Belonging not Belonging

Over the years I’ve been through several groves, half a dozen or so moots, various pagan organisations, online gatherings and lose social groupings. There are lots of reasons for moving on – many groups run out of steam and die of natural causes. Moving area cost me a lot of groups I would not have chosen to leave. But there’s also those harder times when you have to recognise that you don’t really fit and aren’t getting much out of an experience. Or it’s made clear to you that you just aren’t wanted.

I’ve wondered, writing the other posts about my history as a druid, how to tackle this thorny issue. I think in all relationships, including group ones, it has to be ok to leave or to express difficulty. People do not always get on, things do not work. I was, for example, entirely open at the time, about leaving www.thepaganandthepen.wordpress.com where I started druidlife as a column. I wanted my own space, I didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else anymore, and I didn’t want to have to worry about how my words impacted on the other folk there.

When I started druidlife as a column, I wondered if it was ok to call it that. I worried people would think I was speaking for druids and druidry in a way that I shouldn’t. I worried that I might accidentally cause conflict or bring druidry into disrepute. I left pagan and pen quietly, for my own reasons, and I left it with plenty of good people at the helm. At the time I was also fragile, exhausted, close to a total emotional breakdown and being fairly public about having escaped from an abusive relationship. Although I was struggling with responsibilities at pagan and pen, no one asked me to leave, nor would they have done for those reasons.

But somewhere else, other people did. I chose, for my own reasons, not to say much about it at the time. I knew I was dangerously close to breaking point and afraid that I was indeed a liability and that I might indeed bring paganism into disrepute just by being me, and being in trouble. I was also in a place of such low self esteem that I accepted the judgement, and felt personal shame over it. For a while I wondered if I had any entitlement at all to call myself a pagan, much less anything more specific.

Then a thing started to happen. One by one, people from my community got in touch with me. They sent words of love and reassurance, and also words of anger over the situation I was in. They rebuilt my sense of community and belonging, and I learned who my true friends are. What had been a personal disaster slowly transformed into a deep process of changing my perceptions, clarifying my beliefs and making me realise who I could depend on, and who I truly care for. Those of you who were there, should know who you are. I hold a deep and abiding love for the people who did not let me become totally isolated during that hard time. For the people who stood up for me, and who kept talking to me, and who did not reject me just because I was in trouble.

However, I came out of that period thinking that I probably wasn’t a group or organisation person after all. I retreated from involvement other places too. I didn’t want to go through anything like that again. I had rather imagined that I would continue with a community of individual friendships, but not seek to belong anywhere. And then life took another twist. When Druidry and Meditation came out, I contacted a few OBOD folk and mentioned that I’d been an OBODie. In the last few weeks I’ve swapped a lot of emails. I’ve got a blog post to write for them, I’ll be joining their celebrants listing, and they will carry my book in their store. Just thinking about this has brought a lump to my throat. I’m not your classic OBOD type, no white robes here, I’m scruffy, chaotic, unscripted… and they still want me. That feeling of being held by an organisation that has seen some worth in what I do, is worth more to me than I know how to express.

The desire to belong is, I think, a fairly basic one. When I first went solitary we talked on this blog about the degree to which solo druidry is a viable thing. There is such a strong community aspect to druidry, that at first I had no idea how to be a grove of one. I have my family unit, but we don’t do formal ritual. So I recognise that all through the last few years, I have wanted a place to fit and feel welcomed, but had come to the point of thinking it wasn’t even worth an ask. I don’t want to be tolerated. I don’t want to be put up with, grudgingly accepted and kept an eye on in case I do something inappropriate. I want a place to be where I’m accepted, warts and all. I can honestly say I never thought that would be OBOD. I thought OBOD too formal and myself too… all those other things. I never thought any organisation would be so positive about me. There’s the lovely folk at Moon Books too, enthusiastic about my work, pleased to include me. It changes my scope for imagining who I am. It will be a while before I stop looking over my shoulder and wondering if it’s really ok, but at least I can hope.

Rational Female

This is an answer to Alison’s feedback on Facebook feminism.

