Nimue Brown's Blog, page 69

Pooka Dancing

This is another one of those stories about my child, shared with his permission. I’ve posted before about the strange business with the invisible dog, but there was also an issue with pookas.

It started when I found a very small James dancing about in the living room, apparently on his own, but with his hands raised as though he was holding hands with someone taller than him. He was just about talking at this point, so I asked him who he was dancing with, and he announced that this was pooka dancing. 

I’m reasonably confident that pookas were not beings James had been told about before he mentioned them. If you’re new to the word, it’s an old English word with a lot of different spellings, and it means a goblin or fairy creature. There’s some good content about the Irish variant on Morgan Daimler’s blog – https://www.patheos.com/blogs/agora/2016/11/irish-american-witchcraft-into-the-dark-of-samhain/

They’re generally thought to be mischievous and tricksy, and are shapeshifters. They might steal you away and drop you in a ditch somewhere. I’m not honestly sure how you’d tell between a pooka horse and a kelpie horse – and kelpies are prone to drowning people so it’s an important consideration! 

As with the invisible dog, the pookas did not become explanations for James acting out. He just danced with them sometimes. As he grew, incidents of pooka dancing decreased.

I remember from my own early years that my understanding of language went far beyond anything I could reliably articulate. I remember phrases that were said to me, and that I am certain are reliable memories but that I am also sure I should not have been able to understand at the time. I do wonder if there was something similar going on. Children can be decidedly uncanny creatures, and I cannot help but think of all the many stories out there of children cheerfully describing their previous lives, and I wonder about that, too.

Seeking wild water

As a child, I had a bit of a thing about running water, especially streams in woodlands, and waterfalls, none of which were part of my immediate landscape. I was late learning to swim, so I wasn’t keen on the idea of doing more than getting my feet wet. I was drawn to small streams, and to the one spring I knew about.

Where I live now, there are a lot of streams, small rivers and springs. The springs in particular change with the weather conditions, with even the more reliable ones drying up sometimes, and new ones appearing briefly in unexpected places when there’s been a lot of rain. There are several streams and a spring in very short walking distance from my home. If I’m equal to going a few miles, a lot of wilder water is available to me.

I find encountering the sound of water to be really powerful. How much water is on the move greatly informs the sound. The small river / large stream nearest to me is almost inaudible when it is swollen. In drier conditions, there are weirs, and the water makes a lot of noise when it is shallow and passing over them. The canal only makes sounds around the lock gates and where there are water management features. The lakes are quiet.

Getting into wild water is something I find appealing, but I’m also conscious that it can do a lot of damage. That can include erosion of banks, adding chemicals to the water – not that there’s ever much on my skin, and moving diseases around. We had a few years when crayfish diseases were an issue locally and there were a lot of signs requesting people stayed out of the water to avoid spreading that. Sometimes it is more than enough just to put a hand in the water, and to feel the coldness of it, and the flow.

I’ve always found wild water to be spiritual, and connecting with it and experiencing it has a soothing, uplifting effect on me. I try not to fetishise what seems to be wild – most of the water in the UK is managed in some way. Many of the streams where I live were straightened for early water mills, some of the ponds are millponds. They still support a lot of wildlife, and there’s a lot of aliveness in that water even if it has been interfered with. There is something wonderful though about water that declines to be managed, though. I take great delight in water that is not behaving inline with human expectations.

Processing distress

When painful things happen, it can take time to make peace with them. That doesn’t necessarily mean forgetting, forgiving or putting something down – some griefs are so huge and life altering that all you can do is learn how to carry them. Sometimes, it’s not so much about recovery as about learning how to adapt to the changes loss has brought. It takes time, and how much time it takes is a really personal thing.

For a lot of people, there are definite benefits to be had in externalising whatever it is that hurts. That can mean pouring the pain into creative expression. It can mean journaling to express what hurts in a more direct way. It might include talking to people. Many of us find that doing something helps to focus and clarify whatever we’re thinking and feeling. Having that witnessed by someone else can also be helpful – feeling understood can of itself be a significant balm.

