The Druid's Garden

Spiritual Journeys in Tending the Land, Permaculture, Wildcrafting, and Regenerative Living

A Druid’s Primer for Land Healing, Part V: The Magic of Witnessing, Holding Space, Apology, and Remembrance March 27, 2016

Sometimes, the hidden, the unacknowledged hurts are the worst kind. These are the kind that you bury, deep within yourself, or that a society pretends never happened. We hear stories of these every day–massive cover-ups of the truth of crimes being revealed, people coming forth after decades of silence, the relief that one feels when one can finally talk about something he or she experienced. If you’ve ever been in this situation, where something happened to you, and you were forced to keep it silent, you’ll understand what I’m talking about here. Having others know, to see, to understand alone are acts of tremendous healing power. And it is in this topic where we continue our series on land healing, and the work we can do as druids and other earth-based spiritual practitioners, permaculturists, and those who fight for a better today and tomorrow.

 

In my latest post on this series two weeks ago, we explored the first steps towards land healing–that of deep listening, ascertaining the nature of the healing work, and building trust. In today’s post, we explore the beginning of healing techniques: the magic of acknowledgement, witnessing, holding space, and apology. These are techniques that are appropriate for the many different kinds of healing we can enact, including both palliative care and land healing.   These are techniques that I almost always use for my land healing work, sometimes as part of ritual and other work, and sometimes on their own. I find that they are almost universally appropriate, even when some of the techniques we explore further on in this series are not.  So let’s take a look at what these techniques are, why they work, and how to enact them.

 

Rolling Hills and Mountains (small painting by yours truly)

Rolling Hills and Mountains (small painting by yours truly)

Acknowledgement and Witnessing

Many times, in land healing work, we discover something that is in the middle of happening, or something that has already happened. We aren’t all powerful, we don’t command sums of money or influence that can change the destruction of our lands in many cases–and we certainly can’t stop what has already occurred. But what we can do is to bear witness. To see what is happening, or has happened, to remember, to share the memory of what has been lost (see remembering, below). I find myself doing this work often with cut trees—remembering them and honoring them long after they are gone.

 

To go back to the example I opened up with, there is deep healing power in acknowledging the suffering of another.  Acknowledgement is where we start–its the first powerful step we take in healing work of any kind. We cannot address a problem if we fail to acknowledge that there is one.  I believe that  acknowledgement is one biggest issues we have at present–there is this collective blindness, this collective unwillingness to engage, see, or acknowledge, what is happening around us.  I see this a lot firsthand here where we have a lot of fracking and environmental degradation. People don’t really talk about the oil wells, the equipment, except to comment how its “good jobs” for the area (that is the truth, and in an economically disadvantaged area, fracking jobs are very good jobs).  Just as people don’t talk about the continual raping and pillaging of our forests, the damaged and destroyed waterways from mining.  If we fail to acknowledge these things even exist, if we fail to talk about them  or draw attention to them, we cannot being the repair work necessary to heal.  The longer that a painful issue goes unacknowledged, unseen, the more deep rooted the pain surrounding the issue can be.

 

Acknowledgement requires us to both be capable of seeing and be willing to see. These are important distinctions.  Being capable of seeing means that we have enough knowledge and wisdom to interpret what we are seeing and recognizing it is a problem.  I think most of us are capable of seeing, and understanding, many of the challenges we face.  Being wiling to see means that we are capable of seeing and willing to do so-we choose to engage.  We put aside the inner dialogues or cultural baggage that tells us these things are normal, that everything is fine, and instead choose to see destruction, damage, etc. for what it is.

 

There is tremendous power in acknowledgement.  All of our healing work stems from this. Being ready to heal, ultimately, first means being ready to acknowledge. I have practiced being in a state of acknowledgement and openness with each day.  I pay close attention to the land, in whatever state it is in, engage, and interact with it.  If I see something awful, like a forest being cut, I do not look away, but instead, I acknowledge.  Stating it aloud is even more powerful, “I see your suffering.”   This leads us to the next steps:  and holding space. Acknowledgement requires us to directly look, to see what it is that may pain us, and to take it all in as it is.  To see with a compassionate heart, and an open mind, and to simply take in what is happening.

We need to acknowledge this stuff.

We need to acknowledge this stuff.

Acknowledgement alone is rarely sufficient for healing work, but it is the first deeply important step.  You might think about these activities as being on a set of stairs: you have to start with acknowledgement, and then you can move into the remainder of the steps here today.

