It was one of those perfect summer days, with a high blue sky and that rare British experience of the air being warm even in the shade. So somehow the day seemed to fully complement the love and warmth being celebrated in our little wild wisdom community as we gathered, some of us after one year and some after two, of learning together. We often speak in our meetings of holding a warm welcome for both ‘dark and bright knowledge’ – for what seems difficult as much as what seems delightful – and here it was manifested in a summer celebration.
We were also blessed with a perfect place to meet, in the summer gardens and beautiful old barns of Jan and Henry’s lovely home. There were many highlights for me across the day, each like snap shots of the sweetness of people sharing… good food, good conversation and more… and all of them set within a lovingly restored and cared for home and garden, from its ancient red earth cob walls to the the most recently opened rose.
Here are a few of the pictures that still shine within my mind and heart:
Seeing several generations of people, who didn’t know each other even a year ago, tucking into the crisps and Jan’s home blended Pimms on arrival…
Listening to Henry’s elderly mother laughing gleefully with Abigail, while we danced and chanted around them and the fire…
Tucking into a delicious home cooked feast surrounded by the buzz of lively conversation at the long lunch tables…
Feeling the cool touch of the water which flows through the gardens, meeting the sleeping bats, admiring the veggie garden, smelling the sweet scented lavender and roses…
Glimpsing little knots of folks finding magical places to talk, or rest, or wander…
Squeezing altogether into the shade of a very small tree to drink tea, read poetry and watch an impromptu play offered by our youngest members…
small ford at the farm
deluxe chicken house!
just enough shade…
and more than I can describe!
I’m not sure when I was last so happy for so many hours and I got the impression that others were feeling similarly, for as the sun started to sink, we all found it noticeable difficult to leave, lingering beside the cars for one last conversation and yet another hug.
It strikes me now, as I write, how very challenging life can be. How easy it is to feel lonely, to feel despair, to feel disturbed by all the genuinely distressing things that unfold in our own lives and in the wider world. It’s easy to focus on all the ways in which us humans are destructive towards each other and the natural world… and yet, we also have this incredible capacity to create, to build community, to love and to learn and this summer celebration, co created by an incredibly diverse group of people who were once strangers to one another, is a small token of what may be possible when we truly do extend a warm welcome to the dark and bright knowledge in us all.
Stepping once again into the sea of the unknown; a warm greeting of women who met the day before, while I was absent. I’m listening intently, straining a little to catch the nuance, the implications that have meaning from the beginning of the story, I’m here in support of the second half of the story but I have no idea what happened at the start. Slowly I settle back down and my absence the day before gradually becomes less important.
We begin with a meditation, Sam reminds us of the four fold ways of knowing and how they connect with the four ways of consciousness. She also tells us about the four gateways and how they can be symbolised by the seven branched candlestick, the Menorah of the Jewish tradition, a representation of the Tree of Life, which may also be linked with the ancient wooden poles of the Hebrew Goddess Asherah. These may have been familiar to the first Hebrew Matriarch, Sarah, who features in the Bible as Abraham’s wife and may also possibly have been a Priestess of Ur. The Temple of Ur was dedicated to the Nanna and Ningal the God and Goddess of the Moon, whose daughter was Inanna with her consort, Dumzi.
The first gate is represented by the feet of the Menorah, the base, the ground on which many traditions are built and symbolises physical awareness and the world of manifestation. When we imagine our bodies like a Menorah or Tree the base sits at our feet and their contact with the earth. The second gate is where the first branches open out and represents our thoughts, feelings and all the creative potential of the psyche, which in our own bodies can be imagined in the pelvic bowl. The third gate opens from the next pair of branches and is our capacity to witness, to return to our centre. It is heartfelt mindfulness and the capacity to be with what is. And finally the fourth gate, represented by the centre light and imagined at the crown of our bodies, takes us into the heavenly realm where we are able to love what is and be awakened to the Divine light. In Biblical story it is exemplified by Moses who sees the little scrubby prickly bush as Divine light, he sees it burning with inner light. Being able to love what is…
During this explanation I feel something of the richness of traditions; stories within stories, tradition within tradition. How each story builds upon the stories that have gone before it and how important it is to hold an awareness of the stories from the past. If a story is presented to someone who has absolutely no knowledge of the earlier stories they will only hear one side of the story; like looking at a diamond but only from one facet. Approaching the stories from a poetic and slightly disorganised angle, as is my personal way, the stories seem to wash over me like watercolours in a wash, each story adding more richness to the colour and texture.
After the meditation we spent some time outside in the summer filled garden, walking barefoot, tasting flower petals, herbs, listening to the wind and smelling the season on the breeze. Our bodies engulfed in the fragrance of summer, we stepped inside to explore the mid summer solstice with our minds;
The Summer Solstice; an expression of heavenly bodies, the sun and the earth, a time when the sun appears to stand still. We shared both personal and scientific explanations of this time of year. We also talked about shadow and the lack of darkness that can possibly drive us a little crazy, how we need the shadow, just as we need the light and the challenges that can present at this time of year. We also learnt about some Jewish festivals; the Passover and Shavuot ; the time of the summer harvests and receiving the Torah. A time when Ruth and her mother-in-law gleaned the grain that had been left behind because they had nothing. How this story expressed a practise of always leaving some grain for those who are in need including the wild creatures . And I can reflect now, a few weeks on from our day, my own sense of neediness in these confusing political times…a fear that is creeping in, and how my need is for rich stories, for trust, for friends to hold me steady.
Over lunch I’m aware of Sam allowing a little summer craziness to pour through us all, there is lots of laughter, some in joy, some in shocked outrage. It all feels in keeping with the lush, almost overwhelming abundance of nature at this time. How can we hold it all in check at this lightfilled time when shadows are so low. Yet we all know they will rise up again. There is a tension, a midsummer madness, where nothing is quite as it seems. Maybe it is healthy to fully open ourselves to the now, knowing as we do, that it won’t last, that the cycles of time are as surely turning. What is there to hold onto but the truth of sunshine and the deep treasury of stories from the past?
In the afternoon we have a period of silence. My body feels full, almost too full. I decide to go for a run; through the lanes and past trees in blossom. I pick some Elderflowers and think of Elderflower champagne and the story of the Elder mother – a wise medicine woman who asks nothing in return but respect. I whisper a quick asking and a ‘thank you’ for her flowers. On the table in the room where we have gathered, we have been invited to build a mandala to the four directions. I introduced my pack of fairy cards (of which the Elder mother is one) and each person took a fairy from the pack to aid her in silence. When we return together we create a simple ceremony of sharing and communion, passing some rhubarb liqueur from hand to hand, meeting eye to eye. There is a sadness that this is the last meeting this year. But also a joy that the community will continue in whatever wild way each of us wishes. Sam asks us to consider what we would like for the coming year. She is very clear that she will continue with this work and that we are all welcome. But there is no pressure. As the cycles turn some of us will choose to throw ourselves into new winds, new traditions but the stories, like Russia dolls, will continue to nestle in each one of us. No holding on, no pressure, while the core continues to turn. Thank you Sam and each one of us!
