Time is a funny thing out in the woods, seeming to stand still and yet be constantly shifting, an ode to the ever turning wheel of the year and the ebb and flow of the seasons.
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As I write this, Beltane is so very close. You can feel it in the land, a surge of energy bubbling up through the earth and bursting forth with tremendous beauty, a mirage of sound, colour and scent. Spring is well under way now and where I live, the land is blooming.
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“What we now know as the professional police force only spend 10% of their time on anything to do with the law. Most of their time is involved in maintaining the social order.”
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And as the cycles of nature begin that inevitable unwinding, it tugs at the corner of our nostalgia and perhaps we return to that stage of reflection where we can linger over our experiences, all of those events and happenings that have touched our lives.
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“Pilot whales are incredibly social; as soon as one strands, they all strand. The matriarch will go to help, and they all follow the matriarch.”
My partner and I went out to a beach near the Spit a few days after, and on the way home we stopped off. As far as we knew the stranding was over, the whales had died on the shore and been removed.
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This is what it is to be animist. We see and feel the spirit within the natural world and know we are not separate from it at all, but connected to it in every way.
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Ever present in all of these memories, the glorious backdrop to childhood adventures, is nature. Every memory recalled is linked to the land it occurred in and on, land that has now, in many places, changed beyond all recognition, but still as I pass by, there is still that feeling, that aura, that sense of spirit that persists.
The bonds that bind us to one another may change and vary but they are there. In times of need, it is these bonds that serve us best, that can form the basis of community in the truest sense of the word.
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There is still beauty to behold in this world. Not the fake beauty of photo-shopped pictures, whether of people or places, nor the beauty of expensive possessions and luxurious homes, but instead a beauty that inspires a quiet joyousness within the heart, within the very soul, perhaps.
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It’s astounding how little the average citizen knows about nature and their local ecosystems. It has become easier for us to imagine a mosquito that is genetically engineered to be sterile, than to learn about which animals in our area are their natural predators.
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The fear and pain of transformation, of becoming feral, returning to the wild, are worth it. This is freedom. It cannot be bought with riches, can only be gained through relinquishing.
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We are a part of the natural world, though we may have forgotten it. Rewilding has become something of a buzzword in conservation. Rewilding aims to allow nature to recover from what has been done to it. Whereas conservation has measurable aims and is generally geared towards conserving what we have left at the moment, rewilding is more nature driven, and less of a human effort.
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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.
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As the new year becomes something more real and tangible, I say we take the feelings of goodwill, merriment and joy that is plentiful at this time and take it into the future. I say we become Lords of Misrule, taking that which does not serve us, that which oppresses us and strangles us all and smash it to pieces. I say we become as the Lord of Misrule and seize back the power that we all have.
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As we stand on the precipice, our magicks must become wild once more. They must transform to fit the age, as they ever have. We must transform if we are to fight back against the injustices Capitalism forces on nature and on ourselves. Our magicks must become that of dirt, blood and bone.
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Samhain approaches. We enter the dark. Some hate the passing of the summer but I am ready, though summer already feels like a distant memory. A Ghost. We find ourselves in the twilight of the year, in autumn and already dusk has fallen. We stand on the brink of nightfall and as we head towards Samhain we find ourselves in that liminal time and space where the ghosts feel closer, the nights colder and darker, our moods a little more melancholic.
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Sometimes the only thing we might have to give is comfort, and that’s okay. Comfort can be precious.
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I don’t blame Mother Grundy for wanting to piss off and live in the wilds, to turn her back on a society that turns in on itself instead of standing together. I feel like that sometimes too, but of course, nowadays many of us don’t have the luxury of doing that, of escaping to live in the countryside, after all, the land is no longer free and belongs to those with deep pockets and corrupt.
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I am reminded of those who, believe it or not,
with no awe, reverence or kinship feel like trashing it all
preaching on the divine...
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There is a magic in nature, one that cannot be described by words alone. It is a soul deep feeling that nourishes and makes us strong. Losing that feeling, disconnecting from that nature is the root of many of today’s problems. It is what makes us use and abuse the planet, the environment, animals and other humans. We forget that all is connected, that there is one whole and whilst we all may be separate, individuals, we are also all connected. Destroy one part and we destroy ourselves.
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The deep, dark wild woods, mysterious and magical, have an almost mythic status amongst Pagans. Indeed there is something so alluring about losing oneself beneath the canopy of the forest. However, for the beginner, the best place to start is somewhere close to you, somewhere you can visit daily or weekly. It can be a garden if you have one, or a local patch of trees, whatever. What is important is that you can get there as often as possible.
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