Slow walk, Croft Castle

After a day of walking around Hopton Titterhill and then around the parkland and woods at Croft Castle it was time to slow down a little and do one of my favourite meditative walks. I had sat for a quite a while on the edge of the promontory of Croft Ambrey overlooking the Vale of Wigmore. The air was misty and I could not see much beyond the nearest fields below me, certainly not to the middle distant hills and beyond into Wales. It was pleasantly mild and dry. Walking down off the hill, through the woods and then the parkland was a perfect way to end the day and to slow down and forget the world around me. I found a slow pace that showed no need for hurry or care about what I should do next. Just one slow step at a time. Looking. Observing. Listening, smelling. Sensing. With the distant view obscured by the mist I have to look close around me. To the trees, the fungi, the ferns, the colours, the brambles. As I have mentioned in other posts I just love looking closely at the natural world. Not always understanding it from a scientific point of view, but admiring it for its colours, shapes, forms, patterns etc.

High up on one of the conifers a crow caws. A deep loud crackly caw that echoes through the mist and the trees. I can barely see it, high up on an uppermost branch, a back shape amongst the blackness of the trees. It seems small and yet it's call is so loud, piercing the diminishing evening light and the misty space over the acres of newly felled trees. In the surrounding trees of the woodland edges that are still standing I can here the evening chattering of blackbirds, the occasional wren and the inevitable high picked cheeps of what are probably gold crests or tits. I think there should be a new word for these unseen small birds that inhabit woodland like this. I never quite know what they are but they are just small cheepy things.

I always enjoy this walk because it speaks to me of returning to civilisation after a venture into the wilderness. A sense of homecoming after a time away. A sense of saying goodbye to nature and saying hello to my normal world again. I never tire of this place and hope that I will be back many times in the future. It isn't MY land as such as I claim no ownership to it whatsoever, but it is a special place to me psychologically and spiritually. With thanks to the National Trust I am able to enjoy this place with freedom and find a sense of ownership and attachment to it though the inspiration I find here.

Sunset on Black Hill, Clun.

It may have been a bit of a mistake to try and take a Friday afternoon off work today but I have been trying to get up to my homeland for a few weeks. I am, thankfully I suppose, incredibly busy at work and a major bit of work landed on my desk just a few hours before leaving which, because of the nature of it, ruffled a few of my feathers. Still, I sorted it all out by 2.15pm and then drove for just over three hours through showers and bright autumn sunshine up to Black Hill near Clun, Shropshire. A favourite parking place rewarded me with a place at which to cook tea and a have an extensive view over the Welsh hills to the sun on the horizon and the remainder of the storm clouds. I've watched several sunrises and sunsets here in the past and as I then walked up onto the hill I was rewarded with a gorgeous amber light, salmon clouds and a tranquil landscape. My focus for much of the past week has been intense concentration at my computer screen and now, here, I felt an openness and space that I have been longing several weeks for. After a short walk, the light seemed to be disappearing rapidly. It was a very still evening with just the gentlest of breezes beneath a clearing star-filled sky. It was cool but not at all cold. Where the sun had set some clouds had edges lined with deep pink and a little later there was a large block of deep grey shapes that lingered behind the distant hills. I wondered if they were rain clouds heading this way.

Saw a distant dear and a quick glimpse of what was possibly a woodcock silhouetted against the sky amidst some conifers. A tawny owl hoots and its call echoes throughout the woods. It is good to see the hills again; to smell the damp bracken; to see tall conifers; to hear the bleating of sheep in distant fields and to drive, twisting and turning along the step narrow lanes with revealing beautiful views. I see a shooting star in the sky and the gentle twinkling lights of very high aeroplanes. Condensation drips gently from trees around me. There is no total escape from noise of man though. I can hear the occasional car and the heavenly rumble of the aeroplanes.

I probably manage to get up here about once a year as it is on the distant edge of my homeland haunts. It is the conifers that seem to mark the passage of time more than most things for me. I notice their growth over the years and how felled areas are replanted and new trees fill the landscape. I look forward to the time when the trees around the car park at Hopton Hill are felled to reveal the views once again, but I think that may not be in my lifetime.

Inspiration flows

Over the past couple of months or so my journaling has taken me on an exploration of the concept of beauty and this has now progressed into me rethinking or perhaps, more more correctly, establishing my thoughts on prayer. This has rather distracted me from my drawing but, as I am presently so busy at work, it is a welcome use of another part of my brain. Once I have written something I am happy with then I will post it here. I just need to make sure that what I post is a well thought out and valuable article. I definitely feel 'inspired' to spend time on this at the moment and it will be a big dip into some spiritual thoughts that fit in with the essence of my previous writings.

Prayer

Prayer: the bridge between longing and belonging

This is my favourite quote from John Odonohue and I have hardly ever really meditated on it is such but it has been on my mind several times this week.

In the summerhouse I am sheltered from the strong wind that is sweeping over the garden.  It is 10.45 pm and the sky has just got dark though it hardly feels like summer. I’m wearing a padded shirt and a warm coat. I love the sound of the wind, possibly because it is a natural sound and it masks most of the man-made noises that seem to dominate living in a town.

A bridge spans two places and is a form of connection between them. Things may or may not traverse the bridge in either direction. Longing is looking at our desires - our wants wishes, needs, expectations etc. It is about the future. It is about us wishing to change or to understand that which we cannot control or know nothing about. Longing takes us from the present and our memories of the past and seeks to bring the future closer to us. We seek knowledge, answers and more enhanced awareness of what might happen to us. It is about relief from the present - the place we are in, the thoughts we are having, the pain we are in, the problems we face etc.

Belonging is the place where we find our home. It is where we expect to be in a better place of health, security, knowledge and understanding. A sacrifice might be involved in getting to that place. 

In prayer, we build a spiritual bridge through the use of words, thoughts, images or music etc that takes hold of what we long for and tries to form a connection with our desire to be in a place of belonging. We feel we are unable to do this work alone because what we desire is often not a matter of a simple physical task but it involves connections between unknown, psychological and temporal things. It is greater than our ability to do. We have to transform ourselves or be transformed into pray-ers that can begin to do something other-worldly.

