Oh violent twilight, where iron hides alone!:-)

 I was feeling extremely down the other day. I am always fighting and fighting and all the fighting starts to wear down on me, and simple as that, the weather is dark and rainy most of the time. And I work hard for nearly nothing, and where other people get a place in society, deserved or undeserved is not for me to object, I seem always on the edge. No, I am not complaining. It´s my choice, after all, and it´s a good life. What I want to say is just that I start to feel weary. Many people come to me for counsil, and I try to help them as best as I can. Many people thusly feed on my energy, and if I have none to spare, they are offended. Plus, many of them seem to get out of one mess simply to set out creating a new one by offending and hurting all around them like a ravenous rabbit.:-)

NOW I am whining, see;-) (whimperwhimperfünününü)... but I resolved to do something about my foul mood... and what to do? I hitched the bus and rode out to the hills, and did a hike to a lost place. And it is funny, as soon you enter the woods, it is an altogether different world you enter, even if those woods are domesticated. But it is always as if you cross a border into the other world, and the other world seems to be more in touch with our reality in the forest.

 Bitter thoughts left me as soon as I took my first steps on the trail. I enjoyed a scenery, dark, and yet soothing in the dark green and the vibrant colours of a leaving autumn, which will soon be replaced by the winter´s dominion. The trees seem to burn with the last remnants of colour, and every iota of life force seems to stem up from the roots, embedded deep into the ground. And towards the roots I went in my mind and my soul.

 Now this lost place was a former industrial site, and presumeably occupied by metalworkers since the early middle ages. There are so - called "Sinnerhoopen" ( heaps of sinter, slag heaps ) everywhere near the creeks.

 Like this slag I found beneath the roots of the tree, by the swift and musical creek. All was silent, and mists arose from the hills. And I thought of how those spirits of the land were once called "Niflungar" or "Nibelungen", which literally translates as "folk of the mists", around these parts.

 Long have the ruins been claimed back by the forest´s twilight, gentle and violent, and roots entangle the once proud industrial workshops. Their noise is all spent, exhausted and gone; the walls crumble under the force of the land. Roots like time itself claw at the heart of the hubris of man, mercilessly eating away at manmade marvels that our kind deems eternal.

 Along the tracks of an ancient abandoned small-rail line I found this railroad spike. Since the site was abandoned after WW II and established far earlier, I hope it could be crucible steel.

 On I walked, with but the silence for a companion, and as the day drew to a close, darkness fell. And with it came the force of twilight.

 It lent a blueish tint to everything around, and then, growing ever so much darker, the woods embraced the night that was to come. I walked on, alone on the darkness, carrying no light, for light I needed not, wanted not.

 On a fallen log I sat, contemplating and having a cuppa tea, and my spirit fell into the embrace of the spirit of the trees.

 It is not warm nor comfortable. It is not hostile, either. It simply is. This, I have always found to have a soothing effect on my mind. And while it takes all you can give, it also gives all you can take in turn.

 Darker it grew, and darkness has always been conceived as Evil by man. But the woods do not regard anything. There is night. There is day. That is all there is to say.

 Faintly, in the far distance, I saw the light pollution of the city shining, screaming, raving, tearing at the sky, but not here, not in the dark realm of twilight.

 Where the trees come to life with voices so manyfold and yet they hold no answers and pose no questions. This is the true power behind any magic. This is the force of the land springing to life in the twilight, wafting with the mists through the cool air. I was confronted with my fears and hopes when I saw all those shifting shapes. Was that a movement over there? A wild boar? I imagined I could see it, standing afore a blue light of vague intensity, a wild boar of a race long bygone, with a mane of bristles so thick and strong they sliced the air like a knife, and with a fire in his eyes that told of an unseen force below the roots of trees, below the secret mycelium of the force of the land. And as I received this image, I found a bone for a knife handle.

Amazed, I rounded the bend, and high above the valley I stood for a moment, contemplating. There was a stream of noise from the traffic going on down there, and lights blared up to the blueish twilight sky as if to defy it. And the roaring, screaming noise suddenly seemed ever so small and helpless. I stood there, and suddenly I had the sensation of belonging, not into the pitiful, roaring world below, but into this realm of twilight. Into the realm of the vision of that boar, and into the never-dimnishing ranks of the Niflungar´s host.

But then, I am a human, and even now, by writing this,  I roar my defiance to the sky, as do wolves when they howl. "I am! Look! I am! I live!" 

Thus I return into the world of man, forging another knife out of the gifts of the other world, forging another story out of steel and bone and twilight, for this, truly, is what I am:

An existence of both worlds.

