I don't make it to many festivals, even over the summer months. It's largely to do with the fact that I work weekends on 48 weeks of the year (people tend to be a bit upset if the Vicar doesn't turn up to church on Sundays!). But last weekend, on a day of annual leave, I went along to Pagan Pride (PP) in my home town of Nottingham.
I've been to PP once before, in 2014, so knew something of what to expect. The festival is a wonderful mixture of talks, workshops, dancing, bands and the chance to meet old friends and to make some new ones. There is also an eclectic mix of stalls selling clothes, books, jewellery and hand-crafted items ranging from musical instruments to wands.
The atmosphere at PP is very relaxed and friendly - there are folk from all sorts of spiritual paths but nobody is trying to prove a point about their own path or to convince anyone else that they should abandon theirs. Indeed, one of the talks I attended was given by Matt Arnold. Matt is a Christian minister who spoke about his journey from 'grey to deep green' and the way in which Pagan folk had both welcomed and enlightened him. The comments he received from the audience were ones of genuine interest and support. It was a wonderful thing to be part of.
Throughout the day, I was struck most strongly by the individuality of the festival-goers. It may be the clothes they wear, or the piercings and tattoos on display (lots of these!) or simply their willingness to turn up at the festival to declare their allegiance, but at Pagan Pride people seem to be free to express something of who they are. I came away from the festival feeling inspired to continue my own journey into the green, and to have a little more courage in expressing my individuality, too.
Goddess bless Pagan Pride. I'll definitely be there next year!
Showing posts with label pagan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label pagan. Show all posts
Tuesday, 9 August 2016
Thursday, 7 January 2016
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.
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.
Wednesday, 13 May 2015
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Tuesday, 7 October 2014
In The House of Tom Bombadil (or, at least, Next Door)
One of the stories that most inspires me, and informs the way that I look at the world, is The Lord of The Rings. I have read it many times over, and often dip back into it to re-read (re-re-re-re-read?) a favourite passage. Sometimes, I just find that I am in the mood to spend an afternoon in the Shire, or to lose myself in the trees of Fangorn Forest, or to stand on the ramparts of Helm's Deep. It's a short trip, and one which I always find rewarding.
Today, however, I find myself longing for the company of the character which I find to be the most intriguing in the tale: Tom Bombadil. And why not? Today's weather provides the perfect motivation for such an encounter: wet, chilly and rather stay-at-home. A very simliar forecast to that which the hobbits found during their stay at Tom's house:
The upper wind settled in the West and deeper and wetter clouds rolled up to spill their laden rain on the bare heads of the Downs. Nothing could be seen all round the house but falling water. Frodo stood near the open door and watched the white chalky path turn into a little river of milk and go bubbling away down into the valley.
It is never made clear in the story (perhaps intentionally) who Tom Bombadil actually is. There are many theories which suggest, among other things, that Tom is either an elf, a spirit or even the creator of Middle Earth. There are one or two clues in the text, but even these make it apparent that Tom is not to be pinned down. Not long after their arrival at the house, Frodo asks Goldberry (Tom's wife? Even this is not clear!) who Tom is:
'Fair Lady!' said Frodo again after a while. 'Tell me, if my asking does not seem foolish, who is Tom Bombadil?'
'He is,' said Goldberry, staying her swift movements and smiling.
Frodo looked at her questioningly. 'He is, as you have seen him,' she said in answer to his look. 'He is the Master of wood, water and hill.'
'Then all this strange land belongs to him?'
'No indeed!' she answered, and her smile faded. 'That would indeed be a burden,' she added in a low voice, as if to herself. 'The trees and the grasses and all things growing or living in the land belong each to themselves. Tom Bombadil is the Master. No one has ever caught old Tom walking in the forest, wading in the water, leaping on the hill-tops under light and shadow. He has no fear. Tom Bombadil is the master.'
Even a direct question from Frodo to Tom himself leaves more questions than answers:
'Who are you, Master?' he asked.