Mindful Walking

Wapley Hill, Herefordshire

Slowly, each step is placed with conciousness and awareness of its place upon the earth. I'm in a place where time has no immediate pull on the mind and it doesn't matter if the journey takes five minutes or half an hour. The trees barely move so why should I move with determination and eagerness? The earth makes no noise beneath me so why should I tread heavily? I am a visitor in the woods so why not become like the wood? Shape and form, texture and colour, smell and touch become my companions as I notice my form and presence amongst the dampness, the soft silent mist and the other beings who inhabit this landscape of conifers and ancient man-made earthworks. With an attentive mind to the presence of everything around me I notice the drops of water hanging on the ends of conifer leaves, the damp cobwebs on old tree roots, the fungi on delicate branches and on the decaying  branches and waste wood than scatter the newly cleared hillside. I am aware of the depth of the space around me and how the trees and undergrowth fill that space. I marvel at the brightness of the autumnal colours that brighten the misty darkness. Like Qigong, this is a way of walking that asks the body to be slow, to be present, to be aware of every movement and and to take notice of the way it is made. I don't expect to see or sense anything amazing, but I take pleasure in just observing the small, the detail, the present.

I leave with a sense of depth and fullness.

Listen

Sitting, waiting and listening. In a place of belonging. He looks out over the patterned parallel lines of emerging wheat to the distant flame coloured autumnal trees. Shadowless they stand in the almost pleasantly warm early morning breeze. The fields seem lifeless under the greyness of the heavy clouds. Searching for meaning; searching for the unknowable, searching for the unexpected; searching for that something that will transform the ordinary into spirit - the real into the surreal.

Skylarks sing high and unseen. Above the gentle fields their song feels as though this should be springtime and not the end of October. A flock of fifty or so noisy seagulls rise from not far away and circle past him, silently - twisting and turning before vanishing against the horizon.

Once more in the stillness. Alone, it would seem at first glance, but yet not. A ladybird and a small dark brown snail move by his feet - this field edge being the beach to the sea of monoculture. The will of Gaia is always strong: to bring life and bio-creativity to any bare land.

From the far distance the repeated ring of a single church bell mingles with the song of the larks. Together they call to him, both have the same message. Listen to me, listen to song; listen to 'words', listen to an 'other', listen to spirit. Unlike in the film 'The Wicker Man' two worlds of otherness sit side by side. They become one.

Camping and Drumming

Recently I spent a few days camping. I spent one night at Eastnor Deer Park campsite near Ledbury in Herefordshire and then three nights at the Resurgence Readers Camp held at Green and Away, a tented and 'green' conference centre near Worcester. With four days at my disposal I wanted to make sure that I used them wisely. The Resurgence camp was a great opportunity to meet a diverse group of people but, as I had found last year to be so emotionally challenging and inspiring, I decided not to attend any of the talks or activities this year. I talked lots, did quite a bit of washing up and enjoyed just sitting around chatting to people. It was great to spend time with people who shared many of my interests and ideas and I appreciated not feeling quite so isolated.

There were some things that were inspiring to me about my time way and I will just recount them here. I don't want this to be a diary as such so I'm just going to write what comes into my mind and not focus on times, places or people as such.

I had pitched my tent in Eastnor Deer Park on the south-western edge of the Malvern Hills and walked up to the monument on the hill above the campsite. During my tea I had been watched by two doe Roe Deer and five stags then appeared out of the woods to watch me as I left the tent and began to walk up the hill. It was about 9pm and the light was just beginning to fade. The rain laden clouds were giving way to a much clearer sky and there was quite a cool breeze. I took my drum with me and enjoyed a decent time drumming in the approaching darkness. With the air being cold and damp, my drum was distinctly sounding flat but it was wonderful to play it and listen to how it sounded with the breeze in the trees. This was the first night of my holiday and I felt a great release of freedom from the isolation and restriction I had felt at work. I had driven three hours to get to this place and now I was at home in the landscape, the wind and the rain. There was one moment of looking up when I was thinking about light and immediately seeing the only star in a patch of sky that was very moving.

I took my drum on a gloriously warm and sunny morning up onto Midsummer Hill on the southern end of the Malvern Hills. Walking up to the hilltop just after 6am was a wonderful experience and the views were superb - so clear under a cloudless sky. There was a strong breeze, but in the lee of the hilltop and the concrete seat, I enjoyed a great time of drumming. Weaving seemed to be the theme - weaving the sound of the drum through the landscape. I find that small chants can come naturally to me in places like this. I can't always remember them as they come and go with the flow of my drumming and whatever I am thinking or praying about. It is a very "in the moment" sort of experience.

The River Teme runs beside the Green and Away camp and I took my drum down the river bank one morning after breakfast. It was warmish, mostly sunny and no-one else was about. The river was significantly higher than last year and the water a muddy brown with silt from recent rains. The Indian Balsam was in full flower and long-tailed tits fluttered around seemingly unperturbed in the willow trees just beside me as I drummed. I then sat down and spent an hour or so drawing my experience, by which time other campers were out walking and enjoying the river too.

I spent an hour by myself in the yurt 'sitting room' drumming. This is almost one of my most favourite places in which to be. Quite, surrounded by soft cushions, warm in the summer sunshine and very welcoming.

I had a good walk up onto Croft Ambrey and then a few hours drawing in the walled garden at Croft Castle. Between the many rain showers there was lovely sunshine, but it was so intermittently wet that I didn't get as much drawing done as I would have liked.

Driving from Leominster with my mother to our old farm. It was a beautifully warm, clear and sunny evening and the countryside around Tenbury Wells and towards Hanley Child looked stunning.

I'm not used to talking so much and so when faced with so many interesting people who all share many of my different interests it was fun but quite tiring to practice quality communication. I did appreciate that some people sought me out from time to time as I felt I was always giving, always being the one to initiate conversation - and I was trying very hard to be pleasent, chatty, respectful and friendly to all whom I met.

Visting the Knapp and Papermill Nature Reserve. This has to now be one of my favourite places on the planet! I went there twice this year having fallen in love with it last year. The river, the old apple orchard, the woodland, the meadows.... sigh!

