Even blogs need holidays! This one is going to lie about and do nothing until 11th July…see you in a few weeks’ time!

I’ll leave you with two quotes: the first I’ve found attributed to both Plato and Philo. Does anyone know the correct source?

‘Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.’

And the other, which is correctly attributed – I believe – to George Santayana:

‘Each religion, by the help of more or less myth, which it takes more
or less seriously, proposes some method of fortifying the human soul
and enabling it to make its peace with its destiny.’

‘The Book of English Magic’ – An Interview with Philip Carr-Gomm

The Book of English Magic, published in June 2009, by one of England’s oldest publishers, John Murray, offers a sweeping survey of the story of magic from prehistory to the present day, offering Things to Do, Places to Visit, Resource Guides, Interviews with Contemporary Magicians, Biographies, Maps and Appendices. Listen here to a 20 minute interview with Philip by Damh the Bard, made for the Druidcast podcast earlier this month.

From The Times online 20 June 2009

The Prince of Wales was right all along. Plants really do like it if you talk to them.

What he did not know is that they prefer to hear a woman’s voice. . . These are the conclusions of a month-long study by the Royal Horticultural Society into the effect of the human voice on tomato plants.

More than two decades after the Prince exposed himself to ridicule for saying it was “very important” to talk to plants and that “they respond”, horticulturalists at Wisley believe his hunch was correct….

Read full article here.

Professor Ronald Hutton, in his 2007 book ‘The Druids’ writes that The Order of Bards Ovates & Druids’ distance learning course ‘arguably represents one of the major documents of British spirituality from the late twentieth century.’ Since then the course has been developed, revised and expanded for the 21st century, and now a study of the Order has been included in the new UK National Curriculum for GCSE Religious Studies. How has this come about and what significance does this hold? – A talk and discussion by Philip Carr-Gomm on this at the launch of PAN – The Pagan Academic Network Conference at the Festival at the Edge, Shropshire, 1-4pm on 18th July 2009. Details from FATE.

The Book of English Magic, that Richard Heygate and I have been working on for what seems like ages, has just been published by John Murray in London. We held a launch party at Treadwells in Covent Garden last night and it was fantastic to meet so many old friends in the balmy summer air buzzing with theatre-goers, opera lovers and tourists. Stephen Skinner came, expert on Feng Shui and Geomancy, who used to live in a big haunted house in Lewes. He now lives in Malaysia and we hadn’t seen each other for over 30 years. John & Caitlin Matthews were down from Oxford, Chris & Vivianne Crowley from far away Victoria, Penny Billington had slipped free from working with her sleuth Gwion Dubh, Stephanie and I finally met Kit Berry and Mr B of Stonewylde fame….

The book has already had some great reviews. The Times has called it ‘A Magical Mystery Tour’, Duncan Fallowell in the Daily Express started his review by saying the book was about an ‘iffy subject’. Iffiness is a good word! He then went on to say: ‘So they are all here in fabulous array, the quacks and the innocents, the serious nerdy dreamers and the bravura jokers, the drop-out priests and sublimated women, working in that area of our experience where nothing can be scientifically proved – or disproved (very convenient) – and which they call magic and which I prefer to call poetry.’ Yes of course poetry – but as Nuinn once said: ‘Ritual is poetry in the world of acts’ and one could just as easily say ‘Magic is poetry in the world of acts’. And the fabulous array includes not only the eccentrics but also people like Roger Bacon, Francis Bacon, Elias Ashmole, and Isaac Newton.

Regular contributor to this blog, Mark Townsend – mentalist magician and author of ‘The Gospel of Falling Down’ has written a review of the book which I think captures its spirit more effectively:

‘As someone who is both a ‘magician’ and a ‘magicKian’ this book is a profound gift – a magical masterpiece no less! There is often no middle ground between the ‘two magics.’ The former is usually an attempt to imitate real magic, practiced (often) by sceptical folk who are well versed in psychology, linguistics subtleties and other means of ‘pulling the wool over peoples eyes.’ The latter often takes no notice of some of the necessary balances and healthy scepticisms of the former. This book does! It is both mystical and psychological, supernatural and rational, heavenly and humble.

The two authors, who clearly (and wonderfully) represent different approaches, manage to serve up a delightfully well written, intellectually stimulating, un-put-down-able adventure into all things magical (from merry old England’s perspective). No stone of Albion remains unturned. They lead us into magical encounters wonderful and weird, and not only academically but practically too – offering wonderful ‘what to do now’ pointers and exercises into gaining our own magical experience.

This book clearly involved a tremendous amount of research which, I must say, is evident on every page, and not only in terms of scanning wizard’s grimoires, diaries and biographies but face to face interviews with the modern day witches, shamans and alchemists.

Also for those who love a book to look like a book – well, you’re in for a treat. When this arrived in the post I tore off the wrapping paper and, for a while, just sat there in awe. It is a marvelously fine volume which begs to be lovingly lifted off the book shelf – almost in slow motion. One needs to take time with this book, not just skim read. It demands a little preparation before indulging. Find an appropriate period where you won’t be disturbed, make a large pot of coffee and draw near a side table, sit back in a comfy chair and prepare to be taken through Narnia’s wardrobe into an enchanted world where anything is possible.

