The Telling Place In The Age Of Binary

20170921 THE TELLING PLAE IN AN AGE OF BINARYThere was a time when I was a child, when my friends and I would take a short walk to Clackitt’s wood, stay out as late as we could – dependant on our ages and parents’ wishes – and tell each other wild stories. We would scare ourselves, and we loved it. As we sat on felled trees, someone would start the story.

‘Memory… is the diary that we all carry about with us.’ Oscar Wilde

It might be the story of the Llamhigyn Y Dwr, a creature that is said to resemble a giant frog, but with a stinger on the end of its tail, and bat wings instead of front legs. Another might remind us that it would part-fly and part-jump across lakes and land, hence its name (in English), the Water Leaper. Someone would start the story, and someone would add to that fragment of information, and sometimes someone would go back in the story to add or correct someone’s memory about the story. For instance, someone might remind the person who had just spoken that the Llamhigyn Y Dwr was, infact, said to be the size of a cow. Oh, how we scared ourselves, and became more alert to the noises and scuffles in the undergrowth. Could it be that the Llamhigyn Y Dwr was lurking nearby, watching us? As children, we loved it.

‘The imagination of early childhood has no limits. This is why children are fascinated by stories. A story has permission to go anywhere….The child rarely experiences the story as an observer. The child enters the story, it experiences the drama from within.’ John O’Donohue

Now much older, I’m sitting around a garden table in my ever-so-small, but greatly appreciated garden in London, with a few friends. This evening we’ve already shared stories of myth and magic, sometimes fragments of memories of a friends’ childhood, and sometimes more recent events, events that actually happened to someone we knew, and other stories that were fictional.

Stories are important. And more so in our electronic, computerised, fast-paced age.

The ancients, those Celts and Druids of old, knew of the benefits of stories. They would regularly meet around the village fire, in the evenings and tell stories that were, perhaps sometimes of individuals around the fire, or of ancient heroes and their ancestors, or of stories of cosmic proportions eg creation stories and/or of the tribe’s origin.

‘Without memory, there is no culture. Without memory, there would be no civilization, no society, no future.’ Elie Wiesel

‘Do you remember when we all went fishing, and Tadhg fell in?’, one of my friends around the garden table said. They described a snapshot in time of yesteryear. I’m beyond being embarrassed by that event – yes it did happen, and I was only eight years old at the time, and I was, and still am surrounded by friends. And then another would share another fragment of memory. ‘And, yes,’ they remarked, ‘and when he was pulled him out he wouldn’t let go of the fishing rod. What a great fisherman!’.

And, bit by bit, these fragments of memory would be put together by individuals in the group to make a kind of cine film of activity, if you can imagine the old days when a movie was a long length of celluloid made up of individual frames of still pictures.

The ancients new the value of story-telling, when they met together at Telling Places. There, fragments of memory were woven together, and ‘bits’ become ‘whole’, and all added to the complete story, and all listeners were included. Fragments of memory, separate and ‘isolated’ were re-membered. The opposite of dismembered. ‘Re-joined’. Put back together again. And in community, too.

‘We keep stories alive because to re-member is to put broken pieces back together. We keep learning from stories how to make things whole.’ Mark Nepo

Telling our individual stories, or of those of our ancestors, and such stories can take the form of sharing the mundane (as if anything is mundane), of what happened a few days ago. Ofcourse, if something unusual happened, that would make a wonderful story to share with friends. But, every aspect of your life is important, and able to be shared, as your story minute by minute becomes part of the fabric of the universe and transcends time itself. Your story matters.

‘You didn’t think I would let go of a fishing rod that took me five months
pocket money to buy? I retorted to my friends. We all laughed. ‘And, I still have that rod!’

‘Tell it to your children, and let your children tell it to their children, and their children to the next generation.’ Joel 1:3, The Book

Story forms community, it brings individuals into the group, it enables us to see the ‘whole picture’, very essential in an age that likes to fragmentise information eg three-point sermons all beginning with the letter Q! Stories heal, bind, enable depth, encourage laughter and other deep emotions, they alter and clear our perception, challenge and can comfort us, and cause us to wonder at The Source of All.

‘It is not by accident that the Native American medicine men put the questions to the sick who were brought to them: When was the last time you sang? When was the last time you danced? When was the last time you told your story? When was the last time you listened to the story of others?’ Mark Nepo.

And so, one of the things on my list to consider on my imminent visit to Iona, is to think deeply about story, our society, and how, as latter-day Celts and Druids we can give more weight and opportunity to the telling of stories, and encourage groups, faith groups and others to have periodic Telling places, and reap immense benefits.

It’s now late. My friends and I are still around the garden table, wine bottles empty, and we’re still telling stories, and eating the last of the cheese and biscuits. I couldn’t let my watery encounter go without adding, ‘And besides, I didn’t fall in,’ I quipped, ‘I was pulled in by the Llamhigyn Y Dwr, the Water Leaper, which was the size of a cow’. I laughed. They laughed. And as our Telling Place impromptu evening came to an end, it felt that as a group we were closer than ever to each other. Sharing. Laughing. Joy. Affirmation. Inclusion. Community. Love.

‘Every human is an artist. And this is the main art that we have: the creation of our story.’ Don Miguel Ruiz

 

An Encounter With The Voice At Drws I Fyd Arall

20170803 AN ENCOUNTER AT DRWYS I FYD ARALLThe Voice. Since the dawn of time humankind has heard that inner voice.

Some call it the voice of the imagination, self-reflection, or conscience. Others call it the whisper of an elemental or dryad, the higher self, or even the ancestors. And yet still others, particularly amongst the tribes of the middle-east today and especially so in ancient times call it the bat kohl, that is the voice of the Unseen One, and yet, interestingly, it means the ‘voice of the daughter’. Ah, The Voice. Think of the young Samuel being woken up at night by the voice (as recorded in the Book) for example, or Joan of Arc with her waking visions, or others who have been alerted to danger by a ‘whisper’. Such is the Voice.

