Is depression a soul ailment?

The UK national health service identifies the following as signs of depression – Loss of identify and self-esteem. Sadness, when there is maybe nothing to feel sad about. Extreme guilt over minor matters. A sense of failure, when this is not realistic. Loneliness, even among other people. Tearfulness, when there is nothing to cry about. Constant exhaustion. Feelings of hopelessness, misery or despair. Difficulty in concentrating or making decisions. Thoughts of death or suicide.

To help people recover, it encourages sufferers to be more socially active, less judgmental about ourselves, and to participate in more things that make us happy.  There’s an underpinning assumption that if there’s no apparent external source of unhappiness, it’s a cognitive-behavioral glitch to fix. I have no doubt that for many people, this is entirely workable.

So what happened when I think about this as a pagan and a Druid? I look at the list of symptoms, and think about our relationship with the planet. My relationship. The world I live in doesn’t make much sense to me and is driven by values I neither like nor respect. How can I be myself in a context like that? Sometimes there just doesn’t seem to be any room for who I am and how I want to live. I feel sad and I’ve carried that for a long time. Sad about the human suffering in the world, animal extinctions, loss of beautiful places, climate change. I don’t know how it’s possible to live in this world and not feel sad, unless you undertake to be carefully oblivious to what’s happening everywhere, all the time. Extreme guilt – how can I not be conscious of my carbon footprint and what my existence costs other life forms? A sense of failure… I look at the world I live in, and I do not feel good about it. Loneliness, because there is so much around me that feels alien and wrong, how can I feel connected? Tearfulness – when is there not something to cry about? How can I not mourn what I see? Constant exhaustion – that goes with lack of inspiration for me, which is a soul ailment and goes with all of the above stuff. Hopelessness, misery and despair – I challenge anyone who is paying attention not to feel this way. Difficulty in concentrating and making decisions – the more aware you are, the more readily you can see the flaws and failings in every available option. Choosing becomes bigger and harder. Thoughts of death and suicide… aware that the planet would benefit enormously from the absence of humans.

Is depression irrational? No it isn’t. Is it an inevitable consequence of being more aware? Possibly. Does that mean it is insurmountable and that anyone who cannot tune out reality is doomed to abject misery?

No.

We have to choose otherwise.

No one single person is going to be able to put all to rights. One single person’s contribution isn’t going to make that much direct odds in the scheme of things. But if you are soul sick, disconnected and in pain, you can either try and find a new way to blot that out (learn a new skill, the doctors recommend) or you can see about fixing it in a deeper way.

Depression is a sickness of realization. The cure is not jumping back into the oblivion pool where most people are still quietly drowning themselves. The cure is action, and making things better. The process of wake up and realization is painful, but we need more people waking up, not more means to drug and befuddle ourselves into not noticing.

One True Way

There is no way onwards, but through,

No path that is easier to walk,

No shield that will deflect the blows.

There is no answer but to run

Barefoot and screaming through the fire

Holding to the insanity of belief

That there is some far side

Where no one will be throwing rocks,

And the screaming ends in a bliss

Of silence.

The only way forwards is through,

Walking into the storm in a summer dress,

Watching the umbrella tear apart.

Nothing, nothing at all can save you

From this.

You are destined to become the giant

Bearing the weight of the world

Those shoulders must suffice.

Being crushed offers no respite.

There is only through, the marching

On bleeding feet, exhausted limbs,

Willing the path into existence

One step at a time, hacking a route

Out of the jungle of mayhem,

With no idea of direction,

When the screaming turns out to be

Your own voice raised in torment,

And the silence wears a death mask.

There in no way onwards.

The road stops here.

Time to dry tears

Break rules,

Evolve wings

Decline apparent destiny.

Leave.

Breathe.

Stop,

Wait for the inspiration

Make a new story.

