Posts Tagged ‘healing’


in flowering mist

the vague precisions of light.

amongst the deep sounds

of singing silence

a spinning word

casts out tentative meaning

what are we, if not

remembered stories?

paths not yet faded

into oblivion.

stumbled upon brilliance,

gracefully falling

into new forms.

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Come, come whilst the woods are green and golden.
Days crumble and fall, a burnished bracken,
A tremble of cobwebs.
They tumble and cascade, ripened and rotten,
A glorious ferment, a willed and wanted collapse.

The roof-tops in the forest,
Moss covered, dripping:
A kind of amicable silence,
A shared solitude
Threaded with birdsong.

Our scars, our pains, show
How we have become ourselves.
They are the maps that have brought us here.
In these pools of silence
Put them aside, fall, forget.

Come into cloud silences, the tumbling breezes.
In early morning, a slow drifting time,
The calligraphy of bats above the feeding sheep.
Where distance comes and goes,
The river’s voice everywhere and nowhere.
The long, pink dawn stretching low,
Rolled out on bird wings,
The green gold of valley oaks.

Come, before the days grow too short,
Before the fords deepen and run so fast.
The still soft light of woodland,
Bramble, bracken, willowherb that browns and thins.
And the dead risen up in their Sunday hats:
They sit in circles and talk endlessly
Of the past that we are become.

Come if you are homesick for woodsmoke,
For a slow, unwinding road,
A symphony of edges,
A breathed rhythm,
An enfoldment, a rapture,
An end and a beginning of stories.
A little time away.
A time given back to the world.
To be unnoticed, camoflaged, melted,
Drowned sweetly, the waves of autumn.


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We are, after all,
Nowhere other than here:
Held in the soil-stained hands
Of earth.
Held as a wish, a dream,
A joy, a grief.
Gone home to rest, to be cast,
To be moulded, kneaded.
To be on the cycle,
To be recycled,
To be returned,
To be cherished.

The dream was of the great circles, Stonehenge, Avebury. Their function, to stop people “falling through earth”. To set them back on the wheel in the right cycle, the right place.
Using the right quality of sound and space, the right length of rod, the self-healed, snake-strewn ground.

Drawn up awake
But dreaming.
Brought all to the rivers
By moon-faced reflection:
The one face.
Drawn out awake
Yet asleep, soul’s home
Bright revealed.
Pierced by blade and bleeding,
Held, not allowed to fall through,
We shall be returned, given life.

Turned, turned , the road become moonlight.
Flesh golden, stripped of burdens,
Certain ratio, a spell of line and curve,
Placed on the wheel,
A language of trajectories,
Forces multiplied and compensated,
An art of vectors, of prophecy,
A heft of distinctions.
Revived with tongue and breath,
A dance in footprints,
The learning of a song,
Its thousand thousand verses.
Its drummed rhythms
Its curses, its blessings.
Jewelled serpent:
Her back, the path of the sun.
Those of you who know,
The bite, the sting, the knowing.

There shall be three:
The child, the man, the woman.
Eternal, bound, faceted.
In threes the remembrance.
In threes the curse.
In threes, the healing….


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Hopefully this is a link to a project I have just completed using Blurb templates. If it works, this is an ideal platform for me to produce most of the work I have been doing with Tree Spirit Healing over the last twenty years or so. The fact that there will be only a few people interested in this stuff is not my main concern, it is just nice to get a lot of texts and related artworks into some other medium other than idiosyncratic ones and noughts. These books will be the most cost effective way to collate and embody most of my recent artworks. I do have the facility to print high quality archive images that occasionally sell and go to good homes, but this is quite an expensive process, even to make my own copies.

I am currently working on several other volumes of Tree Spirit Healing books, some in this format, some in others, checking out possibilities and variables. So far poetry books haven’t been completely controllable (though there are a few ideas I have had recently to try to stabilise errant spacing and lines, which I must try out before they slip my mind again…

Please take a look if you have time. From a mass publishing/popular bookstall point of view these books are not cheap. But then again, I am used to buying academic specialist volumes for fifty, sixty, seventy pounds sterling….