It’s 11pm and I’m out and about in the nearby forest, not far from Capel Curig in north Wales where I live. I continued walking in the darkness and passed Y goeden mellt, the Lightning Tree (see here). As children we would all avoid Y goeden mellt – that’s the name we gave it – all would avoid it, except for me. I loved the power and mystery that both seemed to repel and invite, in equal measure.

And tonight I carried on walking through the dark forest, with flashlight in hand. It was all quiet, the sky somewhat cloudy, but dry and with only just the faint murmur of wind in the tall tree tops.

And then there they were: the bowed, arched, silver birch trees that I also remembered as a child and had frequently visited over the years: there was Drws i fyd arall.

As children we played here, imagining the arch of the trees were a portal to another place. We had all grown up with the tv program ‘Lost in Space’ and our imaginations were primed. ‘Drws i fyd arall’ was our name for that arch. It means ‘door to another world’.

Now in the presence of Drws i fyd arall (pronounced ‘droo zi fid arrah’), I remembered past times of play and awe. (See here), and now as an adult I revelled in its mystery and awe.

If places can be special, places of power, if they can be ‘thin-places’ of liminality where the veil is ‘thin’ between Here and The Other, The Source of All, then this is such a place. Yes, even as a child, without the words to describe it I was drawn to this place, and tonight I have the same feeling, but some words – but, only a few.

I sat on a moss-covered rock and looked at Drws i fyd arall  lit up in the flashlight light, and then turned the light off. It seemed disrectful to bathe such a natural beauty and ‘object’ of power in articificial white light. And so I sat there in the darkness.

A warm feeling enveloped me. Palpable. And not only an external feeling, but internal too, pervading my whole being. And then, as has happened albeit infrequently in this place in the past, I head the Voice once again (see here).

Some will say it’s only imagination, but I can only say, to me, it was and is, more, oh much more.

For this record the Voice is typed in Italics. My response is in ordinary type.

‘Sacred place. Dear one, remove your shoes and socks. Let your feet connect with the earth.’

Who are you?

‘You know me well. I’m no stranger to you and many, and I never stop speaking words of wisdom, though many do not listen.’

‘Are you the Companion, an ancestor, or some of my friends might say that you’re just my imagination?’

‘You already know the answer. You already know that I am not going to reveal more about myself. If you knew more, you would concentrate on that, rather than my words which are to follow.’

‘I understand. What is it that you want to tell me?’

‘This is for both of you?’

‘But, I’m alone here. There’s only me here’.

‘ You write online and some read. My words and for you and for those reading this. As they read it they will now that I am with them too, closer to them than their jugular vein, and like you, they will sense my presence and peace.’

‘I understand.’

‘Sacred time. You are low in your spirit, knowing both the joy of acclamation of the crowd and the distress caused by others’ correction for no good reason or their disapproval even when you do good. The latter seems to last longer and saps your energy. It doesn’t have to be this way. Your status is not governed by what you do, what others think, and not even  by what you think about yourself. Your status, and of those that will read this, is governed by the Source of All, and the opinion of the Source of All does not vary. You all are much-loved and are of infinite worth.’

‘It doesn’t feel like that sometimes, though I try to have faith and…’

‘Your feelings will change. But you are not your feelings. You all are much more. There is a life beyond ‘feelings’, where you stand, now, in your spirit if you want to ‘see’ it that way. You are correct: Faith is important. But don’t think that it’s your faith in the Source of All that keeps the world spinning or that is all important. Rather, faith does, indeed, matter, but it is the Source of All’s faith in you that matters, and that faith is total, immediate and unswerving for you all. Nothing you can do or say can diminish that faith in you, and nothing can increase it. It is already infinite, and you and those that will read this, take heart. 

‘…what is the next step?’

The path to growth is like a labyrinth. Unlike a maze, there is only one route towards the centre of a labyrinth, but seen from the centre, sometimes you will be walking away from dead centre and sometimes walking closer to dead centre. In reality each step does, indeed, take you to where you are heading, closer to the centre, though it may not ‘feel’ like it. Yes, each day you will receive ‘nudges’ to spur you and those reading this, onward, though sometimes you won’t detect them and sometimes you may feel that you have slipped, and feel down in your spirits, as you do now. Do what you believe is correct and appropriate, in love, for each situation you find yourselves in. Intentionality is important, and love always empowers and triumphs. Take heart. That is all.

‘So, who are you?’

[Silence]

Some ten minutes after this, and still sitting on the rock the ‘warm fuzzy’ feeling left me, and the sound of animals scurrying around me, and the sound of wind in the trees became evident, seemingly for the first time that night. That portal, the Presence of Drws i fyd arall had left – rather ‘it’ never really does leave us, but in (only) felt like it. The Voice is with you now.

Was it pure imagination, an elemental, an ancestor or the bat kolh, that which some call the voice of God, was it a waking-dream or tiredness getting the better of me? Does God still speak? In the stillness and silence? I make no assertions here and now, but leave it to you to decide and to ‘test the spirits’ as ancient sacred text recommends. You decide. After all, it is clear that this message was not only for me, but you as reader of this, too.

I put my socks and shoes back on, and headed home.