Sulum Factum Magus

As some of you may know, and others of you may have guessed, I work very closely with trees. In fact I love trees, I love getting to know what they are, I love finding out all about them, I love getting a bit of wood from them and working it into an object of beauty and power, I love sitting under them, I love meditating under them and with them. I believe that trees have so much to teach us about how to live at peace with ourselves and in harmony with Mother Nature. Of course I believe that trees are sentient beings capable of communication with us, which puts me in a minority, I dare say.

However my druidic ancestors believed, by all accounts, the same things, and so do many traditional indigenous people around the world, so I believe I am in very good company.

Some of my friends think I am a bit daft, because I won’t cut down large trees near my house, which they think could blow down in a storm. However, the way I see it, why should I cut down my friends? I really hope they don’t blow down. We had a big storm here few years back, and a couple of trees did come down. But they managed to fall around the house, and not on it. Some might call it luck. I call it the consideration of good friends.

Once one begins to form a magical relationship with trees, one very naturally begins to see them in a different way. No longer as useful objects to be placed at the disposal of industrious homo sapiens, but as equals, denizens of this planet, generous souls who provide us with fruit, wood, and oxygen to breathe. One may also become distressed at the way trees are treated by our modern industrialized society – as soulless objects which may be torn up and discarded to make way for housing estates, farms, roads, factories and so on.

It makes me angry sometimes to see the way we treat trees. Ecologically speaking, perhaps this is changing a bit, as people begin to develop environmental awareness, and appreciate the necessity of preserving forest habitats for the greater good of all life. However, clearing of forests continues around the world at an accelerating pace. And ecological awareness usually falls short of awareness of trees as sentient creatures, who have a right to continued existence, who feel pain and shock when cut down, and suffer the pangs and griefs of death just as we do.

The magical work of the trees is very powerful. They are very good at participating in collectivities of consciousness, knowingly and with full awareness, and channelling the intelligence and awareness of that collectivity, without conflicting with their own individuality. This is a skill that most people in modern society have lost, and which is largely relegated to the domain of the lunatic. And of course it is dangerous to drink of that collectivity of consciousness, and allow it to take form and expression in one’s life, when the skills and safeguards for doing so are largely unknown and unappreciated, and when most others around one regard this as eccentricity or madness.

That’s why it is important to have a support network of magical friends and associates who accept and understand such phenomenon, and have experience in working with such energies. Many people who know these things to be true feel isolated and alone, and unable to talk to even close friends for fear of being taken as balmy. But rest assured, your brothers and sisters are out there, and when the time is right, you will recognize them, or they will recognize you.

There is much that is destructive about the world that humans have created for themselves, and for everything else on the planet. Yet there is also much that is beautiful, and through it all, She is waking and experiencing herself, in shadow and light, in pain and joy.

Last night I dreamt of tree spirits, which is why this subject is particularly on my mind today. In my dream they are a green colour, but a soft green, with a hint of blue or grey. They look just like people, but everything about them is green, including their skin and hair. They float in the air, and have a soft and gentle energy. They are cool to the touch, like the bark of a smooth skinned tree. The ones I met liked orange juice. They invited me to join them in a large tree, but for some reason I was wary of going into their domain, lest I should never return. These fears are unfounded, and are a result of social conditioning, and I regret not accepting their invitation. I remember looking up into the tree, and seeing half a dozen beautiful tree spirits reclining on various branches.

Tree spirits, apparently, do not have a sexuality which is as clearly defined as that of humans. In my dream, one of the tree spirits, a young man it seemed to me, was going to have a baby. I promised to help. The tree spirits could make themselves appear as human, and enter into the human world, but would not eat anything. They would only drink orange juice.

Well there you are…I have either convinced you that I am completely balmy, or given you hope that there is someone else out there who sees what most people apparently do not.

You will find in these pages, as time goes by, some more stories of how I work with trees. I hope you feel inspired to do your own magical work with our tree brothers and sisters. It is a wonderful and rewarding undertaking. But be warned, you will be forever changed.