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sunlit buddha

although thy spirit wanders in what has been or in what will be,
i bring back that spirit of thine, to dwell here, to live long.

although thy spirit be far away, lost in lip-cracked desolation,
i bring back that spirit of thine, to dwell here, to live long.

although thy spirit be far away, fled beyond the seven oceans,
beyond the stilled, rippled wave,
i bring back that spirit of thine, to dwell here, to live long.

although thy spirit be far away, in the sun, in the moon, howling
between the stars, lost disconsolate,
i bring back that spirit of thine, to dwell here, to live long.

although thy spirit has gone far away, to the proximal regions of space, seeking warmth at the fires of the old ones,
i bring back that spirit of thine, to dwell here, to live long.

although thy spirit is raven-ripped, claw-tongued, dipped dark
in deep ravines of anger, lost, raving,
i bring back that spirit of thine, to dwell here, to live long.

in the silent forests, in the wild forests, in the nurturing forests, in the hopeless dawn, in crumbled twilight,

i have here given your soul its own name and it must answer.
it will gather up, and it will be gathered up,

it shall become winged and comforted,
it shall return, it shall return.


fallen blossoms

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the thunder of departing
Doppler skies.
the descending chant
of iron birds.

when those eyes
when that voice
can no longer be heard,
(though deep inside every second
of every hour, like the scent
of something lost,
familiar from childhood)
our edges blur,
focus becomes irrelevant.
we become the lost,
the fading,
unaware of
where we are and were.

formed, framed each day
by that voice, that look, that smile.
its absence a gaping hole,
heart, soul and stars rush through
to unanaesthetised emptiness.
diminished by each second of absence
emptying into that space
where your scent and memory lingers
for a moment, still.

so, you have gone,
and taken,too, the one real world
along with you.
leaving a changeling, a perfect simulacrum,
devoid of feeling.
a mechanical resemblance,
a world as if nothing
had changed: sunlight,
laughter, time moving.
even the finest detail,
ants, dust motes, petals,
all hollow, purposeless.

temple precinct
by the incense bowl
two old ladies wafting smoke
to all their aching joints, aching bones,

flopping amongst green shadows
black crow hunting for food.
cries from bright tree tops

old man dozing
clouds of incense
priest’s voice chanting


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Spirit of elm
Sky- ladder
Abode of wings
Chamber of radiance

The eight winds arise from you
The seven oceans flow through you

Pibroch of intelligence
Silent teacher
Resonant tower

One tree is a forest

Traversing the three worlds
Delineator of starlight
Eloquent shaper
Invisible watcher
Guardian of memory
Lord of words
Wonderful councellor
Showerer of light

High elm
Deep noted
Fountain of stillness
Road to clarity
Discomforter of confusion
Diameter of creation

Beyond silence.

Each tree species manifests the unity of Creation in its unique energy dance, maintaining and sustaining the continual weaving of the world. They wait and offer endless paths to the contemplation and realisation of wholeness.

The Elm is particularly tuned to channelling silent clarity and wisdom. Brilliant, resonant silence overwhelms confusion and separation. Elm is an invaluable teacher and a protector of personal integrity at the deepest level.


Tao of Trees.

This world rests on trees: its dream is green.
Wherever we may be, in deserts or on oceans,
We are bathed in the consequence of forests.
We breathe because of trees, we eat through their blessing.
Their shadows fall and cool in every clime.
Their presence is a moderation of hurricanes,
A warming of winter, a shelter and a place of contemplation.

To be able to condense and hold that smooth unity
Is the purpose of Tree Spirit Healing.
It is an empty hand and a quiet voice.

It is hardly anything and yet,
It can make all the difference
Between suffering and joy,
Collapse and integration.


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Tree Spirit Healing, like consciousness and like life itself, is essentially very simple.

It is the inter-relationships, the commentaries on their structures and nature, that often becomes complicated.

Silence is consciousness.
All thought, all language, is a commentary upon the nature of thst silence.

The paradox of Tree Spirit Healing is thus to acquire a state of stillness thriugh different types of activity.

The theoretical basis of these processes and explanations are pointless unless the healing is apparent and evident. So what do we mean by the term “healing” ? ……..



“If there is a tree or some other plant that seems to have no power or virtue, then you do not know that tree or plant well enough.

Trees of power, plants of power,
All creatures,
Are doorways to the unlimited power of the Universe.

All trees are trees of power.
All plants are plants of power.

Find the key-
Open the door.

