Beltane Eve, 2023

 Beltane is upon us. I am in a new nemeton for this, having moved in just a couple of weeks ago. More about this important move to a very different geological and psychic territory in the next post, but for now an acknowledgement of the sacred space of Beltane: one of the four key ‘fire festivals’ of the Celtic/Brittonic traditions.

I am alone this evening although connecting in mind and heart with ‘my’ people. The fire is prepared, food and drink is prepared for afterwards, the birds have fresh water and their new sunflower hearts feeder. The garden is as prepared as it can be, given my very recent occupation of it. I will be lighting the fire, connecting with the elemental forces, and sitting in reflection very soon. I’ll have fresh air around me, new earth under my feet, water in my tiny washing-up bowl ‘pond’ (though a fast racing chalk stream just yards away… more about that later too) and, as well as the fire, some new solar lights which I hope will be glowing for the first time in the somewhat overgrown euonymus where I've placed them.

The pic below is not the rather boring euonymus, beloved of urban landscape planners, but the far more glorious 'may', or hawthorn. Slightly cheating pic actually since here in the north of England it's not quite at its most glowing until we are well into May. This is the origin of the saying "Cast not a clout 'til may is out..." in other words, don't shed your winter clothes until the may blossom is as exuberant as it is below.

There are some (carefully curated!) links below if you want to read more about Beltane: the briefest point to make here is that ‘May day’ celebrates Spring at its peak, fertility and new growth, and the coming Summer. 

Emma Beddington’s Guardian article is an interesting and cool appraisal, though there is plenty of far more histrionic writing and videos online, should you be interested in the more outrageous aspects of Beltane: always considered the ‘wildest’ of the four festivals, even within the wilder reaches of the Pagan/Celtic/Magickal etc communities.

 https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Beltane

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/apr/27/dawn-of-the-new-pagans-everybodys-welcome-as-long-as-you-keep-your-clothes-on

https://www.britannica.com/topic/Beltane

Winter Floodland

The warning sign at the side of the road tells me the bridge ahead over the river is closed, because of recent flooding. For the last twenty minutes or so, I’ve been driving aimlessly around, trying not to go home, because there are boring tasks to do. I prefer to be out - even in a car – in this early January early afternoon peculiar quality of half-light.   

It’s a flat and some would say featureless landscape I’m driving through – a quiet rural road with nowhere to go at the end of it because the river has once again broken its banks. I expect to see little traffic, or people about, and indeed see neither. I drive right to the edge where road meets floodwater, stop, turn off the engine, get out of the car. I take a couple of deep breaths and look around this mysterious new world. Little waves lap at my tyres, as if I’ve driven my car onto a beach somewhere, to the very edge of the ocean.  It’s strange to see a well-known road, normally with stretches of fields on either side, suddenly become one massive waterscape. I find all bodies of water fascinating, from oceans to woodland streams, but particularly so when they appear as unexpectedly as this. When they are not where they are supposed to be.

I stand still a moment, feeling my way into this liminal world. Border territory: earth and water, dark and light, civilisation and wilderness. Post the storms that caused the flooding, it’s now a nothing zone: no breeze, no noise apart from some lapwings calling, nothing to be seen except for a village in the distance looking like something out of ancient legend, completely surrounded by water, apparently deserted. No people, no vehicles, no movement. Nothing stirs.  

I pull on my wellingtons, and binoculars round my neck, step into this mystical waterscape, moving slowly into the water. I know I’m just walking along the road, I can feel it beneath my feet, though can’t see it, and as the water level doesn’t appear to be getting much higher, I continue walking into this newly created sea. Slowly moving further and further into this other reality, I am soon surrounded by water, and my car appears to have become smaller.   

The rational part of me – sensible brain, I call it - knows this is probably not a particularly sensible thing to be doing, in flooded terrain on a darkening January afternoon, with gathering grey clouds and more rain imminent. But I am enchanted by the oddness of this transformed landscape, and now I see a pair of swans sailing along together down this minor B road. I stand still and scan for the lapwings I heard earlier. There’s a small island of earth over to the right, with a few shreds of vegetation showing, and there they are feeding, presumably having found rich pickings in the mud from the broken riverbanks. I watch them through my binoculars and see other birds there too – a couple of crows, a few mallards. A larger long-legged bird I can only negatively identify: not heron, not curlew, not redshank.