 

Holding Space

When something is suffering–a friend, place, animal, plant, forest, waterway, whatever it is–this is the work of palliative care, as I discussed in an earlier post.  This is especially true with places that have active suffering happening to them–mountaintop removal or fracking are very good examples here, as are polluted rivers with active dumping, etc.  A good metaphor for some of the work we can do with these places is to think about a friend who is very sick, in a hospital bed. You wish you could do something to help this person, but some things are beyond your control. Instead, you do the thing you can do, which is to make sure they are not alone—you sit quietly with them, laugh, talk, and do some energetic work.  You spend the time to help them.

 

The land is no different–when something is suffering–a friend, place, animal, plant, forest, waterway, whatever it is–holding space might be appropriate.  Holding space is a powerful form of healing for the land, and goes well beyond just acknowledgement.  You can hold space in many different ways–all of them require presence and active engagement.

 

To give you an example of this, right now, a most of the hemlock trees in my town are fighting the Hemlock Wooly Adelgid. This is a small, aphid-like beetle that has been making its way east and destroying our hemlock populations. It slowly sucks the sap out of them until they die; and it covers the hemlocks with its little white cocoons and spiderweb looking tendrils. I discovered it only recently, when some branches dropped in front of me on my path. If these infestations are caught early, and if a lot of chemicals are used, some trees can be saved–but these trees have away too many on them already.  In the next few years, they will slowly be drained of their sap, their life energy, and pass on. And, in truth, it is deeply painful to me, since hemlock is one of my most sacred trees–the hemlocks shape the entire ecosystem around here.  Sometimes, I’d rather look away, to take a different path on my walk to work and avoid the hemlocks and their suffering–but I don’t.   To hold space for these trees, I walk by my friends, the hemlocks, each day on my way to work.  I note the branches that drop with the aldelgids.  I put my hand on their trunks.  Sometimes, I bring a little anointing oil for them.  I bring blessed stones, bury them at the roots.  I am collecting their seeds, to go into my freezer, to spread again and plant when I am an old woman in the hopes of bringing these trees back to our forests.  I know that in this act, I’m not just holding space for these specific hemlocks, but all of the hemlocks who are going through this transition–the tens of thousands of them here, in this county, the millions and millions in this state, and more beyond.

 

Beautiful (adelgid free) hemlock trees

Beautiful (adelgid free) hemlock trees

There’s tremendous power in simply holding space for these places.  In recognizing the suffering of another. Your very presence is so important.  Your presence is calming and soothing, you resonate “I am here for you” and “you are loved.”  “I see your suffering, and I am here for you.”  This is tremendously powerful work . We cannot abandon our earth mother during these dark times–if we want to walk the path of land healers, we must quietly and firmly, stand with her even in her darkest times, holding space for her. Holding space is about investing your time and energy. Its being available and simply there, for however long is needed.  Its being strong even when you see suffering you’d rather not see.

 

I also think that holding space is a way for us to work through our own emotions about everything that is happening around us.  Doing the work of land healing in this day and age can be tremendously difficult–but holding space gives us the peace of knowing we are doing something, and that something is important.  In fact, I’d say that’s true of all of the techniques described here–they help the land, which is their primary goal, but they also help us!

 

Apology

Just as there is tremendous power in acknowledgement and witnessing, and in holding space, so too is there power in apology.  Often, in seriously degraded places, like places were whole mountains are being removed (we have one such place not far from here), individual spirits of trees, plants, and animals, the spirits of places have been forced to leave may need an apology, to help pass on, to help heal. Apology is appropriate for any healing work–and sometimes, acknowledgement and apology is all that I do at certain spaces, especially spaces that are not willing to have anything else done.  When I do the work of apology, I apologize on behalf of myself and my species.

 

If your spiritual gifts allow you direct communication with the land and her inhabitants, sometimes as part of the work of apology you will be asked for an explanation.  I find that its helpful to give one, and that, too, is part of healing work.  Even if not, however, standing and witnessing, and apologizing, is a powerful healing act.  I described some of this work in this post–especially at the older sacred sites of others to whose tradition you do not belong, or at sites that are closed off to all human activity, this is the most appropriate healing work.

 

Remembrance

My Asatru friends have a saying: “Those who are remembered live on.” And I have adopted this saying for my land healing work, as I think it provides us with a potent and important form of healing–but also empowerment. Remembrance is an important part of land healing. I think its very appropriate to dedicate a holiday, or a day, to remembrance of places, spirits, trees, whatever it is, that have passed, and to honor them on this day.  Or, to maintain a small shrine for them in their honor.