Of deep woods, of rock and stone and ruin and rain-thoughts on woodslore

The magic troll says I´m a junkie. ;-)

And she´s right.

I simply felt that urge to visit the giant´s gate cave again, which is quite a peculiar and inspiring place for me. It is a strong place with a vibrant atmosphere I have never experienced the like before, and, trust me, I have been to some peculiar places in my time. Submerged deep in the woods, the roots of strong and ancient trees seem to grow right into the soil, which seems to pulsate under bare feet. The sun is a faint jewel emebedded in a green sky. Leaves are dancing in a gentle breeze, and the air smells of the strong and bread-like scent of Earth undisturbed by man, even if it is not.

 From the hiding in the thicket, things get a whole new perspective. And, even if you might get the impression that I have now gone completely off my rocker, what with all that natural spirituality stuff you read on my blog, it has nothing to do with human concepts. I give it names. Man has done so since the first caveman roamed the land and cowered in the embrace of the earth, and many a myth has sprung forth from human inspiration. Fertile and virile like the Earth herself, it sprouts forth so many variants of alternative logic. This is wonderful. Misunderstanding that, man fights many wars, and it is all about a name.

 But deep down in the thicket, no names are given. No explanations are given, no answers, but then there are no questions, too. Just life, and the moment. Life of a fertility and a nearly violent energy, that just flows and takes you away into the realm of the green and earthy fire that burns and pulsates beneath your feet.

 In the stronghold of the Earth, your soul dwells naked in the soil. Waves of enery pulsed through my lymphatic system, along the lines of power that I stimulate in my meditative training-but this time without myself having any influence on that, and it felt good. My first impulse being fear, I smiled upon my little intellect that was being so jumpy, and calmed my spirit, and just let it happen. Yes, I am now becoming a part of the soil. Yes, I am now becoming something even more different than before.

And no, you must not feel this to be a bushcrafter. Woodslore is not incorporating this. You must not book in to this kind of spirituality or that to be a decent woodsman. Not at all.

What I found out, however, is, that the more I wander through the woods, and the more kit I make myself, the more I learn, the less I carry. Carrying less, I start focussing on my surroundings more and more. Having this spiritual eye on the world that I have, I open up to things.

 And my spirituality does not exactly have a name. It needs none. For it is mine.

 Recently, without encouraging it, mind you, many people came to me to ask for my spiritual guidance. What am I, your babysitter*ggg*?

 I am no master, and I have a deep suspicion towards people making that claim, for I experience that those are people telling other people what to do, and I suspect for either financial profit or to boost their own tiny ego. I have met the like, and the examples are legion. In the thicket, it does not matter at all what way you choose, as long as you get the problem solved. There are, for instance, many kinds of tinder to light a fire. What works for one condition does not necessarily work for another, but in other cases, it does. There are no masters in the wood, and even the difference between animal and human (is there one in the first place?) is marginal. If you so will, we humans are ill-equipped animals in the best of cases. No claws, no fur, no good hearing or eyesight, bad instincts and the like.

I find it persistently becoming harder to talk about the details of my spirituality, for it has something to do with emotions, psychophysical, psychological and corporeal effects, feelings and intuition. There are many pictures, many myths, but most people want them to feed their ego on them, to be better than someone else. I am not better than anyone. The asset is, deep down in the stronghold of the Earth, I must not. No explanations given, no fighting over names. I sat down and meditated, and let my mind sink deep down into the green twilight that has given me my name I commonly use. Ron said "More Merlin, less macho..." and this appealed a lot to me (boosted my ego*ggg*). Merlin is a message to me, and I really am on a path that seems to be similar (even if I would not dare compare my path to the one of Róf breoth wóden, his Anglo- Saxon title). But I tend to flee the bulk of questionable human companionship more and more in favor of trees and Earth and water. This is a kind of initiative journey, and I am well aware of that. After 20 years of learning, the first ring of the spiral has closed, and I am now on the beginning of a new one. Three will be there for me. I know my death. But I also know my life, and it is wonderful, for the force of the land, for that power I am really becoming addicted to feel sift through my body and letting it go again. It simply is like a gentle and loving touch. Harsh and violent are the ways of man in modern society compared to this touch.

There is also violence in the Earth, but a righteous one. On my travel, however, nothing could be felt about it.

 From below, the sky looks faint. This is the womb where legends and fairy tales are born, and I let loose my racing, raging intellect, to be born from that place also.