It’s important if someone is talking about pain not to rush in to try and fix things. Listen or read first. Giving a person space to express themselves is of itself a really helpful thing to do, even if it doesn’t feel that way. It can be tempting to want to reassure people and tell them things aren’t so bad, or that they will get better, but having space for the distress allows the person suffering to work some of it out of their system. It’s a delicate thing, judging when to start mopping someone up and offering solutions. If the problem is essentially a practical one – like needing somewhere to live – then getting on with practical solutions is often a good choice. When the issue is grief itself, it’s often better to let people grieve. If what’s lost can’t be given back, then time needs to be made for dealing with that.

How do you tell if you are wallowing in it or making too much of a fuss? Firstly, if someone is telling you that’s what you’re doing, they are talking invariably about their own comfort and not your wellbeing. If you are hurting then you need to deal with that pain. If you are overwhelmed, unable to process it or otherwise struggling with the process, you may need help. You might want professional help. People who have been through similar things might be able to help. Any human experience has probably been written about by someone else already, the internet is full of resources. Finding out how other people dealt with similar things can be really useful.

If you are the sort of person to worry about wallowing, or self pity, then that’s almost certainly not what’s happening anyway. If in doubt, ask yourself what you’re getting out of how you are handling the distress, and go from there. I think the only time to question what you’re doing is if you start to think you are uniquely suffering, and that all resources should be directed towards you. Most people have things they struggle with, there’s a lot of pain out there. If you’re able to feel compassion for others and act on that, then there’s nothing problematic about how you are handling your own distress.

It’s also worth noting that complex trauma plays out in weird and complicated ways. It might be something relatively small, like a broken washing machine that breaks you – not because you experience it as an insurmountable problem, but because you’ve run out of cope. Apparently over-reacting to apparently small things may be an issue if you’re already dealing with a lot of distress. If this is happening to you, try to be gentle with yourself as much as you can.

I made a comment in a previous post about people who double down on their own misery. There have been a few of them in my life, but on the whole it’s rare and not what most people do. It tends to go with high levels of privilege and an inability to keep their relatively small problems in perspective. What I find unbearable is people who clearly have the means to change their lives and solve their (usually minor) problems, and who repeatedly choose not to do that. I notice that it most usually goes with a total unwillingness to offer any support or care to anyone else. In some instances I’ve seen it go alongside an assumption that everyone else is making a massive fuss too – what people assume of others often has a lot to do with what they themselves are doing.

Beltain energy

Where I live in the UK, there is often something of a surge of new growth and energy around Beltain. Usually by this point in the year the trees are all in leaf and the ground-level greenery is rife. At the moment I’m seeing a lot of nettles and cleavers coming up, with archangels and dandelions in bloom. There’s lots of bird activity – clearly nesting is well under way. Exactly when this upswing comes varies from year to year and will also depend on where you are.

There have been years when I’ve really struggled to keep up. I don’t actively like winter, but at the same time, the cold and dark can get a substantial grip on my psyche and when all that new growth energy comes zooming in, I’m not always ready for it. This Beltain energy can be sudden and intense.

I’ve been doing better than average this year. I’ve found the cold spring odd – this is clearly another consequence of climate chaos and we just have to get on with it. Every weather weirdness is a reminder to keep trying, keep campaigning and speaking up and trying to create change. But day to day, we just have to live with what’s going on as best we can. 

Emotionally it’s been a turbulent time for me, with a lot of challenges, and also a lot of opportunities. I’ve been doing a lot of inward facing work, getting to grips with some of my history and issues. That’s inevitably been messy at times, but I feel like my roots are stronger than they were and that I’m ready for this season of flourishing and growth. I’m ready to stretch skywards and put out leaves, flowers, whatever else I turn out to have.

Flourishing and decay are all part of the natural cycles of life. When what’s going on in your inner life aligns with what’s going on in the world, that can really help you feel connected to the season. Of course it doesn’t always work out that way. Life has its own tides and currents, for one, and for another we aren’t plants and we don’t necessarily respond to the seasons as if we were. Some of us wilt in the heat and thrive in the cold. Some of us are at our best around the softer equinox days. 

