One can hardly be surprised that I hug trees. I call myself a “modern druid,” after all, and isn’t that what druids are supposed to do? Hang around lots of trees? There is a lot to be said for hugging a tree, really. “Tree-hugger,” I know, is a common pejorative for hippies. But really, if you’ve never done it, just let go of your inhibitions and give it a try. When I do it, I feel such a connection to the earth, to the majesty of the living world. I feel the flow of life around me. Trees truly are majestic, noble beings and that is a sense of the tree you can best get by close physical contact.

But there is another form of tree-hugging that I indulge in and that I also invite you to try: tree climbing. It’s great physical exercise for one thing, and I’m all about that. But as a spiritual exercise, it has a lot going for it as well. Take whatever benefit your may get from tree-hugging and about quadruple it.

As I compose this, I am sitting in one of my favorite meditation places. I’m about 20′ in the air, in the branches of a moderately tall magnolia tree on our property. From here, I can look down on the roof of our two-story house, but more importantly, I am in the middle of a swarm of life all around me. It’s a completely different world from that of the ground a mere 20′ below.

You are not only feeling the flow of life, you are in it. Like a baby, cradled in its mothers arms, the boughs support you, gently rocking. You face your fears, climbing higher and higher, growing bolder, stronger, trusting more in the tree to support you.

In the branches of the tree, you are in a liminal space - a “between” place that is not Earth and not Sky, and is thus charged with spiritual potential. The liminality found in the branches of a tree was not lost on the Druids or ancient Norse. Consider the mistletoe, sacred at least in part because it grows neither on the earth nor under it, is not of the earth or of the sky. In Norse legend,  Loki crafted an arrow from the plant to kill Balder. In some tellings of the story, this was possible exactly because of those liminal qualities, having been missed by the Goddess Frigga in protecting Balder from all things of the four elements, or all plants that grow on or under the Earth.

Tree-climbing has grown from a child-hood pastime to something of an “extreme sport.” But it attracts a different sort of person from, say, rock climbing or snowboarding. Unlike other “extreme” activities, it isn’t so much the actual activity itself that engages most practitioners, the climbing into the tree, but the time they spend when they get to where they are going high in the branches. There, they may spend hours relaxing, may even sleep in a specially made hammock, or may just do what I do: commune with nature in an entirely different way than is possible on the ground.

The activity can be taken up relatively inexpensively and safely. It also doesn’t require much physical conditioning. The technical equipment needed costs about $300 or so to get started. That covers the cost of a special harness, rope, and the equipment to protect the tree and the rope from each other. So far, I haven’t used any of that, instead just “free-climbing,” but I’m limiting my options thereby. Unlike in rock climbing, tree climbing gear isn’t so much for safety as it is to open up options and to make it possible to get to places you otherwise can’t reach.

A few good sites for more information are:

Tree Climbers International

New Tribe

Dancing With Trees

Inanna at At the End of Desire wrote recently about a New York Times article which related mental health to the narrative style of the stories we tell about ourselves. Those with mood problems, for example, tell stories in which every major incident is tainted by some dark detail — “notes of disappointment.” Inanna suggests that a storytelling technique using this information could be used therapeutically to change, subtly and over time, characteristics about our selves.

This makes me wonder if a positive form of cognitive therapy could be to “rewrite” the stories we tell ourselves, making ourselves the heroes instead of the victims. I can imagine a therapist, peer counselor, or friend gently pointing out the “notes of disappointment” in a story being told and suggesting ways to change the narrative.
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Of course, it’s not as simple as “thinking makes it so.” (I don’t really understand the Law of Attraction, but I know that that’s not so simple either, The Secret notwithstanding.) If anything, the retelling works more like an affirmation; repeat it often enough, and you can cognitively “rewire,” training the mind to move in a different groove.

The possible connection of such a technique to ritual was, of course, not lost on her and she concludes with the observation that “Ritual and magick could also be powerful tools to aid in retelling.” I would expound on that and suggest that ritual and magic are extremely powerful and useful psychological “self-help” techniques. The connection between the power of storytelling and magic was made clear to me by a passage later in the article, relating how people who found recovery, externalized their problems:

At some level, talk therapy has always been an exercise in replaying and reinterpreting each person’s unique life story. Yet Mr. Adler found that in fact those former patients who scored highest on measures of well-being — who had recovered, by standard measures — told very similar tales about their experiences.