I have no idea how long my own culture and those similar to it have been tending to view rationality as masculine and emotion as feminine. I think it’s an idea that is receding in influence, a bit, but we’ve a way to go. It’s a bloody stupid idea. It reinforces ideas of gender difference, underpins all those arguments that for so long kept women out the workplace, politics and anywhere else involving power. It’s also a thought form that encourages us to raise our sons not to cry, or acknowledge pain. Anger is about the only emotion some men feel allowed, and that doesn’t help anyone.

Plenty of very serious, sensible, rational people who I have met along the way firmly believe that emotion itself is irrational. The only rational thing to do with emotion, is to squash it, Mr Spok style. I have had plenty of encounters with both men and women where the expression of emotion has been treated as evidence of my irrationality. I have also had plenty of people tell me to my face that I’m cold hearted, unfeeling, and an ice queen for not expressing my feelings in a suitably feminine way. I’ve been told that when I do occasionally show how I feel, others consider this suspect and assume I am just trying to manipulate them. I can’t win.

Everything that happens inside our heads, be it ‘intellectual’ or ‘feeling’ involves the same brain, the same brain chemistry, the same little electrical impulses. Emotions involve hormones, physiological reactions created by all our history of evolution. They are not separate and ‘other’ but intrinsic to being human. Most importantly, emotion is not irrational. Emotion can be discussed, explored, contemplated, understood, harnessed, celebrated. We have emotional intelligence. This desire to separate things out goes with a long history of dualism. Mind and body. Body and soul. Introvert and extrovert. Stable and neurotic. Thinking and feeling. These are methods for putting people in boxes and positioning them on charts: Human creations that are arbitrary in many ways, and reduce our sense of our own natures.

I am a stable, rational, introverted thinking, feeling unstable, irrational extrovert. Most people are.

It is the fear of our emotional selves that makes us comfortable calling it ‘irrational’. If we label feelings as irrational, we can invalidate them and never have to think about what they mean. Depression isn’t a reflection of all that is wrong in the world. Grief and fear are not reactions to abuse. Anger is not a reaction to oppression. That’s a very convenient dismissal that does us far more harm than good. Our emotions are reactions to life as we experience it. If we ignore our own, innate reactions, we ignore what’s happening to us. We live in denial, powerless to make any kind of meaningful change. People who placidly accept may look rational and pragmatic, but they are also far easier to control than one who protests. People who cry are a challenge to those who do not want to engage with anything. People who are enraged to the point of taking action do not necessarily uphold the iniquities of the status quo.

The irrational repression of our emotional lives keeps us prisoner. The irrational belief that emotions are silly makes us weak. The idea that to be rational and able to think in a logical way is unfeminine, is just another way of disempowering ourselves. To be fully human is to be both thinking and feeling. It is to be able to think logically about the implications of our feelings and to be able to respond with emotional insight to intellectual ideas.

Autumn commented on one of my justice blogs that many people are in prison because they just did something, in an unpremeditated way. Crimes of uncontrolled emotion, born in the moment. People who are, I assume, unable to think about their feelings and who consequently have no control over their own actions once their emotions are engaged, or once alcohol or similar has made that easier. Being overwhelmed by emotion should never be an excuse for a dishonourable action. But until we collectively embrace the idea of being able to handle emotion rationally, the idea that an emotion can ‘make us’ do something, will hold sway. And until we can recognise the validity of what our emotions tell us, we remain easily led by anyone who wants to bully us whilst mocking us for the irrationality of our feeling hurt by this.

Druid News

Plans to erect a giant fibreglass replica of the Rio De Janeiro ‘Redeemer Statue’ on top of London’s posh Primrose Hill have been revealed. The project will be funded by the Brazilian government to mark the end of the London 2012 Olympics and the hand over of the torch to the Rio Olympic committee for the 2016 Games. The installation, is based on the famous statue which overlooks Rio harbour from Corcovado mountain.

For the rest of that article, go to http://www.artlyst.com/articles/residents-up-in-arms-over-primrose-hill-jesus

 

As yet, no one has mentioned Druids. However, Primrose Hill in London has been an important meeting place for UK Druid groups for pretty much as long as there have been modern Druids. Those early groups would have been more fraternal and probably self-identifying as Christian, so it’ll be interesting to see what, if anything, their contemporary descendents have to say about it.

