An ear to the ground

‘We think that we imagine the land, but perhaps the land imagines us, and in its imaginings it shapes us. The exterior landscape interacts with our interior landscape, and in the resulting entanglements, we become something more than we otherwise could ever hope to be.’

from The Enchanted Life, by Sharon Blackie Read More

The landscapes we are

We think of ourselves as in landscape, but sometimes forget that landscape is also in us. We are all landscapes, and the landscapes we are can change. Perhaps because we move to a new place, and the characteristics of that place begin slowly to seep into us. Or they might change because we focus in on a different aspect of the landscape in which we remain. If we allow ourselves to truly be in our places, to close our eyes and let ourselves fall, tumbling down into the dreaming of the land we inhabit, then that land will always live inside us, just as we live inside it. We will come to embody it, and it will embody us. Who then will be able to say where the land ends and we begin? Read More

Falling into the land’s dreaming

This land dreams Horse. Of the Seven Sisters mountains who stand like a semi-circle of elders around this valley where we live, two are horses. An Eachla Bheag, the Little Horse, and An Eachla Mhór, the Big Horse. Look carefully at the image above, and perhaps you’ll see them: two horses, lying down. The body of An Eachla Bheag is on the left of the image, and her long nose (a paler shade of grey) is sloping down to the left, facing towards us. Curled up next to her, tail end to An Eachla Bheag’s head, and facing in the opposite direction, is An Eachla Mhór. Her neck curves away from us to the right, her nose pointing left, dipping down behind her own strong back. Read More

Imbolc pathways: listening to the land’s dreaming

Some call it augury; I call it listening to the land, and its dreamings. This morning, after a light early snowfall, I set out to see what the Imbolc land had to say to me.

Two ravens, Otherworldly messengers, fly east into spring and the rising sun.

There is always the path in the labyrinth of the bog; there is always the sow-mother’s mountain. Two deer in the distance turn, run along tracks only they know. Will you try to follow? Will you follow their dream-tracks? Read More