Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jesus. Show all posts

Friday, 16 June 2017

The Courage of Columbines ~ What We Choose to Bring to Birth



Nathaniel Hughes, author of 'Weeds in the Heart' and teacher of Intuitive Herbalism, talks of there being many different types of herbalist; ceremonialist, healer, activist, folk/hedge~witch, wisdom~keeper, cunning woman and many more. I'm not sure which of these, if any, I am but I know that sometimes plants begin to tap at my edges asking to be heard. The cottage garden columbines are one of these. It was more than a decade ago that I dreamed that columbines, along with harebells, were one of 'my' flowers, and so for more than a decade I have neither forgotten, nor understood why. Dreams are like that, and the ways of the woven sacred can move excruciatingly slowly. That is why long dreaming winters and cups of tea were invented I imagine. It was only last week, when I went into a tiny church, St Mary Magdalene's on the North Downs not far from here, and turned their Book of Common Prayer to the 9th of June, that I discovered that I share my birthday with the Feast Day of Saint Columba, the abbot who founded the important abbey on the Isle of Iona in Scotland. Although I haven't yet found a particular connection between St Columba and the flower both their names have their roots in the Latin word for 'dove', with St Columba's original Irish Gaelic name 'Colm Cille' meaning 'church dove'. I love this tender thread that weaves my own story with the flower, the saint, and the Spirit. But, even before I discovered the thread, the columbines were calling, especially since I made friends with a little community of them in the churchyard of the 1,000 year old church where I spend much of my time.




Granny's bonnet, lion's herb, lady's shoes, dove plant, God's breath, pigeon flower, pigeon foot, sow wort ~ our native columbine, Aquilegia vulgaris, belongs to a genus of more than 65 species. Often to be found at the edges of meadows and woodlands, it may be more familiar as a resident of cottage gardens, having been cultivated and hybridised with other European, and also North American, members of the aquilegia family. They are a major food source for the garden bumblebee and also for cabbage moths, dot moths, and mouse moths, who are able to feed on many poisonous plants without harm. The genus name, 'aquilegia' comes from the Latin, 'aquila' meaning 'eagle', due to the petals being said to echo the shape of an eagle's claws. The name might also come from 'aquilegias', a 'water- collector', because of the flowers' water holding capabilities, although it feels to me that the flowers are the wrong way up for that; perhaps here there are whispers of the World Turned Upside Down? 


In contrast, their common name, 'columbine' comes from the Latin, 'columb' for 'dove', due to the spurs of the flower petals looking like five doves sitting together in a circle. What depth of meaning for such a fragile plant to hold, and we have hardly scratched the surface! I find it fascinating that even at this layer of meaning, in the weaving of words, columbines already present much to reflect upon with eagle/hawk and dove being the names given, most often in relation to American politics, to those who are pro or anti-war. The eagle was also a prominent symbol in ancient Rome, especially as a standard of the Roman legion, the teeth and claws of Empire; the legionary who carried it being known as the 'aquilifer', or 'eagle-bearer'. Contrast this with the common folk meaning, the 'people's' meaning, of dove, a word associated with peace and with Spirit, particularly in the Christian faith for whom the dove is one of the most beautiful symbols. Indeed, as Christianity spread into Europe the columbine became associated with the values of Faith, Hope, and Charity, and its three-part leaves became a symbol of the Trinity, with the circle of doves a symbol of the Holy Spirit. So much so that columbines were once often used to stand for Jesus in religious paintings. 




I like very much that the folk name of these little flowers is linked with the Trinity and with Christ, and through him to standing up to the Roman Empire by facing it with a rebellion of love and the fierce call for justice. I like to think that St Columba, whose own 'Celtic form of 'wild edge' Christianity was forced aside by Rome and it's monk, Augustine, would have approved of the columbine and of the story she carries in her petals. It should never be forgotten that the story of Jesus is grounded in this rebellion; in a refusal to submit to Empire, in siding with the poor and the outcast in the face of corporate and Imperial power, in gathering around him disciples who were not thought learned enough for other Rabbis and teachers and giving them a place in the world that is so often not there for our own young people who may become vulnerable to gang culture and radicalisation as a way to find belonging. This is the path of peace and radical love; the dove standing up against the eagle, of speaking truth to power, despite its message being taken over by Empire when it became the official religion of Rome in 312. Imperialism as an ideology is inherently anti-life, and this energy against life will corrupt, contaminate, and undermine, anything that stands against it and which has beauty in it.  It is up to us to choose where we identify, which path we take, where we will make our stand; no matter who our god/gods/no god might be. The columbine reminds us of that choice, that we have a responsibility in what we bring to birth. This is a rebellion of petals, a revolution of feathers. 