As I sat and meditated, I agnized a hare in the heart of the Mother, the moon and the huntress. I saw the fox, and the dragon. I saw the virgin, and the hunter hornéd. Before my hypnagogically entranced eyes, the Siddis appeared. And I let them go. I called upon them and conversed with them, in a way words cannot transport, and then they went on their merry way to make room for the power of the ground. Green fire raged through my loins, my heart and my brow, first filling me with fear again, but I let go the fear, too.

 And from the darkness of my underground womb I stepped out into the light, through the giant´s gate again.

 And I walked through light-enthralled groves.

 But well remebering the power of the earth, I danced a layrinthic dance of light and shadow. Why? Because I simply felt like it;-).

 And, by the way, don´t look so romantic*ggg*: The road in the valley made enough noise to remind me of the world in general!*g*

 Through the tunnel to make for the hills again I went.

And I passed by these ancient stones, the ruins of an ancient watchtower, forgotten in the deep realm of the forest´s green.

 And as I went on my journey, I came across this tree, a mirror of the sky. How come the sky being mirrored in the ground? In the water, in the tree, and in the fire of the sun glinting on the surface?

 The ground was covered with a thick matress of sweet woodruff near the place.

I ventured on towards the Raffenburg, a ruin of an ancient hill fort dating back to the eraly medieval ages.

 I climbed this rock just because I felt like it;-).

 Underneath its foot, again a cavern led into the ground.

...

I like the atmosphere around these ancient walls, and Jandark and many others of my friends know that place well. We had many a drink and many a Samhain ritual there, many a laugh and many contemplative talks. I treasure these moments of my life.

 ...

 ...

 ...

 ...

 The clouds were gathering, and the first rain drops stared to fall. It was a warm drizzle at first, and thunder was rolling in the far distance. It was a very special atmosphere, and even if I got soaked through, that did not even matter to me.

 The rain became a right downpour, but it made me feel alive, as I wlked through the woods towards the road to take the bus home.

Of course, the bus ride home was a right culture shock;-).

Following the fox-a spiritual bimble to the Hünenpforte (giant´s gate)

 I was feeling a bit queasy*ggg* all day and thought of foxes.... erm, WE thought of foxes all the time*ggg*.

 So I remembered the local legend of the "giant´s gate" (Hünenpforte):


"Ein armer Wanderer war vom Rheine hergekommen und wollte nach Limburg an der Lenne. Ein Stündchen hinter Schwelm, nicht weit von Voerde. fragte er nach dem nächsten Wege. Der Gefragte war ein Zwerg und gab zur Antwort:„Der kürzeste Weg geht durch den Berg. Hier ist der Eingang. Doch damit du nicht irregehst, so nimm diesen Fuchs mit dir! Du brauchst dich nur an seinem Schwanze festzuhalten, so bringt er dich sicher ans Ziel." Unser Wandersmann befolgte den Rat und kam in die Klutert, eine Höhle mit vielen Gängen, die sich stundenweit ins Gebirge erstreckt.
Nicht immer konnte er aufrecht gehen; manchmal musste er auf allen Vieren kriechen; immer hielt er jedoch den Fuchsschwanz fest. So sah er endlich den Ausgang schimmern. Da hörte er plötzlich ein sonderbares Geräusch. Vorsichtig streckte er seinen Kopf heraus. Wie erschrak er, als er dicht vor sich auf dem Rasen einen gewaltigen Riesen sah, der sich im Schlafe geschüttelt hatte!
Rasch versteckte er sich in den Felsspalten der Höhle. doch so, dass er den Riesen immer im Auge behielt. Der erwachte mit großem Geschnarche, richtete sich auf er war wohl sieben Ellen hoch - reckte sich und stöhnte, dass die Felsen widerhallten. Dann schritt er zur nahen Quelle, füllte sein mächtiges Horn und nahm seinen Mittagstrunk. Endlich aber wendete er die Nase nach allen vier Winden. „Es muss ein Mensch in der Nähe sein“, sprach er bei sich, doch so, dass der arme Wicht in der Höhle jedes Wort verstehen konnte.„ „Wie gut sollte er mir schmecken, wenn ich ihn nur hätte! Hungrig bin ich ja noch; die drei Häschen, die ich heute erst gespeist, haben mich noch nicht satt gemacht!“ Er fing an zu fluchen und stöberte zwischen allen Felsen umher; nur dachte nicht daran, in die Höhle zu blicken. Denn dass der Mensch da zu finden sein könne, fiel ihm nicht ein. So entging ihm die Beute. Er wusste sich endlich vor Zorn und Wut nicht mehr zu fassen, riss Bäume aus mit ihren Wurzeln und wälzte sie den Berg hinab; auch mächtige Steinblöcke riss er los und schleuderte sie ins Tal. Bis dahin hatte der arme Hans immer noch seinen Fuchs festgehalten. Als er aber das grässliche Getöse vernahm, erschrak er so, dass er den Fuchsschwanz fahren ließ. Der Fuchs ließ sich`s nicht zweimal sagen, dass er nun frei sein sollte. Voller Freude sprang er aus der Höhle heraus und an dem Riesen vorbei in den Wald. Der Riese lief mit großen Schritten hinter ihm her und erhob sein Jagdgebrüll, das wie Donner rollte. Aber es ward immer schwächer, je mehr sich der Riese von der Höhle entfernte, und unserem Reisenden kam die alte Munterkeit wieder. Er eilte aus seinem Versteck hervor und lief spornstreichs hinunter nach Limburg, das vor ihm im Sonnenstrahl erglänzte. Aber es dauerte noch einige Zeit, bis er sein fröhliches Lied wieder anstimmen konnte. Seit der Zeit wird die Öffnung der Höhle, vor der der Wandersmann den Riesen getroffen hat, das Hünentor genannt." From:http://kudg-holthausen.de/holthausen/interessantes/huenenpforte/sage-huenenpforte.htm