Today is winter solstice. There are a few people coming over this afternoon to do a winter solstice circle, and have a bit of a get together afterwards. So I have been thinking a little bit about the meaning of winter solstice, and what we will end up doing. I went to a nice Yule circle the other day, and there was a Yule log, carved with intentions for the coming year. People also wrote down intentions on pieces of paper, and poked them into cracks in the log. It was nice.

I have a number of things going through my mind. Among them is the story of Gawain and the Green Knight, a development of the theme of the battle between the summer and winter Lords, in which each chops off the head of the other. In Gawain and the Green knight, this story takes place at Yule, or actually Christmas, since it has been Christianized. Gawain accepts the Green Knight’s dare to lop off his head, and promises to submit himself to a blow from the Green Knight in his turn, at the following Christmas. Doubtless, he was thinking he would have nothing to fear from a thoroughly dead and headless knight. However the headless Green Knight simply picks up his head, and holding it under his arm, walks out. So Gawain is honour bound to keep his bargain, and at the following Samhain, sets out to seek the Green Knight, and his home, the Chapel Perilous, and so fulfil his promise. I can’t help feeling that Gawain is taking the path of the dead from Samhain to Yule, just like the winter sun itself. A rash and impetuous youngster, will have his honour and courage tested. In so doing, he will be born into his adult self, with the help of the Green Knight.

An on-line text for Gawain and the Green Knight is available and the wikipaedia article  is worth a look for the quick run-down. But get hold of the Norton Anthology of English Literature if you can– I think the translation in that august volume is superbly poetical!

The theme of re-birth is, of course, appropriate for winter solstice, which is the re-birth of the sun. It strikes me that there are many re-births throughout life, where we transition into a new phase of existence, with new self awareness, new self understanding, new responsibility, new abilities, new vision and commitment. Sometimes life throws these moments at us which stimulate such a transition. However the magical person cultivates these transitions and growth steps, and develops the awareness to grasp them when they arrive.

It has set me thinking about what we may be able to do with our Yule circle. There are transitions and growth every day, if we choose to recognise it, cultivate it, and allow it. So I think maybe this Yule we can work on recognising transition and growth. Perhaps even more so, on focussing transition and growth, and crystallising transition and growth.

Ritual can and should be a means of transforming the inner landscape of the soul, and connecting and harmonizing it with the realm of the collective consciousness, the greater consciousness, the consciousness of Mother Earth, and with the energies of the spiritual currents that sustain and fertilize her.

Yule to me is about the child of the sacred marriage. On the Lord and Lady’s Beltane romp, a child was conceived, which now is born. The child of the sacred marriage is the child of promise, when magical and spiritual awareness comes into operation, and the potential of knowledge and awareness takes shape and form. The child of promise is the beginning of the journey, once the eyes have been opened. But the journey is still before one. In fact it is the journey of Gawain, setting off at Samhain to face his fears and stand by his honour.

So it is a celebration of the mother, in all her fertility, and the love and pain of childbirth. A celebration of the fruits of the sacred marriage. The joy and love of coupling, is balanced by the pain and exhilaration of childbirth. It is a celebration of potential, as yet unrealized, and so an acknowledgment that all of us have unrealized potential. Often it is fear, and want of courage, that prevents our potential from being realized, or causes us to develop it in a negative way. Like Gawain, we must develop the courage to face death in order to allow our potential to grow.

Facing death can occur in a number of ways. It doesn’t  mean to take gratuitous physical risks and behave in a foolhardy fashion. This serves no great spiritual or developmental purpose. It does mean having the courage to risk loss of some type, in order to gain what is most important – the knowledge of the true self, and its work. What is there to lose? Well, it strikes me that what we have to lose is all the fond ideas and self conceptions we harbour about ourselves, the mental constructions we have of who we are, and what we can and can’t do, both conscious and unconscious.

These constructions are not our true self, but the like the tower of the tarot, imprison us inside a comfortable cell we call ourselves. A bolt of lightning is required to bring that tower crashing down, so that the true self may be re-born from the rubble of the collapsed tower, so that the true self has a chance to manifest its destiny in our lives.