 

Stack of stones on the stump as an act of remembrance

Stack of stones on the stump as an act of remembrance

Remembrance can be a potent form of healing work, especially when you know lands will be damaged/destroyed.  I remember the first tree I ever worked with in this way–it was a tree that I grew up near, a huge silver maple.  I witnessed it being cut, and was told that the people who cut it were new homeowners who “didn’t like raking up the leaves.”  I was so devastated, did the work of acknowledgement, holding space, and apology, and after the tree was cut, I managed to get a small piece of it. I kept this piece with me, and then, when I bought my property in Michigan, I met a second tree– a tree that had also been cut, the twin to the still-standing white pine tree in the center of my property.  There, I made a “shrine to the fallen” with a simple stack of stones, and around that stack, I placed the piece of the silver maple, and many others.  Over the years, I added much to the shrine, regularly tended it, and, at Samhuinn, made offerings of my homemade dandelion wine and cakes.  Since I left Michigan, I made a new shrine in the woods and have continued the practice.  It was a small gesture, not taking much time, but it has done a lot of good in the long term, I believe.  I felt it was important that I not visit the shrine more than once a week to tend it, and I only make offerings once a year.  I don’t want to focus my energies on the dead all the time (that’s not healthy) but I do want to honor them at appropriate times and fondly remember them, honoring them.

 

There are lots of ways to engage in the work of remembrance.  My shrine example is one such way.  Other ways include creating artwork, stories, songs, poems, and other bardic arts; growing a “remembrance” sacred garden; lighting a candle at a certain time of the year; honoring and remembering through ritual; or even doing acts of service for good in the community or land.  Planting a new tree of the same species to honor one that has fallen, for example (or even using that tree’s seeds or tending that tree’s offspring, for example, is a powerful act of remembrance).  Let your heart lead you on this journey.

 

Closing thoughts

I’m surprised at how long this series is taking me to write–but clearly, there is a lot to say on this subject and articulating all of this is helping many, I think.  Its certainly helping me to put into words the practices that I know and do often.  So thanks for staying with me as this series is unfolding! We’ll continue working deeper into the energetic healing work next week. I also wanted to let you know that I’ll be doing some  overseas travel for work in the next month, so I will likely miss a week or two of posting in April, but will begin my regular weekly posts in May.  Blessings of spring to all!

 

Druid Tree Workings: Holding Space and Helping Tree Spirits Pass August 24, 2015

In the last year, I’ve written much about druid tree workings, or the spiritual work one can do with trees and other plants. For more on this series, see these posts: the face of the tree, connecting with trees on the inner planes, connecting with trees on the outer planes. And there comes a time when one of your tree friends–or many–face cruel reality of the chainsaw. What then, does one do when one hears the cry of the forest? This, dear readers, is a very different kind of tree working, and one that I’ve been compelled to share.

 

The sound of the chainsaw and the cry of the forest…

I recently moved into a new rented house in the small town in Western PA where I’ll spend the next phase of my life.  In my tiny backyard and on the side of the house are several beautiful sugar maples. I met the new owners of the house next door (they also just moved in), and they mentioned to me how they were having a tree cut that was growing sort of close to the house. Deeply saddened, I told them it was a sugar maple, an if they just trimmed it back, it was no danger to their house, and if they’d like, I could show them how to tap it for maple sugar and make syrup in the late winter. They seemed interested, and I had hoped I had hoped that I’d convinced them that this life was worth saving…but alas, it was to no avail. Less than a week later, the tree men arrived. At first, it appeared that they were just carefully trimming it back, and I was joyous because I felt like I had saved the tree. But then, on the tree cutters’ break, I spoke with them, and they told me that they were bringing it down. They were sad to cut it too, cause they thought they could have just trimmed it and it was no danger to the house.

 

A few weeks after that, for whatever reason, my town decided to cut down a number of very old trees lining the sidewalks. Again the sound of the chainsaw reverberates through town.  I’ve always dreaded the sound of fossil fuel powered equipment–its the sound of humanity cutting back nature, and it brings tears to my eyes. From the lawnmower cutting back ecological succession and compressing the soil to the weed whacker cutting down (nearly always) medicinal herbs, to my least favorite, the buzz of the chainsaw.

 

And so, with unnerving frequency, I’ve had the sound of chainsaw reverberating in my small house, and I have watched as several beautiful beautiful beings have been taken down one limb at a time. It is such a heartbreaking thing, to be so powerless, to simply watch a life being ended, knowing there is nothing you can do to stop it. What a strange world we live in. To most people, they see a tree being cut. To me, I see a living and beautiful being, with a soul and a spirit. I see that being crying out in pain, I hear its sorrow, I feel its pain. I feel the mourning of the fellow sugar maples and others around–they have grown here as a community for years. And now, their friend is no more, removed unjustly and unnecessarily, the wood unused and carted away.