 

Having poked about online a bit this morning, I’ve not found any druid feedback, but I have found a lot of people protesting that, surely, Brazil has more important things to spend money on than sticking a statue in London. I have to agree with that. Coming at this as a Druid, the idea of a Christ image at what I personally consider a druid-associated site is at worst, a bit odd and uncomfortable. I don’t live or celebrate there, so my perspective is pretty irrelevant. I would care far more about supporting the wishes of those whose space it is. And mostly they seem perplexed, at present.

 

It is a lot of money to spend when Brazil has rainforests to protect, illegal logging and drugs crime to deal with, a terrifying murder rate and terrible poverty. Jesus and Druids alike ought to be more interested in sorting that out than spending money on something that no one really seems to want and certainly nobody needs.

OBOD Druid

By the time I started the OBOD druid grade, I’d already been involved with running a grove and several meditation circles. It would have been more useful to do this the other way round, but that’s life. When I first landed in the druid grade, it felt like a huge relief after the rigours of ovate studies. Then I started looking around for the next challenge, and didn’t really find it. I know the druid course has changed recently, sounding like it goes deeper and further, so my observations are thoroughly out of date!

The affirmation I found in the druid grade echoes my experience of first coming in as a bard. It was a warm, reassuring sort of experience, and this was undoubtedly a good thing. But at the same time, where was the next testing, stretching challenge going to come from? I’d got into the habit of being a student again, and remembered that I liked it. I didn’t want to stop.

No matter how much revision the druid grade has undergone, it will still be a finite thing. This is very important, and is an issue that transcends any individual course or mentor. You get to the end. There is nothing more they can teach you. This does not mean there is nothing more to learn.

I think the most important thing the druid grade gave me was the sense that I could strike out on my own. I’d spent the best part of four years on the three grades, I’d been tested. Wiser and more experienced folk had looked me over and found me acceptable. I’d done everything in the book. At the end, there was recognition in the form of a certificate, and that felt rather good too. It felt like permission. After all the setbacks and put downs and crap that had got me to OBOD’s door, I’d come through and completed the course. I felt proud of the achievement. I knew that I was perfectly capable of striking out on my own and learning for myself. I also knew that I always had been, that I had been misguided by others for whatever reasons, but that my judgement and inclinations were fine from the start.

I think the very best thing any teacher or course can do for the student is get them to the point where said course, or teacher, are no longer needed.

Time to leave the often walked path through the Druid Forest. I eyed up a number of other clearly marked paths, especially the ADF courses, but didn’t go for it. With no plan, map or sense of direction, I ambled off into the undergrowth to see what would happen. Life brought all manner of things to test my sense of self and druidry to breaking point.

When I finished the OBOD grades, I had an awen tattooed onto my arm – a rite of passage I felt I had earned.

Most of the time I have no idea where I am, but there are plenty of fellow travellers who stop to exchange experiences of the journey. I learned, finishing the druid grade, that it’s not a journey to anywhere specific. There are no prizes for getting further than others or going faster. No one is keeping score. It’s very different from school-based learning. And at the end of the course there was no sense of being finished and ready to move on. In that regard it reminds me a bit of Tai Chi. An expert who has mastered the series of moves for Tai Chi goes back to the beginning and learns them again, doing more, understanding more, and knowing that there are infinite cycles of understanding and experiencing.

Ends are always beginnings. The more you know, the more doors open to things you do not know. And then all the questions about what are we knowing this for, what are we seeking to understand, kicks off a new cycle of exploration.

Facebook Feminism

By the time I discovered feminism, the call to sisterhood and the demand that traditional, female roles and work be taken seriously, had weakened. Growing up in the 1980s, I saw a world in which ‘feminism’ seemed to be about being more like men than the men were. Equal rights meant out to work, with padded shoulders, ruthlessly pushing forward. To my child self, feminism looked too much like Margaret Thatcher, and I wanted none of it. I also encountered plenty of the man-bashing variety, and I didn’t fancy that much either. Years later, at college, I encountered theories of social feminism, of accepting and respecting female roles and history, and all that. I also saw it was a theory, not a practice.

But I was at college in that distant time before Facebook.