It’s always worth stopping to think about how your personal energies relate to the season. However, if you’re not living the wheel of the year in terms of the shape of your life, there’s no shame in that. Grief can come in high summer. We might find ourselves building in the autumn, not falling away. Once you start looking around however, it becomes apparent that the seasons are full of stories, and that there probably is some other kind of being whose experiences parallel yours.

This year I feel like a coppiced wood, cut back hard in the dark part of the year, and coming back into new growth. Some years it has felt like I was the last thing to leaf. If nothing else, relating to the wheel of the year is a way of holding the space for change. Nothing stays the same forever, and whatever life brings right now you can be sure it will bring something else in the future. The aim of connecting isn’t to try and be in control of what’s happening, nor – I think – to try and make your inner life follow the shape of the seasons. Instead, I think what we get from connecting with the changing seasons, is being more open to change and better able to flex with whatever comes, be that a cold spring, or a massive personal shift.

Contemplating love

Of all the emotions humans have, love seems to be the one we have the most trouble talking about. We seem able to agree about what it means to be sad, or angry, or happy. Love is complicated. It can lead people to say things like ‘I only hit you because I love you.’ It can take people to places where they act unkindly out of jealously. The pain associated with love can lead people to the most unloving actions imaginable.

I’m increasingly convinced that love is not an emotion. Love is a mix of emotions, and each of us makes that blend in their own way. For some people, lust is the primary feeling powering love, and when the lust burns out, the love leaves with it. For others, love is dominated by the need to give, to sacrifice and to take care of another being. Romantic love for a sexual partner is different from love for a friend, or familial love, but all of these things can be love. It depends on what your personal blend is.

For me, inspiration and love have always been entwined. Love inspires me, and when I am inspired I also love. For a lot of my life, love was measured in terms of pain and how much I was willing to endure for someone. At this point I am very deliberately taking that out of the mix. I am not going to love on those terms anymore.

I experience love as a warm, heart opening sensation. It is the joy of experiencing someone else’s happiness, and the delight of things shared. It’s full of acceptance, trust, and tenderness. It can be a very soft, giving sort of feeling, and also a fierce, passionate intense sort of feeling depending on who or what is inspiring it. I have no doubt that it is the best of me.

My suspicion is that we all make a lot of choices around what love means to us, how we express it and how we understand it. Most of those choices aren’t made consciously and for many of us these things were learned in early childhood. So we grow up associating love with food, or with punishment, with affection or with pressure to achieve. In theory we all have the scope to change those stories and to reimagine what love means in our lives.

Going beyond sustainability

My latest book is out today and widely available – you can find it or order it from pretty much anywhere that sells books.

What does it mean to go beyond sustainability, and why should we do that? The most obvious answer is that given the mess we’re in, sustaining things as they are isn’t anything like good enough. We need to be restorative, giving land back to nature, rewilding, cleaning up after ourselves and taking responsibility for the havoc our species has wrought.

Going beyond sustainability is also about improving life for humans. So many people live in precarious and unsustainable ways – not through their own choice, but from lack of better options. Social justice and equality very much go hand in hand with moving beyond sustainability. We need better ways of doing things. Humans need restorative action too.

Most of us do not benefit from capitalism and will suffer the impacts of climate crisis. We need better and more resilient systems based on compassion and a fundamental respect for life. We need gentler lives with more intrinsic rewards and more that makes us actually happy. 

I’ve written this book for individuals. There’s not a heck of a lot of point me trying to tell governments and corporations what to do, but cultures are just large numbers of individuals, and when we talk to each other, we can seed change. My main aim with this book is to make the case that the things we’d need to do as a species to stop trashing the planet would lead us to happier lives. If more of us start moving towards happier choices then there’s only win here and maybe by trying to be happier on these terms we can encourage and enable change on a bigger scale.

You can find out more on my publisher’s website, and books can be bought directly from there. https://www.johnhuntpublishing.com/moon-books/our-books/earth-spirit-beyond-sustainability

Cleansing and being dirty

I’m wary of the idea that cleansing is something we, or our sacred spaces automatically need. The notion of purity can take us in really unhelpful directions, fuelling feelings of shame and inadequacy. Dirt is nature, our animal bodies are messy, and ‘negative’ emotions are part of the human experience. 

