Month: June 2025

It never ceases to amaze me, even as I course through this fourth decade of life upon the planet called Earth, how affirming, comforting and enlivening it is to be in the company of supportive and kind-hearted people. It is as vital, I think, to our health and prosperity as good food and secure shelter. And just as absent from modern life.

We find ourselves in a time where material abundance and technological ‘assistance’ are more prolific than at any point in human history, and yet, those of us who dwell in the first world, whatever that is these days… the ‘progressed’ global West, are less happy, less fulfilled and more anxious than at any point in that same human history. You just have to travel somewhere less ‘affluent’ (I’m sorry about the swarm of quote-marks in this post, it’s excessive, even for me. I know) to experience the truth in that. To places that are less steeped in hyper-fast network coverage, and more in genuine, face-to-face social connection. They are happy, for the most part. Even through the perceived poverty and (at least to our eyes) unthinkable struggle. They are content in a way that most of us struggle to fathom.

So when we do find ourselves in something that approximates our Tribe, whether that be close family, old friends or the company of like minded souls, the affect on us is marked. The uplifting palpable. Johann Hari’s book Lost Connections covers this ground far more eloquently and completely than I can here, so I heartily recommend consuming it in whatever means is most accessible to you, but the long and short of it is this; Depression and anxiety are, in frighteningly large majority, attributable in some way to social loneliness and isolation. The solution not to be found in chemical prescription, but in social connection.

Contrast to this, the ultra-efficient means of social disconnection that is (anti)Social Media; a machine so elegantly complex and complete in it’s power to divorce us from our real-world connections, that its euphemistic name becomes a cruel joke to which no-one is really laughing, yet which we are all habitually, even enthusiastically, re-telling. It is not our future. It cannot be our future, if we are to hope to move beyond this moment in history, which feels more dire and consequential by the day.

I have a simple solution, though; get out to a club, a choir, an interest group, anything that increases your exposure to kindness. For every hour you spend steeping your mind in isolation and hate, whether it be doom-scrolling or sitting in the echo-chamber of your own fears, you need at least half as much again in the company of smiling faces. Of voices that are sounding tolerance and compassion, instead of vitriol and blame.

The way out was never through fear and judgement, that was the way in. So now we need to turn toward something kinder, and more helpful to growth. We need to plant gardens, not mines, into the soil of our social lives.

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This post is a dedicated thank you to all the amazing souls I am beyond proud to call friends (you know who you are). Almost all of whom were found after my 40th birthday, and I’m certain their ranks will grow as I move past my 50th, and beyond. The only things you really need, after all, is an open mind, heart and a pinch of humble gratitude for the beauty that lies on that path.

The truism that just keeps being at the core of it; The more you know, the less you have to carry.

Just be careful; it’s easy to confuse what we think for what we know.

I’ve never had a particular affinity with Barn Owls. An affection, yes. And appreciation, certainly, but not what I’d call a ‘connection’ with them beyond thinking that they’re a bit cool and majestic looking.

I did, one night a few years ago, have a close call with one on my motorbike, heading out somewhere along a road that runs from the village I lived in at the time, towards the nearest large town. It wasn’t there at all, until it was; and then it was a flash before me, arcing from the hedges on one side of the road, up and out into the night, no more than a metre or two from my head. I thought nothing of it, other than it was equally unnerving as it was impressive. I can’t remember my mood, or what I was thinking, or where I was going. Just the event.

I am currently carrying an inguinal hernia. It’s a literal pain. not massively grown, yet, but it’s getting bigger as I wait to be seen by the doctors who will seek, once again, to repair it (this is my second in that spot, though the last occurrence was about 20 years ago). As I await the loving care of the NHS, I’m seeking support through various alternative methods, including Acupuncture. Which is really helping to contain it, actually. I would recommend it as a management strategy. This isn’t directly relevant, excepting that in my last session, as I lay down and had the needles inserted into my fingers and feet, the call to journey was strong. So I closed my eyes, imagined myself on the stony shore of my journeying place and spoke my intentions; ‘I wish to Journey to the lower world, to meet with my Plant Spirit Guide to receive guidance’.