Women on Facebook talk about their work, their men, their kids, parents, dogs, dreams and efforts. They post photos of cakes that went well, and cakes that didn’t. Images of things created, rooms decorated, frocks worn. All the traditional things that women have always done, now recorded by digital camera and timeline, and shared, with love. I have one amazing friend called Sharon who is actively reclaiming femininity through the medium of Facebook, and it’s lovely to watch. She’s not the only one, but she’s the most self conscious. It’s femininity on her terms, not anyone else’s. Then, whoever shares, other women and the odd bloke, pile in with observations, congratulations, and friendly noises.

In western culture we equate femininity with emotion, and emotion with irrationality. To show your feelings, to weep, rant, or whoop for joy, is to be emotionally immature. There are some other women who will haul you over the coals for that, even more readily then the men. These would be the women who have donned the suits and attitudes of a still very masculine workplace, and who want to get as far from traditional femininity as they can.

On Facebook, something else is happening. Yesterday, a woman posted ‘I just want to cry all the time. This can’t be normal adult behaviour’ (Or something like that.) Within minutes, other women were there, saying no, I have days like this too. I weep over this as well. Don’t beat yourself up. The anxieties of parenthood, the tears of menstruation, the grief and frustration of the world all sneak out in those few lines of status update. And in the unreal space that is Facebook, we do what many of us would not dare to do in a public, physical space. We say ‘me too.’ We share, and acknowledge and take seriously experiences and emotions that are fundamental to being female.

It’s terrible when you think it’s just you. All the shiny looking women on TV are never spotty, screaming with pre-menstrual tension, covered in baby vomit and holding a cake that failed. All the magazine celebrities shed elegant, solitary tears over betrayals. They don’t howl until their faces are red and snot drips from their noses. At least, not where we can see them.

I have met a lot of men along the way who believe that women are incomprehensible, irrational, unpredictable, unreliable. We’ve all heard the argument that our hormonal cycles make us crazy. I know from doing psychology, that as a culture we view calm rationality (allegedly male traits) as healthy adult behaviour and emotionality as being both female, and neurotic. That’s a hard world to live in, and a bloody unfair one. Rather than fight for the value of emotion, for the power and blessing of being able to express, so many of us have gone along with the pressure to be like men. And you know, I’m not even sure all the biological men are really ‘like men’. I think they’re even more squeezed and restricted by this insane understanding of what being human should mean.

I’m a fine example though. Up until I went through an emotional breakdown last year, I found it almost impossible to cry in front of anyone.

It isn’t easy, to go online and say ‘bad day.’ Just to manage ‘black dog’ or ‘bit gloomy’ is a hard confession to make. But when you do it, and others pile in and remind you that you aren’t alone, aren’t a freak, or incompetent, that’s worth so much. I am very grateful for Facebook. Now all we have to do is figure out how to get that little bit of revolution offline and into the real world.

Robin Herne Interview

I first met Robin Herne through The Pagan Federation, before I’d even started to study Druidry. From then, I was impressed by his evident wisdom, insight and humour. He’s one of the few high profile pagans of whom I have never heard a bad word spoken. Perhaps in part because despite his writings and long standing service in the PF, Robin comes across as being an unassuming sort of chap. Some people are drawn to the limelight because they hunger for attention. Others step up and become visible because they have something to give, something to share. Robin is undoubtedly one of the latter.

 

Nimue: What defines your druid path?

 

Robin: My path is a polytheist one, trying to learn about the deities of the Iron Age tribes of Britain and Ireland. Like many polytheists, I am also open to the existence of deities from outside the immediate pantheon that I follow, and often attend the rituals of other non-druid groups in the area (as well as hosting Kemetic and other rituals). Not only is there my relationships with the gods, but also with the more localised spirits of place. Various people argue over the roles and duties of the druid, but for me this includes my rewarding work as a storyteller, composer of poetry for ritual and pleasure, and teacher. Alongside this is the ongoing quest to deepen my knowledge of native flora and fauna. I also get a great deal of pleasure from brewing and baking which, whilst not especially “druidy” activities, nonetheless serve as a means of expressing hospitality to guests attending rituals and classes in my home and garden ~ which definitely is a very druidy value!

 

Nimue: My, admittedly vague sense of things Kemetic gave me the impression that it’s connected to the cycles of the Nile. How does it work exploring something from such a different land, in the UK? And how does that sit alongside the druidry?