We need books like this – oh we so need them in our disenchanted modern world of instant everything – not least to remind us older ones that Narnia does in fact exist!’

Here’s a photo of the lovely Kate Parkin, our publisher at John Murray’s, introducing the book and the two authors beside her, to the assembled company…

The Book of English Magic Launch Party at Treadwells in London

If you’ve ever wondered what a Druid weekend in Glastonbury might be like, the cheeky and talented musician Paul Newman has made a vlog of the OBOD Summer Gathering which gives a great ‘fly on the wall’ insight into the event – but not the ceremonies on the Tor or at Stonehenge or the meditations and grove meetings….

Paul, we’ll have to frisk you the next time you come to one!

To see Paul’s vlog click here.

Here is a guest post from that very talented writer Maria Ede-Weaving whose blog ‘A Druid Thurible’ can be found here.

Life, Death and the Sexton Beetle by Maria Ede-Weaving

There is a moment of being that exists between the letting go and the emergence of something new. It is a magical and mysterious space. We are each touched by it many times in our lives, from the psychological deaths that bring significant change to self and circumstance, to the painful challenge of bereavement or separation. It is a place of intense uncertainty where the path ahead might appear impassable and our efforts to move on ineffectual but it is also the seed bed of all our beginnings. Change fraught with struggle impacts upon us deeply. The fragility of our outmoded identities, roles and relationships are brought into sharp focus. It is as if our newly emerging shape can no longer endure the pain of containment, our worlds seem to fracture under the pressure; the familiar structures that support who we believe ourselves to be unravel. As painful as this process might feel, it is at this point of melt down that the potential for our greatest transformation dwells. We pupate.

All creatures of metamorphosis fascinate me, both those that transform themselves – butterfly and dragonfly being particular favourites – and those that enable transformation in other substances, such as the wonderful worms in my compost bins. Each teaches us something about the nature and purpose of change in our own lives and they have given me great comfort and inspiration at those times when my trust in this process has wavered.

One remarkable creature that articulates so powerfully something of the mystery and meaning of irresistible change is the sexton beetle. My first and only encounter with one came in the weeks leading up to my sister’s death. I was walking in the woods near my father’s home and had decided to take an unfamiliar route back. I came upon a shrew, positioned unavoidably in the centre of the path. It was laid out upon its side but was still moving. Concerned that it might be injured, I knelt down. It soon became apparent that the shrew was in fact dead. From under its body crawled a tiny black beetle with two bright orange bands across its back, furry orange tipped antennae, alert and quivering, upon its head. It burrowed back under the small corpse and, with a startling strength, started to move it once again, as impressive as a human lifting an elephant. Fascinated, but not entirely sure what I was witnessing, I watched the beetle re-emerge, only to disappear once again beneath the shrew, the lifeless body gently rocking and shaking from the beetle’s insistent labouring.

I later discovered that I had witnessed a male sexton beetle in the process of preparing his love nest. Their name is apt for they are nature’s grave-diggers. Upon discovering the corpse of a small mammal or bird, the male beetle examines the surrounding soil to see if it is right for burial. If not it will lie down on its back beneath the body, its feet pushing the load along, until it finds a suitable resting place. It then waits for a mate. The female’s antennae will detect rotting flesh and be irresistibly drawn. Once she has chosen, the pair will start the long process of burial, digging a channel under the body, eventually pulling it down into its burial chamber below the surface. They shovel with their spade shaped antennae, their powerful jaws cutting through any obstructive roots. In this process the carcass is skinned and formed into a neat ball with a hard, dry surface. During this arduous and macabre dance of love – in the very act of burying the dead – the sexton beetles mate.

The female is left to lay her eggs in the soil around the burial chamber, initially feeding the larvae herself until they tunnel into the decomposing carcass to eat the carrion. The larvae, whilst transforming rotting flesh into new life, experience their own series of transformations, moving through three completely different stages until they are ready to burrow into the surrounding soil, leaving their grizzly nursery to pupate in small chambers. They emerge from the soil as adult beetles, creatures literally risen from the grave.

The Divine speaks to us in so many curious ways, articulating its wisdom through all the myriad forms of life around us, bringing moments of synchronicity that take us to a point of realisation; to a deeper understanding. My path crossed that of the sexton beetle just as my sister was slowly moving into the last stages of her own life, edging painfully but surely into that uncertain place. The sexton beetle, in its heroic effort to continue its own species, spoke to me of nature’s extraordinary power to produce life from death, the link between womb and tomb as literal as any I could imagine. The thought of those young beetles erupting through the soil like spring shoots, emerging into the sunlight after numerous transformations in the darkness, moved me greatly. Such a tiny creature – one seemingly insignificant and obscure – revealed to me something of the hope at the heart of the struggle, strengthening my ability to surrender and trust, opening me to the possibility of renewal that would ultimately come for my sister and for those of us she was leaving behind.