They described their problem, whether depression or an eating disorder, as coming on suddenly, as if out of nowhere. They characterized their difficulty as if it were an outside enemy, often giving it a name (the black dog, the walk of shame). And eventually they conquered it.

“The story is one of victorious battle: ‘I ended therapy because I could overcome this on my own,’ ” Mr. Adler said. Those in the study who scored lower on measures of psychological well-being were more likely to see their moods and behavior problems as a part of their own character, rather than as a villain to be defeated. To them, therapy was part of a continuing adaptation, not a decisive battle.

The findings suggest that psychotherapy, when it is effective, gives people who are feeling helpless a sense of their own power, in effect altering their life story even as they work to disarm their own demons, Mr. Adler said.

A sense of power? Disarming demons? Sounds like ritual and magic to me. I’ve discussed the psychological affect and benefits of ritual here before, and this reinforces my theory: that ritual and magic can be seen as a way to effectively communicate with the subconscious and thus change our lives for the better. If externalizing our problems is an effective therapy, what can be more therapeutic than magic in which our problems are not only externalized but given physical form, say as a poppet or a note on paper, and then manipulated or destroyed?

I am leery of reducing magic to simply a mind-trick we play on ourselves, but I think it helps to recognize that, at least on some level, that’s exactly what it is. The surprising thing I have come to realize, though, is that recognizing the “mind-trick” doesn’t reduce the power of the magic, it only helps us develop better and more powerful rituals! The reason for this is that the subconscious doesn’t know the difference. The distinction is being made by the conscious, rational mind. So, what can we get out of this article that will help us design rituals? Here are my thoughts:

1. “Externalize” the problem you are dealing with. Make it real and separate. Represent it with some tangible object that you can work with.
2. Word spells in terms of overcoming obstacles. Word them with the problem first, then the resolution. Negative, then positive ending.
3. Use third person instead of first person as much as possible.

It would also seem to me that this storytelling angle reinforces the importance of journaling. Journaling lets you see what’s going on in your life from another perspective, lets you integrate thoughts and feelings using both sides of your brain, and, as this article suggests, gives you a narrative you can review and examine in a different light, letting you see how your own “notes of disappointment” are bringing you down.

Life’s modern hectic pace is not something out of our control. We should slow down. Savor the moment. That is the aims of The Slow Movement. It’s proponents believe the most important things in life should not be rushed.Slow Down Now, a website of the Slow Movement, has this motto: multitasking is a moral weakness. Zen masters say very much the same thing. Be in the moment. Do one thing and devote your attention to it. Relax and experience the Now.

The Slow Movement is also about Slow Food. Enjoy locally grown produce and help preserve cultural cuisine and associated food plants. The food taste better, it promotes stainability, and makes us at least that much less dependant on big business farms.

Slow Movement is, ultimately, about making real connections — ones lost due to the pace and technology of modern life.

Stress is leading to unprecedented health problems. “Stop the world I want to get off” is a feeling we all have sometimes.Why is this happening? What is wrong? What are we searching for? The one thing that is common to all these trends is connection. We are searching for connection. We want connection to people - ourselves, our family, our community, our friends, - to food, to place (where we live), and to life. We want connection to all that it means to live – we want to live a connected life.

The Slow Movement seems to be the intersection of various points of interest for me: Zen, Druidry, sustainable living, and quality of life. So, it’s been a delight to discover and share with others. Now slow down, take a deep breath, and appreciate the moment.

Okay, so I’ve been on a bit of an exercise kick lately. I only hope I can keep the enthusiasm up, and as long as I can link it to philosophy, I think I can. So, today I want to talk about going barefoot. There is simply no better way to feel the presence, the spirit, and the power of the earth. From a philosophical desire to feel a connection to the earth and to nature, going barefoot seems only, well, natural.