Robin: One of the challenges facing Kemetics (and followers of some other traditions) is the issue of geography. As you say, Kemeticism was heavily centred on a very specific geographical feature, the Nile. Whilst Rome carried the worship of certain Egyptian deities to other parts of the empire, the religion of Egypt really had little interest in spreading beyond the bounds of the Pharaoh’s authority. 21st century Kemetics live all over the world, and each needs to consider how they relate to the Nile. Do they follow its (pre-Aswan Dam) seasonal tides in shaping their calendar, or do they rather see Kemeticism as a religion that celebrates a river (rather than the river) and adapt to the tidal patterns of whatever river is important to the area in which they live? There’s no absolutely correct answer here; for me, perhaps because of the influence of my druidry with its emphasis on spirits of place, I adapt to my local river ~ the Orwell & Gipping which converge in Ipswich. They are scarcely on the scale of the Nile, but I take the approach that to the ancient tribes that once lived here would have seen those rivers as the centre of their lives for fishing, drinking water, trade etc. The divine presence of the Nile is the deity Hapi, the divine presence of the Orwell & Gipping is a very much smaller local entity.

I think one of the challenges that modern pagans need to take into account is this emphasis on locality. The popularisation of Wicca has created a sort of global form of paganism no longer rooted in locality. By this I mean that festivals such as Imbolc and Samhain originated in the agrarian festivals of the Irish, and arguably British, climates. For people living in those lands, especially those whose lives are still heavily involved with sheep or cattle farming or the resultant industries, there is strong reason to still celebrate these dates. For people living thousands of miles away, in markedly different climates, there seems little or no reason to mark those dates ~ especially when it would be more pertinent to honour local agricultural or other environmental events. We have become used to proselytising religions that have a standard set of festivals that do not necessarily reflect local conditions, and I think modern paganism has somewhat slipped into a similar pattern with a standardised set of festivals abstracted from their original context and applied regardless of whether one is in a jungle, desert, coastal district, or frozen tundra. Hopefully the future will see a (re)flourishing of localised celebrations based around both micro-climates and also the life cycles of whatever crops or animals are of greatest prominence to the pagans in question. Such festivals should be planned for when Nature cues them, and not shoe-horned into a rigid pattern dictated by a book or tradition.

 

Nimue: I have to say, I heartily agree with you about the need for localisation. I was very taken with your book Old Gods New Druids, and have the impression you’ve more writing in the offing? Any clues as to where that might be going?

Robin: The next one is ‘Bard Song’, which uses examples of my own poetry to explain to readers how to write in the metrical styles of medieval Ireland and Wales. There are also sections on the poetry of Scandinavia, Rome and Greece, as well as some philosophical musings on the nature and uses of poetry in ritual and magic. The book is due out on March 31st. I am also currently finishing the draft of my first work of fiction, an anthology of supernaturally-themed stories.

 

Nimue: I am officially very excited by this! It’s an idea that has always appealed, but I lack the scholarship to get started – and would bet I’m not alone in that. How did you get into that line of study and work? What’s the path for someone more diligent than me?

Robin: I have been writing poetry since a teenager, and rapidly grew to prefer the challenge of writing structured metrical poetry rather than blank verse. Practical guidelines on writing Irish, Welsh, Norse etc metres were easily available for quite a while, though the advent of widespread Internet has seen a lot more academic resources become accessible to pretty much everyone. The path is simply one of research and practice… and, of course, performance. The nature of this sort of poetry is that it is intended (or was, historically) to be performed for a hopefully appreciative audience. A lot of people are nervous of reading in front of friends (let alone strangers), but I am minded of Joyce Grenfell’s advice that performing to an audience (and just a handful of people are sufficient) creates a wonderful alchemy that can, when it all falls into place, transform the work

 

Nimue: Thank you! How can interested people best go about following you online?

Robin: I have a blog, though it is by invite only as I use it as my “therapy space” when the dogs get bored of listening to me. I have written quite a lot of articles for the Ipswich Pagan Diary, Pagan Dawn, and a couple of other magazines (rarely under my own name, I enjoy using assorted bizarre alter egos… I am a frustrated actor, or perhaps just a living example of John Rowan’s subpersonality thesis) and a number of those appear on www.ipswichpagancouncil.webs.com should anyone fancy a browse. There are other things in other places, but this is all I am willing to admit to in public.

 

Nimue: Coolness. And where might a person locate one of your books?