Finding time to do some drawing that wasn't rushed was wonderful. I did a couple of pictures at the Resurgence camp that I put up in the yurt and those that saw them and realised I had done them were quite appreciative of them. I felt I had contributed something in a quiet, sort of unseen way to the camp. If i go again next year I might draw upon this and do something a bit more.

Drumming on Croft Ambrey

On Sunday 3rd May at about 8.30am I arrived at the car park at Croft Castle. It was empty which was a good sign as I thought I might then have the chance to be up on the hill by myself. It is the Bank Holiday weekend and there will soon be many people visiting the castle and the hill.

I walk up to the top of the woods and take off my walking boots and socks. The long dew-covered grass which I first walk though is freezing cold but on the main path the shorter grass and dry earth is much more comfortable. I have my drum with me and I begin a meditation walk that takes me up to the hillfort, around the main rampart and up onto the top of the hill. It is cool, but the sunshine is bright and clear between the clouds. It is an amazing morning. The light is so clear and the colours are beautiful. I look carefully at the views, trees and the landscape around me as I walk slowly and steadily, carried by the gentle beating of the drum. The drum performs superbly in the warming sunshine. Its sound seems to resonate with the wood of the trees. I watch a buzzard in the distance and try and work out how to mirror its flight with my drum. This is a wonderful place to be and, as I complete my playing and meditation, the first of other walkers start appearing on the footpaths around the hill. I set my camera up on a sock and walking boot and take some pictures of myself with my drum.

I wonder when the last time a drum was heard in this landscape. I am sure it would have been common in Iron Age times, but who else has drummed up here? It is a superb location to listen, to watch, to observe and to meditate. The views from the hill are magnificent and, on a bright spring morning like today when the leaves are coming out and the landscape is in full spring awakening, they are probably at their best.

Oughton Head: Water Meditation

In my attempt to think about water as one of the four key elements that occurs in the universe I looked at a map of my local area to see if I could find an interesting watery place. Whilst looking at the area round Hitchin, where I knew there were several small rivers, I decided to explore a place that was unknown to me and which turned out to be Oughton Head Nature Reserve. Oddly enough I didn't know of its existence even though I have cycled all round bridleways and roads near to it on many occasions. My search for water led me to a beautiful place of reedbeds, springs, trees and a reasonable expanse of water which seemed quite unusual for this part of the world.

In a recent blog I mentioned the geology of the chalk landscape around here and at Oughton Head there is a superb example of where the water from the chalk hills around Offley and Lilley emerges from underground. There is quite a steep sided tree-lined gully at the spring head, then there is then quite a wide and shallow river that extends through the trees to the main part of the nature reserve. On the morning of my visit I had cycled there over some bridleways that I hadn't been on before and so this was quite a day for new discoveries. The sky was clear with bright sunshine but a chilly breeze blew in exposed places. Celandines, violets, daffodils and trees full of blossom were appearing everywhere. Spring had definitely sprung.

At Oughton Head I find a place to sit beside the waters edge and begin to write:

At the spring head, a few hundred yards upstream from where I sit, the sparkling clear waters emerge into the bright and welcoming sunshine that is awakening the winter landscape. My first impressions were of a place of beauty but also of a place well used by the public. There were well worn paths down to the waters edge, several paths though the trees and a reasonable amount of rubbish (car tyres, bottles and bits of metal) and branches had been thrown into the water. It is amazing how water always attracts people. A place like this is a huge natural playground, presumably enjoyed by many young people. On this Sunday morning there were many people out and about: just sitting, walking their dogs, riding horses, out on their bikes with families or just enjoying a gentle stroll.

It is into this landscape that the clear, fresh spring water, permeating through the white chalk for goodness knows how long, emerges. It is welcomed by the sunlight, by trees, by birdsong, by people and by our rubbish. I am aware, however, that the water may not be as pure as one might imagine. Has the chalk filtered out all the chemicals from fertilizers or from road-side ditches I wonder? Water is all too often not viewed with the reverence that it deserves. It is a sacred and integral part not just of the landscape, but also ourselves and the whole of life depends on it. It may well be a convenient waste disposal system but it is also a living ecosystem that is apart of our bodies.

The water is so clear here, it isn't often I see such clear water in this part of the country. The bottom of the river is only one or two feet deep, but about 10-20 ft wide or more in places. A breeze ripples across the surface of the water, the tiny waves casting a myriad of fine lines of light across the chalky river bottom. As the wind strengthens and declines I watch the patterns made both on the water's surface and below - always changing, always moving, always interacting with the river bank and other objects in the water. Patterns that shift and change infinitely. Shimmering reflections are also cast onto the bark of overhanging alder trunks.

This huge rippled mirror seems almost unnaturally flat in the landscape. A barrier between the subterranean earth and the mirrored infiniteness of time and space above it. A boundary between two unknowns. When we look into the water we see down towards the deepest depths, but also up into the reflected sky and beyond. Both merge. And the mirror moves, gently and silently - a huge mass of water in graceful gentleness. I scoop up a handful of water and smell its fragrance (but I don't drink it).

I wonder how much life is in the water here, particularly on the more undisturbed parts away from splashing dogs and playful children?

I'm getting cold now, so will move on.

***
Azolla filiculoides (Water Fern) - reddish carpet, like duckweed, on the water in nature reserve.

Connections: Air, Deer and Drums

Had an interesting day today that was inspiring on many levels. Sometimes you can just get caught out by the unexpected when you begin to make connections with the environment in which you live.

Meditation on the air around me
After a wet and windy night I find myself out for a walk on a cold and windy, but sunny day. I find a place to sit against a fence post at the edge of a field. The ground is very wet so I find some drier dead nettle stalks and sit upon those. I am sheltered by some tall holly bushes and face the sun. It is actually quite pleasant and warm though I am wrapped up well.

Today the air seems excited. A wild wind blew in the night and the roads are littered with twigs, small branches and leaves. Large puddles have formed and not yet had time to drain away. After the cold weeks of Christmas, the air senses a hint of warmth where the wind is calmed and the sun is allowed to warm. The wind is blowing from the north west; brisk, bringing a gentle swaying to the nearby trees. It feels welcoming, alive with hope and a sign that Spring will bring warmth though that may still be a long way off.

