New Home, Wilder Gods

For some time a restlessness was growing within me, seeking a freedom of a wilder land, the chalk hills that had been my home for 20 years where becoming too tame; my inner grove reached via a narrow mountain path and surrounded by pine, rowan, juniper and yew. My new quest was coming, I handed it over to the gods!

Working at the University of Cumbria in London, It was no surprise that soon I was given an opportunity to apply for a job at our Ambleside Campus in the Lake District. Interviewed and given the job in early December and moved by Imbolc! Everything was truly meant to happen and it did, very fast.

So I sit here and all I can hear Is the rush of the beck, surrounded by the Whetstone of our house, a buzzard calls to the wild land below and I give so much thanks, that I have arrived. Dishevelled and wide eyed, this was needed, this is what has happened, and this is what the call of the wild sounds like. My usual landscape references have gone, I feel as though I float, the currents of water and fierce winds carries me, but I am not worried, the gods will see me land where I am meant too. The power of nature, raw elements, are so much more acute here, there is a vulnerability that I love, we can still be at the mercy of the elements; nature here has the upper hand.

As the Spring Equinox came softly in, beneath a misty dew laden morning, that hugs the peaks of the fells and wild daffodils nod to the presence of the growing ball of light in the sky, it’s there somewhere, or so I am told! For the first time I put down roots, barefoot beneath an old ash tree, the soft wet moss and ferns caress me, it’s the first welcoming I have actually felt and already I feel that I can start to orientate my soul once more and a sudden clarity of vision returns, the journey begins. I am so looking forward to finding the wilder gods, the ancestral stories of these fells and valleys, the mountain giants that sit silently strong and their slow hum of power. I want to craft ritual in the ancient bluebell carpeted woods, to honour the spirits of place where I may brew my Wildcraft. I want to ascend the mountains, carried on the thermals, as are my Clan of Birds, that I may know their song. I want to journey to the oldest of stone circles and burial cairns, where the ancestors may be honoured and I can sing their stories alive. I want to know the plant and tree folk that grow here, that I may count them amongst my friends and drink of their inspiration, and to sleep beneath the roots for the fraternal four – the majestic Yews of Borrowdale, reaching for an even older poetry of the soul.

The chalk hills of Kent held me with a gentle fierceness. They taught me all I knew about the mysteries of the gods and ancestors and indeed my soul, now I travel to a wilder land, seeking wilder gods, the same but deeper, stronger, the song of my Wildcraft refined and loudly sung to fells and valleys, and wild open skies of eternity.

I hear the call of the Wild Land

I hear the call of the Wild Land

I hear the call

Carry me on wings of freedoms flight

Carry me to the stories of a wilder night

Where ancestral memory deepens and wilder gods are honoured

Where my soul finds a rooted freedom of my wildcraft

A druid heart and pagan soul

 

Rob Wilson Spring Equinox 2019

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