At the same time, cleaning can be a restorative and healing practice. In the physical sense, it is good for our wellbeing to clean our bodies and the physical things we live with. Water on skin is a deeply restorative thing both physically and emotionally. Physical wounds need keeping clean as they heal, and we might ask how spiritual and emotional wounds need caring for. 

Cleansing can be a good response to feeling stuck. It can be a good symbolic gesture when you feel like you need to let go or move on in some way. You might feel you have things you need to put down or remove from your life, and in that context, any symbolic action that seems appealing is likely to be helpful.

The process of cleaning can, in the normal scheme of things, bring a person into contact with a lot of chemicals. What do we put on our bodies in the name of cleanliness? What does that actually do to us? How much microplastic is in our bodies as a consequence? What kinds of things are we releasing into our homes for the sake of the kinds of shininess we see in adverts? What do we inhale from that? What will it do to us in the longer term? We are sold a lot of things with the notion that they make us cleaner, when actually what’s happening is that we are exposing ourselves to a lot of chemicals. 

It’s important to ask what you mean to strip away, and what the implications are. To what degree are we simply trying to deny the idea that we are natural beings with animal bodies? I’d rather have fewer chemicals in my home and more spiders. I like the spiders. And equally, on a spiritual level I’m not trying to strip away impurities, or ‘raise’ myself out of my human condition.

Sometimes though, things happen that feel sticky and unwelcome. For that, I need antidotes. The things I find most helpful are spending time with running water, and under trees. Forest bathing works in all kinds of ways, and doesn’t feel like trying to escape from anything real or natural. Time with trees takes away the unwelcome feelings, and is an antidote to what capitalism does. Time with my hands in soil does the same – actual dirt feels genuinely cleansing to me, and the bacteria we encounter in soil tends to be actively good for us. Humans are full of friendly bacteria when we’re functioning properly, and sterile environments aren’t good for us. Sometimes to feel better we need to be dirtier.

Raising children without dogma

I know many Pagan parents who feel strongly about not imposing their religion on their children but who still want to be able to share their faith in a meaningful way. It’s a really important issue because participation in religious activity is important socially, in terms of identity and can be a big part of how we relate to our families. At the same time, a lot of us feel that religion should be something you choose, not something you have done to you.

There are a lot of things you can meaningfully share as a Pagan parent without getting into the issue of belief.

Nature studies of any kind are a meaningful thing to share with a child. Spend time outside, get to know the nature in your area, teach love and respect for the natural world and introduce your child to the wonder of wild things. Encourage them to treat wild things and places kindly and not to see nature as just another thing to use and consume.

Celebrating the cycle of the seasons. Most Pagan festivals have something to do with the seasons and/or agriculture, so you can celebrate festivals by focusing on those aspects. 

Learning about myths, legends, cultures and folklore. Most Pagan paths draw heavily on Pagan literature from the past, so it makes sense to introduce children to lots of stories from different times and cultures. You can also visit museums, and places in the landscape where history is visible. Tell your own family stories if that works for you.

Talk about religions – if your child has some idea of what religions are and how a few of them work, then they have a context for thinking about Paganism. There’s a lot of diversity within Paganism, and giving your children chances to see some of that is a really good idea. Talking about belief without asserting that you have a monopoly on truth gives your children more scope to make their own sense of things.

If you’re successfully raising a child as a Pagan, they won’t just parrot what you say. They’ll have awkward questions, their own ideas, a desire to do things on their terms. They’ll argue and have different priorities to you, and they will be wary of authority. Very much like adult Pagans, in fact!

Get Passionate Or Go Home

“Get passionate or go home” was something my musical co-conspirator Robin Burton said in a recent rehearsal. He wasn’t talking about me (thankfully) but it was a phrase that got in my head and has been floating about there ever since. As a performance issue, it’s a really important one. We’d been talking about people who don’t put much feeling into what they’re doing.

