I have read of what the ancient Druids used to do, in words written years later by Roman historians.
I have read what modern Druids do, in the UK, Canada, America and Australia.
I have read what fictional Druids do.
I have stood on a mountain-top in Wales on a freezing dawn, after an hour’s hard walk, watching the sun rise over the sea and sharing visions.
I have stood in the rain, soaked through, cloak stuck to me and laughing as the spirits of water are thanked very much for their presence but could they stop now please!
I have stood in a circle of expectant Muggles, witnessing the joining of two people, witnessing one of the most important days of their lives. With the responsibility of holding that energy, with all of the concerns, fears and joys, whilst explaining it to those who simply have no basis for comparison on what it occurring.
I have sat in the dark, alone, at the bottom of a pit, unsure even of which direction to look next, let alone where to step.
I have spoken on National Radio via telephone an hour before a major ritual, standing in my kitchen and trying to imagine who might be listening.
I have been pulled into giving a talk on Druidry with five minutes’ notice, trying to speak my truth honestly and create understanding, while forcing myself to forget the all-encompassing phobia of public speaking from my schooldays.
People ask and I am there for them when needed. I remind myself that it all carries on when alone and I need solace for myself.
Druidry is connection, relationship, to each other and the greater world. Responsibility for yourself and others, human and non-human, with a view to gaining a greater understanding of our place and what we are doing in this life. And while always alone, we are never truly isolated – there is always someone there.
That’s a start.
The Catbox 