Death and rebirth share the same ground, their territories merging and cross fertilising, and yet we have been taught to view them as separate continents, perpetually at war. The lesson of the sexton beetle is poignant and powerful for all of us. It reminds us that pain ends and sorrow passes; that death serves life and the place where the one touches and mingles with the other births new worlds and new beings; new relationships and new ways to be. We can find ourselves distorted by the pressure of a life that no longer fits; if we can learn to trust the process of dying – whether psychological or actual – we might come to realise not only the compassion in death but also its gift to reshape us authentically. We become like those newly transformed beetles, nurtured and prepared for new life by the forces of decay and release, the soil erupting before us, the darkness birthing us.

While I was away in Germany, a number of friends kindly sent in guest posts. Unfortunately two got lost in the system here. My apologies! Here is the first, from Gilly Smith, who lives in an idyllic woodland setting just down the road…

A week on from Philip’s visit as our first guest speaker at The Sussex House Party and I’m still pondering on the magic of that group of disparate people. Was it the subject of spirituality, or is it the sharing of the unfamiliar over a feast that binds us in some earthy, human way? Do we naturally open up when the chips are down, or was it a one-off? I dare say we’ll find out on the 29th May when another group of 12 sits around our table, this time tearing at the sinews of climate change and media distortion.

My 13 year old daughter was the waitress at the feast, and as I lay in bed that night, I thought about what she must have soaked up. What will she tell Kirsty Young on Desert Island Discs of the think tank in which she grew up and the odd, inspiring folk who held court around her dining table? I held that thought as I headed off to church yesterday (for the first time in how many years?) to listen to the Vicar in a Cowboy Hat, Peter Owen-Jones deliver his sermon. Ellie and I had watched his TV series, Around the World in 80 Faiths and as she is about to start a GCSE course in RS/Philosophy next year, I promised to take her along to show her what home-grown religion looks like these days.

Pete is also to be a guest at The Sussex House Party, and I admit that I sat in that church yesterday not just for Ellie’s sake but to check out how he will fit into Philip’s seat. But while I listened to his maverick sermon and smiled at his cowboy boots peeking out from his robes, I realised not just that he will be a dream of a guest, but that I’d forgotten to baptise my child! Ok, so I have a Jewish husband and we don’t believe in imposing religion on babies, but she’s now at the age of Confirmation, and she hasn’t even got the key to the door.

A quick email when I got home, and Pete kindly offered to open that door a little. And, if she still wants to go through with the baptism after discussions around his dining table about the relationship between God, the Bible, ritual, tradition and the modern church, he will do the deed.

But even if she bows out, how lucky is she to have the likes of Pete Owen-Jones, Philip Carr-Gomm and the trail of teachers asking her to fill their glasses and infusing her world with such a stylish kind of wisdom? It’s a million miles away from the dark path I stumbled along for almost 25 years before finding an ashram of my own teachers, and the signposts to a much more interesting world. I wonder what she’ll do with it.

Gilly Smith
Three Acres, Broomham Lane, Whitesmith, Nr Lewes East Sussex  BN8 6JQ
Tel: 01825 872136  Mob: 07930400805

http://www.gillysmith.com <http://www.gillysmith.com/>

http://onbeingawriter.blogspot.com <http://onbeingawriter.blogspot.com/>

http://eatingsussex.blogspot.com/ <http://eatingsussex.blogspot.com/>

http://thesussexhouseparty.googlepages.com/home  sponsors of http://www.hovefestival.co.uk/

<http://buyingintoacommunity.blogspot.com/>

Man finds woman living in his wardrobe: “A Japanese man puzzled by food mysteriously disappearing from his refrigerator got a shock when he discovered a woman had been living in his home for months without permission, police said today. The 57-year-old man who lives alone – or so he thought – in the western city of Fukuoka installed a security camera and called the police when he saw images of someone walking around his home while he was out. “We searched the house in the man’s presence. We found the woman in the closet,” said a local police spokesman. The woman, named as 58-year-old Tatsuko Horikawa, was found in a flat storage space only just big enough for a person to squeeze into lying down. She had sneaked a mattress and several plastic bottles into the cubby hole, police said, adding that the women had been arrested. “She told police that she had nowhere to live,” the spokesman said. “She seems to have lived there for about a year, but not all the time.”

Just back from the Order of Bards Ovates & Druids Summer Gathering at Glastonbury. About 240 of us gathered in the town on Friday evening: 40 Druids from Italy, 10 from Germany, 2 from Holland, 2 from Belgium, 2 from the USA, one from Canada and the rest of us from Britain. The weather forecast was for rain all weekend, but instead we were bathed in glorious sunshine.

On Saturday night the Eistedfodd was one of the best ever. The photo below of Blues singer ZZ Birmingham in shamanic Blues Trance captures some of the magic of the night. Glastonbury Tor in the afternoon and Stonehenge the next morning just after dawn were perfect settings for our ceremonies.