Robin: They can be ordered via any bookshop. You could order through a certain wellknown on-line company, but please bear in mind that their financial arrangements often push small scale publishing firms into the red by insisting on such hefty cuts. Support your local bookshop instead! Or you might encounter me speaking at some convention or other, and hope that I have a few copies on me! For the fiscally challenged, there’s also the library service.

 

Nimue: Thanks Robin. When the new book comes out, I’ll put out the information in Druid News.

The Lost Bards

At short notice, the Druids around Birmingham some years ago found that the source of open druid ritual was leaving the area. A few of us got together, started an egroup, and started talking. Rapidly, we established a shared belief that open ritual is important and that we wanted to carry on. We hashed out the plan that was to become Bards of the Lost Forest, and at Imbolc that year, started running rituals. We did the usual seasonal 8, non-seasonal rituals, bardic picnics, workshops and kept the egroup going.

 

The Lost Forest, is the forest of Arden which once covered the Midlands. It’s also the inspiration for Tolkien’s Mirkwood. In honouring the lost forests, not just the immediate, geographical one, we embraced a hope of their returning. We honoured the extinct creatures, squared up as best we could to humanity’s impact, shared philosophy and worked towards greener living. Seeking and sharing inspiration was at the heart of everything we did.

 

What I want to do today is just share the underpinning ideas. Bards of the Lost Forest was a big part of my life for a number of years, and I was involved in the running, alongside several others.

 

We had no fixed membership. People joined the egroup if they wanted to be more involved, some only ever came once, plenty were fair weather attendants. Those who tuned up more often, offered to do more and gave more of their energy were the ones with the most influence, but part of the ethos was to include anyone who came. Including the police, on one memorable occasion! (They were lovely). We were druid led, druid inspired but welcomed people of all paths and no path. We welcomed families and there were often children rampaging about, which was never a problem. We shared music, story, inspiration, cake and the elements.

 

It was a space in which I had the joy of watching a lot of people grow and develop. We never used scripts, we’d have a loose plan and people improvised, which made it easier to include unexpected arrivals and respond to conditions on the day. It was always a relaxed circle, with a lot of laughter and playfulness alongside real spiritual intent and depth. People found their own voices, their own words and vision, made commitments, grew more confident on their paths, headed off to start other things, came back with new ideas… it was a thriving community and everything I could ever want a druid grove to be.

 

There was no exclusivity, no dress code, no pressure and very little by way of formal rules or requirements. It flowed beautifully.

 

When I left the Midlands I did so at short notice. It was just before Lugnasadh, and I had to email the group and explain, and apologise. I would not be there. In the weeks that followed I came to realise that I would never be there again in the same way. It was a heartbreaking experience. Messages from the egroup itself made me cry, such that I had to step back from that as well. It looked, at that point, as though the Lost Bards would carry on without me.

 

I’ve been to have a look. It looks like the egroup still exists, but there’s not much to indicate life – although it’s always hard to tell from the outside and with just a few minutes of googling. I do notice that events have returned to Martineau Gardens in Birmingham – someone is doing open gatherings, and that’s the most important bit.

 

The Lost Bards shaped me in so many good ways. I miss all of them.

Going Ovate

Before I start reminiscing over my time as an OBOD ovate, I must point out that the course has changed since I did it, and I have no idea how much (but mean to find out when time permits!) I also think that my experience of the grade is so personal that, unlike my observations of the bard grade, it may not be very relevant for anyone else. I offer it more for the ‘how I got to here’ angle than anything else.

 

So, I applied to study the ovate grade, and was accepted – it’s not a huge hoop to jump through, but felt like an important transition nonetheless. I found the ovate grade really hard going. Not in a bad way though. I think, inherent in the course (and probably still there) is a journey that takes you inwards. Having learned lots of external form stuff in the bard grade, ovate work goes deeper. This is why individual experience is not going to be predictive of how anyone else finds it. It all comes down to where you are in your life, what unresolved conflicts you have, what baggage, what needs working through and what of that you are actually able to acknowledge and make a start on.