When it comes to being an audience member, I’m often more moved by the enthusiasm of a performer than I am by how technically good they are. People can be technically very good, and just cranking it out in a way that leaves me cold. The ideal is a combination of technical strength and emotional intensity, and people who can do both are stunning. 

I don’t know that there’s a great deal of point doing things I’m not prepared to be wholehearted about. How much I can put into something depends on how well I am, but the desire to give everything I have – both as a performer and as a person – is very much in me. One of the things I really appreciate about working with Robin is that he has that willingness to pour everything into a song, and to take chances and take leaps in the dark. I was one of those – he hadn’t heard me play viola when he suggested we might explore doing music together.

I don’t like me much when I’m being muted and cautious, although that’s a habit I’ve been in for some years now. I worry about overwhelming people, being too much and too difficult. But really, what’s the point of doing anything if I’m not prepared to be wholehearted and give everything I’ve got? One of the great things about performing is that it creates a space where being full-on isn’t a problem, and I’m keen to have more of that.

Get passionate or go home. Which also means not apologising for taking up space. Not making yourself smaller or tidier in order to fit in or make other people more comfortable. Not being afraid of whatever feelings emerge around whatever you’re doing. Not being afraid to engage, and feel and commit to something. For anyone on the bard path, it’s excellent advice. If your creative expression isn’t also an expression of your passion then at the very least you need to give that some serious thought.

What drives you and inspires you? What are you passionate about? What lights a fire under you, or in you, or gives you the feeling of inspiration? Does it blaze in your heart or in your head? Or both? What happens when you put that into the world, or let it flow through you to emerge in whatever you’re doing?

Contemplating dandelions and joy

This week, the dandelions bloomed in earnest. There’s a buzz of insect life in the air, and where other plants are in flower there’s been a cheering amount of activity. With the year turning towards summer here in the UK, it’s finally been warm enough for some sitting out.

I very much like sitting out as a contemplative practice. Simply being in a space and paying attention to it is an effective way of connecting with the land. I don’t try and direct my thoughts while I’m doing this, I just try to stay present to what’s around me and let whatever emerges happen.

It struck me that the combination of warm sunlight and a cool breeze is profoundly lovely. It had been a while since I’d encountered such perfect conditions, and I took the time simply to relish it. Taking time to rest in the sun is something that really works for me – when the conditions allow that. Breathing slowly and relaxing into the gentleness of the day allowed me to contemplate my situation.

Dandelions are such incredibly joyful things. The plants themselves are tremendously resilient – something my writing partner David Bridger has been talking about a lot this week, which is why I was paying attention to them. At this point in the year, with the trees only just re-greening, the colour intensity of dandelion flowers is really something to behold. They are so easily dismissed as weeds, or overlooked. I took the time to appreciate them, to love their vibrant, sunny yellow and their role in feeding bees and other insects.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how and why I burn out, and what I need to change to avoid that. I’m fairly sure that I can pour from myself in a sustained way if it feels like I’m getting things done. Aside from the number of hours I can be active in a day, there aren’t many limits on my ability to give if the giving is meaningful. What’s worn me down over the years are too many situations where giving everything didn’t seem to change anything. I’ve been reviewing those experiences.

There is considerable joy for me in being able to make a difference. That joy is key to everything. Where I’ve got into trouble, it’s because I’ve waded in for people who were crying out for help, but who in practice simply wanted the attention and had no intention of being helped. I’m very much up for paying attention to people when that helps them, but people who want attention while they double down on their own misery are soul destroying for me. My own mental health suffers too much if nothing I do is meaningful or can make a difference.

I can be more resilient if I make time for joy. I have more to give if I spend time on things that nourish me. Sometimes that can be as simple as sitting in the sun, appreciating the cool breeze and delighting in the flowers. I need birdsong, and the flow of the stream. I can do a great deal with small and peaceful joys so long as I make a point of seeking them out. That means having time in the day, and not being so overwhelmed by everything else that I don’t feel able to make time for my own needs.

I’m thinking a lot at the moment about how to bring more joy into my life, and who might be likely co-conspirators for the kinds of shenanigans that delight me. I’m wondering how much good I can do simply by creating more space for happiness.