When we think of creativity in Druidry, our minds automatically turn to the Bardic tradition – to images of poets and story-tellers, and musicians around the fire. But theatre is of course there too. When Stephanie and I sat at the LAMDA (London Academy of Music and Dramatic Art) award ceremony last month when our daughter Sophia was graduating from a foundation course there, Peter James, the Principal, stood up and gave a short speech about the actor-as-storyteller and I had this sudden realisation that our daughter was from this perspective graduating as a Bard that evening.

Then in Germany I worked with experienced Druid group leaders who specialise in working with drama: first with Reinhard and Malou Winkler who combine their knowledge of Gestalt, bodywork, mime and mask-making in a way that creates powerful transformation. And then with Volkert Volkmann, whose OBOD group the Nemeton Dearraich uses theatre in Druid ceremonies to create incredibly evocative moments.

Here is a photograph taken at the moment a fairy appeared in our circle in the forest. She had been hiding in the trees and was about 9 foot tall – it was an utterly magical moment!

The Holistic TV Channel has just produced a new documentary on the Druids which they hope will be screened on television. Meanwhile its trailer is up on Youtube, and I’ll paste it in here. Lots of friends are in here: Robald Hutton, Emma Restall Orr, Afric, Celtic Chris, and more and the music is by Damh the Bard. My only caution would be to note for those who are more contemplative and less attracted to ritual that Druidry doesn’t necessarily involve being robed and engaging in group ceremonies. Some Druids prefer attuning to Nature and the Great Mystery by themselves or in simple group celebrations that don’t necessarily involve ritual or robes.

As soon as I hear when it will be broadcast from Holistic TV I’ll let you know!

From almost a month away I’m back now but need to keep focused on a book deadline. Luckily those guest bloggers who kindly agreed to contribute while I was away have sent in some wonderful and inspiring contributions which have yet to be posted. Here is the first of several: ‘The Landscape is Within Us’ by Maria Ede-Weaving:

Near my home on the Isle of Wight, at the meeting place between the rising slope of the downs and the water meadows of the River Yar, is a grove of black poplar trees. They have grown up out of the moist earth on the river margins. Flag iris, reeds and sedges flourish beneath them, a signal that the soil here is marshy and unpredictable. It feels a deeply secret place – a place not entirely accessible – its boggy centre demanding a respectful distance.

I discovered it first when walking the path up from the disused railway line that slices across the meander of the Yar. This path leads to the enigmatically named ancient farmstead of Kern, itself hidden by the undulations of the downs and once believed to have been owned by the Knights Templar. The path breaks away from the Yar’s course, its entrance flanked by alder and white willow, the going soft and yielding even in dry spells. After heavy and persistent rain, the path is more of a tributary, a channel of deep water making passage through to the grove inaccessible. This partial access only adds to the magical feel of the place, such opening and closing seeming to pulse with the life of the river, with the rhythms of the grove’s own inner nature. Like a tidal cave, its waters fill and recede; the core of its space a strange mixture of peace and danger. I am more aware here – than in any other place – that I must enter gently.

The saturated path opens out onto a clearing thick with ground elder. To the right is a path that leads to the reed beds; in summer the blue-black flight of iridescent banded demoiselles can be seen, the reed bed reaching the river bank, lush with pink comfrey, meadowsweet and balsam. To the left the path curves under ancient elder, bark soft as cork and deeply rutted, branches reaching low across the ground and arching above in coiled, sinuous forms, forcing one to bend and tunnel through. Past here you find yourself on the edge of the grove, entrance too uncertain to risk. At this point I always feel that the edges are as far a passage through as the spirit of this wonderful place will allow. Its centre feels to me like an inner sanctum and to sit in its presence, to feel my own boundaries blur and merge a little with its peace, is blessing enough.

It was the sound that first drew me to these beautiful trees, the voice of reed and poplar like the insistent whispering of a broken wave drawn back over loose pebbles. They visually articulate the wind’s eddies – its unpredictable shifts and turns – never letting it hide unseen in their branches but marking each movement by the tremble of stem and leaf. I have seen green woodpecker glide from tree to tree, and buzzards, circling low, patrolling the grove’s circumference.

Each of us knows when we encounter a ‘special’ place. Sites such as Chalice Well, Avebury and Stonehenge possess a tangible ‘something’, a mixture of energies unique to that particular landscape, intensified by the energies and expectations that people continue to bring; at best there is an exchange between the soul of the land and the soul of the person, a moment of true relationship. Such moments are when we stop being tourists – mere consumers of place – and truly connect. As powerful and beautiful as these more well know sites can be, they do not draw me in quite the same way as those discovered in the intimacy of our own locale; ones that are returned to again and again, the roots of our own psyche gradually entwining with those already in the soil. We become a part of these local sacred places – as we recognise them, we too are recognised.