In a piece of wild synchronicity, which so often occurs when I sit down to write pieces such as this, I discovered that to the indigenous First Nations people of Canada the eagle has quite a different meaning. Rev. Cannon Ginny Doctor, Coordinator of the Indigenous Ministries for the Anglican Church of Canada and member of the Mohawk Nation, Turtle Clan, writes that for her people, the eagle is a bird of peace. When The Peacemaker came to unify the nations, he travelled the land spreading the need for understanding. At each place he would plant a Tree of Peace and place an eagle on top to watch over the people and warn them if the roots of the tree were being disturbed by disagreement amongst them. The indigenous people, the people of the land, make the eagle a bird of peace, where Empire makes it a bird of war and domination. It is up to us what meaning we choose, whether we will stand with the people of the land, with deep myth and meaning, or with that which seeks to subvert both. It isn't easy to speak out against power, to “fight colonialism with a colonised tongue” (Akala). We might feel that it is impossible, but perhaps by rooting ourselves in the Tree of Peace and the wisdom of the columbine and all our green allies we can be rooted enough to begin to choose what we bring to birth, knowing that it is our birthright, our earthright. We think that we are alone but we're not; we live in a wild web of relationship and belief in the good, in the rightness of Life. And Life wants to live.



And these little flowers, these columbines, do have much to share about that choice. Although they are rarely used in healing in modern times due to their supposed toxicity, their leaves were traditionally used to make lotions for sore mouths and throats (helpful in speaking out!) and in Spain people who were troubled by kidney stones were advised to chew a piece of columbine root in the mornings. The idea that columbines are poisonous seems to come from Charles-Ernest Cornevin, who in his 1893 book 'Des plantes vénéneuses et des empoisonnements qu’elles déterminent' (Poisonous Plants and the Poisonings they Cause), said that it contains aconitine, possibly because it is in the same plant family as one of the most poisonous garden plants, aconitum. However, there is so scientific evidence that this is the case and indeed there are no recorded cases of harm caused by columbines. Interesting then that it should be given such a reputation. And then, what of choice and what we might 'bring to birth'?

Culpepper's 'Complete Herbal' of 1649 says that the seeds of columbine, which are just appearing now all across our land, “causeth a speedy delivery of women in childbirth” when taken with wine. In contrast, the fabulous 'Poison Garden' website says that the 'wise woman' of the village would use columbine to bring on abortion as a community service, 'the best known reference to it coming in Thomas Johnson’s 1633 revision of John Gerard’s ‘Herbal’ where he says that Clusius, the 16th century Flemish botanist, reports its use by Dr Francis Rapard to facilitate labour when the seeds are crushed and mixed with wine. It was thought to be widely used as a home remedy.' Plants, such as birthwort for example, which would aid childbirth are also likely to cause an abortion if used at an earlier stage of pregnancy, and so it is with columbine. There was a time when the green beings around us offered us the right to choose. Now of course we live in very different times, cut off from the earth and all that she offers us, and so the columbine's message of choice becomes more and more urgent, especially now.