A blackbird flies across the field in front of me from hedge to hedge, a constant two to three feet above the ground, on wings made to give effortless flight. It's feathers: formed to create strength out of the lightest of materials - quills full of air yet strong, almost weightless; for flight and insulation. Their design and construction has evolved with air in mind. The blackbird's flight is a movement through the unseen, it enables so much and is vital for survival, feeding, reproduction and escape from predators.

In a hedge a little way away, a large holly bush stands. Its glossy leaves reflecting light from the sun in the sky behind it: glistening spots of white when caught in the breeze - a mass of twinkling, almost like fairy lights on a Christmas tree.

The sky is clear with some hazy cirrus (?) clouds way up high and some smaller faint whisps of white passing hurridly just above me.

I am in a sheltered place with only the gentleness of a light breeze to move the fallen winter leaves and blades of grass a little. Without their leaves, the hedges are transparent to the wind. The dense evergreen of the nearby hollies provide a welcome wind-break.

The air is wonderfully refreshing to breath in. It carries the scent of the damp earth and the winter vegetation. Because of the form of the landscape in my corner of this field with the trees, hedges and gentle undulating fields, the wind circulates around me - one moment on my left cheek, then on my right. Then all is still but another moment brings another change in direction to my face.

The sun and the wind will probably dry the landscape a little today if it stays like this.

Sounds are carried through the air to me. Distant cars, aeroplanes coming into the airport and those way up high, unseen birds behind me, the wind in the trees and the passing of five noisy motorbikes on the nearby bridleway. I am brought the smell of their exhaust too.

The air has no real tangible visible form, yet it affects all the objects in the landscape. It is like an omnipresence that can only be shown to exist by the reactions it has with other things.

Newly formed molehills are scattered around the field nearby. How do they relate to the air? The are made by a mole that breathes air. The tunnels so formed are full of air. The soil itself contains organic matter, either living or dead - leaves, grasses and perhaps even the woodland that may have once stood here centuries ago. Soil organisms break down the organic matter, some by aerobic methods. The texture of the soil depends on the air spaces between the soil particles. The soil upturned is aerated by the mole and now it is exposed to the wind to dry out.

A group of birds, assorted tits probably, is nearby. They make their presence known though calling and by movement.

Where the trees and hedges cast shadows in the sunlight there will be patches of cooler air. Different microclimates, not just around different parts of the field but also deep in the hedgerow. The air is affected by the temperature and humidity around it.

I give thanks to the place and I move on. I've got too cold sitting and writing.

Deer and a Hare
I am now in a patch of conifer plantation and surrounded by tall Scots Pines. I sit back against one of the tall bare trunks that just give life to the top canopy layer far above me. What can I learn from this place that is so different to where I was previously? At first I sense nothing new (apart from remembering that woods can be dangerous places in the wind). Inspire me please...

Out of the dark depths of the wood, three stags and two does walk towards me. I just catch sight of them as they appear out of the darkness into the dappled sunlight - their bodies and huge antlers bathed in a creamy light. Their shapes blending with those of the trees and branches of the woodland. They are about 20 yards away and, with the sun in their eyes, they probably don't seem me until I am startled by their appearance and turn my head to look at them. They pass behind me and run off into the distant trees.

Air. Deer. Silent. Unseen. Freedom. Running. Wind. Wild. Like a gust of wind appearing out of nowhere: present, then gone.

And then I see a hare. Again, only a short distance way. I almost thought it was a small muntjac deer at first. Grey, tall black-tipped ears, moving in and out of the shadows between the trees. Gently and quietly. Then it's gone.

I have to go. Have to be somewhere.

Drums
I'm in a tipi with my drum, with others, gathered around the open fire. The air is filled with herb and wood smoke, and the respect we show to each other and to the drums we hold. I remember the deer I saw earlier today. My drum skin belonged to a Red Deer, once running wild through the air. Freedom. We drum. Creating a sound, vibrations and resonances that fill the air. The deer is alive again in the air around us.

Connections.

We just have to be aware of them.

Thank you for this day.

Morning Meditation

It is early on a cool, end of September, morning. There is quite a thick fog, but I know the day will brighten to a warm clear day. I travel to a place I discovered last year, I think, and to which I have always wanted to return to do a meditation. Finding places for such an activity is not always easy around here unless I venture off the public paths a short way. I look for places where you won't be disturbed by traffic, walkers or whatever. Being found by a game keeper is a likely possibility, but I am always surprised at how quiet the countryside can be. Very rarely have I come across any farmers or game keepers on even my normal walks and, more often than not, they are whizzing around on quad bikes or similar. But wherever I am I still respect the land I am on. I just know my landscape intimately so I always know where I am and who or what I am likely to find or meet. Sometimes you just have to take a small risk.

In writing notes after a meditation, they become an aid to recollection of some thoughts but, as I often do a moving, speaking meditation, the content and focus of what I write will be different in places. When I am meditating, I don't want to have and stop and jot things down every few minutes. Today I just retraced my steps, noted things in my sketch book and then wrote this up at home later. It may not be written exactly how I performed it, but I've written it in a more practical and logical order, and in a sort of note taking style.

Anyway, here it is:

I first face the sun and prepare myself. I did a simple exercise in thinking about the directions and the symbolism they evoke:

To the East:
The sunrise. Awakening to a new day. Renewal. Watching and waiting for the new. Birth. Welcoming. Moving to the unknown. Beginning of the day, journey or meditation. Preparation.

To the South:
Growth, activity, doing. The sun is at its highest. The journey. Being in the present.

To the West:
Sunset. End of the day or journey. Completion and finish.

To the North:
Rest, sleep, darkness. Winter and cold. Waiting. The unknown, yet expectation.

Then I did a little four-stage action based prayer that I do in many situations:

Welcome
I welcome the place and acknowledge my presence there. I prepare, quieten and become still. Focus on my being there.