What makes a place special can be deeply personal to us, something in our inner landscape reflected back to us. These inner landscapes are as diverse and contrasting as the ones we encounter in the outer world, and our relationships with each differ. There are parts of our inner lives that are open, where air and light circulate more freely; equally there are places outside of us that we encounter that are as accessible, expansive and welcoming. What struck me about the poplar grove was that it spoke so powerfully of that space within all of us that is harder to reach; those hidden, tender places with firmer boundaries, where the ground is more uncertain; a place we enter with care, our footfalls soft and sensitive to the ground beneath. Such a place might be the site of our greatest wounds, bound in on all sides by thicket or thorn, waterlogged and potentially treacherous. And yet, as I sat silently in the extraordinary atmosphere of the poplar grove, I knew that such inner places could hold enormous healing potential. If we have the courage to negotiate this interior land on its own terms – just as we would hope to do in the natural world around us – taking the time and care to enter when called, we discover a place of beauty, depth and poignancy.

Something in me knows the nature of the poplar grove, recognising and resonating with its instinct for enclosure; its soft, watery centre. Perhaps we are never meant to fully re-enter the sites of our past pain, inner sanctums all their own that need a gentle approach and our loving care. Perhaps we can only venture so far into these places, sitting respectfully at their margins to listen and bare witness, to honour the experiences we have endured and survived, discovering our own deep wisdom in the song of leaf and breeze. The land outside is also the landscape within us. The illusion that we are separate from the natural world falls away as we build our own unique relationships with these special places; each, in their own way guiding us to the magical and sacred ground of our souls.

Maria Ede-Weaving – You can find Maria’s blog ‘A Druid Thurible’ here!

A spiritual way needs to both hold and guide you, and open and free you. Sometimes these can appear to be contradictory functions, but when they work there is a dance between the two processes that helps you to reach your goals: in Druid terms the illuminations of wisdom, creativity and love.
When either dynamic moves to its extreme, it challenges you to identify your boundaries and claim your power. In other words, when a spiritual way seems to be confining you, restricting you, the gift hidden in this experience lies in the opportunity it offers to identify what you really need and to move towards this, rather than being submissive or ‘obedient’.
But here’s the subtlety that needs to be appreciated: some limitation is necessary. Restriction serves its purpose in the scheme of things, and so you must be attentive to not being reactive, and simply acting out ‘the rebel’. Instead of prematurely rejecting the limitations of a system, idea, practice, doctrine or group, it is worth exploring the way in which the perceived constriction may actually be a valuable part of your journey.
Likewise the sense of ‘lostness’, of lack of boundaries, of yearning for definition and guidance, brings its own gifts of an opening-out-to-the-new, of transformation in the face of the Mystery, of Not-Knowing,
Again, rather than acting out of fear, and going for premature ‘containment’ by following external prescriptions, it is helpful (when one can) to allow the process to occur. Like the movement of the tides, after a while one’s psyche will naturally be drawn back to the other pole and will find containment and direction.
In this way we can both follow traditional spiritual paths and be open to the Spirit, can learn from the ideas and practices of teachers and teachings and can be empowered individuals who follow their own star too.

A guest blog post from Karen Ehrenfeldt in California:

I just discovered a sacred place in my own backyard, not literally, that’s another story, but in my own town. I’d been day hiking there before, but hadn’t resonated with it being a sacred place of healing waters until this Beltane. Living in California is to have a different focus on the field of history than other parts of the world whose sacred sites are well defined. Unlike the many stone circles and temple sites I’ve experienced that are truly ancient, going back 100 years in California is a special experience for inhabitants of a culture at the leading edge of technology.

Culture is the key word. Ancient sites were identified early as sacred, causing wave upon wave of people to wash over the sites through time, forming sedimentary layers of ideas that hover like a fog above the earth below. In this way the sites are influenced far beyond the elemental shaping forces of a millennia, and occasionally obscured of their true potential. It’s likely Alum Rock has a hidden indigenous history, though its most obvious influence is that this place was kept for the people, rather than fenced in for special few, for a specific ideology. I think this has protected the purity of Alum Rock’s inherent spirit.

Beltane is a day to bless the waters and is probably why my intuition led me here on the Beltane full moon. Alum Rock Park is full of natural springs. It is punctuated by the charm of stone ruins of its heyday from over 100 years ago, when people frequented such places for their curative powers.

The masonry work of a bygone era meanders down steps, leading to grottos and arching bridges over Penitencia Creek (named for some bygone meditating monks). Waters from the higher mountains above seep through layers of stone into this canyon, being transformed into mineral springs along the way – magnesia, sulfur, naturally carbonated soda are but a few of the many kinds. Altar-like grottos frame each of the springs that were excavated in the late 1800’s as California’s first regional park began to take shape.

For about 50 years, up until the 1930s, Alum Rock was a famous health resort for those seeking healing of body, mind, or spirit. Eventually overuse threatened the viability of the park itself, and steps were taken these past 30 years to extract much of mankind’s impact. The bath houses, swimming pools, restaurant, the railroad from downtown San Jose… all taken out in effort to restore the natural setting. And, with the park being situated near the convergence of two earthquake faults, dramatic change is always a potential. A few years ago, an earthquake struck near Alum Rock that caused a previously dried spring to begin flowing again. Isn’t that the nature of change itself? What shakes up one turns out to be a lovely change for another.