I’m now in water almost to the top of my boots. I close my eyes, to better absorb what I hear. The lapwings are calling again and as the sound becomes louder, I open my eyes to see them flying above my head with their characteristic slow flopping movement. I watch them until they are out of sight.   

It’s now completely silent apart from a quiet shrush of the water around my boots. I close my eyes again, hoping to shift deeper into this altered state of consciousness. I feel as if I want to just walk on, until I need to swim, or even better turn on my back and float as I love to do in natural bodies of water. I want to become one with this watery environment, and it annoys me that I feel I must resist the temptation. I walk on further, and look back at my car, pleased it’s now as small as a toy.  

Sensible brain is still keeping me aware this is not a good plan. It runs the media stories as it loves to do: abandoned vehicle found at water’s edge… pair of women’s shoes next to it… no trace of the driver… drama drama.

But it’s not until I get the shock of icy cold water slopping over the top of my boots that I return fully to ordinary reality. A breeze has sprung up, and a few drops of rain touch my face. But when I try to turn around to walk back to my car, I feel my feet stuck in mud beneath the water. I must have stepped off the road. 

 
I feel no fear, just an odd curiosity… perhaps some part of me is still in an altered state. Perhaps this is how it is for people who drown themselves by walking into the sea. No fear or panic, just a simple one foot in front of the other until their legs are buoyant and their body floats away.  

I can’t see the swans any more, and there are no birds feeding on the little island. A few lights are now twinkling in the village, making it seem like a distant cruise ship, moored in some vast ocean. I notice a set of car headlights: the only moving thing, it seems, though not coming this way. I feel as if I have been here for hours, walking and standing in this watery wilderness, though when I check my watch, I’m surprised to discover it’s barely half an hour.  

I wriggle my toes, twist my ankles a little, and try a couple of tentative steps one way, then another. I soon unstick my feet and find a way back to the submerged road. I’m almost disappointed, but sensible brain stays alert and I reluctantly set off towards my car, home, and the waiting tasks. 

I do enjoy the water squelching satisfyingly in my boots though, and that it’s raining heavily now and I’m beginning to feel cold. As I switch on the ignition, and the car heater, I can play with the notion of being in far more danger than I probably was. I head for home: centrally heated, and with a casserole in the slow cooker.

Nemetona 2023

 I formally set up the Nemetona Project just over a year ago, and - whilst maintaining and practicing its principles with myself and others in a variety of contexts - I have not developed it further on this platform.

So, 2023 is to be the year I attend to that and post some appropriate writings for underpinning the principles and practice of creating and appreciating sacred space: sacred space both in and out of doors, and within one's own inner being. 

I am also writing the Nemetona book, and until that arrives physically, it can exist here in its own virtual sacred space. 

Many of you who work with me in one capacity or another have asked for more information about or background to the concept of sacred space, and have asked also for suggestions on how to develop your own nemeta, so I hope my work here this year will help.

Any comments and feedback about the posts, and the project generally, are appreciated - either via here or to me personally. 

I wish everyone a joyous and fulfilling 2023 and I hope you enjoy creating and inhabiting your own nemeta.

The inner nemeton: how to 'be in your being'...

Whether you call it self-reflection, inner-vism, introspection (the formal psychological term) or just 'going inside', it's A Good Thing to do. Or rather not do, but be. Because this going inside, this 'being in your being' is not the same as chilling out, relaxing, or even formally meditating, because all of those activities, useful as they are, are still doing rather than simply being.

So yes, taking time out from anything you feel stressed by in your life to enjoy your favourite sports, or hobbies, or spend time around people with whom you feel relaxed, are all really helpful activities for improving mental health and sustaining general wellbeing.