I wasn’t sure what I needed guidance on, only that I needed to go and ask. So I did.

He met me there, with the same enigmatic smile he always wears, as I spoke my requests to him. The same knowing smile receiving my words, and offering nothing but a smile in return. He turned and left, and I followed. Over mountains, forests, rivers and vast plains. I was called to ask him how I can show up in service, how I can show up for my people’s healing, and being a conduit for that, when it was so hard to discern what was my need, vs what was theirs. Again. Just a smile. I want to show up. To stand here, both with my personal needs and desires, and without them. So that whatever passes through me is unburdened and uncoloured by what is mine, and mine alone.

In asking the question, in standing before the heat of the confusion and consequence, he showed me that I was answering it myself. By acknowledging that I have them, and that they are mine, I start on the path of befriending them, where they can act as supports and encouragement, rather than pollution.

Then, he took me to Dandelion. He showed me the leaves, drawing in precious light and carbon-dioxide from the atmosphere, releasing the life-giving oxygen and constructing yet more leaf and vast root from the carbon it receives in payment for this divine act. The roots power down into the earth, probing, searching and absorbing all the precious nutrients of the earth, to bring them up and house them in it’s floral and vegetative body. Nutrients that are not available, otherwise, at the surface. In doing this, it creates in it’s body the rich, bountiful soil of tomorrow. In the certainty of it’s own life and death, it creates yet more life. Not just for it’s own lineage, but for all plants and animals alike. It is ultimate giving.

‘This is you’ he said. ‘In your insatiable curiosity, you learn and absorb the wisdom of the earth and the stars. Wisdom that is not accessible to all. This is your divine work. Not to change, or suppress what you’ve learned to call ‘fad’, or lack of focus, but to lean in. To accept this as your gift, and like the roots of the Dandelion, store it all. Every story, every lesson, in the leaves and flowers of yourself. And to drop them, again and again, so that they might be used by those around you, and those that come after.

Learn and Share. This is your path.

After the dispensation of this, he bade me go back. Not back to the room and the needles and the body of Clive-the-Person, though. To the upper world. I needed to meet Owl. He placed the body of Dandelion in my hands at my chest, where it sank in. Root, and Leaf, and Flower. Into me.

And so I left and, as he said, I followed the path to my ladder tree; the Oak that isn’t there, and up into the Upper World.

Owl met me there. Swooping down to greet me. He flew and I followed, over the same mountains, forests rivers and plains until we came down, in the dead of night, into a garden I know well. I knew where to look. It was in through the window, where a few nights previously, I had sat, before the fire of myself and the consequences of my life’s actions. Finally able to see and accept the demons that had driven me. Where I stood before them, and instead of fighting them, or denying them, or fleeing before them, I welcomed them and the wisdom they offered. Regardless of consequence, regardless of repercussion, I must stand in my truth. No matter how painful.

In that moment, sat in that room, as I finally took my accountability seriously, the Owl came again. Striking down and across the garden, where it flew, backwards and forwards. Ensuring that it’s presence was felt. It must be heeded. It would not be denied. There would be no more passing it by in the night without learning it’s lessons.

I watched from within, and now, from without. The Owl showed me myself. And then we flew. Up and up and up and into the night and the sky and the stars. And the Dandelion at my heart felt it’s roots in the ground, deep and penetrating, and the Owl at my side tore at me, and swallowed the pieces of me, down into the juices of it’s stomach where I dissolved, the minerals of my body to go down to earth to fertilise and ready themselves for the next trip-in-a-body they were destined for, and my soul filtered and absorbed into Owl. And Owl was me and I was Owl. I was a direct conduit between the Great Spirit above, and the earth below, through Dandelion, because the Wisdom and lessons of the living being are not lost in Death. Merely transmuted into what comes after.

And so I was the conduit. From Heaven, to Earth, through the Plants, the Man, and the Owl. All together, in commune. And I existed there, breathing the life and the thoughts of the world and everything in it.

And finally, after all that, I was back, descended, back in the Middle World, on the Acupuncturists table.