Here in the UK, our Government, in the wake of a disastrous General Election result, are seeking to form a loose coalition with Northern Ireland's Democratic Unionist Party, founded by fundamentalist Protestant leader Ian Paisley in the 1970s. I stand in profound disagreement with the views of both parties, but at the time when the columbines in the 1,000 year churchyard are going to seed and revealing their deepest medicine, it is the DUP's attitude to abortion rights that is uppermost in my mind. As I write, the UK Supreme Court has rejected an appeal by a mother and daughter who have been involved in a legal battle for women from Northern Ireland to be offered free abortions in England on the NHS. In Northern Ireland terminations are only available if a woman's life is at risk, or if there is a possibility of permanent damage to her mental or physical health. Rape, incest, and fatal foetal abnormalities are not considered reasons for legal abortion to be offered. Many women, more than 700 in 2016, travel to England at great expense to access private abortions. Those who can raise the money often endure travelling alone, overnight by boat if they can't afford air travel, to a place that they have never been. One 28-year-old said, “a lot of bad things have happened to me in my life, but this has been the worst.” In order to save for the journey she had to cut down on food for her family, including her two young children, and stop heating her house. 

Other women, financially or otherwise unable to travel, buy abortion tablets on line and receive them through the post. It is unknown how many this applies to, although the Dutch charities Women on Web and Women Help Women, who are able to provide women with abortion pills by post, receive around 3,000 requests for advice and help from women in Ireland and Northern Ireland each year. In 2016 1,200 parcels containing such pills were seized by Irish customs who investigate all 'suspicious' packages. A woman in Northern Ireland is currently being prosecuted for helping her 15-year-old daughter procure abortion pills and last year a woman was prosecuted for taking them, having been reported by her flatmates. In Northern Ireland, which has the harshest penalty for abortion of any country in Europe, women who have illegal abortions, and anyone found to have helped them, risk life imprisonment. 

The Abortion Support Network, a charity which offers financial support to Irish women who need to travel to England to access their abortion rights, have said that, “We've heard time and time again from women forced by the despair induced by a combination of poverty and draconian abortion laws who have taken matters into their own hands – by ingesting chemicals, by overdosing on medications, by drinking excessively, by literally throwing themselves down stairs to try and induce miscarriage.” Pregnancy counsellors in Northern Ireland have been known to hand out 'information' booklets warning of “a 72% higher risk of rectal and colon cancer among women who have had abortions and a 50% greater risk of breast cancer”, also suggesting that, “a woman who has had one may be more prone to seizures, tremors, comas, frigidity and committing child abuse.” Amnesty International has called upon the UK Government to urgently push for abortion reform in Northern Ireland. This coalition will of course make that less likely and Owen Paterson, the former Northern Ireland secretary, has suggested that there may be a parliamentary debate on further reducing abortion time limits during the next few years. As things are a climate of fear has been created with many women unwilling to speak even to their close friends for fear of being reported; turning woman against woman, dividing us, forcing a climate of silence and unspoken pain and grief. One woman who, unable to afford a trip to England, was forced to go through abortion alone and terrified of being reported said, “I feel am being punished for being poor. If I had had money, I would have gone to a clinic, met a nurse, heard from her that everything was going to be OK.” She eventually went to her GP for a check-up two months later and told her that she had had a miscarriage. 

This is far from the wisdom and choice offered to us by our sister-ally, the columbine; our gentle dove, our wise-woman granny's bonnet, with her offering of wild plant medicine to hold our young women in their journeys. I stand with them against a coalition that would deny women the choice to choose what we bring to birth. Judy Griffin in her book, 'Flowers That Heal', says that columbine “enhances the ability to think and act independently of others”, to “drop the role that others have made for us”, and to claiming our autonomy. I stand with the columbine in holding the roots of wild earth wisdom and the liberation of heart and body.

And yet, this feels in so many ways overwhelming. All these things are happening far from me and my little community of columbines in the 1,000 year churchyard. Can the columbine help us to find the courage to raise our voices loud enough to be heard? Marvellously, we have not yet reached the end of our exploration. There is one more piece of folklore that might help us to choose the wilder path and a clue is found in one of the columbine's common names; lion's herb. In medieval times, it was believed that lions ate columbines in the spring to give them strength and so that rubbing the flowers on one's hands would bestow the 'courage of lions'. I think that we might well need that in the days and months to come. It really is time for a rebellion of petals, a revolution of feathers; for the eagle, for the dove, for the columbine, and for us all; it's time to choose what we bring to birth. And perhaps consider too that, although our green companions have much to teach us, it's we who give them their meanings. These are our stories of rebellion, of wild courage, which we have hidden safely in their petals, just as our far off ancestors buried their own treasures in the earth when invaders came. It's not the columbine that allows us to choose. She brings a reminder but the choice has always been ours. We don't need to wait until her flowers come next spring. We have always had the courage of lions. It has always been us, and it's time to roar!



