by Maria Ede-Weaving
In the last month I have moved house. During that time, a family member died. It has been a very complicated bereavement for my family, for reasons I won’t elaborate here, but this family member has left a legacy of anger and hurt, alongside the inevitable grief and sadness. Bereavement and moving can be intensely disorientating. It has been a horribly difficult time but having fully unpacked and feeling a bit more settled, I have had the opportunity to explore a local woodland park close to my new home.
I spent a blissful hour or so walking beneath the beeches and pines, alongside the burn that flows through the woodland. Peace comes easily when entering a forest; our nervous systems can regulate with much less effort in these magical places. I sat for a while taking it all in and finding my centre again after so much stress and upheaval.
Being in this beautiful woodland, my thoughts were drawn to the Goddesses Nemetona and Elen of the Ways and the relationship that I perceive that they have with each other in my own spiritual practice. For me, Nemetona is the energy of Sanctuary I can feel when I open to the Divine in Nature. Specifically, she is the Sacred embrace of the Grove, the circumference that holds and contains but also the hub around which the circumference can spiral. In contrast to Nemetona’s enfolding energy is the forward movement of Elen, path finder and way-shower. Her paths – vibrant echoes of foot, hoof and paw – reveal journeys into the land and into self, whether they are meandering trails into the green wood that call out to be explored, or straight tracks whose destinations reside beyond endless horizons. Her gift of forward movement, of putting one foot in front of the other – whether in the material world or our inner landscapes – so often brings revelations or much needed answers.
These seemingly contradictory energies of containment and forward movement, work together for me. Walking in Nature is an important spiritual practice of mine. I view walking through the landscape whilst being simultaneously held by it to be Nemetona and Elen perfectly interwoven and working in harmony.
But I am beginning to feel a sense of holding and belonging in my new home, opening to the blessings of this place, its beauty and its peace. My new home is surrounded by trees and feels very contained within Nemetona’s embrace. However, it is also on the banks of the river Tay, whose powerful flow, although it has slowed a little of late due to the lack of rain, is embodied, unstoppable forward movement. My new home has illustrated again that blend of containment and movement, the trees holding me and the river reminding me of its onward journey.
I have been learning about the Tay’s history and was fascinated to learn that its Gaelic name is Tatha which is believed to have stemmed from an older Pictish root which means ‘flowing one’. Tatha is grammatically feminine and so hints at a name for an ancient river goddess. I love this thought and have been trying to build a relationship with Tatha, meditating by Her waters, walking Her banks, opening to Her presence, simply listening for her voice and building associations and symbols through synchronicities and intuition.
I have also recently discovered that the meaning of the Gaelic name for my hometown of Perth, which is Peairt, comes from an old Pictish root meaning ‘wood’ or ‘copse/thicket’. This immediately made me smile: Peairt, the woodland Grove that is home, containment and belonging; Tatha, the flowing one moving ever onwards. Spirit seems to be truly hammering home these themes of movement and containment. It feels as if I am being guided to work mindfully with both.
I have just finished a book by Robin A Crawford, The Sound of Many Waters: A Journey Along the River Tay, and something he wrote spoke to me. He asked the question, where does the river begin and end? Technically, the source of the Tay is on Ben Lui and its end is where the Firth of Tay dissolves into the North Sea. But this forward motion, however meandering, through the magic of the water cycle is actually a loop: the ocean water evaporates and rains down on the mountains and the waters flow once again towards the sea, widening into lochs, narrowing again into rivers, joined by numerous tributaries, all moving towards the ocean, only to start the journey again. He suggested that, in all that movement, the snaking river is an ouroboros, the tail of the sacred snake in its mouth; an eternity of both forward flow and containment. It occurred to me that the perfect ‘O’ of the ouroboros is the encircling Grove that holds us and yet it is a loop of never-ending movement – the outward journey and return – through landscape and season, ever deepening with every round, seamless, complete and whole within itself.
In the aftermath of bereavement and moving, I am finding great healing and peace in these thoughts, but it also makes me want to cry. Sad tears, yes, but also tears of immense gratitude at the mystery and wonder of it all. Life moves on, sometimes inexorably when all we want is stillness, but the movement and the stillness, at the most fundamental level, are the same, or at the very least, we can hold both things within us and find wisdom, comfort and healing in the paradox. It is the Sacred Cup of the waters of life, the embrace of the Sacred Grove, both overflowing with an inexhaustible outpouring of the Divine current that moves through all things.
