Anamcara Surrounds Us

 

Ancient wisdom and knowledge encoded in the Celtic script of Ogham has intrigued me for a while now.  Since the Celtic New Year of Nov. 1^st, I have been studying the Ogham trees for each month and I have shared some of that information here in this blog.  The trees are mnemonic devices for this knowledge and I have become aware of how this is bringing a new awareness to me when I am in the woods.

Recently, after a two month hiatus, I returned to the forest that has sustained me over the past year of the pandemic.  But humans are not the only ones that are suffering.  In February, the county logging crew cut down hundreds of Ash trees that have been damaged or killed by the Emerald Ash Borer.  The heart of the forest was blocked from visitors and the sounds of chainsaws and heavy machinery was hard to listen to, so we took a break from walking there until the logging was done.  Returning this week, we found the forest quiet once again and hundreds of Ash logs, stacked at the entrance, awaiting trucks, silently.

The soft spongy forest floor felt so good to my feet and legs.  We have been walking on a paved and gravel trail system during our forest hiatus.  But, now the earth in the forest seemed to rise to meet my footsteps.  Birch trees gleamed bright white in the sunshine and I thought, yes, Birch is the first tree of the Celtic year. “New beginnings,” it heralded as I looked around for spring tree buds. 

Pussywillows are everywhere with their silver-grey catkins shining in the sun. I stop to stroke them with my fingers and I rub them against my cheek like a cat.  I found two large cuttings that were lying at the base of one tree as if the tree were offering them to me or someone took so many that they easily forgot two lying on the ground.  I brought them home and put them into a jar of water.  Every spring, I root pussywillows this way as I renew my life long relationship with the willow, the tree of January.  The circle moves as I travel it and it is spring once again.  Willow, the Queen of the Water grows in the same places as Alder, King of the Water, in ditches and along the lakeshore.  The long male catkins of the Alders are everywhere as well.   I never knew what they were until this year when I learned about them in February.  And now they are everywhere I look, as plain as day, now that my eyes know what to look for.  Alder with its long male catkins and tiny female ones that are only now emerging at the tips of the branches right above the male ones that will fertilize them with pollen.  The renewal of life is just waiting there.  The balance between male and female is evident to my now knowing eyes.

Above, you can easily see the long male catkins on this Alder.  If you look carefully at the short branch at the top right corner of this photo,
you can see the small female catkins which will become cones after
fertilization.  They are in very close proximity to the male catkins to
make fertilization easily accomplished.  In the picture to the right, you can see how plentiful the catkins are.

While looking closely at one Alder, my eye moved upward, searching for female catkins when something large and white got my attention at the top of a nearby Poplar.  A huge white and brown bird was perched up high, turning only its regal head to direct its powerful eyesight in search of prey.  I later learned that it was an immature Red-Tailed Hawk.  Hawk, messenger from the ancestors, there, plain as day, once I looked up.  My Celtic ancestors believed that all of life had soul or anam and so spiritual guidance or anamcara  was all around us.  What was Hawk saying to me?  Pay attention, look carefully?

I came across a new Hawthorn as I walked.  This tree of April is setting buds.  Are they flowers or leaves?  It is too early to tell.  I will visit them repeatedly, waiting to be informed, to be shown.  I tie tiny bells with red wool onto each one I meet, to introduce myself.  Hawthorn’s medicine opens the heart.  Hawthorn’s protective thorns demand respect.  Hawthorn is a gateway into the imaginal realm.  I feel a close connection to this tree for some reason.  The Hawthorns where I live are small and often have a fungus that comes from the Juniper and turns the Hawthorn branches and leaves orange.  But things are not always what they seem, especially in the imaginal realm.  I put my thumb up against the tip of the thorns to feel its sharpness but I don’t draw blood.

Hawthorn thorns before the leaves and flowers emerge.

The tree for May will be Oak and I am already looking at these strong giants that grow in the park beside our home.  I watch them, waiting for their knowledge to be shared.

Our world of consumerism has taken a hit this past year.  Shopping is now somewhat dangerous instead of relaxing.  Only necessities are purchased.  This creates space for walking through the trees, space for imagination, space for learning, space for anam that is shared as anamcara.  My ancestors understood this.  It is in my bones, somewhere, waiting to live again.  Hawk shows me – pay attention!  The insanity diminishes in the forest and the trees speak and instruct as the land rises up to support my journey. 

It feels as though we have crossed some kind of threshold and are in a new world, well, some of us.  Some are waiting for the old to return but I fear they will be disappointed.  There is a kind of freedom in this newness, a freedom to embrace what is and has always been around us and to listen and pay attention.  Trees have been here much longer than humans.  They are our elders and our ancestors and they have wisdom to impart.  We just need to listen.