Columbine; looking like a tiny lion

(Disclaimer: please don't take wild medicine, such as the columbine, without the advice of a qualified herbalist. In the case of the columbine, most of us no longer have the wisdom to know what amounts are safe for us to take. Until we claim back our wisdom, let's allow the earth to hold us as safely as she can and respect our not knowing)

References:

On columbines ~

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aquilegia
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Aquilegia_vulgaris

http://www.karensgardentips.com/garden-types-styles-and-designs/shakespeares-flowers-and-gardens/shakespeares-flowers-columbine/

http://www.thepoisongarden.co.uk/atoz/aquilegia_atrata.htm
http://www.thepoisongarden.co.uk/blog/blog270412.htm

https://www.rhs.org.uk/Plants/100859/i-Aquilegia-vulgaris-i/Details
http://plantlife.love-wildflowers.org.uk/wild_plants/plant_species/columbine

http://loveinidlenessembroidery.blogspot.co.uk/2013/04/columbine.html

'Flowers That Heal', Griffin, Judy, Paraview Press, 2002.

Other references ~

https://radicaldiscipleship.net/2017/06/15/wild-lectionary-the-eagle-shared-its-strength/

http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-northern-ireland-40271763
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/oct/31/abortion-ireland-northern-ireland-women-travel-england-amelia-gentleman
https://www.theguardian.com/uk-news/2017/jun/13/abortion-figures-prompt-fresh-calls-for-reform-of-northern-irish-law
https://www.theguardian.com/world/2016/apr/08/northern-ireland-abortion-women-culture-suspicion-fear-prosecution-belfast

Sunday, 12 April 2015

A Personal Exploration of Easter

'Supposing Him to be the Gardener', Cross Bones Jesus by Barry Parman

I have always had a tense relationship with Christianity. I don't come from a religious family, although I enjoyed church on the rare occasions when we did go because I loved my dad's beautiful singing voice and rejoiced in my mum's equally loud but tone deaf singing. My main memory though is of always feeling that I was doing something wrong that I didn't quite understand. I went to Sunday School every week and sometimes to services at the Pentecostal church, which I loved because of the passion of the Welsh pastor, but my first truly spiritual experiences were ones of connection with nature; of feeling the grass growing and all life breathing. In my teens I went along to my local free church every Sunday, mainly because my best friend's family went, and noticed that often people there weren't very kind but felt superior to others because they had been 'forgiven' by God. In my early twenties, just before getting married, I visited a local vicar with my fiancé for 'marriage lessons' and he told us that, if we argued and couldn't reach agreement, the man should have the final say. After that not only did I not think much of church but I was angry. And, as far as I was concerned, that was the end of me and Christianity. Although I still loved going into churches, I had by then discovered the Goddess path and put institutional religion behind me.

Then, in 2012, I began to sever links with my Goddess community and, feeling heart-sore, I sought out a new place where I could connect with people of Spirit. Southwark had already become important to me and so I found myself in Southwark Cathedral and made a quiet home there amongst its pale~as~moonlight walls and gently beautiful services. I liked its connection to my beloved Cross Bones graveyard (of which more another time), I liked its politics, which I had heard were radical for the church and therefore in stark contrast to St Paul's which had recently evicted the Occupy Movement from its steps, and I liked the anonymity that attending a city cathedral can bring. I still wouldn't call myself a Christian but I felt at home and I still do; as a woman of the Goddess and a hedgepriestess of Afallon, I feel no inconsistency in lighting candles to Mary as an aspect of the Sacred Feminine, nor to Jesus who I am sure would be considered a heretic were he to walk into most Christian churches today. There was much that resonated with me there.