I translate:


"Once upon a time, a poor wanderer, coming from Rheine, wanted to get to Limburg at the Lenne. One hour of travel after Schwelm he met a dwarf in Voerde and asked him of the direction. He replied: The shortest passage is the one through the mountain. Here is the entrance. And unto you should not go amiss, I give this fox to you. he knows well where to go. Cling to his tail, and he will guide you." The wanderer took the advice and came into the Klutert cave, which is a  widespread tunnel system reaching for hours deep into the mountains, and always did he cling to the fox´s tail, until he saw daylight. But how frightened was he when he learned that near the entrance slept a giant, well over ten feet high! With a mighty roar he awoke, shuffled over to the nearby well and filled his giant drinking horn and took his lunchtime drink. Finally he sniffed along the four winds and muttered: "There must be a human  around!How well must he taste, for I have but eaten three little hares today, and they could not satisfy me!" He started to curse under his breath and rummaged around the cave, between the rocks, and by the well, but that the wanderer was in hiding in the cave, he could not think of. So he could not find the poor wanderer, who sat there in hiding, utterly frightened, and he was getting more and more furious.And the wanderer cowered ever lower in his hiding, until he let go of the fox´s tail. The fox ran away, and passed the giant. And the giant let go his hunting roar and pursued the animal, and ever farther away from the cave the fox led him. The wanderer, however, escaped and finally arrived at Limburg, but it was a long time until he found his blissful song again."

 The weather was being fine, and the woods were murky... a very special atmosphere lingers around the place, and I took it in in deep breaths. The saga is old. Could it be that the dwarf and the fox might act as psychopomps? Is there a Shamanic background? The Klutert cave has never had a connection to the Hünenpforte geologically. So why has the saga been told that way? Is it a case of simple analogy? Who is this giant? Local legends often have an older saga as  a predecessor, and you can rely on dwarfs, giants, animals, white women and other figures and personae relating back to pagan times. The older versions were corrupted for several reasons:

-folkloristic trading often leads to many things getting lost in the process
-Christian monasterical recording in most cases corrupted local legends by purpose
-Adaptation of graver topics as child-adequate in the enlightment movement
-Romanticism often went to grave libetries with the subject

If you know how it was being made, you get a grammar as to how the subject might have been changed.

 The path is narrow, though, and truth is hard to find;-) and the trail was narrow and difficult indeed, with a good deal of climbing involved.

 Raspberries were blossoming.

 Evergreen covered the ground, thick as a matress. There was this contrast of light and murk everywhere. I passed by the ruins of an ancient tower. 

 Submerged deep in the green, there lies the arch of the giant´s gateway, all but undisturbed by the roaring traffic on the highway below.

 Into the darkness I ventured, deep into the stronghold of the earth.

 At the entrance, at the side with the well, there was this "rock formation";-). Below it someone had heaped roses and wildflowers, draped systematically. There, I offered my respect to the place and the force of the land, and to the Earth mother, and I sat down and meditated.

 It was happening when I was deep in meditation when a pointed nose and two pointed ears, clad in red fur looked around the corner. In broad daylight, a fox came by the place. It was so unreal, I was asking myself if I was dreaming. Of course, I fumbled my camera. And he seemed to grin as he went on his merry way. I wished him a good journey. I was sitting there, quite amazed, but with a deep peace filling my heart and soul.

I left the place.

 Through the giant´s gate I went, into the enchanted sunlight.

And on my way back, a legend was forming in my mind.

Watch this place;-).