But what about practical health benefits? Ah, I’m glad you asked. Running barefoot seems much healthier than the regular “pounding of feet wrapped in thick padding” we normally consider running or jogging. For years, African runners have dominated the highest levels of long distance running. The reason why eluded scientists for a long time. They tested genetic explanations, but the African runners had the same lung capacity, the same leg structure, etc., that other runners did. What the African runners had over the competition was this: they had run barefoot from childhood. The proper running technique while running barefoot, such as the one taught as the pose method, uses a light step with gravity providing the driving force. It is easier on the joints and is more energy efficient. Their are multiple health benefits to going barefoot. The following is quoted from Women’s Sports & Fitness, August 1994:

A recent study demonstrates that the skin on the soles of your feet resists abrasions and blistering and that going barefoot is beneficial to the musculoskeletal structure of your feet and ankles. … Kicking off your shoes can help prevent a host of foot injuries: bunions, heel spurs, and bone deformities, among others. “Shoes act like casts, holding the bones of the foot so rigid that they can’t move fluidly,” [Steven] Robbins [MD and adjunct associate professor of mechanical engineering at Concordia University, Montreal] explains. “The foot becomes passive from wearing shoes and loses the ability to support itself.”

The Celtic Reconstructionist in me would feel remiss if he didn’t add that at least some ancient Celts apparently saw it as a weakness to wear shoes. Not surprising, since at least a few thought it was a weakness to wear any clothes at all into battle.

Today, I have gone the entire day without wearing shoes or socks. Fortunately, because I am self-employed, I can get away with this at work. When I went to run an errand, I reflexively looked for my shoes before I remembered I didn’t really need them. It was rough-going at times. Walking on hot pavement and limestone rocks were a bit painful, but there was some joy even to that — a sense of freedom and of connectedness, of being aware and alive. Also, my movements have felt more fluid and gentle. My feet are sore and tired, but I’m loving it.

I lament the thought of having to imprison my feet in padded casts again, but I will have to eventually. There are public places that frown on the practice of going barefoot, though for no reason other than social stigma, really. But, that’s social pressure I have to bend to. Business owners can kick me out, and as a trial lawyer, I am also pretty sure judges would frown on my appearing in court barefoot. So, I’m going to take it day by day, going barefoot when and where I can for now, and taking it one step at a time.

Many other facts and useful links concerning “barefooting” can be found on Wikipedia.

Though you wouldn’t know it from looking at me, I am interested in physical fitness, especially where exercise intersects with philosophy. When I was in to Taoism and Buddhism, I practiced tai chi. I still do, along with pa kua and some other kung fu stuff I can’t really pronounce.

Now that I am “neo-druid,” I have asked myself, what would a “druidic” workout look like? I would think that it should embody a “oneness” with the environment, developing awareness and balance. It would be a whole-body workout with minimal equipment. It might also take into account this facet of the training of the legendary warriors of the Fianna:

No man was taken until he had woven his hair into many braids and he was set at a run through the woods, while the ones seeking to wound him were sent after him there having been just one forest bough between them at first. If he was overtaken and wounded he was not allowed entry, If his weapons had quivered in his hand he was not taken, If his hair was disturbed in any way out of its braiding he was not taken. If he cracked a dry stick under his foot as he ran he was not taken. He also had at full speed to jump a branch level with chest and stoop under one level with his knee without breaking stride or else he was not accepted. Also he had to extract a thorn from his foot without pausing in his stride or else he was not taken.

So, what workout does all that? I present to you Parkour. It is an art, often styled an “extreme sport,” in which the participants seek to move as quickly and efficiently through whatever obstacles are in their way. With leaping, vaulting, balancing, tumbling, climbing, and crawling, it develops every part of the body. It is, more than anything, a philosophy — one that interweaves well with a modern druidic approach to life:

Basically, Parkour is a natural method to train the human body to be able to move forward quickly, making use of the environment that’s around us at any given time. This ‘art of displacement’ requires neither specific structure nor accessory for its practice. The body is the only tool. It’s an athletic discipline accessible to all, because it combines all the natural skills of the human body: running, jumping, climbing… It’s a sport that permits exploration of the potential offered by your body. It’s about being able to face the obstacles with which you are presented, whether they be in the natural environment or in the urban environment, in a search for movement that combines effectiveness and control.

Practicing parkour has made working out fun for me. It’s like being a child again and seeing the whole world as a playground. I push myself hard, right to my limits, but out of a spirit of: “let’s see if I can do this,” rather than the grim and boring workouts I used to have. I will never be able to pull off the extreme parkour, “Jackie-Chan-Like” maneuvers the founder of parkour does in this video, but that’s okay. I am only competing with myself, having fun, and getting in shape.

For more information about parkour, I suggest americanparkour.com.