But I have always wanted to remain respectful to the religion which had unwittingly given me a home and have avoided Easter services, finding nothing for me in the concept of a blood sacrifice demanded by an angry God as atonement for supposed sin. As Philip Carr-Gomm says in his essay, 'The Fertile Christ' in Mark Townsend's 'Jesus Through Pagan Eyes' (1), “The story of Christ currently requires two images of his death and rebirth, but in practice it is the image of his crucifixion rather than his resurrection that is used as the central icon of the faith...it is his agonising death that occupies the centre-stage...”.

Through my many years of following the Goddess path, I already acknowledged Easter as a festival of the Germanic goddess Eostre/Ostara and of the rising of spring energy and a return of the light after the long, dark months of winter. There is only one primary source for this goddess and that comes from 'The Reckoning of Time' by Northumbrian monk and scholar the Venerable Bede (673 – 735), who said that, “Eosturmonath has a name which is now translated 'Paschal month' and which was once called after a goddess of theirs named Eostre, in whose honour feasts were celebrated in that month. Now they designate the Paschal season by her name, calling the joys of the new rite by the time-honoured name of the old observance..” (2). Later in the 1880s, Jacob Grimm wrote in his 'Teutonic Mythology' that the Anglo-Saxon name 'Eostre' is related to an Old High German adverb 'ostar', expressing movement towards the rising sun. He claimed that he had found evidence of the worship of a goddess named 'Eostre/Ostara' in oral tradition and said that “her meaning could be easily adapted to the resurrection day of the Christian God” (3). The 'Encyclopedia of Indo-European Culture', published in 1997, says that, "a Proto-Indo-European goddess of the dawn is supported both by the evidence of cognate names and the similarity of mythic representation of the dawn goddess among various [Indo-European] groups” (2). Whether she is an ancient goddess carried through oral tradition or a more modern invention makes little difference to me. I sense Goddess~as~Life moving through all that pulses green and newly unfurls its tender wings or petals at this time of year and celebrate the daily changes of life as it rises.

And so I had comfortably settled into celebrating the Sacred Feminine and the changing of the seasons at Spring Equinox and had chosen not to involve myself in the Christian Easter Festival. And then, this year, I visited Southwark Cathedral just as Lent began in February and saw German artist Angela Glajcar's 'Within the Light'. This was a large-scale installation made of several lengths of translucent white glass fabric hanging one above the other, some tattered like feathers, above the choir stalls. The light within the cathedral is one of its great beauties and 'Within the Light' was designed to reflect this light as it changed throughout the day. I found that this soft-winged beauty touched something within me and challenged my preconceptions about the heaviness and darkness of the 'blood-soaked' Christian Easter festival. Canon Gilly Myers' extraordinary sermon reflecting on the Lenten installation can be found here. I resolved to spend the season exploring Easter through my own spiritual understanding to find out whether there were ways that I could respectfully include myself in the life of the church at this important time of year. This has been a very personal exploration, and one which will continue, but here are some of my musings over the Easter period.

I am not the first person to equate the dying and rising Jesus with other gods, such as Dionysus, Tammuz, and Osiris, many of whom have similar festivals in the spring. In this way he becomes a vegetation god, a sort of Green Man or Green Christ. Coming from a land which is so green and fecund at this time of year this image resonates deeply with me. One of my favourite images of Jesus is an image which hangs at Cross Bones Graveyard, 'Supposing Him to be the Gardener' by Barry Parman, which depicts Christ as antlered, crowned with thorns and flowers, and holding armfuls of lilies. In her essay, 'The Lily Cross and the Green Man' (1), Mara Ede-Weaving talks about a medieval mural in a small church in Godshill on the Isle of Wight which depicts Jesus crucified on a flowering lily. She sees this as symbolising both Christ's sacrifice and that of the Green Man, who offers his own body in a seasonal cycle of growth, harvest, disintegration, and renewal. In the stories of both the Green Christ and the Green Man we can find the trust that we ourselves can be cut down, lose everything, and return. They are a reminder that Life wants to live (an energy which I see as the indwelling spirit of Goddess in all things), and of non-attachment to a particular 'shape' that our life might find us in. Last night, in the midst of struggling with this piece of writing, I dreamed of Hastings Jack-in-the-Green festival. This is ostensibly a morris dancing event which takes place every year around May Day. It begins with the 'Jack'; a frame covered in greenery, crowned with flowers, and wearing the mask of the Green Man, being 'danced' through the town, and culminates with him being torn to pieces in a wildly joyous frenzy and his highly prized green leaves being distributed amongst the crowd. This again symbolizes the sacrifice of the Sacred Masculine so that the seasonal cycle can continue; we let go so that we can rise again, we trust that life will hold us and bring us back to renewal. And so it is with the story of Christ on the cross if we choose to embrace its symbolic meaning.

