The Child And The Beach: A Story Of Encouragement

20170725 THE CHILD AND THE BEACH A STORY OF ENCOURAGEMENTI always like feedback from the articles that I write, and love constructive and encouraging words. Over the last few days it has been heart-warming to read comments and emails – responses that underline that ‘it starts with us’, ‘we can contribute to the fabric of the universe, we matter, you matter, matter matters, and then someone mentioned one of my favourite words (well, two words), that is, tukkun olam. I love the concept. It has many broad and deep meanings, but the one that is in my mind now is that of you and I ‘repairing’ or ‘completing’ the world. Wonderful.

With that in mind, and you know how I love stories, here’s a story I found and mentioned some time ago but it bears repeating because it is so true, so profound and yet so simple, and it is so encouraging.

The ancient Celts, Celtic Christians and Druids of old would have sat around the evening’s camp fire  and told stories to each other – the ‘telling place’. Some of these stories would be of their tribal history, great leaders and heroes of the past, perhaps for amusement, and sometimes the stories would be great cosmic stories of creation, and sometimes stories would contain a deep moral buried within and which the hearer would have to discern. Latter-day Celts, Celtic Christians and Druids still tell wonderful stories, and here’s a meaningful story just for you:

A man was walking along a deserted beach at sunset. As he walked he could see a young child in the distance, seemingly playing.

As the man drew nearer he noticed that the child kept bending down, picking something up, and then running to the edge of the sea, and throwing it into the water. Time and again the child kept hurling things into the ocean and then ran back.

As the man approached even closer, he was able to see that the child was picking up starfish that had been washed up on the beach and, one at a time the child would run to the water’s edge and throw them back into the sea.

The man asked the child what they were doing, and the child replied,” I am throwing these washed-up starfish back into the ocean, Mister, or else they will die through lack of oxygen.

“But”, said the man, “You can’t possibly save them all, there are thousands on this beach alone, and this must be happening on hundreds of beaches along the coast. You can’t possibly save them all.”

The child smiled, bent down and picked up another starfish, and as they threw it back into the sea, gleefully shouted, “I know, but I can make a difference to this one.”

Little by little, in large and small ways, we can make a difference. Never give up doing good.

 

A Close Encounter With The Gwrach y Rhibyn?: Tadhg’s Journal

20170711 A CLOSE ENCOUNTER WITH THE GWRACH Y RIBYNYes, I was awake very early this morning, and having coffee in the garden looking toward some of the wonderful distant mountains that comprise north Wales. This is ancient land – the land of ancient Celtic Christians and Druids, and a myriad of others whose wisdom and presence still, wonderfully, permeates the land and air.

For this time of the year – the day time temperatures have dropped over the last few days – the air temperature this morning was ‘fresh’…but the coffee was piping hot. Bliss.

As I looked into the distance the green-grey colour – mountains mainly of slate and usually grass-covered – became lighter, more diffuse and paler as the early morning mist played on them. Clouds hung low in the sky. The air was still, somewhat ‘heavy’ as though a storm was approaching, birdsong was quiet except for the odd screech. Indeed, distant thunder rumbled. Or, it could have been the wind ‘rumbling’ around mountain valleys. It’s difficult to tell when the sound is some way off, muted and intermittent.

This morning, however, more than ever, I could palpably feel the rawness, wildness and ‘dangerousness’ of nature pressing in, in all its beauty. It was quiet. And yet there was a seeming expectation that there was more. A foreboding.

‘So it came about on the third day, when it was morning, that there were thunder and lightning flashes and a thick cloud upon the mountain and…all the people who were in the camp trembled.’ (Exodus 19:16 part, The Book)

Sound became muffled, except for that raucous and occasional ‘unearthly’ squawk. Was it, infact, a bird? I had heard that sound before, but had never identified what made it – but that was when out on some evening or night-time walk, and always low as in the undergrowth and not high up in a tree.

Was it a bird? A wounded animal moving about in nearby undergrowth? It was now closer to me than ever before. All was quiet apart from that noise. ‘Clumps’ of mist moved across the garden – quite thick, but moving quite quickly – and as I gazed at the mist, my mind and imagination wandered. A bird, a wounded animal, or could it be the Gwrach y Rhibyn?

My grandmother used to tell me stories about the Gwrach y Rhibyn (pronounced ‘goo-rach ee ribb-in’. But the ‘ch’ in that second syllable is sounded like the ‘ch’ in loch, that is, a back-of-the-throat phlegm-clearing sound). Those words translate as ‘the witch of Rhibyn’. I had a wonderfully imaginative childhood! (And, it still goes on).

My grandmother always concluded those stories by saying that when you encounter the Gwrach y Rhibyn or the like, never fear or show fear, always be respectful and always learn with your ‘eyes wide open’. Such happenings she would say, always have a positive learning ‘message’ to impart to us.

The spirit-world around this world of sense
floats like an atmosphere, and everywhere
wafts through these earthly mists and vapours dense
a vital breath of more ethereal air.

