Performance Druidry
I’m not sure what I make of this line of thought, but, here goes. I’ve been reflecting on how I do my Druidry and have come to the conclusion that I’m more overtly Druidic if I’ve got an audience. If it’s just me and nature, then I’ll say ‘hello sky, hello trees’ and whatnot, and then mostly listen. I was down at the river last night. “Hello river, hello hills, hello sunset, hello gulls.” And then rather a lot of just being there, looking, listening, feeling, breathing. I didn’t have any urge to do anything much. Then on the walk home I started talking about the autumn equinox, and I heard myself slip into Druid ritual mode. It was an odd moment.
I’ve done time on stage – mostly with the music, but a bit of amateur theatricals, some storytelling and some public speaking. I know all about the high that is a round of applause, the joys of public appreciation… I never got to public adulation territory, but I’ve been part of adoring crowds and have some sense of how that works. I’m reasonably confident that the performance Druid thing is not merely a desire to get a hearty clap at the end.
I think what happens has everything to do with my desire to inspire and engage other people. I reach for the best words I can find, the most potent language that captures the essence of the moment. I’m open to the spirits of place, taking inspiration from them to help others be more aware of their presence. I try harder.
When it’s just me and the sky, the pace is different, and the intention. I feel the inspiration, but am not motivated to express it right then. It moves into me, through me. I am changed, I grow, but this is all pretty subtle and from the outside won’t look like much at all.
I look most like a Druid when there’s an audience to work with.
Looking back, those times of performance Druidry tended to leave me shattered, physically. Sometimes mentally and emotionally as well. I’d give my all, and it would leave me exhausted and empty. What I got out of that was a sense of being helpful to others, which is important to me. And sometimes fragments of inspiration from what I’d done and said, would stay, but more often, not. When I’m open, it rushes through me. Does the flute remember the tune after the flautist has stopped playing? I felt I was neither tune nor player at those times, just a carrier, a medium.
If I’m out there on my own, or with people who do not need performance Druidry, I can quietly say hello rain, hello geese, and feel the experience nourishing me.
If I go back to doing performance Druidry, I shall make sure there’s a lot more time when I’m doing the less visible work, for my own benefit. Because I need to, and I no longer think my only function is to be a flute on which other things play tunes. There is a difference between looking like a Druid, and being a Druid, sometimes. I think I’m more confident about recognising the importance of the less obvious stuff now.