Hastings Jack-in-the-Green

Victorian author and druid, Owen Morgan, believed that the “core of all true religions was the worship of the life force – in the macrocosm the sun and earth, in the microcosm, the male and female genitals; in both the activities that give rise to new life – were the foundations of all religious symbolism...in Pagan as well as Christian traditions” (1). And within this is the image of the masculine as an energy which rises, falls, and rises again, in contrast to the feminine energy which remains constant. Philip Carr-Gomm points out that, in all variations of the ancient story in which a god is sacrificed for his people, “the god represents the moment, the finite, while the goddess represents the cyclic and eternity'” (1). It is this right relationship between the masculine and the feminine which brings the renewal of life, rather than atonement for sin.

Which brings me to the place of the Feminine within the Easter story. For many years, I have equated the time between Jesus' death on Good Friday and his rising on Easter Sunday with the journey of the dark/new moon, which disappears for several nights before reappearing as a tender, newly reborn crescent; life from death. The date of Easter has come to be determined by the moon, with Easter Sunday falling on the first Sunday after the full moon on, or closest to, March 21st. In this way Easter becomes a lunar festival in contrast to the solar festival of Christmas. Often the sun is equated with the Masculine and the moon with the Feminine and I have found Easter a powerful time to explore Christ as both. In her poem, 'A Prayer of Approach', Revd. Rachel Mann writes...

                                   Christ our Sister, unite us in your holy bleeding.
                                  As you took spit and dust for healing,
                                  take our hands, cracked and huge as washerwomen's,  for God's work (4)

It is also a time when we can reflect on the role of women in Jesus's story. Jesus often used feminine imagery in his description of the Divine, particularly describing God's wisdom in female terms, and there are many examples of the importance of women in the gospels. Jonathan Merrit's conversation with Mary Demuth, which can be found here, tells us more about Jesus's radical relationship with women and it was this radicalism which led to the historical Jesus being persecuted, and eventually executed, by the authorities of the time. Malcolm Guite, in his sermon in Southwark Cathedral on Easter Sunday 2015, spoke of Jesus choosing to reveal his resurrection from the tomb to Mary Magdalene before any other. This was at a time when women were rarely listened to, or respected, and yet a woman was chosen to carry such an important message to the rest of humankind. As Malcolm Guite said, Jesus rose at Easter but this was also a powerful rising of women, both socially and spiritually. If only the early Christian church, and wider society, had been willing to listen, then or now.

In the role of Jesus's mother, Mary, we can perhaps bring together the themes of the Green Christ and the role of women. In the Christian story as it has been given to us Mary is shown only as a helpless witness to the suffering and death of her son. Although it is important to reflect on the suffering of women and mothers it is possible to explore a more empowering role than this. In the Bible women's roles are often shown as passive ones. In many of the ancient stories, such as those of Isis and Osiris, Calliope and Orpheus, Rhea and Dionysus, Dumuzi and Inanna, it is women, and often mothers, who dismember and/or restore the bodies of sacrificed gods. This echoes shamanic initiations across all cultures and, in this way, women take on their roles as mentors and initiators of the male mythic journey. I am reminded of the maenads, priestesses of the god Dionysus, who accompanied him in his wanderings and were said to rip apart wild animals in the abandonment of complete union with primeval nature. It is best not to underestimate the power of the female! We can think of Mary as a similar initiatrix if we are able to free her from the shackles of churchianity and allow her to take her place amongst other divine women. And in freeing her we are also able to liberate the historical Jesus and the mythic Green Christ to spread their message of radical love, deep compassion, connection to nature and to the wounded healer within. He becomes the Fisher King and the Feminine holds out to him the Grail of wisdom and healing.