Alum Rock Spring

That day, we’d parked high on the ridge and walked the well trod paths through steep oak forests to the valley floor and along the creek, stopping to investigate the occasional grotto, some dry, some with streaming water, clear or cloudy white, some exuding a strong cloud of mineral scent. Our path led us to where we needed to be, and before long the call to meditate was upon me. Ed, with camera in hand, continued his form of communing, as I set out for mine.

Crossing a beautiful arched bridge over the creek, and settling myself on a large flat stone in the middle of gently moving waters, I grew very calm, peaceful. I sat on an ancient stone with thousands of seashells compressed over time in the forming its body. Let go. I floated, filling the creek with my soft body, filling the canyon, knowing this place intimately. I could see images of visitors in the park’s renown as a healing spa, some with significant physical ailment, some with great beauty – their hidden cracks on the inside.

It was a romantic era of art nouveau to art deco, some people in finery and some in robes, women in flowing silk gowns with stylish cropped hair. I wondered what the loss of these earlier visitors meant, if all regard for healing waters had evaporated through the years, and whether this place had suffered with the loss. And though the visitors then came for a reason, whether healing, joy or relaxation, ultimately they were all seeking to be free. Free of illness, doubt, duty, seeking the ability to just be and respond naturally. Free of crisis, to be at peace. This is no different than now. For while seeking healing from mineral springs has faded away as quaint practices of the past, those who come now share the same deeper need, and this, the Spirit of the Place continues expressing and assisting its guests in cultivating.

People are drawn to Alum Rock Park for all manner of reasons. Photographers come in the early morning and late afternoon for its dramatic light. The way a sycamore is backlit, casting its bony shadow in dark rays on soft grass. Children come for summer day camp to learn about nature, to see rescued birds of prey up close with their own eyes. Families and friends come to play, or just be.

On a given day they are quietly walking, idling, or resting. They are playing volleyball and horseshoes. They are grilling food and eating cake. They are learning about nature, about photography, about life. Through connecting with others, they seek joy and companionship, they seek the ability to be, to express freely. They seek comfort, peace of mind, the healing that comes from being in love, surrounded by love, or the sheer relief of expressing themselves in art and life. Ultimately they still seek the freedom to be, to express, to be natural in a world full of changing headlines and urgent needs. And the Spirit of the Place continues to feed these needs, to soften boundaries, to enable whatever needed transformation.

I’ve always been drawn to ancient sites, or those that seem pretty old, to feel what lingers of the original people, to be inspired by the site alone. And, I’ve always loved the untouched natural places, untarnished by idea, still pure. I suppose Alum Rock is a bit of both, with a lightly worn history whose influence has all but melted away.

It is in these places that one is informed not by past people, but by the Spirit of the Place itself – the witness on the edge of time, throughout the birth and evolution of stone, spring, creek, canyon, fauna, and forest. It’s a divinity beyond religion to name, opening to the gift of the moment. And sometimes the gift is simple, as on this Beltane. It is about being drawn here, to your own backyard, with someone you love, about reaching deep and giving complete.
Karen Ehrenfeldt, May 2009

p.s. If you come for the Gorsedd in August, it may be worth a side trip! See:
http://www.houseofdanu.com/component/option,com_gorseddregistry/Itemid,53/task,showevent/eid,1/

Guest blog from Adrienne Campbell:

I’ve just moved a new beehive to the church yard over the road from me. It’s the site of an ancient mound, one of several that the name Lewes comes from (Hlaewes – the Place of the Mounds – see Philip’s previous blog on this). The beehive is tucked away in a corner, right near a sit spot I’ve been going to this spring to watch the sun rise. It’s a new kind of hive, called a Top Bar beehive. It’s a one-chamber, horizontal beehive that requires no expensive gear to use and is easy to make; my friend Steven and I made this one over several sessions. Most important, though, it’s designed so that you can keep bees with very little intervention. It’s more like a bee sanctuary. Our families gathered around the hive and sang strange songs to call in the bees. I’d love to know of any bee poems or love songs that we could use.
A couple of weeks ago I was quite critical in my blog of the attitude of beekeepers using the standard methods we are trained in. There is no second thought about breaking and entering into the magical bee space for routine work; I’ve now discovered it has a name: it’s called ‘the Bien’, the undividable entity of the hive. When I first lifted the lid off a bee hive 16 years ago I was practically bowled over by the intense smell and warmth that came out. It felt like a blast of love. It probably is possible to work with the bees, within the Bien, but I believe it should be done with utmost respect and sensitivity. I’m taking a biodynamic beekeeping course next weekend and hope to learn more.
Anyway, this column I wrote was picked up by the committee of my local beekeepers association, who sent a flurry of outraged emails around commenting on my outlandish behaviour. A friend of mine is on the committee; he’s learning how to keep bees naturally, but in secret, because of his fear of castigation. He emailed them to say I was a friend of his and since there are many people like me who want to take a more natural approach, wasn’t it time the Lewes division started to incorporate some of the learning that’s going on? The upshot is that he’s persuaded them to keep top bar beehives in their teaching apiaries at Plumpton and Netherfield.
Hallelujiah! These days some change seems to happen quickly, as though the Universe is just waiting for a catalyst or even the seed of an idea, and quickly realigns itself to manifest. Like the exposure of police behaviour during demonstrations; the banks handling of our money; the politicians’ corruptions. It must out.  Small actions on our part can have large effects; it works to rock the boat. So let’s rock on!