(Henry Wadsworth Longfellow)

The Gwrach y Rhibyn was always depicted as an old hag, an ugly witch, sometimes with thick leathery wings, but always, so the story goes, the portent of misery and death. Rather like the wailing of the Irish bansidhe (pronounced ‘ban-shee’), or even the Cailleach from Scottish and Irish mythology.

She certainly got about – her name changes depending on the culture, but her reputation always remained the same. She was someone to avoid. Embraced in early-morning (or was it storm) mist my grandmother’s description of the Gwrach y Rhibyn as the hag of the mist made me shiver (or was the air temperature dropping even more?).

I sat there, now with limited visibility, the ‘thing’ that was squawking or screeching was even closer, but shrouded in mist. I was calm because I didn’t believe I was in any danger, but wary at the same time. Nature, the unknown, this mystery or was it the Mystery, was palpable, powerful, big, raw and wild, and so close, but (I believed) benevolent.

‘Live free, child of the mist – and with respect to knowledge we are all children of the mist.’ (Henry David Thoreau)

I sat there, transfixed (almost), in heightened awareness (and yes, everything did seem brighter) for some twenty minutes. Watching. Waiting. Listening. Observing. The periodic squawking or screeching seemed to be moving away into the distance now, further into the mist. Soon, the mist began to clear. I could see some distance now, and then, just then, out the corner of my eye I spied a dark shape some three hundred meters away, but only for a second or two! As I looked again, all I could see were the usual trees and boundary hedges. ‘Nothing untoward’, as my grandmother would say.

Was that’ shape’ the Gwrach y Rhibyn come to harass? Just a trick of the light? My imagination? Was the screeching of ‘something’ in the mist, a bird? I wish I could tell you, but I can’t. What I can say is that as I sat there embraced by that early morning mist (and I do believe it applies to us all), I experienced the unknown and the wildness of nature that was palpable, and I experienced it as an inclusive and yet powerful force, but also as an humbling experience.

‘A single event can awaken within us a stranger totally unknown to us. To live is to be slowly born’ ( Antoine de Saint-Exupéry)

There are some things we just don’t know. And there are some things we will never know. And there are some things we are not meant to know. That ‘event’, this morning, whatever is was, was one such event. And, you know what? I’m content with that ‘visitation’. I learned something vital about myself. I believe we all do in those infrequent but  amazing ‘encounter-awakening’ situations.

 

Tadhg’s Ephemera: The New Month Of The Holly Tree [8 July – 4 August]

20170706 THE CELTIC MONTH OF THE HOLLY TREE

This Friday is the last day of the Celtic month of the Oak, and Saturday, 8 July is the start of a new month – but remember the ancient Druids and Celts, and many other ancient peoples, too, started their new day in the evening. So, you can celebrate the new month this coming Friday evening if you wish, or Saturday evening.

The upcoming new month is the Celtic and Druid month of the Holly, and it’s a wonderful month.

About The Tree

Common Name: Holly
Scientific Name: Ilex aquifolium
Family: Aquifoliaceae
Miscellaneous Information: The name ‘holy’, which probably derived from the Prot-Indo-European language for ‘prickly’, came to us through the Old Norse word ‘hulfr’. In German it’s hulst, French it’s houx, and Welsh as celyn.

Mature trees, can grow up to 15m and live for about three hundred years. The bark is smooth and thin with numerous small, brown ‘warts’, and the stems are dark brown. Its leaves are dark green, glossy and oval in shape, with younger plants have spiky leaves.

The holly is dioecious: male and female flowers occur on different trees. Flowers are white with four petals. Look out for its bright red berries and shiny, leathery leaves that usually have spiny prickles on the edges.

Love is like the wild rose-briar;
Friendship like the holly tree,
The holly is dark when the rose briar blooms,
But which will bloom most constantly?

(Emily Bronte)

The tree is native in the UK and across Europe, north Africa and western Asia. It is commonly found in woodland, scrub and hedgerows, and especially in oak and beech woodland.

Holly provides dense cover and good nesting opportunities for birds, and its dry leaf litter is used by hedgehogs and other small mammals for hibernation.

The berries are a vital source of food for birds in winter, and are also eaten by small mammals such as wood mice and dormice.

Holly wood is the whitest of all woods, and is very heavy, hard and fine grained. It can be stained and polished, and is used, sometimes, to make furniture or used in engraving work. It is also commonly used to make walking-sticks. Holly wood also makes good kindling, and burns with a strong heat.

Mythology And Symbolism

For centuries, holly branches have been used to decorate homes, especially in winter. In the Christian tradition the bright red berries represented the blood of Christ, and was a reminder at Christmastime of the Christ’s impending crucifixion and that new life springs from that.

The Holly and the Ivy
When they are both full grown,
Of all the trees that are in the wood,
The holly wears the crown.

(Traditional carol)

For ancient and latter-day Celts and Druids, the tree was also seen as a fertility symbol and a charm against witches, goblins and the devil. It was thought by many to be unlucky to cut down a holly tree.