'Eh, what?' said Tom sitting up, and his eyes glinting in the gloom. 'Don't you know my name yet? That's the only answer. Tell me, who are you, alone, yourself and nameless? But you are young and I am old. Eldest, that's what I am. Mark my words, my friends: Tom was here before the river and the trees; Tom remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn...'
Today, however, I find myself longing for the company of the character which I find to be the most intriguing in the tale: Tom Bombadil. And why not? Today's weather provides the perfect motivation for such an encounter: wet, chilly and rather stay-at-home. A very simliar forecast to that which the hobbits found during their stay at Tom's house:
The upper wind settled in the West and deeper and wetter clouds rolled up to spill their laden rain on the bare heads of the Downs. Nothing could be seen all round the house but falling water. Frodo stood near the open door and watched the white chalky path turn into a little river of milk and go bubbling away down into the valley.
In The House of Tom Bombadil, The Fellowship of the Ring.
It is never made clear in the story (perhaps intentionally) who Tom Bombadil actually is. There are many theories which suggest, among other things, that Tom is either an elf, a spirit or even the creator of Middle Earth. There are one or two clues in the text, but even these make it apparent that Tom is not to be pinned down. Not long after their arrival at the house, Frodo asks Goldberry (Tom's wife? Even this is not clear!) who Tom is:
'Fair Lady!' said Frodo again after a while. 'Tell me, if my asking does not seem foolish, who is Tom Bombadil?'
'He is,' said Goldberry, staying her swift movements and smiling.
Frodo looked at her questioningly. 'He is, as you have seen him,' she said in answer to his look. 'He is the Master of wood, water and hill.'
In The House of Tom Bombadil, The Fellowship of the Ring.
There is here a suggestion that Tolkien may be connecting Tom to other myths - perhaps Tom is Middle Earth's Jack-in-the-Green, or Green Man? However, the continuing conversation between Frodo and Goldberry suggests that even this is not the whole truth about Tom:
'Then all this strange land belongs to him?'
'No indeed!' she answered, and her smile faded. 'That would indeed be a burden,' she added in a low voice, as if to herself. 'The trees and the grasses and all things growing or living in the land belong each to themselves. Tom Bombadil is the Master. No one has ever caught old Tom walking in the forest, wading in the water, leaping on the hill-tops under light and shadow. He has no fear. Tom Bombadil is the master.'
Even a direct question from Frodo to Tom himself leaves more questions than answers:
'Who are you, Master?' he asked.
'Eh, what?' said Tom sitting up, and his eyes glinting in the gloom. 'Don't you know my name yet? That's the only answer. Tell me, who are you, alone, yourself and nameless? But you are young and I am old. Eldest, that's what I am. Mark my words, my friends: Tom was here before the river and the trees; Tom remembers the first raindrop and the first acorn...'
In The House of Tom Bombadil, The Fellowship of the Ring.
It is not surprising that Tom does not appear in Peter Jackson's wonderful films. In many ways, the hobbits' visit to Tom's house is something of a diversion, even in the book, though a mysterious and wonderful one. In a film, there is little room for anything which does not directly serve the plot, especially when one is adapting a book of over a thousand pages for the screen.
There is no obvious place for Tom in the films, despite their relative faithfulness to Tolkien's text. He is too ambiguous for us, too hard to get hold of, too full of wonder. That, surely, is why he is so intriguing and why, on a rainy October Tuesday, with the Holly branches full of berries and the Beech leaves tumbling to the ground, Tom's house is the place to be.
Saturday, 18 January 2014
The Cold Moon
Last night was the latest meeting of the Sacred Moon Moot, a small group of friends who meet to honour the full moon each month. We've been meeting since October 2013, on the night nearest to the full moon that we can all make.
We keep things fairly structured, using a ritual which lasts about 30-40 minutes. I have the honour of writing the ritual and also acting as ritual leader, and we share the calling of the quarters between us (there are five of us in all, so that works well!). Last night, once we had created our sacred space, and welcomed the four elements, we reflected on the meaning of the January full moon:
This moon is a time for giving thought to those who are closest to us, our family and friends - those who help us to find our place in the world. It is a time to consider love, companionship, understanding and tenderness.
