A giant Gebo in the forest…
Simplistically, Gebo is seen as “gift” and “partnership”, often with the Gods.
Hidden Runes shalt thou seek and interpreted signs,
many symbols of might and power,
by the great Singer painted, by the high Powers fashioned,
graved by the Utterer of gods.
The Havamal via sunnyway.com
A friend recently wrote a great post about saying “yes”, and it got me to thinking about accepting, seeking and knocking. My own form of spirituality is most frequently practiced while wandering in natural areas. Doors have opened to me there of their own volition. But sometimes, a person has to knock. Is it always a good idea to knock on a door? It’s a gamble, isn’t it? And when we are talking elements, spirits and gods, who knows what may be behind the door—one thing is probably for sure, though. We may not know who or what is behind the door we knock on, but it is very likely that the entity knows who we are.
Lately, in a stretch of forest I frequent, I have heard knocking. And the creak of opening doors. In an outer sense, these sounds are probably woodpeckers and tree trunks in the wind. In an inner sense I feel it’s a call. A call to knock on some doors myself.
Entrance—entranced. How close those words are. One day I stood at the opening of a bracken tunnel in the woods, spellbound by it’s shadowy interior, not moving, not speaking, not thinking, just seeing. Everything came down to that entrance and everything around it became soft-focus. I stared for a second, or perhaps, I stared for an hour. The thing happened where time was distorted and I had no purchase in the solid world.
When I finally left the woods I found that, instead of the 45 min or so that I thought I had been gone, I was gone for three hours. Did I spend that entire time staring at a fern-lined hole in the earth? I don’t even know. Old fairy tales are full of accounts of mortals falling into the land of the Good People and thinking they had only been there for a day—only to find when they returned to their own world that hundreds of years had gone by. Contemporary science fiction (and even scientific theory) is full of stories of worm holes and time travel where the passage of time is warped and incredible things can happen. These days, much is made of the state of “flow” where a person is engaged in something they are deeply interested in, or feel a great affinity for, and the concept of the passage of time ceases to exist. Do we speak to the gods and spirits in these timeless, shifting spaces? We are entranced by them at the entrance to their world. And sometimes, we enter.
Rainy, windy, smelling of dead leaves and salt, pine needles and moss.
The forest is dark today, shadowed, whispering.
Outside is one perfect amanita, nestled on the side of the trail.
Inside is one perfect puddle in the shape of a heart and written on with fallen twigs.