t enough, however – we must still write to our MP’s about hare coursing, we must still sign petitions and protest when and where we can, we must still stand strong in our love for this planet and not merely let it all fall to pieces.  But the inspiration to continue can be found by taking that time out, by watching the moonrise, by listening to the owls in the growing twilight.

Awen, that beloved Welsh word so popular in Druidry, is what it is all about.  Gathering the threads of inspiration we weave into our world a better outcome, a better solution, a more harmonious approach.  We take that inspiration like a person dying of thirst drinks in a glass of water – it feeds us, nourishes us and sustains us so that we may continue.

It has often been said in Druidry that we do not submit to the gods, for to do so would be suicidal.  Just so, we should not submit to the negativity in the world, for again that only has one outcome.  We must reach for the awen in order to hear the song again, and in hearing the song to be able to sing it, and by singing it hear others as they  join in the chorus, eventually coming together with wonder and awe and beauty.  For me, there is no other way.

Though I occasionally fall into despair, I reach for the awen to help me climb back out again and face the world, head on.

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Why should the Gods care?

Do the Gods care?  I’m not so sure.

In my own experience, I know that the wild gods especially, those of heath and forest, of the seas and wind, of storm and sunshine, do not care about what happens to humanity.  They simply follow their nature, their path.  In my perception, the universe does not care.  I remember in Pirates of the Caribbean, when the goddess of the sea, Calypso, was asked why she had a change of heart about a man that she once loved, simply stated in that slow, West Indes drawl: “It is my nature”.  They may interact with us, but do they have our best interests at heart? Some may, but some may not.  Some may not even acknowledge us – the hurricane passes through despite our pleas, following its own song of wind and water, doing what is in its nature to do.  The sun shines down relentlessly on the crops, burning the fields or ripening the wheat dependent upon other weather conditions during the season.  Our best interests are not on their agenda.

And why should they be?  It is the human fallacy, that mindset of us being the centre of the universe?  Why should we be the recipients of all that we perceive to be good in the world, and why do we rail against the perceived tragedy? Yes, an earthquake is devastating, and can kill thousands of people, causing pain and anguish among humanity, and all other creatures that suffer from its effects.  But the earthquake is not at fault (pardon the pun) – that is the nature of the earthquake.  It will not seek out a place where it can cause the least destruction, nor vice versa – it happens where it needs to happen, where the elements dictate it should be, where the song takes it.  It does not consider the repercussions it will have on anything.

These wild gods are of a totally different consciousness to us, and it can be damned hard to relate to. That is why we often anthropomorphise them, in order to be able to relate.  It is easier to talk to a god of thunder, who struts around wielding a great hammer against giants than it is to talk to a thundercloud, or the lightning.  These gods, who we have given human form – do they care for us?

By giving them some sort of humanity, we automatically assume that they should. After all, they look like us, talk like us, have adventures that we can relate to.  We have created these wonderful stories about them.  We care for them, we devote ourselves to them – should they not do the same?

This can often be the falling down point in relationships with the gods for many people.  I have known people who have abandoned the gods, because they have lost loved ones, or had other trauma in their lives that the gods did not intercede in.  My question would be – why should they intercede?  At the moment, I have a very ill cat, who is not responding to medication.  I have prayed to Bridget for healing strength to help her get over the illness, and to give us all strength and knowledge of the illness so that we may better cope with it.  So far the results of the prayers have not been successful – should I therefore abandon all relationship with Bridget? It I did, then I would be assuming that the gods are “on call” for us, for our whims and demands and pleas for help.

They are not.

I have relationships with several gods, to help me understand them, and the ways of the world a little better, but I know that I am not special; that should I receive healing energy from Bridget it would not be because she is granting me a favour, or a gift.  What I hope to achieve through my relationship with her is a better understanding of the bigger picture in life, beyond my own mortal limitations in order to better my own situation.

I don’t think Bridget really cares whether or not my cat lives or dies.  She may, however, help me to understand the illness better, to help me find the inspiration and strength to continue through my relationship with her. Sometimes just talking to someone about it helps, even if you cannot see them.  Like the Catholic confession, simply talking to someone can sometimes clarify things in your own mind.  The priest taking the confession will give advice, tell you how many Hail Marys or acts of contrition you must do to absolve you of the sin that you committed – but the priest does not care, per se – they are simply acting on behalf of what they believe their god would like their followers to do.

Does this leave me feeling a bit lonely, a bit unwanted and left out because my gods do not care about me?  Not really.  My gods teach me how to cope with the world – Nemetona teaches me about sanctuary and sacred space, where I can in myself learn about finding those places where I can be free. She does not grant them to me, but shows me how to find them through her and through my own practice.  Similarly, Frigge does not care for me in any motherly or matronly sort of way, nor Freya – what they do is provide me with inspiration to keep my household in good order, or to talk through relationship issues.  They are not Dial-A-Gods with whom to pray to for help with this or that; through our ongoing relationship with them we begin to see how we can find the awen in their stories and weave that into our own lives.

Sometimes it may feel like our pleas are heard – that someone receives a miraculous recovery, or the tidal wave does not reach the shore. However, I would posit that this has nothing to do with us personally.  The infection may go away because of the mindset and resulting physiological effects this has on a person who knows that others are praying for them, or who have made them a special amulet.  Does this have anything to do with directed energy from the gods themselves? I’m not so sure – I think it has more to do with the inspiration these gods have given humanity to fix it, or try to fix it, themselves.  I could, of course, be totally wrong.

The fact that the gods don’t care does not affect my relationship with them. The tree at the bottom of my garden does not care whether I live or die, neither do the horses in the field, the frogs in the pond, the throngs of humanity who have no knowledge that I even exist.  Does this mean that I should not love them? I don’t think so.