spring: sap rising

Hello!

My goodness, it has been a while…

Since the last post on this blog, I have married (with an oaken ring!) and moved to the incredible town where our interfaith marriage was celebrated. I have also plunged into another horrible, wordless depression, and emerged on the other side with some radically changed ideas about what I am doing and why. And now spring is here! I can really feel the sap rising.

Over the next few weeks I will make some changes to this blog, to harness and channel the renewed enthusiasm that always comes with spring. This time I plan to keep up the momentum.

Right now, I am fulfilling a decade-long ambition by (finally!) studying the tarot. The course I am following is provided by the wonderfully grounded and inspirational Beth Maiden at Little Red Tarot. At two weeks in, it has already taken me to some deep and unexpected places, which has inspired copious amounts of notes in my journal. I plan to share the journey in a dedicated section on this blog – please drop in and join the conversation!

My posts on deity will have their own area, where I can indulge all the mysticism and reverence in which my soul delights, leaving the core of this blog free for more topical posts about forthcoming events and conversations in druidic cyberspace. Speaking of which… in the next few months I will produce a video talk or two for the ADO exploring our Taliesin-inspired approach to druidry. My first planned talk will focus on Caer Siddi, the seat of illusion, where Gweir sings woefully before the spoils of Annwn. What is the nature of the chains that hold us back from reaching the spoils of Annwfn, the wisdom and inspiration of the deep? I would love to hear your thoughts and experiences on this topic.

The last, tentative, change will be to introduce an area for exploring flower remedies. I plan to train as a Bach practitioner this year, in the hope of helping others, after receiving so much help myself. This blog embraces magic and intention-setting, with a strong emphasis on healing relationships with the natural world: this is what I feel flower remedies have to offer. They are empowering. Having said that, over the past few weeks I have found myself frustrated by the lack of depth in what I read about these remedies online – most sites seem to parrot the brief descriptions given by Dr. Bach without exploring what they mean in a modern context, in a culture with a radically different understanding of emotional and spiritual wellbeing from 1930s Britain. At the moment all I have to offer is personal experience, but that is a start, and I hope to write more as I progress.

hornbeam

hornbeam

How is everything on the other side of the screen?

/|\ Cadno

love and death

Last night I found myself revisiting the old tale of The Ugly Wife – Emma Restall Orr’s retelling, from which her book Kissing The Hag takes its title. “It’s a story that can be found in very many forms, in old myth and legend, in folklore and music…”

The form it brought to mind was a retelling of another old tale by another wise woman, Clarissa Pinkola Estes: Skeleton Woman. I had never connected the two tales before – the first so rooted in the British Arthurian tradition, the second from the faraway Arctic of the Inuit – yet they speak to the same fears, and the same needs. Put bluntly, they speak of love and death, attraction and revulsion, trust and fear. All are intertwined.

All love must one day meet death. Nothing lasts for ever. The promises I am preparing to make last for a lifetime, and cannot be made in good faith without appreciating just what that means. One of us may well end up burying the other – or, if not, both of us will have to let our life together come to an end, in order to begin anew, alone again. And along the way there are a hundred little deaths: the deaths of illusions, old habits, fleeting physicality (already, the first white hairs, the suggestion of crows’ feet at the eyes, the settling of weight in unfamiliar places). Love itself is constantly dying and can be constantly reborn, if we trust each other and ourselves enough to let it happen.

Between my overblown romantic tendencies (“when love beckons to you, follow him, though his ways are hard and steep”) and studying and celebrating the mysteries of our cycles of death and regeneration, I feel ready to meet this challenge with a steady gaze. Timor mortis (non) conturbat me.

But lurking underneath this tale of renewal are other questions, and my gaze is much less steady when I meet them.

Who is the hag? Who am I? Who are you?

Can you love me like this? Can I love you while I am like this?

Can I be the soft-skinned maiden, feeling myself to be the hag underneath? Can I be the warm-blooded lover as well as the sea-ravaged skeleton? Is one more real than the other? Do they co-exist?

And what if I am the soft-skinned maiden, not the hag, but need your kindness to break me free? What if you, the fisherman, don’t feel that compassion, don’t shed that tear – am I stuck forever as a skeleton beneath the waves?

If I can change, what’s to stop me changing back? What’s to stop me wanting to change back?
Could you weather all these changes?

For some reason I find these questions more difficult to face than the idea of death. They all ask the same thing: am I loveable? Could you love me, really, as I am? Everything I am? Are you worthy? Am I?

And the most difficult thing about these questions is that I have to face them for myself. Each question needs an answer from myself, first, before I pose it to my partner (though in reality he’s several steps ahead of me on these, just as I know I can happily answer all of his questions when he feels ready to ask them).

Fear, it seems, is the one thing I am not ready to let die for the sake of love. It’s such a cliché that it took an unexpected telling of an old, familiar tale to jolt me into recognition of its truth. So I am preparing to sit with my fear for a while, to understand it and to learn from it, until I feel ready to let it die, ready to promise a lifetime of love with my partner, in good faith.