Audio version:
Winter’s final skin is the toughest to shed. The inconsiderate icy winds of April have lengthened this process, holding us in a state of uncomfortable readiness, bodies twisting and turning beneath layers that we can’t quite wriggle out of yet. The hedgerows care not for human comforts, as they begin to unravel into wildish edges that start to burst at verdant seams stitched with violet-white-yellow wildflowers.
Travelling down to the South West took me into warmer atmospheres over the last week, stopping off near Bristol before continuing down to a research retreat in Cornwall. Travel plans changed last minute after my van, Beryl Bach (otherwise known as Feral Beryl), broke down in epic fashion and was towed away. Train tickets were booked, friends helped. The relief of not having to drive began to slowly flood my body, fed by the simplicity and flexibility of an open return.
This change of plan revealed just how easy it is to get from my patch of North East Wales down to Cornwall. A quick train hop at Casnewydd (Newport) takes travellers all the way down to Penzance when not stopping off en-route. I love the South West. Bristol is one of the only cities that makes me want to do that many people, and Somerset opens up mysterious, hazy fields which make my body breathe differently. Devon is yet to be discovered, and Cornwall already has me adoring, open and wide-eyed in true Celtic crush mode.
“Saltash, St Germans, Menheniot, Bodmin Parkway, Lostwithiel, Par, St Austell, Truro, Redruth, Cambourne, Hayle, St Erth, Penzance”
There is nothing quite so delicious as new place names, especially ones which fall from the mouth like poems. The recorded voice of train announcements reads them to me slowly as light falls in cold lavender ripples on widening Severn estuary mud flats. My mind broadens too, able to expand in ways it cannot in a small, noisy box of metal and plastic on a motorway.
As I get older I find long drives more taxing on my system, the sensory overwhelm taking longer to shift than it used to. Neurodivergent tips for public transport are helping me to experience trains and buses differently; ear loops/plugs or headphones are essential, light packing to avoid confusion and sunglasses for privacy. Chaos will inevitably happen on some journeys, but weighing this up against the constant feed of sensory mis-information that driving provides is a new take on some old scales. Driving also does a number on my body now, which isn’t so helpful for keeping in some kind of fluid, flexible state of being. In his excellent book WALK: Slow Down, Wake Up, Connect at 1-3 Miles Per Hour, Jonathan Stalls writes about ‘the grief of bypassing’ and all that is lost in a world constantly asking us to go faster, get more and do more via activites such as driving. He writes:
“Invite the words ‘the grief of bypassing’ (…) Say it to yourself and perhaps again out loud. Try to feel what those words want to draw out of you and out of us. Cry if you need to. Scream and howl if you need to. Where might you connect to a sense of sorrow or frustration around all that gets missed, lost, or even destroyed when we physically fly past or block a blossoming and breathing world?”
- Jonathan Stalls
The research retreat mentioned was organised by Exeter University’s Cultural and Historical Geographies Research Group (CHGRG). We talked, walked, worked on our individual things, gave each other feedback, ate a lot of biscuits and cooked together. This time has been a real boost into Spring, creatively captured in some drawing sessions with artist Alice Angus. On the travelling light front, I took my newly assembled mini drawing field kit. In this little bag are limited options for drawing and the occasional new thing another artist might recommend, such as Alice’s carbon pencil.
The shedding of skins cannot be forced, but is aided by spending time with others in a way where you can be entirely yourself. Being in company, whether in a friend, work, family, romantic or other situation, taking more time over things (such as travel) is enabling me to really BE there. More often, I am choosing to belong to that place, a particular time, these people. Moving into new skins, I discover a raw, direct, loving and spontaneous way of being with others, one where I am entirely present. This is the difference between direct experience and observed experience. It is the difference between an open (unconditional) and closed (conditional) heart. A more profound engagement with the world felt in the body, as amour falls away piece by piece. In All About Love: New Visions, feminist author bell hooks writes:
“A generous heart is always open, always ready to receive our going and coming. In the midst of such love we need never fear abandonment. This is the most precious gift true love offers - the experience of knowing we always belong”
bell hooks
As Spring claims bodies and hearts into the kind of wildish tumble necessary to shed stubborn skins, Bealtaine (or Beltane in it’s Anglicised pronunciation) is upon us from May 1st. The name of this May Day festival derives from Bel, a Celtic god of fire, honored with bonfires to mark the start of summer and celebrate fertility, creativity and growth. Bealtaine beckons courage and some brave steps out of old patterns, behaviours and choices. Smoke from the fire blesses the land, animals, and community, maintaining a careful balance between human and spirit realms. What colours will your old ways burn as you throw them (with kindness) into the fire?
Wishing you a happy Bealtaine friends, look out for more Words and Wanderings in May.