But making time for yourself alone in a quiet, protected space and simply being, without any agenda other than to connect with yourself, is a way to truly nurture and respect what you are. And in respecting and nurturing yourself, you are more able to offer the same to others. This is how come I call that special space the inner nemeton: it is a holy and sacred act to attend to your inner being in that way. 

I do remember though, all those years ago, the first time I was given this advice, I really didn't understand it. I understood neither how to do it, nor indeed the point of it.  Surely I was 'more use' - whether as parent, teacher, or in my beginning days as a counsellor - getting on with the job in hand, doing the next best thing, rather than 'navel-gazing' as such inner work has often jokingly or even disparagingly been called. (Interestingly, omphaloskepsis is an ancient system of meditation...)

I remember on one of the earliest personal development workshops I ever attended, becoming emotional after a guided visualisation. We were lying on mats on the floor and the facilitator came and crouched beside me. I tried to stop crying, and sit up, but she pushed me back gently saying, "Just close your eyes again and stay still, stay inside. Stay inside". I scarcely knew what she meant, but did it anyway. 

I remember too in the early days one of my mentors would always greet me the same way: "How are you?" he would ask. "I mean, how are you really, in your being?" Such a powerful question, and definitely not the usual oiling of social wheels 'how are you's' which mean so very little.

But over the years since then, as I've allowed myself to experience the inner nemeton more and more, I have learned how important it is - life-saving even - for myself and many others with whom I've worked, to step into that particular state of being. I have learned to trust it; to trust myself enough to enter it; and to find healing and growth. Try it for yourself is my suggestion: you have nothing to lose and everything to gain. 

And so to the how.

If it's something you've never done before, or have tried but feel you've 'failed' (you haven't), then start with a very short time period. If you think it's not going to be worth it, or feel you'll get impatient, or bored, and will want to Do Something, just try five minutes. Remember the worst scenario is this: with all the 437 things you have to do today - or could, surely, be more usefully doing - you'll just start them five minutes later than you would have done. 

Ideally, it's nice to be out in nature somewhere, sitting under a tree or next to a stream, but you can also be at home, in your favourite chair, or stretched out on the floor. Even the car (parked up, of course!) is a good protected and enclosed little space. 

You can, if you wish, acknowledge your 'being' space as a non-ordinary moment in time by having a totem object with you, or wearing a special item of clothing or piece of jewellery, lighting a candle perhaps, or simply making an intentional statement to yourself ("I'm taking five minutes to just be" for example), but none of this is essential. And if it makes you feel a bit silly, don't do it. Just take one conscious breath as you shift into your nemeton. The time will come when you are ready to acknowledge 'being in your being' more fully in whatever particular way becomes important to you. 

Just sit for your five minutes, or longer (I prefer a week or so, but I've been doing this a while!) and allow the following to happen: allow whatever thoughts come to flow in and out of your mind without any judgement on whether you should or shouldn't be thinking such things.  For this five minutes, there is absolutely nothing you should, or shouldn't, be doing, thinking, or feeling. Simply exist, just breathe, and think whatever you think, or if you have an empty mind, that's fine too. In fact, it's marvellous: serious meditators try for years to achieve such a state. But you are as free from the task of trying to empty your mind as you are from any other task: you are simply being.

If you feel you really cannot simply 'be', then do this: think intentionally about yourself and how, if you choose to continue with this 'being in your being' work over time, what it might mean for you; what changes might take place; how you might encourage and develop those changes. I'll say more about this in later posts.

Set a timer if you feel it will help you, and when time is up, just acknowledge the fact - undo any special thing you did to mark stepping into the inner nemeton, and get on with whatever you need to get on with. If you want to try this on more than one occasion it can be really helpful to keep a note of your experience. The note might be as mundane as "I couldn't stop thinking about X... and my left leg kept itching", but again, not essential. You've taken the first step towards being in your being, and to honouring that sacred space within yourself. 

Try another five minutes later on in the day,  or the next day, or a few days after. Add to your notes if you're making any. Make the time longer if you want to, just by a minute or a few minutes, or more. Perhaps acknowledge this stepping into your inner nemeton in different ways, to experience what it feels like. For now, you are just experimenting... just playing with this new way of being to get a sense for yourself how it feels. 

