A Spring Equinox Message: The Gifts of Druidry in the World March 20, 2016
Today marks the Spring Equinox, Alban Eiler, a time of new
beginnings, of the balance between light and darkness, between summer
and winter, between hope and despair. Given the energy of today, and
the challenges before us, I’d like to take some time to frame what I see
as some of druidry’s gifts to the world–the things that a druid path
can do for the land and its peoples. I’m particularly motivated to
write this post today because today marks the end of my 10th year as a
druid and I am moving into my second decade along this path–and so I’d
like to share some of the insights I’ve had along the way. I want to
start with a disclaimer–as the adage goes, if you ask 5 different druids
what druidry means to them, you’ll get 10 different answers. I am not
speaking on behalf of all druids or for all of druidry, but here today, I
am speaking my own truth and path, as I am apt to do on this blog
:).
Early Sunrise
Look around at the land and waters that–in whatever shape that
landscape is in. At one time, that land was deeply loved and respected.
Humans who lived there cultivated a sacred connection and awareness
with it. All indigenous cultures have cultivated such relationships, and
all of our bloodlines trace back to some indigenous culture or another
if we go far enough back. Before industrialization, or even agriculture,
our relationship with the land was much, much different. Our ancestors,
rooted in the places they were, knew every inch of the edge of the
river and how to build rafts to navigate the rocks and fish. They knew
the medicine of root and stem and seed. They knew where the harvests
came at what time of the year, and how not to take too much. They knew
the names of the trees, the spirits of the animals, and were intimately
connected with their surroundings. They knew that their own survival
depended on the delicate balance that they had the privileged and
responsibility of maintaining. The plants evolved with humans, so much
so, that many of the most food and medicine-rich plants depend on us for
survival, for nurturing, for scattering their seeds. How did that
happen? Over countless millennia, we evolved together, creating mutual
dependencies. This is why Pennsylvania forests used to be 30%
chestnut–that wasn’t by accident, that was by human design (for more on
this, see M. Kat Anderson’s
Tending the Wild). Imagine being the land, the spirits of the land, and holding those memories of the time before.
And then, many things changed and time moved on. Knowledge and sacred
connections lost, so much so that today, most people can’t identify
more than a handful of plants or trees and do not even have basic
knowledge of the world around them. Instead, humans today in
industrialized countries are sold a myth, the myth of progress ,strong
as any other of religious belief, and embraced with the same kind of
furor (see John Michael Greer’s works, particularly
Not the Future we Ordered
for more on this perspective). Wrapped up the myth of progress are
myths of the importance of consumer goods, of smartphones and
electronics that must be replaced every two years, of chemical-ridden
pesticides that lace our foods and invade our bodies.
Supporting that myth allows the whole-sale pillaging of the land and
its inhabitants. Supporting that myth allows national forests to be
fracked, the same patches of forest to be repeatedly logged for two
centuries, our waterways to be filled with poisons, our mountaintops
removed. These are things that I witness every day here, in my beloved
Appalachian mountains in Western PA. If relationships to the land were a
pendulum, we humans of toady have swung so far in the other direction
from our indigenous ancestors, or even those living closer to the land a
few centuries before.
Our lands, waters, and plant spirits still hold the memories of those
who came before, of the relationships that once were cultivated. There
is, among them, a great mourning and loss collectively. They hold
memories of humans who used to care for them so carefully. Here in the
Americas, at least here in Pennsylvania, that sacred relationship
between land and human was abruptly severed several centuries ago with
the driving out of the native peoples and the re-settlement of
Pennsylvania by those of European decent. With the new humans, the last
centuries saw tremendous amounts of pillaging and destruction, fueled by
the myth of progress.
Since that time, and to today, the myth of progress changes our
behaviors and relationship radically with nature. Humans, here in the
US, now
spend 87% of their time indoors and another 6% of their time in automobiles or other forms of enclosed transit. That means just
seven percent of
the average American’s life today is spent outside. And of that seven
percent, how much is spent mowing the grass? Spraying dandelions?
Walking on pavement among tall buildings? How much of that seven
percent is spent with our heads in our phones rather than looking around
us? And beyond these statistics, I think there’s a general disregard
for life, for nature that is dominant in our collective cultural
understanding.
Druidry, I believe, is one good sign that the pendulum is starting to
swing back in the right direction. Humans are once again are seeking
that ancestral connection to the land that is still in our blood, and in
the memories of the forests, the stones, the rivers.
Learning how to see,
and interact, with nature is critical to helping that pendulum swing
back in the other example. As a very simple example, last week, I was
walking back from campus after teaching, and I came across a cluster of
cut-back bramble bushes. I looked at those canes, getting just ready to
bud, with tiny tufts of green coming from out of the buds, and I could
see the promise of spring there. I was looking forward to the Equinox,
and also feeling the sadness at seeing things budding a month earlier
than usual due to climate change. The tips of the canes, too, held a
tremendous surprise–when sliced longways (which someone had done
recently to trim them), the cane of the blackberry bush forms a 5
pointed star, a pentagram, not so dissimilar from the pentagram I found
in the chickweed plant some years ago. This cultivation of the sacred
is, in part, observing sacred patterns of nature, unfolding around me,
on my daily walk home from campus. And noticing the nature–the birds,
the trees, appriciating them and knowing their names. And its more than
patterns–the bramble holds medicine, food, protection–and as a druid,
I’ve worked to learn about all of its gifts. As I look in awe at the
bramble, I wonder how many people have cultivated such a sacred
relationship with the land in this area? That even would look at the
bramble and be willing to look closer?