 

At the time of going ovate, I had more personal demons than I could shake a stick at. Some of them – the most problematic – I was still totally in denial about. I worked on other things, and I worked hard, but I know retrospectively that life would have been very different had I been able to face the big stuff then. The ovate grade took me deep into meditation work. I find scripted ritual for one person impossible. I have a pretty hefty aversion to scripts in ritual at all, I’m too drawn to improvisation. As with the bard grade, I had to find my own ways of balancing that. While my bardic tutor was an absolutely lovely person to work with, I found my ovate tutor a lot more challenging and demanding too. This also was not a bad thing, he required me to push harder, explain better, and go further, so while it didn’t feel so cosy, I do think it was a very productive experience. I’d also got to the point where I didn’t need other people’s approval quite so much, which was also a good thing to learn.

 

Fewer people do the ovate grade than the bard grade – it’s a natural process of self selection, but it means I have far less sense of how others fared with it. I do know I’m not the only one to have found it very demanding, in a good sort of way.

 

Through this process I was starting to get a sense of my own druidry. There are ways in which that puts me a bit at odds with OBOD – my script aversion for one. My experience of dedicated OBOD folk is that they tend to favour OBOD ritual forms, and often use scripts. I’m too chaotic. My other problem is robes. I just don’t do robes, there are a lot of practical reasons (a whole blog post’s worth – perhaps another time) and my understanding is that for formal gatherings, white robes and, where appropriate, the right coloured tabard, is expected. I respect OBOD, it has its own ways of doing things, and if that doesn’t suit me, fair enough. I wouldn’t turn up as my scruffy, robe-less, chaotic self and assume an OBOD event or gathering should fit in around that. But it meant a recognition that I was never going to become deeply involved with the order.

 

But all of that said, my most active druid membership at the moment is with an OBOD egroup, which has been ‘home’ for quite a few years now, and even though I don’t entirely fit, OBOD still has spaces for me and places where I feel welcome. I’m very glad of that.

 

The ovate grade gave me courage, and helped me get to grips with my past. It gave me the wherewithal to start standing on my own feet, to start recognising my own druidry and to feel able to take myself seriously. Which is as well, because at the same sort of time, other things were happening in other parts of my life. The source of open ritual in my area had gone, leaving a lot of us adrift and unfocused. So tomorrow I’ll shift gears from talking OBOD, and move across to a brief history of Bards of the Lost Forest.

Druidry and…

Yesterday on facebook there was an exchange of thoughts round the subject of folk who mix their druidry with something else. All the Buddhist, Christian, Shamanic, Druids and to a lesser extent those whose druidry is not as orientated towards what little known history we have. Some druids are priests of land and trees, have no geographical ties to the UK, and perhaps no ancestral ones either, but still feel the call of druidry. There are those who feel these are not ‘proper’ druids. The mixing of paths is a dilution, the getting away from ancestral druids just plain wrong. That’s not my opinion at all.

 

Partly I’m the sort of person to say ‘an it harm none, do what you will’. I don’t see I have much right to interfere with what others think. I can’t say I’m not the sort to criticise or judge because here I am, doing just that. It’s not the focused, UK soil based, Celtic ancestry inspired druidry that I take any issue with at all. It’s anyone, regardless of path who thinks they have the monopoly on truth, or the right to say that their druidry is better than someone else’s.

 

I assume most of us quietly feel that our druidry is, if not superior, then most suited to us. If we don’t think that it’s because we’re still trying to figure out where to go with it. There would be no point following a spiritual path you thought was a lesser option. But we are all different, and the most meaningful path for one, would be absolute nonsense to another.

 

That was the easy bit to explain! There are other aspects here, and it’s to do with my sense of what druidry is, and what it is compatible with. My sense of those ancient druid ancestors, lost in the mists of time, is that they were an erudite bunch. I see not just priests of the land, but teachers, healers, astronomers, meteorologists, philosophers, experimenters, innovators, law makers, peacemakers. As a consequence I see the intellectual life as an intrinsic part of my druidry. There is no subject unworthy of consideration, and no subject that cannot be considered from a druidic perspective. Including other religions.

 

If druids are peacemakers, harmony seekers, bringers of understanding and insight, then one way of doing this is by having a foot in two camps. It has been claimed that the druids of old disappeared by quietly switched over to Christianity. I can’t help but think the odds are good that some of them did, just as some Celtic peoples, perhaps druids included, became somewhat Romanised. For the modern druid, to walk two paths, to know two ways of seeing the word, is to be able to mediate between those two worlds, so that each may better understand the other.