I will post regularly about this and related topics: I have had several indications that now is the right time, so there will be more. I'll give all such posts the 'inner nemeton' title so they are searchable. You can work personally with me on this if you want to - just make contact via the box top right. A facilitator is always helpful for inner work, but it's perfectly do-able without one. Or just get in touch to let me know how you're doing (how you're 'being'!) with it... 

Every best wish and blessings to you on your sacred journey.

 

An Autumn Wellbeing Walk: it's okay not to know

 It’s years since I’ve been to RSPB Fairburn Ings, but I’m so happy to be here again. I’m meeting a small group to have a wellbeing in nature walk. We’ve decided on no agenda other than a wander-where-we-will and a soak up of the sunshine which has returned after some distinctly autumnal weather.

Though as yet - apart from the precocious horse-chestnuts - the trees haven’t had the memo re autumn and are mostly still wearing green… albeit getting a bit tired now here and there. But the glinting and dappling of the sunshine on leaves and the red berries of hawthorne, rowan, and rose-hips are brightening up our woodland perimeter walk. And we find gorgeous pink spindle berries too - though I’m annoyed I’d forgotten their name!

But only minutes into our walk we have a very special robin moment. In fact, much longer than a moment. This robin appears to have no fear of us whatsoever - not only allowing me to get very close to him perched in hawthorne at my eye-level height - but even hopping along his branch towards me. I make the ‘pish-pish’ sound birders have told me to do to encourage birds to come out of cover and this definitely works. I remember doing this once with a goldcrest at a similar eye-level and it flying out right into my face, so I feel a little wary when we’re just inches apart. What an intrepid nature explorer I am… scared of a robin. I run the headlines in my head: “Robin attacks woman at local nature reserve”... 

I also feel guilty that I’m enticing it out with no food to give it. But there is a moment when I wonder who’s entrancing who, because we have full on eye contact for several minutes and I feel myself slipping into an altered state. But I’m with other people, so decide to stay firmly here. And someone else in the group is able to get some wonderful photos.

Other bird joys include plenty of greylag geese flying: some high up in classic V formation, others seemingly only just above our heads, and making a lot of noise; a beautiful red kite touched by sunlight; plenty of swans with their ‘teenage’ cygnets; herons, coots, moorhens, mallards… the usual wetland inhabitants, but we’re happy to take anything today. And there’s more to take. 

One of the group is particularly interested in fungi - and particularly good at spotting it too, so as well as the usual brackets, and earthballs, and inkcaps, we see ‘ears’ - though are uncertain whether they are jelly or wood. We have a chuckle about learning the names of nature stuff (technical term). With only 32 regularly occurring native British tree species, you’d think I could have remembered spindle. Mammals - well under a 100 of those, so possible to know them all. Birds a bit harder with 574 of them; but the diversity prize has to go to beetles with around 4,200 species. My beetle knowledge goes like this: ladybird, stag beetle, shield bug (though there’s even 30 of those, for goodness sake); the rest. Hey ho. Way to go before I become a natural history expert.

Who cares though, on a day like this. Walking back, we notice how the tits and finches are beginning to ‘flock up’... ready for those feeding forays before times get hard. We see blue tits, great tits, greenfinches, goldfinches, and don’t see - but hear, with all their contact calling going on - the very lovely lollipop bird aka long-tailed tit. Watching and waiting at the kingfisher wall, we also don’t see a kingfisher, but enjoy a brief conversation with a man who did, so I guess that’s the next best thing. 

A final adventure - a new one for me - is during investigation of some shiny blue beetles and a small white caterpillar (larvae?) on the leaves of an alder tree. I touch the caterpillar very gently and it immediately secretes a bright blue droplet of … of what? Presumably something to scare off or poison whatever it thinks may be about to eat it. Unfortunately, a post-walk Google ramble doesn’t get me anywhere other than discovering it’s not the alder moth larvae, but I do find out that the beetle is called an alder leaf beetle. Excellent. Only 4,196 to go.