Blackberrying

Between the trunks of the holly and hawthorn in the lane is a tangle of brambles, full of ripening blackberries. This sign from nature reminds me that the season is changing. There is something in the way the light falls, something in the temperature of the air, that speaks of the end of summer, and of the dawning of autumn.

I always feel a sense of excitement at that first realisation that one season is giving way to another. I become aware of a sense of awe at the rhythm of the earth which is beating whilst we are occupied with the concerns of day-to-day living. There is something at work which is greater, older and more patient than ourselves. The blackberries are a small miracle which tells of the deep energy of our Mother earth, of her generosity and of her continuity.

The month of September is a gateway from one way of living to another. With the arrival of September, it feels like the carefree months of the summer are over, and that any plans we had for that season must now be put aside until next year. Although the trees still have their leaves, the days are shortening, the sun's power is waning and our thoughts turn from adventure and travel to the securities of hearth and home. Our spirits are warmed less by the sun and more by the ripening and gathering of fruits and seeds.

In this season of letting go and turning inwards there is an opportunity for us to embrace new elements in our lives. What must we let go of in order to further ripen our relationship with the Divine or with the Earth? What seeds do we need to plant into our spirits during these quieter months, so that new life may spring up with the new shoots of spring time?

(Radio) Silence

I was listening to the Today programme on R4 this morning. Just before it ended, there were a few seconds of silence which were, in fact, part of the link to a brief article about silence.

The bulk of the article was an interview with Dr Helen Lees who spoke about the importance of silence in our lives. In her responses, Dr Lees mentioned a forthcoming film about this topic, called In Pursuit of Silence, in which she features. The trailer for the film (below) is astonishing...



Just watching the couple of minutes of the film trailer started me on a train of thought in which I realised how little silence - real silence - there is in my life. There is, I suspect, a strong link between that fact and the lack of stillness, peace and 'belonging' which I often feel.

The film is due to show in only one place in the UK, and I think that a trip to the US to see it is probably beyond my means. I wait for the film to be released on DVD in due course and, in the meantime, seek out some of the silence which it celebrates.

Many ways, many paths

A lot of my inspiration for blogging comes from reading other people's blogs. One of my very favourite bloggers is Nimue Brown whose excellent blog, Druid Life, can be found here.

In a recent post Nimue considered what Paganism actually is, and the temptations and dangers which come with attempting to say who is and who isn't a true Pagan. Of course, there are similar opportunities for such games within any spiritual path, tradition or religion: the Christian faith, within which I earn my living and become increasingly aware of my shortcomings, is no stranger to this.

(Rather than comment on my own experience of this, it is, perhaps, better to say very little and to consider the words of the Teacher from Nazareth in the forty-second verse of the sixth chapter of St Luke's gospel. That alone would be a lifetime's work for me!)

But Nimue's article is not negative. Rather, she encourages all who would seek to embrace the name 'Pagan' to remember that all paths are valid, and to use that as an inspiration and encouragement for their own path. Furthermore, Nimue suggests that Paganism does not have to be tied to particular affiliations, badges, memberships, rituals or teachings: it is our very humanity that causes us to respond to the sacredness of life. She says:

Paganism is a human response to the experience of being alive that finds sacredness in being alive. It’s a response to the seasons, life changes, the moon and tides, the agricultural year, the land, the weather. It’s a response to living and dying and to the constant cycles of life and death in this world. Anything that comes from a human response to life, is inherently Pagan. 

And it is in the natural cycle of the seasons and the turning year that each one of us could own the name 'Pagan':

So the urge to make light and festivity at the darkest time of the year – that’s a Pagan urge. The urge to dance and party in the summer evenings, that’s a Pagan urge too. Celebrating the harvest, singing about the dear departed, honouring relationships, respecting the land we live on – no one needs telling how to do this. Every last one of us could come up with a way of being Pagan in response to life with no reference to anyone else.

I have now begun to ask the question, are all those who love the land, the seasons and the ebb and flow of relationships and emotions partly Pagan? Perhaps we are, and - if we can avoid the temptation to judge and differentiate -  that is something to celebrate.

Walking back to happiness

In the last few weeks, something in Nature has changed. Or, rather, practically everything in Nature has changed. Alternate days of very warm and wet weather over recent weeks has notched the setting of the garden up to 'lush'. There is now so much more of it! Every branch is feathered with leaves, and blossom hangs heavy, tempting sleepy bees and promising fruit.

Something changes in me, too. Outside is now where I want to be. This desk, which was a welcome observation point in the winter and early spring, is now a burden. The Earth is trading its energy with the Sun, and I feel that I want in on the deal.

So I take the quickest and easiest route I can think of: I head out into the garden, barefoot. I've been doing this for several weeks, of course, but only as far as the clothes-line, with the washing basket in my arms. The feel of the damp grass has been pleasing, but the trip has merely been a means to an end. This time, the journey is the beginning, middle and end.

Onto the grass - in the presence of Dandelions

In a sense, that is the most important part: I am walking for the sake of walking, and for the sake of knowing that I am walking. I am not going anywhere, I am just going. And I want to feel the journey, however short it may be, and to feel myself present on the earth.

As I walk, I feel the transaction between my feet and the earth. I feel that there is an energy, a presence, a life beneath my feet. I am aware of temperature, texture and traction. There is a give and take, an adjusting of pressure in each footstep, an awareness of the difference between stone and leaf. 

In the wood, with holly leaves, humus and stones

There is a sense also that I am empowered: I have chosen to walk barefoot, and to attempt to become more conscious of the natural environment. The busy world laughs at those who go barefoot, or is embarrassed by them, but those who choose to do so discern something of the richness that is gained only when we remove our shoes and dare to stand barefoot on sacred ground.

The earth leaves its imprint on us, too

Walking barefoot reminds us that we are part of this world, connected to this earth. It makes the link that is missing when we wear shoes - that there is a slower, more mindful way of going through life, one that takes notice, one that feels, one that concentrates on things one step at a time.

You, me, a tree

I received a short email post from The Girl God blog this morning, which drew a link between the nature of trees and that of human beings:

A tree that is beginning to grow sends roots down into Mother Earth even as it reaches and opens to the sky above, seeking nourishment from the sun and the moisture in the air and in the rain that falls. In the same way, we can envision ourselves as tree-like beings, imagining that we have roots reaching down into the earth, energetic strands that keep us connected... 

Part of what I have been learning over the last couple of years, both in my yoga practice and in my participation in Forest Church, is that I am connected to, and part of, the energy of the Earth. I had never thought of this before, and had assumed that I merely lived on the Earth, and not as part of it. 

The email post went on to say:

Contemplating the ways in which trees and people mirror one another brings us into alignment with the reality that we are part of Mother Nature.

One of my favourite yoga poses is Tree pose (Vrsksasana). I certainly don't find it easy: there's the balancing, to begin with, and then the combined process of both rooting down into the earth and also reaching skywards. I enjoy this pose, but I have a long way to go yet.

For me, Tree pose allows me to take the tree as my teacher, to connect myself to the Earth's energy and to bring my awareness back to my body. Occasionally, I am also able to become still enough to realise that I, too, am part of Mother Nature.