Ask
I ask that I might me shown things. That I might offer the right prayers. I ask for inspiration and guidance from the place I am in.

Receive
I ask to be open to what I may receive, and know answers to my prayers.

Go forth
I give give thanks for being there and ask for a blessing as I go.

Now I become more deeply aware of the place I am in and tune into my surroundings, first by walking around and then by standing still:

Circling
The place I am in is a patch of trees and undergrowth at the corner of some fields. There is a circular patch of grass surrounded by various trees. Mostly tall ashes, but also oak, elder, hawthorn, blackthorn and elder. It is cool. The mist lingers and the sun's hazey light is barely strong enough to cast any shadows. The grass has been worn to the earth in several places by the presence of deer and scuffed grass and moss and deer droppings also indicate their presence. The surrounding fields have now been harvested, ploughed and await final cultivation and seen sowing.

I slowly walk around the circle, keeping my steps silent on the damp grass. Around me, the trees and grasses are covered in water droplets and cobwebs are so highlighted everywhere I look. Such delicate beauty in many amazing forms. How do the spiders develop a sense of space in their surroundings to enable them to construct their webs? The task seems almost impossible to my mind.

Contrasts: The strong and the weak - the tall tree trunks and the delicate beauty of the cobweb; Light and Dark; Life and Death - insects/midges, a rising toadstool, decaying piles of wood.

People: we are surrounded by and, interact with, so many people. In this place I am surrounded by plants and trees. All unique and different. Similarities. Some of my friends are facing a period of deep change and uncertainty - an autumn, from which new things must grown and evolve. Sometimes we meet people we don't get on with. We have to learn to co-operate, to live together, to understand, to know how to relate to and understand them. Others bring great inspiration.

I pick up some freshly turned soil at the edge of the field and enjoy its fragrance. A single nightshade flower of purple and yellow brings a focus of almost incongruous colour to the place. Red hawthorn berries, bold in the sunlight. I touch an ash tree. Its bark almost softa nd warm. Beautiful patterns are created as the bark splits in growth. Lichens on a elder branch - such a bright green, seems almost out of place. Was that a squeek of a mouse in the grass? I see where possibly rabbits have been scratching in the soil, though on my way here I found some deep digging that may have been the work of badgers.

Standing
I find a place to stand in silence, in stillness, to just 'be'. In front of me are tall golden grasses, water droplets glistening on their seed-heads as the sunlight brightens. Around me is the constant sound of water dripping off the mist soaked trees. Birds: jays, an unseen woodpecker tapping, wrens, possible assorted tits and chaffinches; a couple of pheasants scratching for food in the field.

A stoat appears beneath a patch of blackthorn about 12 feet away. It hasn't noticed me, and it scurries around for a while before wandering off.

With the sun in front of me I realise I can actually see the droplets of mist moving horizantally across my field of view. Almost imperceptible.

I finish by giving a thank you to the place and giving a small bow. I am grateful for the timelessness of being there, for experiencing new things even if it is just a new time to just be still. The smallest detail in nature can be inspirational, you don't have to look for the big event, the best view or the most beautiful flower. I know that I have to be thankful for being there, for being able to freely pray and to be comfortable in what I do.

Resurgence River Meditation

These are my reflections on an early morning meditation at the Resurgence Summer Camp 2008:

We gathered in the campsite, about 12 of us, at 6.30 am on a warm and sunny July morning. I knew we would be going down to the river and, like the others slowly joining the group, had decided not to go barefoot. One man turned up barefoot and was asking if it would be alright to do so and was wondering what the ground would be like. We agreed it would be fine for him and, as I was slightly envious of him' I said "I will journey with you". So off came my shoes too. It the end, as we silently set off, three of us hardy men felt the coldness of the early morning dew beneath our feet and the soft refreshing grass.

Walking, slowly, silently, in single file. Trying to keep a rhythm between our breath and our careful footsteps. Down the field, through the trees, over the stile and out into the flat grassy sheep-shawn grass of the meadow alongside the river. Alders stretched out along the river bank of the River Teme which meandered through the red soil of the rich earth. The tall Balsam with ornate pink flowers, magnificent constructions of origamied petals, joined the clusters of nettles over which we could peer down to the gentle waters to our left. Along the sheep path we journeyed, dodging nettles, to a place where the alders provided a shaded resting place overlooking the calm waters for us mindful walkers.

Green Woodpecker, Pheasant, sea gull, a Wren singing, crow, possibly Blue or Great Tits; and was that a Kingfisher I just heard flying past down the river? And a Dipper too?

In the distance a farmer was irrigating a field: I am aware of cycle of the water from the river to the crops to the food eat. Connections are everywhere.

We rest for a while. The perfect sound of a singing bowl drawing in our focus. Others sit, but I stand, listening to how the ringing fills the air and intermingles with the trees. How do I feel about it I wonder? I had never come across the sound of these in practice before this weekend, but the it seemed to blend in. I liked it.

I touch the alders, bright green in the sunshine. Their rough bark softened by the algae. I run my fingers down through the crevices in the bark and sense the variety of the different ages of trees. Even though I am with a group of people, still no-one has said a word. I am amazed at the peace and awareness to the experience that these folks bring. I don't remember having been with people who have revered meditation like this before - perhaps they all knew what to expect, perhaps this is in tune with Buddhist practice.

We are eventually called by three rings of the bowl to gather and begin our journey back. We pause in one corner of the field for one final look over the meadow. We stand in a circle, asked to bow to each other and then to bow to the "Masters" (whether that be to Jesus, Buddha or whoever - I'm not used to some of these rituals!). At the exact same moment we all face the sun to do that a group of three or four swans takes off from a patch of water out of view to our right and fly across the meadow in front of us calling distinctively. Looks of awe and amazement fill the us all. This was an incredibly moving moment.

* * * * *

There are probably many metaphors that could be applied to the swans appearing when they did. Swans and Masters, Royal and Sovereign, Nature as Teacher. It is up to me to read into it as much as I want to. It may have been coincidence, but perhaps this was a true moment where Nature, God and humans interact. Like the butterfly in the tent later that day (see previous blog). When you spend time outside, you experience things in a different way. Someone wrote to me recently and prayed that God (or was it Jesus?) would reveal Himself to me in a real way. Perhaps this was that moment. Perhaps the whole weekend was a revelation for me. I felt deep love.