It is said the oak tree attracts lightning, but the holly tree repels lightning, and so it was often planted around homes for protection from lightning strikes, and for this reason it is viewed as a symbol for protection. But, please don’t shelter under one, nor any tree, in lightning storm!

Interestingly, science has actually discovered the distinct leaf-shape of the holly acts as a natural repellent for lightning’s electricity, allegedly, making the holly’s protective significance more than just lore, perhaps.

I’ll bid the hyacinth to blow,
I’ll teach my grottos green to be;
And sing my true love, all below
the holly bower and myrtle tree.

(Thomas Campbell)

As the ‘ruler’ of winter, the holly is also associated with dreams and the subconscious. Druids would often invoke the holly energy for assistance in dream work.

In Celtic mythology the Holly King was said to rule over the half of the year from the summer to the winter solstice, at which time the Oak King defeated the Holly King to rule for the time until the summer solstice again.

In heraldry, the holly represents truth.

Celebrating The Month Of Holly

However you would normally celebrate a new Celtic month, it would be a good idea, perhaps, to:

  • spend some time contemplating on a holly twig, if you’re able to buy some, or print out a photo from the internet of holly, and have that on your table near a candle, and
  • think about the various associations that holly has: fertility, protection, the blood of the Christ, and what this means to you and others – always good to know what others believe, even if you have a deep-seated belief, and
  • perhaps use some of the quotes above in your time of celebration (which can be incorporated into a meal or similar, or token meal), but make it a good time of celebration as we move into a new month, a new start.

And, there’s also a full moon too, this weekend, so that is also something that can be incorporated into your new month celebration – but more about the upcoming new moon, tomorrow.

Blessings, Tadhg

 

 

Through A Glass Darkly: A Celtic Perspective

20170703 THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY PERSPECTIVEDoes Channel 4 tv station still use the ‘4’ logo that is made up of disparate parts that change the whole of the logo depending on how you view it? And, as the camera moves around it, the jumble of parts suddenly becomes the number ‘4’, but only for a second or two, and then it’s just a jumble again as the camera moves on.

‘For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.’ 1 Corinthians 13:12, The Book

Perspective is all important.

I once ‘accidently’ got into a discussion with someone who wanted to convince me that the sun and moon were the same size, because during a total eclipse the moon exactly covers the face of the sun. I talked to them about perspective, and that the sun is much larger than the moon but much further away, but to no avail. Perspective fail!

‘A group of blind men heard that a strange animal that they had never encountered before, called an elephant, had been brought to the town, but none of them were aware of its shape and form.

Out of curiosity, they said: ‘We must inspect and know it by touch, to know more about this strange animal’. So, they sought it out, and when they found it they groped about it.’ In the case of the first person, whose hand landed on the trunk, said, ‘This being is like a thick snake’.

For another one whose hand reached its ear, it seemed like a kind of fan. As for another person, whose hand was upon its leg, said, the elephant is a pillar like a tree-trunk.

Another blind man who had placed his hand upon its side said, ‘The elephant is a wall’. Another who felt its tail, described it as a rope.

The last felt its tusk, stating the elephant is that which is hard, smooth and like a spear.’

Each had a different idea about what the elephant really looked like. None were actually wrong, but neither had any of them an idea of the totality of what an elephant looked like. (Ancient Indian parable.)

This morning – yes, I’m still in London – I was out in my little garden looking at a site in the distance that’s about to be developed, and I gave thanks that, for a short while, I can see the River Thames as it flows nearby. The view is wonderful. But, there is part of me that, right now, would prefer to gaze a the green-grey mountains of slate and granite of home, Wales.

But, what we see and how we relate to it, depends on us. Doesn’t it?

Someone with me in London might like the ‘buzz’ of the City, others might not like the noise. If in Wales, some (like me) might revel in the majestic beauty of nature, but others might not be able to ‘acclimatise’ to the much slower ‘country time’.

This got me thinking. How we ‘see’ things affects what we regard as them being ‘of value’. Perspective is very important.

If I look at a tree, and I have axe in my hand, and as a Druidic-Christian see the tree as an ‘ensouled’ being or as having the Creator’s stamp on it, or as a panentheists (as I am, just like the early Christians) believe that that tree ‘inhabits’ God, then I will regard it differently than if I just saw it as a materialist might, as kindling.

So, in London, as I gaze upon that building site, it could be just a mess, or I could see it as an opportunity to create a product or service that will serve people, and in this case, might actually improve the local environment and be wholesome (and holy). It is then something much more ‘noble’ that a mere a bricks and mortar development.  In Wales, perhaps it’s easier to appreciate nature, or could it be that there’s so ‘much’ of it (in its wild state, because nature also  ‘inhabits’ the cities, too) that its easy to be complacent and unappreciative? And so, we still need to looker (more) intently, perhaps?

And, what about when we talk theology or chat about spiritual things, or the deep and profound things of life? Are we so immersed in twenty-first materialism that we only glance at the surface? Don’t answer immediately, please, because those ‘spectacles of materialism’ have an uneasy way of slipping over our eyes even without our noticing.