Spirit of Chickweed Painting
As a Druid, you might be the first adult person in several
generations to see that land with something other than indifference,
profit, or going into the land for the sole purpose of taking. As a
druid, you might be the first to enter those lands again, in a long
time, to see those lands not only in appreciation, but as
sacred spaces.
You might be the first who is willing to tend those lands again, to
help heal, to help regenerate, to give rather than pillage and take.
When I, as a druid, walk into the forest, I am often aware that I am
reconnecting with lands that have not been thought of, or engaged with,
as sacred for a very long time. What a gift it is to the land, to really
see it. To interact with it. To hold it sacred. To be willing
to learn and grow with it–in it–through it. To walk and see the buds on
the trees, to see the medicine growing up out of the cracks of the
sidewalks. I’m not just talking about the wild places here, but
all places.
You can sense the sacredness of the soil, even below the buildings that
sit on it. You realize that there is no unsacred space, that all spaces
and places, regardless of their damage, are still part of this great
living earth–as you, too, are a natural part of it.
For many druids, interacting with the land in a sacred way is one of
your gifts to the world–and it is an incredibly powerful gift that takes
a lifetime of exploration to truly understand and realize.
The act of opening yourself up to these experiences are, for many,
the first steps down the druid path. As one of the Archdruids in AODA, I
spend a lot of time talking with new druids on the path and mentoring
druids who are just starting their journey and studies. I read letters
that they write that tell us about why they want to become druids, what
they hope to gain from druidry. So many times, it seems that rebuilding
that connection to nature is one of the key reasons that they join. To
many people, when they first find druidry, are excited. They often say,
“This is the path that describes me, as I already am!” This gives them
a word that finally fits their self-image, the person that they are
becoming with each passing breath and each cycle of the sun and moon.
And every one of those letters, without fail, talks about reconnecting
to the natural world!
Another tragic part of the myth of progress, asks us to give our power, especially our creative gifts, up and to let
others provide us entertainment.
It saps our creative energy, and we are disempowered as creative
thinkers and doers in the world. Therefore, a second major gift of
druidry, I believe, is regaining that
creative force, the flow of awen,
and using it for good in our own lives and in the lives of others in
the world. Even the act of meditation alone allows us to “clear” our
minds; the AODA’s sphere of protection or OBOD’s light body exercises
allow for the Awen to flow within us again. And we desperately need
these creative responses here and now–through music, poetry, artwork,
dance, painting, crafts, the written word–to help us make sense of,
process, and respond to what is going on. The creative arts help us make
sense of the world and what is happening and can reach people
meaningfully and deeply in ways that we otherwise could not. At least
in my own experience, my path in the bardic arts helps
give a voice to those who cannot speak for themselves and to cultivate reconnection through my writings on this blog, my artwork, my teaching, and more.
Get out into the world!
The world is changing quickly around us, and for many, darkness
appears to be settling in. Things are growing more frenzied, more
desperate, more terrifying. The true tolls of incessant pillaging of the
planet are now so visible and known, and will continue unfold in the
years and generations to come. Just a few weeks ago, we passed the
2 degree threshold that so many
have said, over the years, that we shouldn’t pass.
Those in denial are, well, still in denial, and the temperature keeps
rising. But the rest of us must understand and work with our own grief,
our own responses. Many come to druidry because they are looking for
some path forward through this mess, and Druidry helps them take such a
path, a path deeper into the landscape, into their own creative gifts,
and through the difficulty that we are all facing. Druidry, perhaps,
gives us hope and reconnection–exactly the kind of thing, I believe, we
need as we move forward into this unknown and terrifying territory. Many
druids find themselves integrating spiritual responses with other kinds
of responses–
permaculture,
for example, is a fantastic “get your hands dirty” compliment to this
path (and certainly, its a big part of my own druid practice).
To wrap up, some of the greatest gifts I see of druidry are (in true triad form):
- A gift to the land through the cultivation of a sacred relationship, awareness, and active healing work, but also through recognizing, confronting, and doing something about the predicament we face as a planet.
- A gift to its people through the cultivation of the
creative human arts, to give the land voice in the world through music,
story, song, artwork, dance and more.
- A gift to ourselves and to the nurturing of our souls, to give us tools, and outlets of response and the freedom to engage in bardic arts that reconnect humans and their landscape.
Finding the druid path is a gift, a blessing, and the ramifications
of it go well beyond just ourselves. Often, for the first few years down
this path, you are absorbing, like a sponge, all that you can–and
things are very inward focused. You have a lot of healing work to do on
your own inner landscape, and that’s critical work to do, work that will
take a lifetime. But at some point, that sponge becomes full, and you
are now ready to reverse the process, and give those gifts back to thee
world. Druidry is a gift to the world, if we make it so. And on this
sacred day, when so many things hang in the balance, it helps us
re-balance our own lives, hearts, and souls. <3
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Spring Equinox / Alban Eiler — Dana @ 10:09 am
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