You are cordially invited to the launch of

The Book of English Magic

by Philip Carr-Gomm and Richard Heygate published by John Murray

at 7pm on Thursday 25th June 2009

at Treadwells Bookshop, but please reserve your place first (see below)

34 Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London WC2E 7PB
info@treadwells-london.com |  Ph: 020 7240 8906

Website: www.treadwells-london.com

Treadwell’s writes:

Once in a blue moon a book comes out that you get a feeling is going to be a classic. Within minutes of receiving an advance copy, the Treadwell’s staff all got that prickly feeling on the back of the neck. … This is a big book, a real door-stopper. Yet, it’s an introductory volume to magic in England: part history, part practical, part resource guide, part theory. Illustrated, filled with interviews with practitioners and experts, it is the kind of newcomers’ book that an intelligent novice dreams of. The two authors spoke with many of the most senior people in the British magical community, and their commentaries (interspersed through the book) make fascinating reading, and serve as a personal touch to guide the reader. Wicca, druidry, runes, John Dee, Golden Dawn — all in their English setting.

The launch party is free to everyone, but advance booking essential. Just drop an RSVP email to Treadwell’s. Ask if you would like Treadwell’s to reserve your launch copy for collection on the night – the authors will be signing copies and giving a short speech. 562 pages, hardback. £25.00.

In April I was interviewed about my books by Damh the Bard for the Druidcast, and not long after, Phillp talked of Stonewylde in one of his blogs. I was then invited to contribute here, and when I looked back at other guest-bloggers’ entries, I noticed ‘The Hare’ written by Penny Billington in February. Penny referred to the possibility of a “totem of the zeitgeist, the spirit of the times” and asked, “Has the whole of the UK gone gaga about hares?”

She’s so right. A few years ago hares were quite obscure, but now they’ve gone the way of dragons and fairies – they’re everywhere! The story I want to share with you starts about nine years ago when hares were certainly not everywhere. They knew their rightful place in the year 2000. If you were very lucky you might see one or two in the far distance in a field, hiding amongst the furrows or skimming across the grass. Hares are understandably very wary of humans and it’s rare to see one close up. You definitely didn’t see them in every gift shop from Glastonbury to Glasgow.

This event happened at a time in my life when I was at pretty low ebb. It was summer and my mother had recently died after a long battle with cancer. My life was directionless and desultory. Nothing was right. It was a beautiful sunny day and I was walking in some woods on my own. Shafts of sunlight shone through the high canopy of beech trees, creating pools of light on the path ahead. I was lost in thought when suddenly, right in front of me, I saw it. A great golden hare sat completely motionless about two metres away, staring straight at me. I froze, fully expecting it to leap out of sight. But it didn’t. It just sat there and looked me in the eye. The sun glinted on its fur, picking out all the gold and making it appear to gleam. Its huge ears were very pink where the sun backlit them, and I could even see the blood vessels in the thin membranes. Its eyes were like amber lozenges and its nose and long whiskers twitched. I could hardly breathe, terrified of moving and scaring it away.

The hare and I gazed into each others’ eyes for a good couple of minutes, maybe longer. I’d barely ever seen a hare before this and never close up. It was absolutely amazing. Then, slowly, it turned from me and loped off down the path. I watched until it was out of sight, and then took a deep and very shaky breath. I was immensely moved. I felt so privileged, but more than that – I felt changed. Something quite profound had happened to me in those few minutes.

I since discovered that the hare is a creature of transformation. In folklore it’s a shape-shifter and has strong links with both druids and witches. There are many tales about the hare, and of course it was also an integral part of the Spring Equinox/Ostara celebrations, later to be downgraded to an Easter bunny. I didn’t know any of this at the time, but I certainly felt transformed by my encounter. I began to research about folklore, nature, local history and my life started to change and open up. There’s more to this story of course, but it was that magical golden hare that set me straight on my path at a time when I needed a new direction and sense of purpose.

I’ve heard that many people have a life-changing encounter with some form of wildlife. There’s something about that level of intimacy and understanding with a wild creature that alters ones perception. You feel both humbled and elevated at the same time, and very much part of the web of life. It’s hard to describe but I know now that I’m not alone in this. Based on my experiences, and the enthusiasm and interest in Stonewylde I’ve encountered during my travels and dealings with folk, I’m launching a new project soon called “Reconnecting with Nature”. It seems to me that many people feel a deep need for this in their lives. The time has come for those who’ve lost touch to get back to living closer to the Earth – to be aware of the seasons, the weather, the beauty and power of nature.