Shadows, mirrors, reflections, memories:
every aspect is true,
But partial.

(Motherwort spirit)


Wish of the Tree Spirit Healer

From the still hub,
The silent centre
Where fire and water,
Earth, air and ether
Are held in equipoise:

From the radiance of life
We call ‘tree’
I ask for the wisdom of speech
I ask for the wisdom of listening
I ask for the wisdom of understanding.

May the spirits who dwell
Within the forn,
May the spirits who flow
Through the form,
May the spirits who dwell
Behind and beyond the form
Of the radiance of life
We call ‘tree’,

Feed us
Sustain us
And walk with us
Until we have learnt
To feed,
Sustain and walk
By ourselves-

And then
May we play together
In the vast joy
Of this planet-mother,

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An Apple Song for the Ripening Year.

Now that the year falls full
and the fruit weighs heavier each day
on the green branches;

Now that the sun
Fills the air with heat
And rolls all night just below
The distant hills

Now, it is right to sing
Of the Giver of Fire,
The Fulfiller,
The World’s Heart,
Illuminated Joy.

I breathe in with my open eyes
Sucking the distance.

Sweet sunlight
Washing away
Completed time.

I breathe out along the long length
Of my arms and legs,
Flow from fingers and toes.

Sweet sunlight
Washing away
Completed time.

The apple is the quintessential fruit of the West. Indeed the word ‘apple’ is synonymous with ‘fruit’, hence many very different fruits are given its name: oak apple, May apple, pineapple… In the mythologies of the West it is the food of the gods, the ambrosia that enables immortality and delight in the regions of Paradise. It is linked to goddesses and golden light. Its shape mysteriously echoes the orbital path of the planet Venus, and cut horizontally displays the fivefold pentagram of the druids. The spirit energy of apple is a cleanser and purifier, satisfying and sustaining. The apple produces seed that will always have unique characteristics of form, taste and appearance. Apple is the epitome of abundance, the fullness and surprise of life.

The bright golden sun
I carry on the dark road.

The golden-haired one
Has given me
A tree of golden suns.

The bright golden one
Lightens my heart,
Illuminates my path.

The bright golden one
Leads me to rest
In the arms of summer.

The bright golden one
Leads me to feast
On the satisfaction of sunsets.

The bright golden one
Bathes me in bliss.

The bright golden one
Eases my journey
And leads me home.

The spirit of apple will help whenever one to wake up to what is unnecessary or harmful in life. It instigates cleansing processes. It sharpens awareness, counters indecision, fills with brightness and encourages an outward-looking optimism.


The opening artwork is “Light of Summer Solstice” from “The Light of Sovereignty” set of prints. The endpiece is ” Apple: Spirit of Purification”. Both are available from <a href="www.greenmanshop.co.uk

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Yew notes

If you are drowning in the depths of winter, if you find the dark days dismal, if you are wearied by the woes of the world, if you find that you have lost your direction, lost your spark – then place yourself next to the banked-up fire of the yew tree spirit. Its constant energy and life- force will warm you through and help restore your core strengths and inspir new growth.
Yew is the oldest of trees, eternal, ever-living, vibrant wirh dragon-life, a great restorer and a great healer. Anchor you energies in the eternal silence of the yew tree and learn to sing again.

” I am Yew
Slow breath of Eternity
Joyful and profound

I am Yew
Well of Time
Source of Life.”


This is the song
Of the Yew Teacher,
The spiral snake,
The dragon healer.
Strong song and silent teacher.

Before the dawn
Before the first day
I knew the sun’s name
As it called me forth.

On the wind.

Red apple,
Sweet heart of death.

Green tongues and
life-blood fire.

Patient roaring,
Passion turning:

“come not with your mind
Nor your chatter.
Drown in me
Die in me
Join the centre:

The hub, the wheel,
The word,
The laughter.
The fire inside,
Concealed, concealing.

Wood and weather,
Warm and winter.

In my shadow,

Past the sitting one who sees
Past the root into the chamber
Where the watchers weave and gather
Where the dragon’s breath is potent
Where the silver wheel is woven
Where the time is marked and measured
Where the space is held and hallowed

Where the land is named
And numbered.

” I am fire
And I am water.

I am earth
And I am ether”

This is the heart of Time,
The heart of matter,

The drum of centuries
The door
The silence…..



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