I’ve been to two funerals recently. The first was unbelievable tough on me (and close family) to endure, the other was tough to endue, but our perspective on these major events of life change depending on how we look at those events. The materialist, attending that funeral, might see a box, a coffin, a casket and nothing more. Someone else might have a hope of more, of new life as one is ‘absorbed’ into the earth. Others, such as myself, even in grief, separation and tears might ‘see’ (in their mind’s eye) that person in heaven, also known as the Summerland or Caer Wydyr (in Welsh, the glass fortress), and might confuse others by talking of pre-life (which happens to be one of my favourite themes) and that we’re all ‘there’ now (but that later point is for another time)!

But, what does this all mean?

It means, perspective will be different to different people, depending on their (our) location, inbuilt views, learned views, expectations (limited or otherwise), ‘tribal views’, and once we accept a multiplicity of views – metaphorically peak over the edge – then our voyage of discovery really takes off. There’s always more!

‘I have many more things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.’ John 16.12, The Book

So, be ‘open’! Step outside the cultural ‘norms’, move toward the edge – become an ‘edge-walker’ – have you ever noticed how all the interesting things, development, maturity and growth all happen at the ‘edges’? – and have a peak at a possible alternative, and maybe ‘more real’, viewpoint.

‘I live my life in widening circle that reach out across the world.  I may not ever complete the last one, but I give myself to it. I circle around God, that primordial tower. I have been circling for thousands of years, and I still don’t know: am I a falcon, a storm, or a great song?’ (Rainer Maria Rilke)

There’s more. There is always more to experience, more to discover, more to understand (differently). More, that catches us by surprise and challenges ‘old’ limitations. There’s more. Mae mwy (in Welsh)

[Note: The painting in the ‘header’ in today’s article is called ‘Escaping criticism’, and was painted by Pere Borrell del Caso, 1835-1910, a Catalan painter. He was well-known for this kind of optical illusion style of painting which is called trompe l’oeil, French for ‘deceive the eye’.].

 

The Art Of Perception: Celtic Thought

20170612 THE ART OF PERCEPTION 1There is a particular time in the Spring at Ty Gwyn where I live, near Capel Curig, back home in Wales, when the sunrise on the lawn is just right to ‘play’ upon the dew on the grass and light it up like a carpet of deep gold. It’s almost as if the grass is ablaze, alight like an electric fire as the sunlight grazes of the dew. And then a few minutes later, it’s gone. When my grandchildren visit I encourage patience in them to look out for it, and it’s worth it, it truly is – well, at least I think so. I’m not too sure about them.

‘I think it pisses God off if you walk by the colour purple in a field somewhere and don’t notice it’, says Shug Avery, one of the wise women in Alice Walker’s book, The Colour Purple.

Drygrange Bridge over the River Tweed in Scotland is a place where I have to stop and pay attention. The Scottish border is some 40km behind me, at that point, as I drive north, but for me Scotland starts at Drygrange Bridge. The scenary there opens up, vast and wild, and when driving north, there is the exquisite River Tweed below, and to the left an awesome valley and the beautiful Leaderfoot Viaduct. Whenever I can, I stop the car, and spend a few minutes gazing at the scenery in awe. Words are not needed here. Indeed, they would be useless in that moment. At that moment the invisible has become visible. Do you think there is a connection between journeying, new places and perception? The unfamiliar enthrals us?

Ofcourse, the art of paying attention requires an unhurried attitude, and that’s even more difficult in our fast-paced world, today. But, it’s worth cultivating. It requires a different timescale, and a commitment to deeper perception.

Find an awesome scene and just gaze at it. Fumble for the camera, draw an outline sketch or speak into a vioce recorder about it, and the moment has gone. It’s happened to me when I’ve reached for the camera and adjusted the settings. Missed it. And what’s more, I’ve relegated myself to that of a mere observer, when I should have just gazed and basked in the glory of the event, and so would have been part of it. I-thou became I-it, sadly. Distanced!

‘…seek, and you will find…’, Matthew 7.7b

Deep perception can be practiced. It’s an acknowledgement of the other, and a surrendering, too, of analytical thought. It is about entering into the moment not as one subservient, and not as master of the moment, but as co-participant.

Paying attention is reward in itself.

As regards paying attention, the author Barbara Brown Taylor writes: ‘From behind the veils of my dark [sunglass] lenses, I study the particular human beings sitting around me [ on the subway train]: the girl with the fussy baby, the guy with the house paint all over his jeans, the couple holding hands, the teenager keeping time with both knees while he listens to music so loud it leaks from his headphones. Every one of these people had come from somewhere and is going somewhere, the same way I am. While I am sitting here thinking I am at the centre of this subway scene and they are on the edges, they are sitting there at the centre of their own scenes with me on their edges’. From her book, An Altar in the World: A Geography of Faith.