Thank you, June, for your guidance and showing me a practical outworking of slowness and mindful meditation.

Resurgence Summer Camp 2008

I have just returned from the Resurgence Summer Camp held at the Green and Away tented conference centre in Worcestershire. I hadn't been before and was a little apprehensive at what I would find. In the end I came back on an emotional high, not an ecstatic or adrenaline filled high, but a deep feeling that I had at last made some deep connections within me that had been yearning to find a home. I could write at length about many things, but perhaps they will evolve into further blogs. Instead I offer a summary of notes from my notebook and a glimpse into some personal experiences.

• A group of 100 or so people with whom I felt a deep affinity and connectedness with at many different levels


• A great campsite: vegetarian food, all meals outdoors, wood-burning showers, solar power, compost toilets, camp fire and all intimately surrounded by trees.


• Although I didn't attend many of the main talks (too much already to think about) I found the workshops on creative writing very inspiring. I would have done the Deep Ecology one but got tied up with a very interesting discussion group on the use of spirituality in daily life


• Talks by Satish Kumar were very inspiring as was his idea to promote Slow Sunday and to get us all making bread


• The morning meditations were hugely profound to me. It is ages since I have been in such deep group meditations and these were unique to me. Very holistic, very open and I felt completely free to be who I am. The silent walk down by the river for an hour or so at 6.30 am on a beautiful sunny summer's morning was amazing. I'll write it as a separate blog


• Spending time in the kitchen cutting boxes of cauliflowers, chopping piles of carrots and cucumbers and making a bucket load of bread was a big highlight


• Washing all the kitchen pots, pans and utensils after the first evening meal


• Sitting on my own in a large yurt on a hot summers day surrounded by comfy cushions and just listening to muted sounds of the camp outside


• Showering out of doors and looking at the campsite around me


• Swimming in the nearby river on a hot summer afternoon with cows looking on


• The Sweat Lodge and subsequent mud bath! I had been apprehensive about this but after chatting with someone I went along. It was great, only about 10 of us, but it was well lead and I felt no sort of scary spiritual undertones. It was very dark, very hot and great fun!


• Wildflower walk: we were all given magnifying glasses and went to see what flowers we could find around the campsite. Everyone found this fascinating.


• Conversations. I had too many to remember!


• The meeting on daily spirituality. I was deeply moved by this gathering/sharing when we all stood together to hold hands. Don't know why, but I wanted to cry! Perhaps I was feeling no longer alone and some of the people had walked a path similar to that which I have done (as had others on the camp). We were joined by a butterfly and a baby toad by the way!


• Walking barefoot for several days


• Listening to the band Dragonsfly, and the storyteller (pictured)


• Helen Moore, eco-poet


• The Grief of the Earth


• Labyrinths being a form of body meditation and prayer (not that I walked the one there though).


• An apple tree shows unconditional love: all are welcome to have an apple, humans, birds, wasps and worms etc.


• Love is not the same as liking.


• Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it (quote from Mary Oliver, Poet)


• Teach me


• Sitting under a tree is a temple


• Creation is always ongoing


• Hold a bread making/eating party


• Make beautiful things - slowly!


• When God made time, he made plenty of it


• Why waste finite materials to save infinite time?


• Art is good art when you use it in your life

And more!

The camp was gift to me to appreciate and unwrap. I could have done much more, listened more, spoken to people more and thought more, but I did what I did and I feel profoundly moved. Thank you to all the people I met, to all who organised it and to the whole of Nature and the Great Creator for being there for us.

Observation and Reflection: Summer Hedgerow

Observation:
It is a warmish July morning near Offley. A strong breeze flows over the landscape and an occasional light dusting of rain dampens only the air. The barley is golden and in the distance I hear the first distinct hum of a combine this year. I'm on a bridleway passing through the fields and I reach a patch of low hedgerow alongside a small field of set-aside grass. A short length of grasses and an abundance of flowers captivates me for an hour or so as I sketch and observe a community of nature full of energy and life.

The obvious flowers are the lilac Scabious and the deep red-purple Knapweed. Their flowers reaching above the herbage to be alighted upon by bees, butterflies and other insects. Other flowers I find are a small Cranesbill, Agrimony, Black Medic, Skullcap (?), White Clover, Bryony, Blackberry, Ragwort, Plantain, Yellow Vetchling and a few other species - as yet unidentified.

The butterflies are amazing. Silently they flutter around the flowers, sometimes dancing, sometimes fighting (?), sometimes still on a flowers, sometimes always on the move and never resting. I see Marbled Whites, Gatekeepers, Ringlets, Large Whites and a brown (Heath Brown?). I watch the bumble bees with loaded pollen sacks on their legs, again possibly five or six varieties buzzing about. Hoverflies and beetles gather around some of the flowers and small Grasshoppers chirrup around me. Occasionally I see them jump around my feet. The are small and so well camouflaged against the browns and greens on the foliage at ground level.

Buzzards and circling nearby, calling. Do I hear a skylark? Another unseen bird flutters in the hedgerow in front of me.

Beside me was an area of set-aside unmown grasses. Just standing and watching the movement of the grasses in the wind was inspiring. A mass of light, feathery, soft, shimmering seed heads all waving and moving en-mass when caught in the breeze. Perhaps almost a mist - a strong blurred movement of the lightest brown, almost irridescent grasses.