We then spent time reflecting on an aspect of our lives, using the light and energy of the moon as inspiration:
At this point in her journey the Moon is full, whole and complete. She is at her most powerful. The full moon expresses the Mother nature of the Goddess, bringer of change, revelation, emotion and energy. May her energy inspire us to look within ourselves and to speak from our heart this night.
Last night we considered this question:
There was then space and time for reflection, before coming back to the circle to share something that we had learnt, if desired.
There is a lovely honesty in our gathering, and support - it feels good to have the space to be so open with one another, or to have the freedom to keep silence. It's fun, and we're getting to know each other more through our meeting together.
We ended with words which honour both the Divine Feminine and Christ, who is part of the path which each member of the group is walking. We're not all going at the same speed, nor discovering the same things, but Christ is dear to each one of us:
May the Divine Mother enfold us in her gaze as this cycle of moon-season turns, and may the peaceful Christ watch over us and walk with us until we gather again by light of moon.
So may it be!
We keep things fairly structured, using a ritual which lasts about 30-40 minutes. I have the honour of writing the ritual and also acting as ritual leader, and we share the calling of the quarters between us (there are five of us in all, so that works well!). Last night, once we had created our sacred space, and welcomed the four elements, we reflected on the meaning of the January full moon:
This moon is a time for giving thought to those who are closest to us, our family and friends - those who help us to find our place in the world. It is a time to consider love, companionship, understanding and tenderness.
We then spent time reflecting on an aspect of our lives, using the light and energy of the moon as inspiration:
At this point in her journey the Moon is full, whole and complete. She is at her most powerful. The full moon expresses the Mother nature of the Goddess, bringer of change, revelation, emotion and energy. May her energy inspire us to look within ourselves and to speak from our heart this night.
Last night we considered this question:
To whom do I feel closely connected in this season?
There was then space and time for reflection, before coming back to the circle to share something that we had learnt, if desired.
There is a lovely honesty in our gathering, and support - it feels good to have the space to be so open with one another, or to have the freedom to keep silence. It's fun, and we're getting to know each other more through our meeting together.
We ended with words which honour both the Divine Feminine and Christ, who is part of the path which each member of the group is walking. We're not all going at the same speed, nor discovering the same things, but Christ is dear to each one of us:
May the Divine Mother enfold us in her gaze as this cycle of moon-season turns, and may the peaceful Christ watch over us and walk with us until we gather again by light of moon.
So may it be!
Saturday, 17 August 2013
The Seed: Symbol & Mystery - Thoughts for Lammas
A seed is a mystery. It is both beginning and end, life and death, nothing and everything. A seed sits easily in the palm of the hand, and yet grows into a living structure which can be twice the size of house. It is a single grain, yet it is the source of a thousand grains. It can be stored for many years, and then be stirred into life in days. A seed is the whole universe in a grain of sand.
And so a seed is a rich symbol of the process of living and dying. It is no surprise that the seed is often used in faith traditions to illustrate the spiritual journey, and the moving from one season to another. In the Christian tradition, Jesus often used the imagery of agriculture, the language of the land. He spoke about crops and weeds, good and bad soil, sowing and harvesting. Jesus wisely rooted his teaching in the things people could understand, and he used the symbol of the seed to illustrate a profound message about what it means to be human, and to live a life of the Spirit.
At the harvest, which is celebrated in the Christian festival of Lammas, the crop is gathered in and enjoyed, but the seed from which it came is nowhere to be seen. The seed does its work secretly, and through its death others are given a life-giving gift.
The Pagan season of Lughnasadh also centres around the mysterious and wonderful work of the seed. It is a time for the celebration of the grain harvest when thanks are given to the Harvest Mother - she who is the Seed, the Womb and the Soil. The harvested grain represents both food to sustain us through the coming winter months, and also the promise of hope contained in the seed to be sown in Spring.
