by Joanna van der Hoeven (Autumn Song)
Connection. In Druidry, the relationship with the divine comes through a connection.
Relationships with people, with animals, with places and even time offer a chance at connection with the web
of life that surrounds and embraces our time in the here and now. Home is a deep connection within the
human psyche – a sense of well being, of stability, of familiarity. A connection of home is made through the feeling
of belonging somewhere, whether through time or personal preference. Home is a place where the emergence of the soul can begin,
where through a connection there is freedom to be true to the self. The term broken home can also relate to the breaking
of the connection where such a haven cannot be found, and sadly is on the increase in today’s society.
To find the connection, home must first be defined.
Is home simply the place where a person spends their time when not at work?
Is home wherever you lay your hat? Can you take that connection, that feeling of home, with you?
This is something that I have been considering lately, after returning from another trip “back home” to Canada.
Home, when I am in the UK, is Canada, the place of my birth, where I grew up. When in Canada, home is East Anglia,
where I currently live. Within my druidry, in a pantheistic and polytheistic view, one can have many homes and many
deities and spirits that are associated with these different homes. All bring a connection between the divine and the soul,
but is this limited to a location only?
My parent’s house has a spirit. Not in a ghost or in any paranormal sense, but the spirit of the home,
the hearth and family. Made up of people’s energies that have lived in the same place for thirty-five years, that spirit
lies deep within the walls of the home, in the floors where first steps were taken, in the doors that have been slammed,
in the windows as one looks out over the setting sun, in the sound and heat of the furnace which warms the house when it
is 30 degrees below zero. Some may see this as simply anthropomorphism of a house, but the feeling of security and home
still lies deep. When I walk through the door and smell home, with my eyes falling on familiar objects and the warm welcome
from family, the connection with deity is made. The relationship between people, the connection and love that is shared for the time,
place and those present to me is an expression of the soul touching the divine.
Can I take that with me? Will that connection, that haven, still be found 3,000 miles away? I have found that the answer,
to a large extent, is in the affirmative, though it took a while to feel it. It is difficult to transport the feeling of home,
where everything is familiar, the cracks in the pavement, the birch tree outside the window, the peeper frogs and the room you
slept in for years. It can be done though, by letting go of that feeling that home is simply in one place, that connection
can be found only in our safe place. Like a plug to a socket, you can plug yourself in wherever you are, though you may need
to use an adaptor to change to different voltages in foreign countries!
Opening the soul to the possibility that home can be found somewhere else is quite difficult,
because it takes an amount of trust and willingness to do so, and to release many preconceived notions of one place being home,
a kind of monopoly on havens in our mind. However, by simply being open to the songs around us, of the home, whether it be the
kettle boiling or the hot water tank turning itself on, the swifts screeching their flight over the rooftops or the children
shouting in the playground down the street, we can open ourselves to truly being in that time and place and therefore by being
aware, to come home.
In Canada, there is a valley behind my parent’s house, where the sleigh driven horses are put to pasture in the summer.
I called it Three Crow Valley in my youth, for there were always three big black crows calling to each other and flying over
the valley and past the plateau upon which the houses stood, overlooking the valley and the mountains that surrounded the
little village. The crows have since multiplied in number, and though the sound of the river by the valley is slowly being
drowned by the sound of the nearby motorway, still there is a sense of coming home whenever I venture down into that valley.
It is a recognition on my part, of the pines that are slowly marching down the valley sides and the sounds of the red winged
blackbirds in the marshes. It is also a feeling of connection with being recognised – usually when I go down in the evenings
to see the horses, their caretaker recognises me and greets me, in French – “You’re a DeWilde, aren’t you? I remember you coming
down here since you were that big,” (indicates with hand my journeys since childhood). The sense of belonging somewhere, that
there is also a lineage and a bond through that bloodline to the land that surrounds the soul is a powerful thing. However,
the world is our home as well, and we belong to the world in as much as we are connected to it and it is connected to us.
The divine spirit flows regardless of fences or boundaries, oceans or continents. If we can tap into it, we can feel it
wherever we go.
Here in East Anglia, I have found another valley, though this one has already been named.
I have made the effort to get out into the countryside, both on foot and on bicycle, to explore my new home.
Getting to know all the lanes and bridleways, the fields and woodlands and streams brings me closer to the
connection that comes with home. Once the familiarity with the surroundings is established, the sense that
one can relax is easier to achieve. Going for walks down the streets of the housing development as well can
bring a sense of home and connection, with the neighbourhood cats recognising me much as the way the old man
in the valley “back home” does. The feeling of being a part of somewhere, in the present and fully aware of
the surroundings can also bring about both a heightened awareness of that place, combined with the security
and relaxation of being “home”. My partner and my friends are my family here, with those relationships making
the connection to the spirit of home and hearth wider and easier to access. I am also learning to dance with
the spirit of this house as well, with the sounds of the back door creaking, the way the light shines through
the wooden blinds, the candlelit baths and the blackbird singing in the dusk.
The sun that shines through this window is the same sun that shines in Canada.
I can take my sense of being and my druidry with me wherever I go in this world, for home truly is where the
heart is. It knows no bounds.