One of the reasons I believe Stonewylde has found such an ardent and fast-growing following is because it reveres our deep connection with nature. It portrays a community where, without any sentimentality or pomp, nature and the Earth are honoured above all else and everyone lives close to the land. The popularity of the books amongst non-pagans has made me realise just how much people want to rediscover simple pleasures such as lying on your back watching the clouds or feeling dew on your bare feet. As Philip himself says, “We draw inspiration and spiritual nourishment from Nature.” I think many now appreciate just how much they need this spiritual nourishment. We live in a time when it’s becoming increasingly apparent how living in a materialistic world is shallow and unsatisfying. And damaging to the soul.

I’m hoping my project, which will initially comprise of a website and talks around the country, and maybe a book in the future, will help ordinary folk to reconnect and rediscover these rich experiences. I’m looking for anecdotes such as my encounter with the hare and would love to hear anyone’s story, however simple. Please contact me via my website www.stonewylde.com and tell me your tale, in confidence of course, with anonymity assured. I’m hoping to launch the new Reconnecting with Nature site at the Summer Solstice so do get in touch with me soon. I think Penny Billington was right – the hare is the totem of the zeitgeist, the spirit of the times, because we’re living in a period of huge transformation. For everyone whose life is lacking it, there’s Green Magic a-plenty to share. Join me and follow the Golden Hare.

Kit Berry, author of The Stonewylde Series Web: www.stonewylde.com

Since leaving the officialdom of institutional Churchianity I’ve had plenty of time to think through some of the questions that have bothered me for years. I’ve also been able to gather and devour piles of books from all faith perspectives, traditions and philosophies. Some of them fall into the category of what I call ‘Cosmic Christianity’ or ‘Pagan Christianity’. The latter might seem a contradiction of terms. However the books I refer to have helped me to recover a missing element of the Christ story, which is also a miraculous bridge to my new magical and nature based spirituality. Here is not the place to go into these theories. However should anyone reading these words care to treat themselves to a potentially liberating read, do go and get a copy of The Jesus Mysteries by Tim Freke and Peter Gandy or The Pagan Christ by Tom Harpur. But be warned – they might change the way you look at everything!

Tom Harpur kindly gave me permission to quote his beautiful Seven Principles of Cosmic Spirituality within my latest book:
1. The entire cosmos is the manifestation of Divine Mind-every molecule, every cell, every creature, every rock, tree, mountain, planet, blazing star, whirling galaxy and universe of galaxies.
2. We are all an integral, interconnected part of the whole cosmos and our own inner world is a holograph of the cosmos within us.
3. One basic datum underlies every religion under the sun, the principle of Incarnation. The Word or Logos, God’s self-expression made manifest, has given the light of its divine spark to every mind/soul coming into the world. Christians call this the Christ or “Christ in us.” Other faiths have different names or modes of expression for this same inner reality.
4. Every religion whose ethical core is summed up by the word “compassion” or “loving-kindness” to all other creatures without exception has a vision of the truth and is a valid “way” to Transcendence.
5. No one faith or religion-whatever its claims may be, alone has The Truth.
6. True cosmic spirituality is steeped in, flows from, and derives its most powerful analogies and metaphors from the natural world – from the tiniest bit of dust to the spiraling stars above.
7. The core aim of cosmic spirituality is radical transformation, both personal and societal.
Tom Harpur’s official website is www.tomharpur.com
Mark Townsend

“Be still!
Listen!
Can you hear him?
Stop for a moment… close your eyes… be here NOW!
Are you aware?
There is a forest… an ancient wood… a scary sacred place in you.
It can seem like an overgrown jungle of thoughts – densely compacted trees and bushes smothered in twisted vines and creepers.
These are the intertwined confusions of memories, assumptions, fears, beliefs, prejudices, judgements, failures and successes.
They are the many layers of ego clothing we’ve dressed in over the years. They form the background noise of our mind. Sometimes they are quieter, but sometimes they deafen us, ruling out any clarity of vision.
Stop!
Be still!
Be here NOW!
Notice the voices blowing like wind through the trees…
Be aware of the echoes of arguments, unfinished plans, inner dialogues of confusion, and the incessant demands of the inner citric.
Notice them and the notice that you are noticing them.
See, they are NOT you. They are just remnants of past experiences and dreams of future hopes…
Be still!
Be here NOW where neither past nor present exist and then you will be ready to meet him.
Meet who?
There is an inhabitant within this scary sacred wood – a dweller who is real. Someone lives here whose presence transforms it from a frightening jungle to an enchanted forest.
He is quiet… he waits for you to stop and come to him.
He is not forceful.
He stands with lamp in hand, there in the deepest, darkest heart of the forest.
He is the wise One…
The true inner guide…
The divine voice…
The higher Self…
He is the Wizard Within.”

Mark Townsend