To read the whole of this article, visit: Mystic Christ
And so a seed is a rich symbol of the process of living and dying. It is no surprise that the seed is often used in faith traditions to illustrate the spiritual journey, and the moving from one season to another. In the Christian tradition, Jesus often used the imagery of agriculture, the language of the land. He spoke about crops and weeds, good and bad soil, sowing and harvesting. Jesus wisely rooted his teaching in the things people could understand, and he used the symbol of the seed to illustrate a profound message about what it means to be human, and to live a life of the Spirit.
At the harvest, which is celebrated in the Christian festival of Lammas, the crop is gathered in and enjoyed, but the seed from which it came is nowhere to be seen. The seed does its work secretly, and through its death others are given a life-giving gift.
The Pagan season of Lughnasadh also centres around the mysterious and wonderful work of the seed. It is a time for the celebration of the grain harvest when thanks are given to the Harvest Mother - she who is the Seed, the Womb and the Soil. The harvested grain represents both food to sustain us through the coming winter months, and also the promise of hope contained in the seed to be sown in Spring.
To read the whole of this article, visit: Mystic Christ
Friday, 21 June 2013
Losing my religion..?
The latest blog post from Jim Palmer has got me thinking. My first thought was: Well, I'm clearly not the only one... Which quickly led to the thought: So I'm not going insane, then..!
Now, I ought to explain that I don't think I'm leaving Christianity, though there are many parts of that religion which drive me mad. But I certainly think I'm on a journey away from the Church. So much of it just doesn't speak to me any more. It seems to spend so much of its time looking around anxiously, patting its pockets to check that everything is still in place. However, I still love the people - probably more than ever. It's the people that are important, and their needs, fears, joys and hopes. After all, they're the things that Jesus cared about...
So, here's Jim's blog post. And a few very short reflections from me along the way.
16 things people report about their shedding religion journey:
1. You’re losing your religion but gaining your sanity.
2. Maybe you left church because it wasn’t helping you know God or grow spiritually.
3. You know you are on the right path but trying to explain that path to others is like nailing Jello to a wall, and you often feel misunderstood.
Ah, yes! Probably a path blending Jesus, Druidry, Celtic Spirituality and other eclectic elements of Paganism (if such a thing exists!). Hard to explain to most of my colleagues...
4. Your new life beyond religion isn’t quite as defined as things used to be.
5. You have twice as many questions as you do answers but strangely you’re okay with this.
6. Sometimes you doubt yourself, and crave a religious fix to make you feel better.
Oh yes - I still often crave a Choral Evensong.
7. You desperately wish someone (anyone!) would just accept you where you are right now.
8. Oh, for just a couple of people you could sit down with face-to-face and talk with about all this stuff without the threat of judgment and condemnation!
Thankfully, there are some good friends with whom I can do this. Bless you!
9. On Monday you feel free, and on Tuesday you wonder if you are going crazy.
10. Christ without Christianity, truth without theology, and community without church makes complete sense to you but it also makes you a heretic among some of your former friends who avoid you in the grocery store.
Yes, I think this describes my thinking pretty well...
11. You don’t know how to answer the question, “Are you a Christian?”
12. You refuse to divulge the books you are currently reading because you know it’s going to alarm the people who already think you’ve gone off the deep end.
Glennie Kindred, Emma Restall-Orr, Philip Carr-Gomm, Donna Farhi, Cassandra Eason, Tess Ward, Erich Schiffmann... Wonderful authors!
13. You get nauseated when you hear Christanese.
Well, some modern hymns are getting harder and harder to sing...
14. You’re not sure where your Bible is.
No, I do know the answer to this one..!
15. Suddenly you’re liking the people who were previously classified as “them.”
Erm, yes...
16. Prayer is more an authentic and powerful desire for the liberation of others and contributing to it, rather than a magic God-wand to save the day.
Jim ends the post by asking: Does any of this sound familiar? Well, yes, Jim, it does. And thank you.
Now, I ought to explain that I don't think I'm leaving Christianity, though there are many parts of that religion which drive me mad. But I certainly think I'm on a journey away from the Church. So much of it just doesn't speak to me any more. It seems to spend so much of its time looking around anxiously, patting its pockets to check that everything is still in place. However, I still love the people - probably more than ever. It's the people that are important, and their needs, fears, joys and hopes. After all, they're the things that Jesus cared about...