I have come to no conclusions from making my journey through Easter this year and these will not be ways of thinking that resonate with everyone. For myself, I feel that there is much more to uncover but I have followed many roots and paths through the hedge and have found much beauty. I am lifting a prayer that these explorations will move me closer to the Spirit of what moves through men and women and there will be much more to find.

Wednesday, 1 April 2015

Activism, Apples, and Afallon



In 2001 I began my training as a Priestess of Avalon in Glastonbury. The name 'Avalon' comes from the older Welsh 'Yns Afallon' meaning 'Isle of Apples', the word 'afall', meaning 'apple' or sometimes 'fruit'. It is often hard to trace the meaning of apples through the many religions and folk tales in which they feature due to this previous, more generic, translation and yet the apple has become a powerful companion on my spiritual path with She~Who~Is (the name which I have come to use for 'Goddess'). In many traditions, the apple is both a mystical and forbidden fruit and so it seemed to me to fit very well with my new found path of the Divine Feminine, which carries with it a sense of being outside the teachings of more conventional religion. Despite no longer thinking of myself as a Christian, I felt in deep kinship with Eve, who bit into the apple of wisdom, and with the serpent/snake, who is so often a symbol both of the Goddess and of women. And yet always there is more to these symbols than meets the eye if we can be brave enough to stay on the journey.

Even in researching for this piece of writing I have discovered, to my joy, that several ethnobotanical and ethnomycological scholars, such as Carl Ruck and Clark Heinrich, believe that the apple in mythology is a symbolic substitution for the psychedelic Amanita muscaria, or Fly Agaric, mushroom, beloved of reindeer and shaman alike, and in this context its association with 'knowledge' takes on a wilder and deeper meaning and draws together several seemingly disparate spiritual threads for me. But more of that another time. For now, back to the apple.

Although many of us know of the apple as a symbol of 'sin' and the expulsion of humankind from the Garden of Eden, there are also passages in the Bible, particularly in the Song of Songs (my favourite!), where it becomes instead a metaphor for both sensuality, beauty, and love. In secular art, the Roman goddess Venus is often depicted with an apple, although the Latin words for apple, 'mālum' and evil, 'malum' are almost identical. Apples are also intimately associated with 'fairyland' and with death (there is a tradition amongst boatbuilders that it is unlucky to build a boat out of apple wood as it is more often used for coffins), and Avalon is often also thought of as the 'Isle of the Dead'. All point to a different state of being and a journey to the 'otherworld', which links us back to the trance state induced by the Fly Agaric mushroom. Some of these meanings are threads of different traditions that have been drawn together without a great deal of historical evidence and yet much of it feels right from a more spiritual standpoint. At the very least, we can say that truly the symbolism of the apple runs deep through human culture!

And yet, what do we mean when we talk about 'apples'? Even when we think of our familiar fruit there are several deep roots which we can choose to follow into an intangible and misty~magical place. The apples that we would recognise come from the deciduous apple tree 'malus domestica' which, as is clear from its Latin name, is a cultivated form of its wild ancestral grandmother 'malus sieversii'. Some believe that it was the earliest tree to be tamed. When I first began on my priestess path I innocently imagined the apples of Avalon to be the large, red ,and juicy fruit that I bought in my local supermarket and yet, if I came across a gnarled little crabapple in a wood, my heart would skip a beat. Soon I came to associate Avalon with these wild, often misshapen (to our modern eyes), and sour little apples. I love that these older, wilder fruits, which are so important to so many cultures, are often too bitter to eat. In imagining the sweet and delicious fruit of the domesticated apple in all our stories we are unconsciously implying that something is only of value if it is palatable to us. Knowledge is indeed sometimes a bitter fruit to swallow and can teach us a deep humility about our own place in the scheme of things.