Reflection:

Thank you for this place of the dancing butterflies, this hedgerow belonged to them today - theirs to savour the Scabious and Knapweed - amidst the waves of the breeze, the chirping call of grasshoppers and the calling Buzzards. This patch of creativity, of nature in its fullness of fertility and reproduction was a singular patch amidst the surrounding blandness of barley fields. An explosion of colour: lilacs, purples, whites, yellow and pinks amidst the lushness greenness of growth. A place of peace and yet deep creation. I had been asking all week for a deep place of revelation to be shown to me today and this patch of nature doing what it does best seemed to present itself to me on many different levels. Just admiring the striking beauty of the Marbled White butterflies on the Knapweed was one thing. Thinking about how this micro-haven of nature removed my thoughts away from work and life and things was another. I was perhaps most struck at how such a length of hedgerow, perhaps a hundred yards or so in length and away from the reach of the farm sprayer could produce a vidid island of creativity. How much do we dominate nature and quell its creativity, life and beauty? This small area was like a living body in itself, an interrelating system of diversity built upon the connectedness of so many different species. Ecology at its best. But, of course, I do not wish to anthropomorphosize the place as necessarily a place of beauty and with intrinsic natural goodness from the point of view its 'self'. I look upon it from the outside, and for all that live their, each part of the flora and fauna is struggling with survival - a constant synthesis of life and death. As I step away and continue my walk I feel that I am leaving behind something special.

None of this is essentially new to me. What I am attempting to do is to really begin to observe the landscape around me and place it into a psychological framework - and write about it too. I have spent many years just observing, but now I want to think about it in a deeper way. To explore, to be inspired, to learn, to journey...

The Earth is my Church

Now, there is an interesting phrase. I came across it today whilst surfing the web and I am not gong to try and explain the context - a song title I think, but it sounded an interesting phrase! To me it could form an interesting discussion starter, t-shirt design, or meditation point. Is the Earth a place for Christian worship? Is there a community of 'persons' (human/non-human) who worship the Divine together? Is the Earth a place where I feel in touch with the Christian sacrements?

[Sacrement (as I can never remember the definition - thanks Wikipedia: In Western Christian belief and practice, a sacrament is a rite, instituted by Christ, that mediates grace, constituting a sacred mystery. .... The most conventional functional definition of a sacrament is that it is an outward sign, instituted by Christ, that conveys an inward, spiritual grace through Christ. The two most widely accepted sacraments are Baptism and the Eucharist...]

It could probbaly be read at many different levels - the whole earth community of Christians (arrghh - how is it that even that phrase seems to alienate vast swathes of people and cause me iritation?) to a very animistic and pagan thought that the earth in my garden that I care for is part of my being and has a reciprocating spiritual appreciation.

Wah! I can't cope, and yet it seems an exhillerating thought!

To the Summerhouse, and Sharing

It is a mid-winter's evening and I am off out. I put on a couple of thick warm layers, a scarf and warm hat; gather my sketchpad, pencil case and a torch and begin my walk up the garden path to the summerhouse. I need to be prepared to sit at the top of the garden in our small wooden summerhouse for an hour or so in relatively warm comfort! I light three candles and sit on a cushion and pillow. I have just enough light by which to read, or to write in my journal.

This is a mini pilgrimage I make, not every evening, but whenever I feel the need, usually two or three times a week. As a pilgrimage it involves preparation, a journey and a focus of spirtual intent/desire. I have a path, I have a destination, I have meaning and longing.

It is a special time for me. To sit, away from the sounds of the house and away from the lure of the TV, the computer or my studio. I am can hear the sounds of the townscape around me, but more importantly I can hear, sense and feel the weather. I am outside, touching the wood of the summerhouse, hearing the wind or rain (if there is any) and breathing in fresh air that invigorates.

Sitting away from distraction or, perhaps even more conciously, away from any electrical appliance seems liberating. It focuses the mind upon the page in front of me. Sometimes I might read a book - I believe that some books are just meant to be read outside. More usually I write/pray in my journal which, for me, is the the most fruitful way I can think and express my ideas and thoughts.

All I am doing is going up the garden path to sit in the summerhouse to write. Simple. Yet even a simple action like this is, to me, a source of personal enlightenment and renewal. I feel I am doing something so valuable to my personal journey. It could be my Quiet Time, meditation space, even my altar - whatever words you want to use.

When I mentioned this to Homegroup I am not sure people really understood it or could engage with my way of thinking. I tried to explain it in a sort of thinky, philosophical way, but I didn't seem to carry people with me. I would love to be able to share with people in a respectful, calm, philosophical, 'holy and sacred' sort of way; but a third of the time I struggle to think about the subject in a knowledgeable and wisdomy way, another third trying to vocalise it and another third wondering why I am bothering because much 'spiritual' stuff to me seems an illusion.

The Mists of Creativity

There are two areas of personal creativity which I would like to explore. Both seem to be rolling around in the mists of uncertainty and I feel I am feeling my way though a deep mist, not knowing quite if they will emerge into something or not.

Tribal/earthy eco illustration
I am slowly developing a sort of tribal nature based illustration of charcters/landscape. I find much pagan artwork a little depressing, scary and uncomfortable - if you know what I mean. When the Green Man, or the anthropomophisms of trees is created I often feel they lack something joyfull, positive and light. My sketchbook is filling up with a whole range of ideas for images that I am trying to work up into something lighter, more 'fun' and more in-keeping with my sort of Christian-pagan ideas. I want my art to reflect a deep human-Nature based relationship which will help me spiritually, emotionally and creatively. Art that can reflect basic principles of walking barefeet in grass, touching trees, holding stones, belonging in the landscape etc, but without associated links to the ideas of fairies, nature spirits etc. I don't work on that level and I don't want to paint images that reflect what I do not perceive.

Liturgy
I would really like to collect or write liturgy based on green/nature principles. I have come across samples on the web, and need to search more. One problem is that I have slightly stepped out of an environment (church) in which I could develop something like that usefully. I could create my own book prayer/ritual/worship. Like with the artwork mentioned above, I would like something holistic, that can be used in many situations, that was almost neutral and didn't make assumptions as to whether you were talking to Jesus, Mother Earth, a Goddess or anything else. Just simple prayers to help people think, relax, meditate or perform simple rituals for whatever. I really need a situation in which to use and explore such ideas with people. I'll just begin to collect some ideas and see what happens. I have the confidence to do something with people if I had the right format and words.

Making Music

For a long time I have been wanting to do a bit of drumming, but have never searched out a way to realise this desire. I've often looked at small drum thingys in fairtrade/alternative shops or at festivals but have never played any. The lack of a private, soundproofed room has put me off. Anyway the following happened yesterday whilst on a walk to Hitchin...