So, here's Jim's blog post. And a few very short reflections from me along the way.
16 things people report about their shedding religion journey:
1. You’re losing your religion but gaining your sanity.
2. Maybe you left church because it wasn’t helping you know God or grow spiritually.
3. You know you are on the right path but trying to explain that path to others is like nailing Jello to a wall, and you often feel misunderstood.
Ah, yes! Probably a path blending Jesus, Druidry, Celtic Spirituality and other eclectic elements of Paganism (if such a thing exists!). Hard to explain to most of my colleagues...
4. Your new life beyond religion isn’t quite as defined as things used to be.
5. You have twice as many questions as you do answers but strangely you’re okay with this.
6. Sometimes you doubt yourself, and crave a religious fix to make you feel better.
Oh yes - I still often crave a Choral Evensong.
7. You desperately wish someone (anyone!) would just accept you where you are right now.
8. Oh, for just a couple of people you could sit down with face-to-face and talk with about all this stuff without the threat of judgment and condemnation!
Thankfully, there are some good friends with whom I can do this. Bless you!
9. On Monday you feel free, and on Tuesday you wonder if you are going crazy.
10. Christ without Christianity, truth without theology, and community without church makes complete sense to you but it also makes you a heretic among some of your former friends who avoid you in the grocery store.
Yes, I think this describes my thinking pretty well...
11. You don’t know how to answer the question, “Are you a Christian?”
12. You refuse to divulge the books you are currently reading because you know it’s going to alarm the people who already think you’ve gone off the deep end.
Glennie Kindred, Emma Restall-Orr, Philip Carr-Gomm, Donna Farhi, Cassandra Eason, Tess Ward, Erich Schiffmann... Wonderful authors!
13. You get nauseated when you hear Christanese.
Well, some modern hymns are getting harder and harder to sing...
14. You’re not sure where your Bible is.
No, I do know the answer to this one..!
15. Suddenly you’re liking the people who were previously classified as “them.”
Erm, yes...
16. Prayer is more an authentic and powerful desire for the liberation of others and contributing to it, rather than a magic God-wand to save the day.
Jim ends the post by asking: Does any of this sound familiar? Well, yes, Jim, it does. And thank you.
Monday, 25 March 2013
Calling the Spring
On Sunday, we celebrated the Spring Equinox at Forest Church where the theme was 'Christ the Gardener'. It was a beautiful ritual, and throughout it was the idea that Christ comes to bring new life in his role as the gardener in John's gospel.
And particularly moving was the element where we were invited to call up the Spring from the depths of the Earth and to draw down energy and warmth from the Sun, making ourselves into the place of connection between Earth and Sun. The ritual leader said:
We begin by drawing the energy up from the earth... Feel your feet connecting with the cold earth and, like a tree, send your roots deep, deep down, to where the spring has started to uncoil...
...Breathe in deeply, and draw the energy of spring... up through your feet and into your whole body. With each out-breath hold that heat in the body...
Extend your sense upwards to the distant sun... Draw down the warmth of spring into the cold earth beneath you, through that connection you have established in your mind and in your body...
This was a very profound moment for me: that I could be a co-creator in the birthing of the new season of the year, and that I was a part of the coming of Spring. It was not just happening around me - it was happening through me.
There was also a link to yoga practice in the drawing-up of energy into the body through the feet, as we do when we stand in Mountain Pose or Tree Pose. In this part of the practice I am always reminded that I am part of the tapestry of creation, and that I may grow by learning from the ways of creation. The mountain and the tree are my teachers.
And particularly moving was the element where we were invited to call up the Spring from the depths of the Earth and to draw down energy and warmth from the Sun, making ourselves into the place of connection between Earth and Sun. The ritual leader said:
We begin by drawing the energy up from the earth... Feel your feet connecting with the cold earth and, like a tree, send your roots deep, deep down, to where the spring has started to uncoil...
...Breathe in deeply, and draw the energy of spring... up through your feet and into your whole body. With each out-breath hold that heat in the body...
