The common bond that unites druids, and other earth-centered spiritual paths, is a deep respect and reverence for the living earth. We celebrate the turning wheel of the seasons, we revere the plants, and we speak to the forest spirits. But what does having that connection with nature mean, and how can we deepen that connection into every aspect of our lives? How can we ensure our actions nourish, nurture and support in all ways?
For my own practice of druidry, building a more sustainable life and teaching others about sustainability and permaculture, is my cornerstone. Why? First, because the more deeply in tune with the natural world I’ve become through my druidic practices, the more I’ve realized that my own relationship with the land started out more passively damaging than actively nurturing. How could I say I followed an earth-based path when I engaged in so many practices that were destructive—even if I didn’t realize/intend they were destructive? When I purchased products that supported companies actively damaging the land, harming my fellow humans, and so forth? With this series of realizations, I began to radically shift my own life to align my daily life with my spiritual belief; this process is ongoing. For anyone who has been attempting to live more sustainably, the odds are stacked against us in a culture of consumption—but it is possible with knowledge, determination, and a community of support.
As druids, the land speaks to us in important and informative ways. The land of the two communities where I have spent the most time—South-East Michigan, where I live now, and Western Pennsylvania, where I grew up, has much to teach us about the need for sustainable living. These connections helped shape my path.
In south-east Michigan, we are truly “on the front lines” of many of the energy and post-industrial challenges that we face in the world. These challenges include a declining industrialized society with dwindling resources, increased illiteracy and poverty in both rural and urban areas, rampant environmental destruction for cheap energy (such as fracking and oil pipelines), an automobile industry pushing in unsustainable directions, and local government structures that seem to hold the economy as sacred at the disregard of everything else. This situation has prompted many of us here to more carefully pay attention, to become informed, to learn from each other, and to ultimately begin to build communities that are more sustainable.
In south-western Pennsylvania, where I grew up, the landscape tells another tale. In their exploration for coal and steel production, numerous companies built up an industry in the 1800’s and 1900’s. They dug up the land, put men in the ground, dug out the coal, shipped it to the cities, and used it to produce boatloads of steel. Of course, these companies have long since left (and some are still in business in places like Mexico), the individuals profiting from them long ago passing on, taking their profits with them. As part of the mining process, the mining companies created mountain-sized “boney dumps” that still remain a century later. The dumps, the same size as the Appalachian mountains that surround them, contain a lot of the materials that weren’t usable. These dumps, exposed to the elements, make their way into the waterways. .The land suffers from the runoff of these old boney dumps: nothing will grown on their toxic contents, which include mercury, sulfur, and many other heavy metals and toxins. Many of the creeks in the area, which locals dub “sulfur creeks” are so polluted that no life can be found in them. Cancer rates are high, along with asthma, multiple sclerosis, and other diseases (all found in my family and in the families of everyone else I know). Some of the streams are bright yellow and full of sulfur; others are a pale cloudy blue/gray—all are devoid of life. And of course now, fracking also is taking place throughout Pennsylvania. It is just one more blow to the land that has been repeatedly logged, poisoned, and now, fracked.
Examining my own landscape as well as my own actions in a spiritual manner over time encouraged me to realize that every action, every choice, however small, could be done in a sacred, intentional manner. Each choice was sacred: from bringing my own bags to the grocery store to picking up “treasures” in my neighbors’ trash to use in a new way, to offering land freely for friends to learn how to grow their own food. It wasn’t not just sacred when I walk into that forest and honor the spirits there using ritual—but its sacred when I am going to work, paying my bills, spending time with my family. And how do I ensure that the forest will be there in the future? That it isn’t fracked, sold off, or developed? I started to realize that my offering, and my path, was how I lived my life, each day, and how I interacted with those around me. Everything became a potential for sacred action. We are facing increasingly difficult times, where the lands we love are under serious threat from so many forces–including from ourselves. For me, finding ways of living the sacred of everyday, and finding ways of engaging in nurturing traditions has what has helped me begin to make this shift.