Wands and letting go

You can spend a lot of money on wands if the inclination takes you, and it’s possible to buy them in all kinds of materials, degrees of craftsmanship, and attendant cost. Mine were all wooden, sourced for the greater part from trees in the area I lived in, and collected to reflect the ogham tree alphabet. There’s a fair bit of uncertainty around tree ogham, it certainly isn’t the only kind of ogham, there’s dispute over which plants are meant by what – like so many things in paganism its roots and uses are uncertain and modern interpretation may be at odds with what our ancestors intended. And also, like so much of modern paganism the point really is what we do now and whether it works for us.

A traditional wand runs, lengthwise from the tip of your longest finger to the crook of your arm. It gives you a very personal length, and one that feels good to hold, wave about, or sit with. Working with a specific wood, knowing the tree – both as an individual and a species, makes wand ownership into a journey and a relationship. They don’t need to be ornately carved. Just smoothing the ends with sandpaper and rubbing them down with vegetable oil will give you something lovely. Keep them dry. As natural things, they are susceptible to mould and will rot.

Wooden wands are tactile, good to hold, to sit with. I like them for meditation. You don’t have to think you are Harry Potter to benefit from meditation with a wand in your hand. They can be grounding, helping you learn about the tree they came from and the wealth of folklore associated with it. Building a wand collection means building a knowledge base with it, adding insight with every new plant explored. It means building relationship with the land you are in, and specific plants. You hold a forest in your hands.

I’m writing this blog post in part as a eulogy. My wands did not survive this winter. I’ve had them years, some of them. I knew the trees they came from, the soil they rooted in. I worked with them, from time to time, over a long while and their presence in my home was one of my overt statements of my Druidry, there for everyone to see.

I said goodbye to them today. It was a sad moment for me, but a necessary one. They did not take kindly to the challenges of this winter. (See previous comments about the importance of keeping wands dry and safe from mould.) There were other issues too. They belonged to a time in my life that I need to let go of and move away from. They were part of a landscape that I’m not a part of any more, and where the trees they came from are still alive, I’m probably never going to visit those trees again. It felt right to let them go. They were part of a living web of connections and relationships. And I loved them. I put time, love, energy and thought into each one, the sourcing, cutting, shaping… they were unique. I left them as an offering alongside an apple tree that came down last autumn. It seemed like a good place. I said goodbye to them, letting go of friends, companions, teachers. It was not easy. But at the moment, nothing is easy. There are a great many things I have to let go of, all of them with stories, history, significance. I picked this one to write about because it’s more recognisably about my Druidry than some of the other items.

Alongside the wands, I’m letting go of most of the other overtly pagan things I have – the ornaments and trappings, the books… some of it I’ll store. Some is leaving. I’ll still have the awen symbol in my skin. Do I need the outward display? Probably not, but I liked the aesthetic, and there was comfort in it. Do I need an altar space in my home? Perhaps not. Amidst the letting go, the stripping back, the being taken apart from outside… I pause to ask sometimes, what of this defines me, or makes me a Druid. What can I let go of and still be myself? What can I give up or stop doing, and still be a Druid? I don’t know. It’s a process.

Share this:

I was listening to Radio 4 “Open Book” yesterday afternoon and heard some very worrying news. Apparently, in the US and maybe here in britain too, no debut novel will be looked at if the writer doesn’t have an MA in Creative Writing! Ye gods! Formulaic writing here we come. This is a dreadful idea, you don’t learn to write by doing as someone else tells you, however you may learn to write so that an accountant likes it. OMG …

Another worrying suggestion came through the programme too … you won’t be looked at if you’re over 40!

Publishers are going to lose it if they try to restrict  things in this way. If you’re a writer I suggest you really consider self-publishing, the small presses. I find Lulu very good, gets you into Barnes & Noble, Amazon, Bowdlers. the rest is up to us writers to tell good stories :-).

Elen Sentier

behind every gifted woman there’s usually a rather talented cat …

Wye’s Women Twin Taverns Elen’s Books Rainbow Warriors

Facebook WordPress YouTube Amazon Twitter