the raven

In Liz’s cozy flat, warmed by various flavours of tea, and held in a sacred circle of Brighid’s Awen, six of us shared words that bear deep meaning for each of us. The words we read gently interwove with our conversation, and before long we discovered that we each came to druidry looking for something similar. All of us longed for that feeling of unity with nature and all things, and felt that druidry helped us find it.

The tone was set by a poem my friend Josephine wrote after spending the night in the forest on the Living Druidry course:

Forest night

Silhouettes, stars and a sliver of Moon
Lying on Earth’s dark mud amongst the bluebells spent
What am I, so large, so small, so vulnerable?

Do I belong here amongst the furry ones
The crawling ones
The flying ones?

Am I fear or thought or chaos or am I merged without edges
Pulsing with life and breath and heart beat?
Blissful, peaceful oneness accepted and protected

Melted and blended without separation
Can I hold this? Be this? Or is it just memory
From a time beyond time when I was
A furry one
A crawling one
A flying one?

As well as a longing for unity, all the writings shared a strong connection with landscape. Liz read us a poem she wrote after a spending a week working with herbs at Cae Mabon. Her words powerfully evoked that landscape, and its indwelling spirit of beauty and abundance.

Mike shared a chapter of his book with us. It, too, evoked a landscape, but this time it was a landscape of sorrow from the time that conflict and evil first came to the peaceful world of elves. We really enjoyed his story of a mother searching for her son and finding the cause of her grief. We felt really privileged to be able to hear this story. I hope to read all of the Twilight Wars one of these days.

As we talked and listened, we started to share more of ourselves, and of our connection with the land and its people. We talked about how we look for connection in our city landscapes and our city communities. We shared how we live our druidry, as bards, as seekers, and as bringers of peace.

We finished the afternoon with more tea and Liz’s delicious home made cake, which was still slightly warm. I was sorry to have to leave early, breaking the magical circle of poetry that had drawn us close together.

Thank you, Liz, for a beautiful and gentle afternoon.

For anyone interested, here is a link to the prose poem I read, and everything about its author: The Place Where You Go to Listen by John Luther Adams
And Liz, would you consider sharing your poem with us here?

This is one of the current exhibitions at the Royal Academy at the moment. If you’re interested in the antiquarian investigation of Druidic (Neolithic, Bronze Age, Iron Age remains) it’s worth a visit. I went today and really enjoyed it – so much so that I bought the catalogue. There’s a whole section on Stonehenge including a picture from the 12th Century Roman de Brut by Wace showing Merlin casually lifting one of the sarsen stones to transport it from Ireland (Wace’s take on the origin of Stonehenge) to Wiltshire. There are portraits of famous antiquaries including Stukely and plans of Avebury. There are lots of interesting pictures of old buildings in London and grave goods of gold and amber. Not to mention a Roman cavalry helmet with the face of a god for a visor. I know we don’t like the Romans but this is breathtaking.

Highly recommended for the intelligent and aesthetically inclined Druid.

I arrived at Sydenham Hill railway station to find Greg, Cilla and the organisers, Lorraine and Daniel sitting on a bench under some impressive trees. We were joined by a new arrival, Moya, and while waiting for others we adjourned across the road to introduce ourselves to Moya and discuss our feelings about the autumn at this point in the year when the days and nights are momentarily in balance.

We had to wait a while as first Chris, then Hilde, and finally after an epic drive through South London, Jo and Mike joined us. But it was a beautiful day with golden berries and green leaves.

Then it was into the Dulwich Woods, past a pagan offering hanging from a bough. The trees quickly became dense and we had to clamber over a couple of fallen trees on the way to the glade that Lorraine and Daniel had selected for the ceremony.

It was a simple but thought provoking rite in which we were able to acknowledge the positive aspects of autumn as well as the sense of depression and loss that some of us felt as the darker days approached. I’d brought some hazel nuts from my parents’ garden and the ears of corn I had gathered at West Kennet earlier in the summer around Lughnasadh. These we put in the centre of the circle. We stood under an oak tree as we had done at Midsummer. As we celebrated the season together the squirrels scampered through the branches and a robin flitted restlessly from ground to holly bush. Clearly we had invaded its territory. At intervals, showers of acorns fell down around us though whether this was the oak celebrating or rejecting our presence was impossible to say. It felt to me like a blessing.

I had passed into that time outside of time which rituals induce when I heard the words “It is the hour of recall.” So soon ?

Afterwards we ate and drank (no mead alas) and Lorraine and I read a couple of poems. And then some of us went up the hill to the pub…