If a sacrament is an outward and visible sign of an inward spiritual happening, then many events can rightly be regarded as a sacrament, in the widest sense of the word. What we see, the food we eat and savour – we do take our time and savour it, right? Ofcourse, we need reminding as the world’s pace closes in and we gobble our food, or eat on the way to work. I know there are occassions when that might be necessary, but do – and I’m reminding myself, too – do find the time to savour food, delight in scenary, works of art and music, and to slow down and appreciate those wonderful and yet mundane (as if anything is really mundane) moments that we might miss, otherwise, and pass them right by.

In paying attention the inivisble and spiritual realm is glimpsed in this realm, at least for those that look.

‘The voyage of discovery is not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes.’ Marcel Proust

Celtic Thought: The Luminous Web Of The Universe

20170606 THE LUMINOUS WEB OF THE UNIVERSEThere is a ‘shy’ linkage of everything at all levels, but especially at the unimaginable small and energetic levels; and there’s an interconnectedness of which we are part, at least that’s what quantum mechanics infers. The universe is part of us, and vice versa, and really does see through our eyes. Through us it obtains consciousness. That was yesterday’s theme. But, the journey continues.

‘So what?’, I hear some say.

If that linkage is real, and I believe it is, then we are all connected in one amazing ‘Great Chain of Being’, as some describe it. Others call it ‘the Kingdom’, or ‘the Nested Holarchy of Being’, in ancient sacred text it is personalised as ‘members of one another’, and to others, like Barbara Brown Taylor it is ‘the Luminous Web’ which spans space and time in its totality.

Connectedness.

web unspash demi-kwant-17364

Touch one part of a web, and every part of it vibrates

But with this connectedness, apparent by intuition and imagination and a new awareness, there is a need for a new understanding and outworking of this deep and profound kinship. After all, we (and that includes all humankind, earthly creatures and trees etc, and indeed, the whole cosmos) are one.

Relationship.

As I look through the window to the outside world – I’m not outside in my little inner-city garden today – It’s raining hard – and, I ponder, ‘Does that mean we have to hug trees? What does it mean in relationship to my immediate neighbour and, say, those in need on the other side of the planet? What does that mean for us as individuals? (in one sense of the word) or as a group, nation, species?

Responsibility.

Richard Rohr talks about ‘the flow’, a personal and energetic ‘river’ of grace that infills everything, and others would take this further and say that its conduit is the luminous web, or even that they are one of the same!

sun pixabay meditation-277889__340

Relationship is ‘in’ the gaps, too!

So, if you want to hug and tree, do so – if by that you mean you will actually hug a tree and do more, because something else, something extra is needed. If you are upset when you see injustice or badly malnourished people on tv – and who isn’t moved at such tragedy – and feel led to make a considered response, do so, but bear in mind that something else is need.

‘The energy in the universe is not [so much] in planets, or in the protons or neutrons, but in the relationship between them’. Richard Rohr.

The ‘extra’ and much-needed ingredient is relationship, and it is here that awareness, intuition, and imagination comes in. We can do things, but without the right attitude and a two-way relationship there is no love.

Refusal?

‘Sin [however we view that word] is always a refusal of mutuality and a closing down into separateness.’ Richard Rohr.

If we act, and believe it right to do so, then act, please….act favourably towards others and the environment in a way that is appropriate and resource-affordable to you, but remember love (which was also the title of an interesting song sung by Yoko Ono. Was that really released in 1968? Time flies!).

There’s more. Mae mwy

love daisy-712898__340

Love is foundational

It is one thing to understand and delight in connectedness, but we live in a materialistic and shallow world, and unwittingly we can reduce our response accordingly (and even unknowingly). Connectedness, hugging a tree (literally or metaphorically), or even prayer, well-wishing, sending energy etc isn’t just mechanical – like a boardroom flowchart – something that can just be done and it’s over. It’s living and active, and it is about deep relationship. It’s about love.

Love.

It’s one thing to hug a tree (or the environment, or others etc) or do all those beneficial things, it is entirely a different order of action-relationship when it is based on love.

‘To become fascinated is to step into a wild love affair on any level of life’. Brian Swimme.

 

laniakea_nrao_960 nasa

The universe is a web

After thought: From the smallest imaginable point to the biggest structure in the universe, the universe is a web. A web of quanta, atoms, molecules, solar systems, and the galaxies. A web. Interestingly, just as stars clump together in a web that we call a galaxy – and we’re on the outer edge of an ‘arm’ in a spiral galaxy – so galaxies clump together to form a web. The picture, right, is an accurate representation of millions of galaxies forming a web in space. ‘Our’ local neighbourhood – a small part of that picture – spanning over 500 light-years, is known as Laniakea [The name Laniakea means “immense heaven” in Hawaiian]. The universe is a huge web! Isn’t that fascinating?

 

20170606 THE LUMINOUS WEB OF THE UNIVERSE

Celtic Thought: Befeathered Friends at 4am [Tadhg’s Journal]

20170531 BEFEATHERED FRIENDS AT 4AMThis morning, at some unbelievably early hour I was awakened by birdsong. Left to my own devices I would have curled up and gone back to sleep, but I couldn’t. Not only was the birdsong so loud, but it had an altogether other-worldly rhythm that, in some strange and positive way ‘enticingly disturbed’ my sleep.

