An Animistic Revolution
‘This is an infusion of energy and movement. It is a witchcraft for those who know that the wheel of the year has broken from the spokes of the season.’
~ Peter Grey, Apocalyptic Witchcraft
‘But finally, after much discourse, I understood what the trees were telling me: being an individual doesn’t matter...all human beings to the trees are one. We are judged by our worst collective behaviour, since it is so vast; not by our singular best. The Earth holds us responsible for our crimes against it, not as individuals but as a species.’
~ Alice Walker, Living By The Word
Imbolc has passed. Despite the snow that lies on the ground outside my door, light here even for the UK for my town is nestled in a valley, the days grow longer, surely a sign that despite the freezing temperatures and icy air that numbs the forehead and pinches the nose and ears, the darkness of winter is passing. It is light when I leave for work in the mornings and still so when I return some eight hours later. Not for long mind, but still light.
I often think the lengthening and shortening of days is perhaps the most obvious sign of the cycles of nature. People notice it all of a sudden, even folks who ordinarily have no interest in the passing of the seasons except for the prospect of cheap package holidays and the consumerist holidays of the seasons. They exclaim all of a sudden at how light the morning or evening is, or how dark, depending on time of year. When after winter, such comments seem to brim with hope, a hope that cannot be so rationally explained but sure enough, the knowledge of the lengthening days seems to lift the spirits and hearts if only for a short time. To me, this hope seems to spring forth from some hidden reservoir deep inside each one of us, perhaps a link that none can deny, a link to nature, to the source of existence for all things, ourselves included. A connection that we might not understand, might not even be aware of but remains there anyway, hidden within ourselves to bubble to the surface, taking us by surprise at the depth of feeling, even if that feeling is fleeting and soon lost in the humdrum of our workaday lives.
In many of my writings, the courses I teach and general interactions with like-minded people, I often talk of connecting to the land where we live. We seem to be caught up in the thought that the romantic image of the wild woods, some deep and ancient forest, is the be-all and end-all of nature, and in my own humble opinion paganism has a lot to answer for. But it would be unfair to blame paganism solely, for we see the every day with old eyes and in doing so we cannot recognise the beauty and the nature that resides there. Those who live in cities and large towns may feel the lack of open spaces even more keenly, but that doesn’t diminish that which resides where they do. And it starts small, in the noticing of the lengthening days perhaps. But not some absentminded awareness, but an obvious effort to be still in that glorious moment of understanding. Of stopping, if just for a moment, with face turned skywards and lungs full of air to appreciate the beauty of the moment, the inherent richness of that one particular instant, the essence of reality and all that is.
Sometimes it is the beauty of a tree, it’s branches bare with the sky as a backdrop that catches me unaware. Familiar as these trees might be on my journey from work, still their beauty enchants me. The sky might be the pale blue of early evening, or grey and low, pregnant with the prospect of snow, sometimes a dazzling golden pink with clouds that would put any Michelangelo to shame. Each sky beautiful in its uniqueness. Each tree magnificent. I saw a quote somewhere once about seeing the beauty in every tree no matter how the conditions of which it has grown has shaped it, stunted and twisted or tall and majestic. Other times it’s the simple contrast of colours. Yellow crocuses poking out of the snow or the dark green of yew needles when everything else seems muted and pale.
It is in these things, so small and perhaps you may think pointless, that I feel the spirit, the life of those beings. It is in these small moments that I sometimes ponder the wonder of the natural world. The black nightshade that pokes up through the concrete, the moss that makes the ground spongy soft underfoot, the sight of fungi growing up a tree trunk. The growing dawn chorus or the single call of the blackbird. The caw of a crow. All is filled with spirit. All worthy of love and respect, just as much as any ancient woodland, perhaps more so seeing as these are the things accessible to you, so common as to be overlooked and ignored but still so beautifully alive, humming with the song of soul, of spirit.
In these small trifles I urge you to go out and see your local landscape with new eyes. Allow yourself to feel the spirits of the wild things, for they can be found, no matter the concrete that tries to smother all. Pay homage to the dandelion that breaks through that concrete, the weeds that grow unwanted all around. The most common of birds, the sparrow, not particularly beautiful but with a charm that exceeds mere beauty.
Let this be a manifesto of sorts. I offer no doctrine nor rules, no boundaries or theology. Instead, go out and be wild, embrace our true natures, revel in the beauty of nature that is found everywhere and anywhere, for nature and indeed spirit recognise not the political borders and factions that seem to drive all aspects of our lives. Let this be the beginning of our animistic revolution. Small acts, individual acts, that may in time merge together and grow forth, as strong as the spirits that may guide us. We are not judged by individual or singular bests but instead by the collective efforts and yet, we must start with ourselves. Go outside, if only for a moment and let your own spirit soar and mingle with those that imbue this natural world, for spirit recognises spirit and the world is full of it.
‘...All things are alive, perhaps not in the same way we are alive, but each in its own way, as should be, for we are not all the same. And though different from us in shape and life span, different in Time and Knowing, and yet are trees alive. And rocks. And water. And all know emotion.’
~ Anne Cameron, Daughters of Copper Woman
EMMA KATHRYN
Emma Kathryn, practises traditional British witchcraft, Vodou and Obeah, a mixture representing her heritage. She lives in the sticks with her family where she reads tarot, practises witchcraft and drink copious amounts of coffee.
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