This bolt of lightning is the sword of the Green Knight, and like Gawain, we fear it, and desire it. As death releases us as spirit from the physical body, a spiritual death and re-birth releases the spirit from the bondage of the mental tower.

There is of course much more to the story of Gawain and the Green Knight, and indeed to Yule, but that is enough to work on for this Yule. It might be nice to

enact the story of the Green Knight, so that we acknowledge the different roles we play for each other. Perhaps each person can be challenged by death. This of course opens another Yule resonance, with the Saturnalia of ancient

The bolt of lightning works individually, but also collectively, so part of our circle may be to call in a bolt of lightning for the collective consciousness – all for the highest good of all, of course!

It strikes me as almost comical how people avoid doing what will make them happy, in spite of knowing very well what it is. To be honest, I am speaking of myself. It is amazing what excuses I can come up with for avoiding my True Work. I suppose I am in a lucky position, in that I know what it is – for me it is writing. But the astonishing thing is how little of it I have been doing!

As regular readers of this Blog will know, I have often struggled with depression throughout my adult life. There are several focal points for my depressive episodes, mostly revolving around issues of livelihood, diet, and the state of the world. One thing about these depressive episodes is that they have been a tremendous driver for search and exploration, on physical, spiritual and emotional dimensions.

But I digress. I have wanted to be a writer since I was a young man, just out of school. But there always seemed to be something standing in the way. I was always doing something else – studying, working, having fun, learning musical instruments, playing in bands, having dinner parties, falling in love, getting married, raising a child, and more working, and more studying and so on and so on. And the less writing I did, the more maudlin and melancholy I would become, and the more writing I did, the happier and more full of beans I felt.

You would think that would be obvious enough to even the most diehard dimwit. However, in spite of knowing how much better I felt when writing, I still found ways of putting it off, and doing other things. There was always something, circle work, contemplation, magical exercises, practicing trumpet or double bass, recording a song, and so on.

Just to underline the point, about three or four years ago I had a dream in which I met a being of light, whose job was to wise me up. He was a shortish pudgy fellow with black hair, parted at the side, and for some reason I got the idea he was new at the spiritual guidance game. In the dream he took me for a drive along a mountain road in the Australian bush. While driving, he spoke to me about spiritual matters. On and on it went, in a captivating discourse that seemed erudite, wise, and inspirational. It seemed like it went on for hours. Pity that I can’t remember anything of what he said! Except for one thing. He told me to write each morning, first thing, and to eat an egg for breakfast, and this would cure me of the twin scourges of my life, depression and irritable bowel syndrome.

You would think that this would be easy enough to do, wouldn’t you? However, in spite of this dream, and in spite of knowing how writing makes me feel, I ignored this advice, until now, that is.

Somewhat belatedly, and after several more years of unnecessary suffering, I have decided to follow this advice. Well, I’m not quite sure about the egg business, but hey, maybe I’ll even give that a go.

So why have I ignored this advice till now? Well, to cut a long story short, I believe it comes down to the struggle between the rational self identity, and the spiritual or true self. The rational self identity constructs an idea of who it is, and in spite of all evidence to the contrary, likes to stick to it. The spiritual self has its work to do, and if thwarted, pines and sickens, and this is reflected in imbalances in the mind, emotions and physical body. The cure is to let the spiritual self do its work, whatever it is. It’s that simple. Now, if only I can remember that!

The west wind is blowing today, and only the middle of June. Usually the west wind doesn’t make itself known in our neck of the woods until August. But it seems to have been arriving earlier and earlier over the last few years. It might have something to do with climate change, but I’ll leave that for the experts to figure out. Anyway, its blowing a gale right now, and has been all night. It does strange things to one when that west wind blows. It is unsettling. One feels ungrounded. Anxious. Excitable. Ordinary folks become a bit fearful. Witches, meanwhile, jump on their broomsticks and, laughing maniacally, zoom through the bluster howling like the demented. It’s an interesting word, demented. It seems to mean without one’s mind, or having lost one’s mind. And that is what the wind does. It affects the mind, and makes one a little crazy, with its incessant gale, shaking the trees.