Invitational.

Listening to it for some time, I slowly rolled out of bed, grabbed the dressing gown and ambled downstairs. As I approached the backdoor the birdsong grew louder. Opening the door and being ‘hit’ by early Capel Curig morning cold air, I stepped onto the lawn – no shoes, so it was a ‘very awakening’ experience.

‘Beside them the birds of the heavens dwell; they sing among the branches.’ Psalm 104:12, The Book

The birdsong, at least those nearby ‘dawn choristers’, stopped abruptly. I had been spied.

I waited.

They waited.

I waited a little longer.

They waited even more.

As I  sat on a garden chair, slowly, and one by one birds started to sing again. And, before long, a number of them were in full flow, and I was enveloped in a complex melody of pure, unadulterated birdsong that ebbed and flowed. And, it was wonderful.

Included.

I’ve often written about our separation from nature, and that’s true in one sense. Humanity, oftentimes acts as though it has a second planet in reserve,. But, in this sense, as I sat on that garden chair, that separation is only we think and so act out, but it is that, only.  We think we’re separate, and so we miss out because, actually, we’re not separate…we just think we are.

Erroneous thinking.

I do believe that if we slow down, and stop sometimes; if we ‘hear’ the invitation of all that is around us, we will know that we are part of all that is. As I heard the birdsong this morning I could only but listen in awe. Not as a passive bystander, but as someone now included in this avian symphony of nature.

Union.

As I sat there, I remembered some words of the late Gerald G May, a fellow cancer sufferer (though he, sadly, succumbed, and I survived by the grace of That Which Is Larger Than Us). In the wilderness, whilst at the beginning of his ailments, at dusk he found himself surrounded by cicadas in the bushes. Unseen, but not unheard.

‘I notice that the drone [of the cicadas] is not a steady sound at all. It reveals an underlying rhythm, and the rhythm also is a composite, an intricate summation of cadences. One cicada’s rhythm joins that of another to generate a third conjoint beat, so that two insects create at least three rhythms…

Sensing the rhythms within the drone, I begin to beat the drum with them. I try to pick out a cadence and follow it, but it feels too complex; I cannot tell one pulsation from another for more than a few moments. Then, in the way I have learned to receive gifts, I quit trying. Relaxing, I just beat the drum, allowing my own rhythm to emerge and find its place in the overall sound. Then a wonder: I sense a change in the cicada song, a subtle shift that seems to be a response to my joining them…as if each insect in its buzzing has adjusted itself a tiny bit to create a space for me, for my sound.

I am lost now, lost into the firelight’s flickering on the tree leaves, warmth mingling with cool night star sparkles, all into the cicada song; I have been shown the way into the joining. I have been guided in a harmony path, to a oneness within which I am, once again, freshly and absolutely alive’. Gerald G May ‘Wisdom Of The Wilderness’.

Could it be that in our perceived separation from nature, we’re missing the point? Could it be that in believing we’re some ‘distance’ from nature that we’re really the ones separating ourselves from all that is holy? Could it not be the case that we are part of nature, we are not separated, and not at some ‘distance’ from it, but included! We’re there…but we just don’t know that we’re there!

‘We need a powerful new story that we are a part of nature and not separate from it. We need a story that properly situates humans in the world — neither above it by virtue of our superior intellect, nor dwarfed by the universe into cosmic insignificance. We are equal partners with all that exists, co-creators with trees and galaxies and the microorganisms in our own gut, in a materially and spiritually evolving universe. This was the breath-taking vision of the late Father Thomas Berry.’

Realisation.

I have to confess that I sat there at 4am this morning, with the ambient temperature somewhat lower than I would have liked (especially for the way I dressed),  I didn’t care. I didn’t want extraneous or complaining thoughts to come between me and this embrace by nature. It was a time just to enjoy it, revel in it, marvel at it, and gaze at the marvel that is nature.

And, nature gazed back.

‘The eye through which I see God is the same eye through which God sees me; my eye and God’s eye are one eye, one seeing, one knowing, one love.’ Meister Eckhart

As I write this I’m toying with the idea of setting the alarm clock for 4am for tomorrow, to ensure that I put myself in the way of another nature-encounter.

Celtic Poem: Bach Ac Yn Gyflym [Revisited]

20170530 BACH AC YN GYFLYM REVISITED POEMI’m back in Capel Curig, the location of my north Wales ‘cottage’ in the wilderness, and have just walked to the far, northern end of the garden. It’s wonderful to gaze upon distant clouds, nearby trees, unbridled nature, rampant fecundity, lush mountains.

It’s there, in the garden, that there is a small, wonderfully inviting rivulet that flows unimpeded. Even if it is unheeded, it flows. It needs no human eye to convince it of its status, but when around, it does indeed invite all to look on in wonder. And, as you look into it in awe, it looks back in a similar manner.

Mirroring. ‘Connecting’. Oneing.