 

A way of seeing and feeling…

Peaceful co-existence - a path through the woods.

Peaceful co-existence – a path through the woods.

Of course, my druidic lens is not that of typical people these days living in an instrumental and disenchanted world. Plants and trees feel pain? The arguments I see against this idea is that plants have no central nervous system or brain, so they can’t feel pain, they can’t communicate, they aren’t intelligent. However, just because plants don’t have the same systems as humans doesn’t mean they can’t feel or communicate those feelings, in fact, plants have analogous systems that work differently from ours.

 

 

This instrumentalist thinking, that plants or trees are mere objects, and that nobody should care or object to having them taken down, closely aligns with a disenchanted, instrumental view of the world. As I’ve shared on this blog before, one of the great losses to the western world came as our worldview was “disenchanted” through the rise of industrialization, materialism and rationalist science (and oh the irony, that is now science that shows that the world is really more enchanted than we can imagine!) Looking to some of the newest science to help us understand, since that’s what convinces people when other ways of experiencing the world can’t, we see that plants are intelligent–they learn, much as humans do. Plants communicate, sometimes over great distances. And yes, they feel pain and know if they are being eaten.

 

And so, we use the knowledge of science to explain what millennia of humans instinctively knew: that our world is living, breathing, intelligent and alive and that trees and plants and animals are feeling, breathing, alive beings deserving of respect.Of course, spiritual traditions and cultures spanning back across most of time have known that plants are more than a collection of living cells.  Its not new knowledge–its simply misplaced knowledge, lost to time and greed. And perhaps its time that we find that knowledge again.

 

Holding Space & Remembering

The powerlessness over something like a tree in a neighbor’s yard being cut down can be crushing. In a situation where humans are logging or engaging in other destruction and its done legally or within privately owned lands, what’s one to do?

 

One of the best things you can do for a being–of any kind–who is suffering or passing on is to hold space for them. Whether or not you have a spiritual calling for deeper work in this area, I believe all of us can at least hold space for what is happening, see it for what it is, and energetically support those whose lives are being taken before our eyes. You might do this by treating the tree or forest no different than a friend who is passing on. The same powerlessness exists in that situation as well. You can’t do much except be there, listen, witness, and hold the space.

 

A hawthorn tree...

A hawthorn tree…

I could speak about this at length, but each person’s methods for doing this work are, in some ways, their own. They are methods that develop as the need arises, intuitive things that each person does that is to the best of his or her abilities and gifts.

 

I can share a few strategies that are within my abilities and gifts.  Its not so much important what you do but that you do something if you feel led to–but here are a few ideas. First, I play music, and I have particular songs (folk songs) that are quite effective at easing suffering and allowing a more peaceful passing. The music is really effective for another reason–it can be used almost anywhere, especially when more overt magical work cannot take place.  Second, I take the time to simply sit, witness, and watch what is happening unfold. This is important–bearing witness. Third, I raise positive energy for the tree’s passing (and there are many ways to do this, depending on one’s tradition). Fourth, I do positive energy work for the others who have passed in the coming weeks and months–many are still there, they may have witnessed the loss, and they need support. Fifth, I apologize to the tree as it is cut, especially when a tree appears to be cut down for no good reason (as in the case of my new neighbors). An apology does much in the way of healing, and as a species, there is much healing to be done between ourselves and the land.

 

And finally, I remember. There are so many ways that one can remember. As I am an artist, I often paint trees that have been cut as a way of remembering them and their lives. Some stumps I pass quite often, and, each time I pass, I say a little prayer, make a small offering of water, or leave a flower or stone to honor the tree. Or simply walk by and touch the stump, pausing and acknowledging the life that was once there. If I can, I like to save some of the tree’s seeds or nuts and plant them in a field somewhere–this is a wonderful thing to honor a tree who has passed. This isn’t always possible, but if nothing else, I take a few leaves or branches and leave them in a nearby forest so that at least some of that tree can go back to the land and enter the nutrient cycles once again–this too is important. If nothing else, I burn a candle and honor the life that was that tree or that forest.

 

Sometimes you come after the trees or trees have been cut, but an area is freshly logged. Nearly all of my suggestions above will still work well. I like to keep a small flute in my car and if I see such an area and feel compelled to stop, I will stop, play a tune, and then continue on my way. I find myself doing this often now that I’ve returned to Penn’s Woods, especially given the amount of logging that takes place here.

 

There is much more that I could write at this point, but I feel that, for now, this is enough. I hope you find it helpful. I will close by warning you that this work is not taken on lightly–and it can be very draining, even with proper preparation and protection. Even so, its important work, and work that some are called to do, just as I’m now called to write and share.