 

As we travel through our lives we may, each of us explore a number of paths. Most pagans are not born into pagan households and must therefore negotiate a relationship between the beliefs of their childhood and the paganism they later adopt. I know several pagan Christians who have no desire to let go of Jesus, but who understand God as manifest in nature and are happiest honouring God in that manifestation. Equally someone from a rationalist background may carry that questioning, sceptical approach into their spirituality, and still be an entirely spiritual person. Many pagans come in through wicca still, not directly to druidry. I don’t think we should ask anyone to give up their affinity with paths they have walked in the quest, or to try and unpick the influences they already have. Few people come to druidry as clean slates ready to be written on. We need to honour what we already have. And if the path calls us in new directions, should we expect to leave all memory of druidry behind? I don’t think so. Who we are is a consequence of all the places we’ve been. If other people seek to work thoughtfully and honourably with that, then I for one will not resent, fear or dismiss the paths taken. I’d rather take the opportunity to learn something new.

 

Finally, there aren’t a great many ways of learning druidry, especially not when you compare it with many of the more established religions. Books are few, especially for anyone past the druidry for total beginners stage. Where do you go? Teachers do not grow on trees. (Sometimes trees are teachers, but that’s a whole other story). You have an urge to learn, a spiritual quest to undertake. So you explore something more widely available, and try and evolve that into your own druidry. We take what we can find. I see no wrong in that either. I think druidry can be found anywhere. It’s broader than any one definition, deeper than we are ever likely to grasp, and not so fragile that we will hurt it if we dare to mix it up with other things.

Druid News

Welcome to the first instalment of druid news. I’m hoping to make a regular feature of it.

 

A new Bard of Exeter

The competition to find the new Bard of Exeter was held last Sunday at the Bike Shed Theatre in Exeter. The event was hosted by the Grand Bard of Exeter Mark Lindsey Earley and current co-Bards Clive Pig and Jackie Juno, who last January came equal first in the yearly competition, and made history by sharing the title.

This year there were seven contenders for the title; poets, singers, musicians and storytellers who all performed for up to seven minutes and read out their manifesto to the audience, after which the audience voted for their favourite performer.

Exeter’s new Bard is Jon Freeman, who had a runaway win with voters’ numbers; quite the reverse of last year’s neck-and-neck result.

 

 

Imbolc for Little Ones

Author Siusaidh Ceanadach has a booklet out with Imbolc content for parents of young children, and a helpful explanation to wave at teachers. As many schools are inclusive and open to recognising the various faiths of their pupils (at least here in the UK) teachers can be very supportive of pagan children. The trouble is; they don’t tend to know a great deal about what might suit. Wading in as a parent and trying to squeeze in an explanation whilst fielding a rioting young person or two, is not the easiest option. This is a handy little text, great for working with the smallest pagans in an inclusive but not indoctrinating sort of way, and perfect for passing on to other adults in their lives – not just teachers.

 

Siusaidh has been distributing pdfs from her facebook account, but if you aren’t connected to her there, leave a message and I can pass it along.

 

Jackie Juno charity gig

The new Grand Bard of Exeter Jackie Juno has a gig on Friday 27 January at the Civic Hall, Totnes (UK) at 7.30pm.  It is a comedy cabaret raising funds for the South Hams Green Party and features Jackie, Matt Harvey (of Radio 4) and Clive Pig (my fellow co-Bard 2010-2011) with stand-up poetry, music and songs.

 

www.myspace.com/jackiejuno

www.mattharvey.co.uk

www.clivepig.com

 

 

 

Share your news

If you want to get your news mentioned here, mail brynnethnimue (at) gmail (dot) com – short and sweet is good, by all means include links. Don’t send pictures, I have a hard time of it uploading anything big and complicated. I’m happy to include events, courses, book releases, new websites, new groups, things druids have been up to, or things you’ve spotted in the news that seem relevant to the druid community. Arty, crafty, musical or literary people with stuff to sell are welcome to present themselves if they can find a news angle. I’m not averse to personal news. No witchwars content, no conspiracy theories, no ‘I know a bloke who met this guy down the pub who said…’ tales. I’m looking for good news where possible. The mainstream does plenty enough of the miserable content already.