I call this watery friend, this rivulet Bach ac yn gyflym. Welsh geographical place-names are very descriptive, and it seemed right to call this stream by this name.  Its name means ‘small and fast’. Very apt. Very Welsh.

In this rugged, wild, grey-green place,
Bach ac yn gyflym, that ancient stream flows.
Downstream represents that past, of days gone by,
the old, the familiar and known.
It is an empty plate of cakes, just crumbs, now gone; it is yesterday’s meal.

This flowing water is time.

I surmise that you look upstream! Most do.
Upstream is unfamiliar.
It is tomorrow charging towards us and becoming ‘now’.
It isn’t red-shift; it is blue-shift.
It isn’t the past, it is the future.
It is potential, opportunity,
a ribbon of possibility reaching out toward us.
It is the unknown. A challenge. A risk. An adventure.

Time could be the harbinger of good or of bad,
however we define those mysterious words.
And yet Rumi’s wisdom of old, words of invitation
to accept those who knock at the door of one’s life echo loud.
For in playing host to all,
we may accept a benevolent ‘guide’ from beyond,
and grow in stature.

The flowing water is time.

As I stand motionless and observe, the water flows and yet so do I.
A body that ages.
A mind that thinks.
A heart that beats involuntarily.
A planet that spins. And one that orbits.
A solar system that moves.
Tempus fugit.

Everything is in a state of flux.

And so, like you, I look upstream.
Could this be Bach ac yn gyflym or even Pishon?
But, I crane my neck and look upstream,
for it is from there that the Spirit calls out to all of us by name.
The Bat Kohl whispers in the desolation, the forest, even in the city.
Her activity is recorded in the past, felt in the present, and reverberates to us from the future.

The flowing water is time.

Celtic Lifestyle: EarthGrief: An Introduction

20170529 EARTHGRIEF AN INTRODUCTIONWhatever we attach ourselves to, will cause us give ourselves fully in love, and the more attached we do that, the more we will experience grief one day. I don’t want to sound negative or morbid, and I’m not saying we shouldn’t give ourselves to another – of course not. After all that’s part of what it is to be human and alive, and what it means essentially to live in the present.

But, grief is a fact of life.

In the book, ‘The Wild Edge Of Sorrow’, the author, Francis Weller writes about five ‘gates’ of grief. ‘Each of these doorways leads to the communal hall of grief, and each helps us to understand the many ways that loss touches our hearts and souls…’.

One of these ‘gates’ opens when we acknowledge the losses of the world around us.

As a Druidic-Christian, and knowing other Celtic Christians, Druid and pagan friends (and others), there is a painful realisation that the world is reeling in agony at the unlimited effect of rampant commercialism.

‘What we are doing to the forests of the world is but a mirror reflection of what we are doing to ourselves and to one another.’  Mahatma Gandhi

Which one of us hasn’t prayed a prayer or conducted a ritual for some part of the world’s geographical environment, diminishing rain-forest or endangered animals?

We are affected. Our psyche feels this devastation because the greater part of our psyche lies outside of our body: the body does not live in the psyche, rather, we live within the psyche. And, everything is connected because everything possesses a soul. This earth-connection is the anima mundi (the soul of the world). This devastation of the planet is known, by some, as EarthGrief.

‘A nation that destroys its soils destroys itself. Forests are the lungs of our land, purifying the air and giving fresh strength to our people.’ Franklin D. Roosevelt

It’s not that we witness, say the destruction of a forest, and feel sorrow at it as if from some distance, but in being connected we are hurt, too! If we don’t feel that hurt, then it may be a case of our perceived great separation from the planet – nature deficit disorder.

We are connected in essence; but we may perceive ourselves as separate. We are hurt because of it; but we may not be aware of that hurt. Because we’re unaware, EarthGrief continues.

‘I love to think that animals and humans, and plants, and fishes, and trees, and stars and the moon are all connected.’ Gloria Vanderbilt

It’s not a case of wanting to make you feel dreadful, of causing a sense of guilt, or of putting you (or myself) in a position where we throw our hands up in the air and forlornly cry out, ‘I can’t make a difference, can I?’.

Perhaps, initially, it’s a case of giving the term a name: EarthGrief.
And, then perhaps, it’s a case of acknowledging, in ritual, the sense of loss because of EarthGrief. There are a myriad of other things we can do, but those two make for a good start.

Francis Weller writes, ‘There is a ritual that my community does annually called Renewing The World…[It] lass three days, and we begin with a funeral to acknowledge all that is leaving this world. We build a pyre, and then together we name and place onto the fire what we have lost…The first time I did this ritual, I was planning on drumming and holding the space for others. I made an invocation to the Sacred…

Francis Weller goes on to describe the sense of grief that they all felt in that ritual and which, physically, pulled their bodies onto their knees, as many people sobbed.

It wasn’t a case of morbidity or an over-indulgence in grief, for griefs-sake on their part, but an admission of real connectivity, of  EarthGrief, and a growing awareness that it need not be this way. 