And so it was bitter indeed when I learned, in perhaps the last five years, that the spiritual group that I had attached myself to was not the convention-defying, patriarchy-challenging, community that I had imagined and was instead one which advocated the de-wilding of much that I have come to believe is the true dwelling place of Divinity; the wild edge, the outcast, the anarchist, the heretic, the rebel. As we have seen, there are many sorts of apples, both wild and domesticated, and all have their place. Many prefer the seeming abundance of a well managed orchard, and they are beautiful, but in many cases the fruit growing in them has been managed almost out of existence; homogenised, with little resistance to disease, and many of us no longer trust those wild, gnarled and bitter, little apples that might come our way. It is telling that, in many managed orchards, crabapples have to be planted amongst the cultivated trees as the latter have become sterile, producing very little pollen, and no longer attract the bees and other pollinators needed to keep them fertile. It is dangerous indeed to align ourselves too powerfully with what is managed and tamed and all groups need their wild dissenting voices in order to remain healthy, fertile, and alive. In a truly wild orchard, which is managed by Goddess~as~Nature, there is room for a worm or two to make its way through the sweet flesh without threatening the health of the whole, and for diversity and change to have their place, as they should in any healthy ecosystem. I wish my old community well. It is no longer the place for me, or for many of my sisters.

I once took a friend to visit the apple orchard in Glastonbury Abbey. I took him there because I loved it so much and I had expected him to love it too. To me it was a little bit of wild nature in a town which so often falls prey to the commercial side of spirituality. It was, and is, my place of connection with what~is and yet I was shocked that his reaction was one of almost disgust. He found the number of apples rotting on the ground wasteful and bemoaned the 'laziness' and lack of care of those who he felt should have been managing it. What I had found beautiful he had found ugly. For me, these windfalls (even the word is beautiful) are what bring the magic, what invite Grandmother Rot to move through, as she should, and provide food for birds, butterflies, and countless other creatures, in the process. Wild attracts wild. When we become too domesticated we become fragile, when we align ourselves with the untamed on the edge of things we allow ourselves the opportunity to become stronger, more able to meet life's challenges, we become less afraid of letting Spirit truly flow through us. It isn't always easy but it is wild...



And so, in staying close to the roots of things, in following the path of the apple, I have severed my links with my former spiritual community and even with Avalon, which I have come to see as a younger, more domesticated, version of the wilder and older Afallon. 'Afallon', coming from the Welsh language, is resonant with the oldest indigenous tongue of these lands and connects me more deeply with the path that I have chosen and the land that I love. I have followed the serpent-path and have bitten into the fruit of knowledge. I have been cast out of the well-managed Garden, and I have never felt more connected to She~Who~Is, nor to my path as, what I have now come to call, a Hedgepriestess of Afallon. I might have twigs in my hair and mud on my knees but I am happy and open-hearted in a way that I have never been before; sometimes we need to be tamed and become feral in order to understand the preciousness of what it means to be wild. I am grateful.

'Avalon Spring Dawn, 500BCE', used with the kind permission of Richard Fraser http://www.richardfraser.co.uk/

And, in that spirit of open-heartedness, we come to my final A for Activism. Freedom allows the heart to expand and increases our ability to love. All activism, which is much needed in our frightened and beleaguered world, must come from this place of wild love. In this way we may prevent ourselves from experiencing the burn-out which besets many activists and, in our determination to stay soft-bellied and close to the earth and the roots of things, we may avoid the trap of becoming the thing which we are working to change. It feels right here to celebrate that Jesus, when liberated from the dogma of the institutional church, has become a powerful symbol of the Occupy Movement. Robin Meyers, in his book ' Saving Jesus from the Church' (New York HarperCollins, 2009, quoted in 'Jesus Through Pagan Eyes, Mark Townsend, 2012), describes Jesus's connection to Spirit as, “pure, unbridled, reckless compassion”. It is this 'reckless compassion' that we can call upon in our activism, and in our everyday lives, if we are able to break free from the chains of domestication. We are all afraid. I know that I am and yet, the more that I can connect to what is wild and edge-dwelling in nature and in myself, the more I am able to be brave in spite of the fear. The 'apple' has taught me that, and the Goddess who sings in its wilfully wild and bitter flesh calls me on...