a blessing: radiant white gem of clarity and constancy
watching tree creepers in the glade… for Joanna Macy
heat bludgeoned at Buddhafield, plunge into the cool shadows of the glade, deep within this submarine realm of myriad green
hammock marooned, a cheerful sprawl, limbs strewn, arms and legs akimbo
above, glimpsed through patchwork leaves, the blue calm of sky
girth of benign pondersome oak, surrounded by slender silver birches
a tatter scrap of a bird alights, nervously it skitter stitches up the trunk, spiraling higher.
then scarper flits from tree to tree
I recite the dictum ‘nuthatch down, tree creeper up’
another bird joins, then another, a whole family, shy oblivious, as, again, buddhafield bloom blossoms around them
I love to walk this land, a deeply storied place
within this glade, standing in circle, as friends made their wedding vows, else the soft solemnity of the grief space
tumble into sandals, hoik heft of rucksack, follow the path towards the stream, heading for crew food, tea, friends the gentle chatter before shift
the background ommmm of nature? we the creatures of busy burden
but here, earth rumpled, astonished, a molehill in the path
earth fresh excavated from the night before, a blacker dirt, a more recent tumnulii than it’s neighbours, volcano splattered about
fresh grave? Joanna, your personal turning within the seasons and cycles of our own great turning
but more, molehill, with the steady measured comfort of your words, seek for sanctuary, this soft earth turned burrow of being almost home
Thank you
context and natter chat!
another Buddhafield festival come, and after 10 days in the field (for me!), gone
Buddhafield is a conscious festie, ‘no drink, no drugs’, held in the Somerset Blackdown Hills every July
At its heart it’s a Triratna Buddhist festival, with Meditation, Dharma Talks and Pujas… yet due to the nature of the movement, theres also yoga, inclusive spaces, shamanism, dance, singing, permaculture, 12 steps, live bands, music around the fires… the whole hippy kit-kaboodle!! hundreds of beautiful people to dance with, laugh with and hug!
On the Sunday afternoon, as the festival was beginning to wind down, I ambled along, grooving to the musicians jamming outside old tree
popped into the beloved arms tee-pee for a smattering of a Kirtan, before ending up in the dance tent… where Sofia and Sandra, Italian friends, were holding a ‘dance of the elements’… think dance followed by Didge and Singing Bowl Sound Bath
whilst I was nimble prancing around the dance floor, a seed spore blew in from one side of the tent… one of those huge ones, spore sputnik, hairy awesome gossamer spider THINGS… it was drifting towards the ground, so i wafted it back upwards, like you would with a giant Rainbow soap bubble… a gentle gyre, then it caught the gust of wind and exited through the other side of the tent… i chased it to see it drifting deep into the dark, ominous fairytale woods
reminds me of Bedes Olde English Saxon tale on the stark brevity of this life
on a winters night a sparrow flys into a mead hall, where a King and his thanes are feasting, a brief flutter, before it leaves through the other door, back into the cold and dark
which, to mind(!), chimes well with Buddhist thinking
I’ve been coming to the festival since ooh 2009 and, thru a quick head mathematical totting up, as an ex programmer, I love being logical(!)… reckon, that down the years, I’ve spent over three months in this particular field… and what a joy that has been!
every year several old familiar faces don’t return… but always there’s new people to Love! the inevitable truth that in fair time, one year, however distant, I will no longer return… which admittedly sounds a little maudlin and nostalgiac, but in my opinion is exactly how life should be
Anyway I’ve always stewarded, usually running one of the teams up by the front gate… Rocking the Podule!… I love the energy of arrival, greeting people just as they first get here
oh, the poem, I was going to say something about that… I wrote it sitting in the glade, between shifts, we had heard that Joanna Macy was in the last few days of her life… I’ve always loved ‘the work that re-connects’, usually popping in for at least a couple of the daily sessions at BF… it’s a profound body of work, crucial for all of us alive in these times… and also a great smorgasbord of a workshop, which has a little soupcon of everything… bit of eye gazing, a few games, a lot of soul sharing!
In the poem I wanted to give voice to the other creatures that live on this land, all year round… the owls that hoot deep amongst the trees… the frogs, that go hopping about the site every time it rains… the brawler hares that live in the fields up by the front gate… what do they make of it when the glade is invaded?… by slack liners, teetering along a rope… by kids whooping… by the tranquil sanctity of the grief space
they just get on with it, going about their tree creeper and mole ways…
oblivious to the festival, but beyond that, oblivious to the throes and heroism of human mortality
i would wish that when i die that this is treated with deep nonchalance and disregard, by nature, going on with it’s own business
but my fear, THE fear, is that this is now only the case in isolated pockets? that such the hubris, such the sickening tragedy, of our reach that this has become the exception rather than the norm?
anyway, i’m hoping the moles don’t mind too much the dance tent, foot stomping, earth juddering base sound resonance?
part of the impetus to write something came about because when Love Patrol (they bring us tea, biscuits and love) came by where I was working, Meera had a book of Mary Oliver poems, a couple of which i read aloud to the team… I love reading aloud… Mary an obvious, and much more lofty-profound influence
Stewarding in the sunshine and the rain… bekky took the sunshine snaps, she wanted to send her mum a couple of pics showing her how it was… her looking wholesome, before donning war paint and reverting to the feral, loving Rainbow child she really was!
One of my favourite tasks was driving ‘Dancing Queen’ around the site… the stewards purple vehicle… so named because it only had one cd, Abba, which would play the first three songs then spit it out!
I arrived laden with charity shop cds ‘Bat Out of Hell’ which sadly would not play at all, scuppering my plans to dawdle about with ROCK melodrama blaring out the open windows… my other cd was Prince, a purple vehicle deserves tunes by his regal purpleness!
This vehicle a huge improvement from the one in previous years, a scrap yard salvage, completely missing 1st gear, this would make getting up the steep hill from slope a wheel spinning extravaganza!!
Anyway I’d pop down to pick up a huge vat of crew food, enough for all the Stewards working up top… then with Halley cuddling it in the passenger seat, a human gyroscope to stop it spilling! we’d crawl slowly up the hill, the fruity sounds of ‘Head’ blaring out and deliver grub to all the stewards… there was a huge double rainbow, it’s arch radiant over all the site… slightly soggy, starving, delusionally happy stewards were most content as ‘meals on wheels’ finally arrived!
(to be cont’d)
pujas next! (note to self)