The hedgerows are full of the scent of elderflowers honeysuckle, bracken and wild roses. After all the rain recently, the present warmth is a welcome relief. I am walkling along a bridleway and snap a couple of overhanging dead twigs from a branch. This to me was just an almost intuitive action to seeing a sharp branch that could hurt a passing horse rider or cyclist if they fail to spot it. I am now holding two sticks, the longest only being about 12 inches. The desire to see what sound they make when I hit them together is too great an opportunity to pass by. Tap, tap. Just the sound of one sick hitting another. Plain and simple. But somehow on this spring day, the sound seems to belong in the landscape. It is a purely natural sound, like the tapping sound a woodpecker on an old tree would make. I tap out some rhythms as I walk along and I listen to the sound of wood on wood. I could make different sounds by hitting or holding the sticks differently. Simple sounds, yet beautiful sounds in the time and place where I walked. They belonged with me on this sunny warm day, amongst the trees, the hedges, the elderflowers and the honeysuckle. Perhaps this was how our ancestors created their first drum beats. I could have been the leader of a procession. I could have been a pilgrim, on a journey of meditation through the landscape. Later, I try different larger sticks and I am drawn into the music held within their being. It was indeed a act of meditation. To play, to create, to listen, to feel a part of something - it was my own small time of discovery, of enjoying the presence of simple music in Nature.

On My Dartmoor Stone

Last weekend, Easter Saturday, I had the chance to visit 'my stone' on the edge of Dartmoor near Burrator reservoir. It is a fairly inconspicuous and unassuming stone - most of it is probably buried in the granite and peat moor. It is just a wide, circular dome-shaped stone, only rising about a foot from the surrounding grass, and it is just a good shape upon which to stand, sit or lie. It is immediately surrounded by sheep-grazed grass and single standing pines, with denser conifers behind it and a view up to a nearby tor in front. Nothing amazing, but it is a place which I have visited over several years.

My pilgrimage to the stone was about an hours walk from where I had left the car.

It was a cool morning with the promise of a warm sunny spring day. There was a moderate haze that obscured the distant views. The larches around the stone were tinged with the green of new growth and gorses were in full flower. I sat and listened with my eyes closed: skylark, chaffinch, crow, woodpecker and other small birds in the pines. There was only the faint gentle mumer of the wind in the trees - almost imperceptible - like a slow wave of sound moving across the forest. Sometimes it would be good to be in the wind in a place like this and hear the wind totally naturally - without hearing the sound of the wind around your ears and head which can make up much of what you hear. No human sounds, or perhaps just a faint few voices from distant walkers, but none passed my sight in my time here. A couple of aeroplanes up high; and the buzzing of flies.

I welcome my soul to this place
I welcome my soul to the sun
I welcome my soul to the breeze
I welcome my soul to the trees
I welcome my soul to the grass
I welcome my soul to this stone
I welcome my soul to this place.

I lay down on my stone and put my ear to it. What would I hear? So close to the ground, I could sense its depth, its blackness, its coldness, its infinite connection to the earth beneath.

Looking closely at the surface of the granite stone was fascinating. A world of moss and lichens on the weathering granite - with tiny patches of black (mica) glistening like small gemstones in the speckled white stone (quartz). I notice the small and black spherical lichens around a few millimeters or less in size. Some lichens elements were even smaller (I must revise my botany too!). All forming a microcosm of life on the rocks surface.

My stone and I enjoy an hour together, just experiencing peace and presence in the landscape.

***

There is so much I could draw in the landscape but, when I am only here one or two days a year, having a decent walk and just enjoying exploring always seems to take priority.

Landscape Meditation

These are notes about a meditation I performed in May 2006 whilst up on my favourite hill, Croft Ambrey, in Herefordshire. I think I had driven up from Bedfordshire in the middle of the night and walked up onto the hill in the early light of the morning. I found myself in sunshine on the top of the hill, on a grassy bank, beside a hawthorn tree. I made brief notes afterwards about what I had thought and did at the time and I have rewritten them here as an outline. They could be used as a guide to performing an outdoor meditation anywhere.

WELCOME
Find a place in which you want to perform the meditation. Approach it with a welcoming heart and make yourself comfortable. Take a few minutes to take in the landscape: view, trees, sounds, smells etc. What is the weather like? Warm, cool? Clouds? Listen to sounds: birds, animals, breeze, distant human activity. You have come to a place. This is now your place of being. Go and look for something that inspires you in the place: twig, flowers, stone etc (but don't necessarily touch it). Breath in the air - the earth has given you this as a gift.

ASK
We all have questions. Be open, think about what you seek inspiration or guidance for - not direct petitionary prayers. Ask to be shown something. Use landscape features as a guide e.g. path (for direction, distractions, clarity, journeying, following...)

RECEIVE
Take a closer look around you at an element in the landscape and focus on it more deeply:

Tree
Notice its leaves, bark, branches... How is its shape formed? How do the branches exist in three dimensions (why don't they keep touching?). Look for patterns. Feel leaves: textures, how they interact with the light - patterns, shadows, colours; they give life, soft, delicate (even if tree thorny) Any insects? Think about stability, firm foundations, roots, soil, age, belonging in the landscape, strong, immovable (yet can be cut down by man in afew minutes). Fragility of life - we can take it away. Photosynthesis. Without plants humans would die. Size, shape, alone or with others. Shadows. It is rooted to one spot yet we are free - free to run, jump, lie down in grass. Do that! Feel the dew, wet. Look for other plants or evidence of animals, insects (sheep, rabbits, swuirrels, mice, butterflies). RUN AND PLAY: allow and feel the freedom (if safe to do so). Just BE. No phones, TV or computer, or perceptions of what people may think of you.

GO FORTH
How will you leave the place? Emotions: happier, sad, indifferent. Your choice. Would you take anything - or just everything as you found it. You have freedom to go in whatever direction you want - but you will most likely retreat to the security of what you know or are responsible for (home, work, family). What is freedom, or the ultimate freedom? Go out again to find something that inspires you. Is it easier? Has you view changed about what you see around you?