Extend your sense upwards to the distant sun... Draw down the warmth of spring into the cold earth beneath you, through that connection you have established in your mind and in your body...
This was a very profound moment for me: that I could be a co-creator in the birthing of the new season of the year, and that I was a part of the coming of Spring. It was not just happening around me - it was happening through me.
There was also a link to yoga practice in the drawing-up of energy into the body through the feet, as we do when we stand in Mountain Pose or Tree Pose. In this part of the practice I am always reminded that I am part of the tapestry of creation, and that I may grow by learning from the ways of creation. The mountain and the tree are my teachers.
Monday, 28 January 2013
The Wisdom of Brigid
This Friday, 1 Feb, is the feast day of St Brigid. I have recently been delving into the legends of Brigid both as Christian Saint and as goddess, and find her fascinating and amazing! Her divine feminine wisdom and healing energy are very inspiring. At a time when the Christian Church (or, at least, my part of it - the Church of England) is failing to display true welcome and wisdom, Brigid's spirit is sorely needed.
So, this week, we will celebrate St Brigid at the chapel Eucharist. Here is a brief extract from my short reflection for that morning:
Whatever may or may not be the historical facts about the life of Brigid, one of her most valuable gifts is that of feminine wisdom.
For too long, the Christian Church has silenced and ignored the voices of women whilst being happy for them to carry out a large share of the practical work which holds communities together - caring, praying, visiting, comforting, welcoming.
Brigid reminds us of the richness of the wisdom and vision of women - a richness which the Church desperately needs in order to open itself to the needs and wonders of our world.
May you be blessed by Brigid.
So, this week, we will celebrate St Brigid at the chapel Eucharist. Here is a brief extract from my short reflection for that morning:Whatever may or may not be the historical facts about the life of Brigid, one of her most valuable gifts is that of feminine wisdom.
For too long, the Christian Church has silenced and ignored the voices of women whilst being happy for them to carry out a large share of the practical work which holds communities together - caring, praying, visiting, comforting, welcoming.
Brigid reminds us of the richness of the wisdom and vision of women - a richness which the Church desperately needs in order to open itself to the needs and wonders of our world.
May you be blessed by Brigid.
Friday, 18 January 2013
My thoughts in a song
A couple of days ago I came across the wonderful Dar Williams, singer-songwriter (songwriter-singer?), and her song Christians and Pagans, taken from her album Mortal City.
The song sketches out what happens when an American family gets together for the Christmas holidays. Some members of the family are Christians, others are pagans. Dar doesn't try to make one group better than another; she simply tries to show that the season (Christmas/Yule) can be celebrated by those of many beliefs.
The choruses of the song vary slightly. Here's the first:
So the Christians and the pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
And just before the meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said,
Sending hope for peace on earth to all their gods and goddesses.
I've listened to the song several times in the last few days. One line sticks in my mind - it's from Jane, the mother of the pagan family, as she speaks to her (Christian) nephew at the dinner table:
...it's true, your cousin's not a Christian,
but we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share,
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere.'
Something about this line makes me want more, makes me want to find the magic everywhere. It says something which Christians seem to find it hard to do, or at least to express.
The song makes me wonder where I would sit at that table. On just one side, or on both?
The song sketches out what happens when an American family gets together for the Christmas holidays. Some members of the family are Christians, others are pagans. Dar doesn't try to make one group better than another; she simply tries to show that the season (Christmas/Yule) can be celebrated by those of many beliefs.
The choruses of the song vary slightly. Here's the first:
So the Christians and the pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
And just before the meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said,
Sending hope for peace on earth to all their gods and goddesses.
I've listened to the song several times in the last few days. One line sticks in my mind - it's from Jane, the mother of the pagan family, as she speaks to her (Christian) nephew at the dinner table:
...it's true, your cousin's not a Christian,
but we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share,
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere.'
Something about this line makes me want more, makes me want to find the magic everywhere. It says something which Christians seem to find it hard to do, or at least to express.
The song makes me wonder where I would sit at that table. On just one side, or on both?
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