The Magic and Mystery
of the Forest
by Penny Billington
Mysterious, whispering, thrillingly alive—trees stir our hearts. As a Druid, I go to the forest for my magic. But as an urban Druid, the forest is often represented by my local park: if we become sensitized, just pausing under a large tree allows us to tune in to the magic of root and branch and the slow growth of the seasons.
Our species’s relationship with trees goes back millennia: trees have had a significant place in every major religion as symbols of immortality, fertility, and nurture. They are examples of service to humanity, supplying fuel, shelter, and food. With their longer lives, they speak of an underlying stability and continuity of life that we need in these frenetic times. Also, they are miraculously beautiful. They have witnessed our own and our ancestors’ pasts and can be regarded as our spiritual elders. And just being in their presence, with the Sun diluted through their ambient greenness, is to conjure a feeling of verdant nature leading to a magical otherworldness that feeds our souls.
We may find the aura of ancient trees challenging or scary. Yet what draws us on our spiritual journey but the need to connect to the mysterious? And how can we expand beyond the five senses into superconsciousness without that frisson of intense awareness and strangeness that we feel in the atmosphere of the forest?
When we become familiar with the trees, we will recognize this sensation as anticipation. It is part of being at home in nature, which is the aim of all students of the nature religions; it is part of being open to magic. And, taken gently and slowly, accessing the magic of the trees can be an ongoing process that benefits our practice immeasurably.
Stage one is in acknowledging our connection—try thinking of the trees as wise family members. We are human people; they are tree people. We will have to find a way of speaking together that transcends language, but we can communicate. With this in mind, we must first slow down to become more in tune with our leisurely cousins.
When we are making a new human friend, we tend to mirror the person—and this is exactly what we do when communicating across species. The trees are slow and still, so we will be also. And this gives us ample time to engage with the world of the five senses to experience the life of nature around us in a deeper way.
Most people rely on sight too much, so when you go to meet your local trees, focus on the other senses to view the world afresh. Feel the atmosphere of a tree-place through the breeze on your skin; the smell of damp, moist greenness in your nostrils; and the rustling of leaves and song of the birds in your ears. Then use your slowed-down sense of sight to gaze deep into the patterned bark. Imagine the serpentine roots thrusting through the soil. Now you are slowing and opening to the atmosphere of the forest.
Sit on your park bench and just take your time. Say hello and state your name and purpose: ask silently to be known. Then wait and check the response. A good way of gauging this is asking yourself how you feel in the moment. If you’re not comfortable and in the right place, just say thank you and move on to another tree, another space. Relax into an awareness of the beauty and usefulness of your particular friend, the miracle of its slow growth, and rich canopy, and thank it for the way it shelters you. Slowing and expressing gratitude by our attention and thought is one gift we can give, from a fleeting moment of thanks to a poem or drawing. In a reciprocal exchange, you can ask for any gifts the tree is ready to give you, then remain open and allow time for intuitive impressions.
You might be suffused with peace and calm or realize that your blood correlates to the sap of the tree, or, in the tree’s aura, you might experience a timelessness that colors the rest of the day. There are no rules. These are lessons that go deeper than the logical mind and feed you at a profound level. You might feel a spirit of the tree—a dryad—representing its green life and acting as a bridge to communication. If so, you don’t need to justify or explain anything to yourself or to others. You just have to accept the reality of the imaginal realms and take the magical connection at that level: just go with it. As with all communication, it should feel comfortable and mutually beneficial, and if it doesn’t, then you terminate that chat. But if you are communicating well, then, as with making a friend in the human world, stay in contact. It need not take long: nod to your tree in passing; take a walk by it; notice it through the changing seasons, recognizing its winter silhouette as well as the glory of its summer foliage.
On our less frequent, long forest walks, we will meet many charismatic cousins—the ancient trees of our lands. That is the enriching and deepening experience into the forest ambience that is an intensive for our spirituality, suffusing our senses in the heady aura of deep, ancient life. But we are nourished daily by our contact with the next-door neighbors: the trees in our yards and parks. Take a leaf or nut home and repay the tree with an impromptu verse or praise for its fruitfulness. We are not anthropomorphizing the tree by doing this, just realizing that we can only respond in the way we have learned as humans. And our sincerity of intent, to make a relationship, is what matters: it more than makes up for any mistakes or clumsiness in approach.
The beauty of this incremental approach to magical relationship is that it is accessible: we don’t have to go on big, expensive trips, and all but the most physically impaired can reach one, with the help of family and friends. And if getting out at all is a problem, then there are still resources (nature programs, art for our walls, CDs of the sounds of nature), and others can bring trees into the home as presents, like the first catkins or budding twigs in a vase, scented pine cones, a walking stick made from found wood, or a bonsai tree.
The Forest and Magical Practice
How does becoming in tune with the forest relate to genuine magic? Well, making a connection is the bedrock of magical working. Spells are not just the words on the page, the timings of astrological signs, or sigils focusing our intent, though these can be important components. But without the belief in our relational nature—our capacity to connect to the larger forces of the universe, to tune in to the cosmic natural currents and “surf the wave,” putting all our energy and intent behind an outcome—they are worthless. Wisely, we do not make our objectives too specific, and we put in a proviso (“an it harm none” or “for the good of all beings”) because we’ve heard the adage “be careful what you wish for.” If we leave space for the magic, the universe will understand our core intent. For example, our limited mind might think we want a specific situation, job, or person, but underneath, those wishes are fueled by our needs for respect, security, or love, which might be met in a myriad of ways. Relax into the feeling of the quality you aspire to before doing any magic.
The trees are ideal helpers when we formulate our spells because their unhurried, wise influence helps us relax into an expanded mindset and a wider perspective. They connect deeply to gain nourishment directly from the elements, which supply our power. Their roots thrust deep into the earth; they breathe the clarity of the air, drink the water, and gain nourishment straight from the fiery Sun. They are repositories of green power—and they all have their own qualities. For strength for your spell, incorporate the oak, holly, and ash. For the long view of eternity, use a wand of yew. Try the dancing birch, rowan, and willow for grace and flexibility; hazel for wisdom; or bramble or vine for tenacity. For the secrets of faery, use blackthorn, hawthorn, or cut into an apple. Using the trees in this way begins to synthesize our magical and everyday worlds, for the trees exist on every plane and are always relevant helpers.
Within our imaginal realms, we might visualize a dwelling around the huge trunk of an ancient tree, and imbibe its strength during meditations. Or, drifting to sleep, we may travel the astral seas in a boat of stout oak planks. We can float, cushioned in the feather-lightness of a birch bark canoe, safely to the shores of morning. And, back in the everyday world of work, we take our lunch break on a bench. By our favorite tree, we practice simply being. And then we repay nature when the park is threatened by development, for all relationships should be reciprocal.
In a way that is too deep for the surface, logical mind to understand, the trees have connected us to the beating heart of the earth, and we have been refreshed by the sounds of nature that we crave. Returning to work, we stroke the acorn in our desk drawer and thank the spirit of the tree it came from. We smile to the forest giant outside the window before turning back to our desks, invigorated by green magic.