Myth Weekend Poem and Pictures

Leaving the village, entering the forest. In myth there is normally three parts to a story; severance, threshold and return. Severance refers to some great change event, such as, losing your job, the end of a relationship, the birth of a child. It is the point in your life when you sever attachments to your old life and you move out of your comfort zone. This is known as leaving the village. You depart from the familiar and enter liminal space the metaphoric forest of transition, learning and change.

This weekend was the first gathering of five in the year programme of the West Country School of Myth and Story (http://www.schoolofmyth.com/courses.html). The purpose of which is to explore the mythic world through story. Being the first gathering it is the point at which we all crossed the threshold leaving our home comforts behind and stepped into the forest of the unknown to delve into the mystery and to listen to what the ancient ones, the elementals, the ancestors have to tell us.

On the Saturday afternoon after listening to the initiatory story of Faithful Johan we were invited to wander the forest and moorland to write our 'I am ...' poem and in so doing to discover our own mythic ground, our innate birthright, our connections to nature and ultimately to claim our ground.

Before I felt the urge to write I followed my instincts to a new part of the woods, a corridor of old beech trees lay off in the distance and I headed towards them. As I came closer I was drawn to a huge boulder. From there I felt eyes upon me and I looked up to see three deer watching me from a far.

I began following the deer trying my best to keep on their trail. It was not easy as they moved fast and the colouring of each deer helped them to easily blend into the background. I eventually saw the originally 3 deer catch up with their herd and in single file they leaped after one another down into the lower woods. See how many of the deer you can see in the picture below?

Before you say none, I can assure you there are at least two deer in this photo, granted at a distance but they are there, moving fast and camouflaged. At this point I decided to stop tracking the deer. They were far to canny and my movement only served to chase them further and further away. Instead I followed the beech trees until I came out on to the moor. A huge panoramic vista opened up before me and for a while I did not know which way to turn. Do I go up high on to the moor or do I follow the path down into the valley and along mariners way back to Heathercombe? In the end I decided to sit down and enjoy the view. And it was whilst sat on the ground looking around me that the words came for my 'I am' poem.

I am

I am an underground cavern
unknown and unseen by anything
except for the passing rain water
permeating from above.

I am a golden daffodil rising
from the ground to trumpet
the spring.

I am a granite stone sitting in
a drystone wall marking the
boundary of a farmers field.

I am a burnt orange autumnal
oak leaf floating down from
tree to ground.

I am the deep throaty moo
of a Frisian cow waiting to
be walked to the milking yard.

I am a deer standing as still
as a Rodin sculpture watching all
in the valley below.

I am the edge of the horizon lost
in a hazy embrace with the sky above.