The wind has been blowing all night, and I have been dreaming. My mind has refused to settle down, and I have been waking periodically to hear the wind rushing and howling through the trees, which I can see out my window shaking and bending madly. In the back of my mind I wonder if any of them will come down, but no, I reassure myself, the gale has quite a way to go before that level is reached. But still, I can’t help being a tad worried. I get up and go and check on my daughter, and put an extra blanket on her. It is 2:30am. Her room is on the western end of the house, and I can’t help thinking that if a tree comes down, it will come down on her room. I think about bringing her into our room, and check inwardly if it’s necessary. The inner one shakes his head, so I go back to bed. However I do a quick warding spell, and call on the Lord and Lady to protect her from all harm, especially falling trees. I go back to my dreams.

There is a game of baseball, in which I am struggling to put on an arm guard. When it comes my turn to bat, the bat is small and rotten, and falling to pieces. I am obviously such an amateur, that the other players take it easy on me, and I get a walk to first base. We are three runs behind on the last innings. What does it all mean? I have no idea! Maybe something will come to me during the day. I also was at a meeting of witches, some of my friends in

It is well known that the fearn, the wind that blows off the Sahara desert into southern

Well that’s my theory for today, and I’m sticking to it. Note to self: pay extra attention to grounding exercise this morning.

Some people may not be aware of it, but I have struggled with depression for much of my adult life. A major turning point in this struggle came when I discovered that if I scrupulously avoided all products containing wheat, then the problem was much alleviated. You wouldn’t believe how many products these days contain wheat. And one of the most easily over-looked is the humble sausage. Not that I am a great sausage eater, mind you. My wife and I are very much on the vegetarian side of the spectrum, but occasionally we come over all carnivorous, and get a couple of sausages for the BBQ. You know the old saying, everything in moderation. Now there are a great variety of sausages available these days, and even gluten free sausages, which were duly purchased for our BBQ excursion. Conscious of the marvellous health giving qualities of Omega 3 essential fatty acids, I also bought some salmon steaks, temporarily overlooking the environmental problems associated with fish farming!

Anyway, it was a very pleasant BBQ, and after eating my piece of fish, I came over all desirous for a sausage. Now this is not something that happens that often, mind you, but there it was, on the plate, and there I was, salivating, thinking of all those sausage dinners as a kid, with mashed potato and tomato sauce and frozen peas. I reached out, and placed it on my plate, and began to slice it affectionately, and chewing each mouthful 40 times as was recommended to me at Shiatsu school, began to eat and enjoy my sausage.

To say it was a sensual experience may be going a bit far. But anything enjoyed as a child, and then picked up again as an adult after a long break, has an extra savour. It is an experience of remembrance, as well as of the present. Like some kind of rich French sauce, the tendrils of memory embrace the experience, prime the taste-buds, and enhance it with a psychic aroma from the kitchens of childhood. One eats both in the present, and in the past, and becomes, with each bite, something once more of the child, which has, unfortunately, long matured into a forty something bore.

So I enjoyed this example of the occasional Saturday afternoon sausage. However by Monday morning, I had a double dose of Monday-itis. The irritable bowel was making its irritation felt on all levels. I was maudlin, irritated with my wife, with having to go to work. In fact, it seemed to me that work was over-whelmingly hopeless, and that there was no alternative to the insurmountable problems that faced me other than welcome death. However, having been in this situation before, I manage to retain a sense of reality, and go about my day, with the aid of a bar of chocolate, hot chips, and a gluten free cookie. By Tuesday, I am back to my normal self again. Things don’t seem nearly so gloomy. Life is full of opportunities, and excitement. Yes, the job is stressful, but nothing that I can’t handle, and I am looking forward to the challenges and excitement of my life.

Puzzling over this episode, it strikes me like a clap of thunder what has happened. I ate the wrong sausage! Not my wife’s carefully selected gluten free variety, but one of the other guests gourmet wieners. I wonder how many other people out there who suffer from depression could be helped enormously by adopting a gluten-free diet?