Chellis Glendinning says we are born ‘as stone age children’. We enter the world, physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually, as people ‘designed for’ and connected to nature, and this state he calls the primal matrix. However, what was once a seamless flow into a connected world has become a perceived breach: we are still connected in essence, but we just don’t know it, and act accordingly.

‘O most honoured Greening Force,
You who roots in the Sun;
You who lights up, in shining serenity, within a wheel
that earthly excellence fails to comprehend.
You are enfolded
in the weaving of divine mysteries.
You redden like the dawn
and you burn: flame of the Sun.’ Hildegard of Bingen,

But, now we know. And, that’s a good start. Firstly, to give this plight a name, and secondly, to perform our own solo and/or collective Renewing Of The Earth ritual.

It’s a start!

Ritual & More Cosmic Consequences

20170525 RITUAL AND MORE COSMIC CONSEQUENCES AT NEW MOON1There is a new moon tonight, and being a new moon I’m afraid you won’t see much, if anything at all. It may be best, like many of the ancients did of old, to declare that tomorrow is the night of the new moon as then a sliver of the moon, forming a wonderfully bright arc will be evident, hanging  in the southern sky. Yes, for the next couple of days all this lunar activity will be viewable only from the southern hemisphere (and, maybe from equatorial locations).

New moon’s, seen or not, however, are a great time for ritual.

‘Ritual is the passage way of the soul into the Infinite.’ (Algernon Blackwood)

As an aside, and for the astronomers amongst you, tonight or tomorrow’s new moon will be lunation (number) 1168. [That’s 1,168 new moons since they were formally recorded and counted in astronomical almanacs.  Lunation 1 occurred at 02:41 UTC, on 17 January 1923.]

However, more exciting, is the view that new moon’s are seen by many as a time of ‘energising’, of new strength for projects, and of new beginnings, a time for rituals, as it the first day of the new lunar month.

‘…humans do have a remote control, granting us more power than we’ve ever imagined’. (Richard Rohr).

Yesterday, having mentioned the ‘inner’ effect of ritual, and the way it changes us – and that might be what is needed, as in coping with a traumatic event, or making vows of initiation or betrothal etc – I wanted now to explore ritual further. Ritual has far reaching  ‘ external’ consequences, and perhaps, more so at the time of the new moon. True, ritual has an ‘inner’ effect, but there’s more. Mae mwy (as we say in Wales)

Ritual has an external effect, too, as we enter liminality, that sacred time-space, what Richard Rohr calls ‘access[ing] the bigger field’.

We might all be aware of the First Nation peoples of America and their ritual dances for rain, but what about other peoples and ‘tribes’ and their rituals for averting a future calamity, sending light to a ‘darkened’ corner of this world, seeking protection for oneself or another, seeking healing for another, invoking energy through a fire ritual, giving a blessing by the sprinkling of water, a funeral ritual or prayer to commend a loved-one ‘into’ Bliss? All these are rituals with an external and far-reaching effect.

Personally, I do believe ritual and liturgy, founded on intentionality, has an effect. I’ll go out on a limb and say that this is because it doesn’t really depend on us. The power and effectiveness comes from the Source of All, and we are vital and necessary intermediaries.

Some may want to perform a ritual that prescribes a desired outcome in great detail, others are more vague, and some leave the ‘how to’ to the Source of All. That’s okay. I have no ‘challenges’ in performing a solo or group ritual to effect a distant (and sometimes, requested) outcome. Infact, I would encourage you and others to do so, as you feel led, to perform rituals for other places and lands, other people, drought areas, the precious eco-system and (against) animal extinction etc. All much needed.

Can I prove an outcome is as a result of my (or someone else’s) ritual? No, I can’t.

‘Despite the absence of a direct causal connection between the ritual and the desired outcome, performing rituals with the intention of producing a certain result appears to be sufficient for that result to come true.’ (Scientific American, 14 May 2014)

Those that undertake ritual practices do so because they, we, believe they have an effect – seen or unseen, immediate or delayed – but, nevertheless, they have an effect. Not all share that belief. If for one moment we, or they, believe that if it has no effect, then why do it?

That begs the question: if ritual and those other practices have an effect, then why’ do’ anything else, as all work is unnecessary? And, if we believe ritual has no effect then why do it, but rather why not only concentrate on doing a physical work or task, instead? Ritual or work?

Here’s a way forward.

‘Pray as though everything depended on God. Work as though everything depended on you.’ (St Augustine)

The two options need to be held in ‘balance’ or tension. One without the other is ineffective.  Personally, I believe that ritual is effective and work or a task to lead toward it, is necessary too.  And so, we can adapt St Augustine’s wise words to read: Perform a ritual as though no work would accomplish it; work towards an outcome as though no ritual would accomplish it.

It’s both ritual and work!

‘Ceremonial observance adds lucid layers — depth, dimension, drama and distinction — to our lives…When we set aside the quality time and claim the psychic space for ceremony, when we assume the authority to do so, we are able to transform our perceptions, our perspectives, our experiences, and in the process, our reality.’ (Donna Henes)

Note: Photo, above, used by kind permission of Pennie Ley, Copyright holder. All rights reserved, 2017