Fragments

Some of my dreams lately have been more of the action/adventure type. Not all, but a sizable fraction.

Of one of the dreams from last night, I have only fragments. The item that most sticks in my mind was a bridge: A very old metal moon bridge, very large, obviously only intended as a foot bridge (being the nature of moon bridges). Our team was crossing this bridge in a hurry, at least partly because the bridge was collapsing under us as we went. If we didn't cross that bridge before the collapse was complete, we would never whatever it was that the bridge spanned (it was night, and I didn't get a good look at what was underneath the bridge). We had to step quickly, but we had to step only in the right places to keep from falling through -- my job was to be first, and find those places to step.

I remember thinking as I crossed the bridge that there was someone in a following team that we were going to need, but she wasn't going to reach the bridge that we were on before it collapsed. I also remember not being concerned about it -- the lack of a bridge would not prevent her from crossing.

Our team wasn't there to secure the bridge -- our job was to find the right place for the next team to work once they arrived.

I don't know what the next team was supposed to do...

Mother Nature Always Bats Last

Thomas Friedman writes Op-Ed commentary for the New York Times, and his column is occasionally carried by our local newspaper.

On Tuesday, Oct 14, 2008, a column that he wrote on the financial markets drew an analogy with Mother Nature, and I was truly fascinated by what he wrote at the start of his column:

My friend Rob Watson, the head of EcoTech International, has a saying Mother Nature that goes like this: Mother Nature is just chemistry, biology and physics. That's all she is. And because of that, says Rob, you cannot spin Mother Nature. You cannot sweet talk her, and you cannot ignore her. She's going to do with the climate whatever chemistry, biology and physics dictate. And Mother Nature always bats last, and she always bats a thousand.

I have since found that neither Rob Watson nor Thomas Friedman coined the phrase Mother Nature bats last; that phrase can be traced to bumper stickers for the ecology movements such as Earth First!, and [probably] to ecologist Paul Ehrlich. Some of the appearances of the phrase add the note that Nature is the home team.

Indeed, Mother Nature always bats last, and she always bats a thousand.

Y Naddwr (The Whittler)

The Whittler wields the small blade and the large, removing little chips of wood. The smell of the wood is in the air, released by the small cuts and the large. Each stroke of the blades caresses the piece, teasing out that which is hidden within, that which was always there, waiting to be revealed. Slowly, slowly, the form emerges from formlessness.

Care must be taken, for the grain of the wood will draw the blade. The block may have small cracks that could become larger ones. The Whittler works with these, following the grain, protecting the cracks, working with the character of the block.

Sometimes, the Whittler does not know what will emerge as he works. He listens to the wood, tests it, feels it, learns where the strengths and weaknesses of the piece are, finds within it a thing of beauty, or a puzzle, or a child's toy.

Haste carries risk; a slip of the blade may remove some vital piece, or split the work. The Whittler must judge when to hurry, when to move with slow deliberation, what places to use utmost care. He must learn when to use the small blade or the large, when to take little cuts and when to slice broad strokes.

The Whittler chooses the wood, but the wood also chooses the Whittler. The two work together, one shaping the other, the second inspiring the first. They are one, both making the effort, the Whittler in the sweat on his arms and brow, the callouses on his hands, the wood with each tiny chip removed, each sliver cut away. What is removed tells as much as what remains.

On occasion, other tools may be used in the process. A saw may cut a piece from a large piece. A froe may split the wood, following and revealing the grain.

Chisels may be used to rough out the shape of the final piece. A drill for making a hole, perhaps for a musical instrument, perhaps to hang a medallion around the neck. Or the Whittler may opt for just the blades, the small blade and the large, to take that block of wood, and, step by step, little cut by little cut, work the piece into the shape that calls to him.

Studying druidry and its associated topics, following the path and the Paths, reviewing the Spirals and expanding on them, is, in some ways, akin to whittling. The Seeker is initially like that block of wood, with form hidden within. Gentle strokes of the blade of knowledge, following the grain of the Seeker's spirit, slowly reveal the potential within.

The Seeker is also the Whittler, studying how to apply that knowledge, how to bring that shape out from deep within, how to use the shape and knowledge that is already there, how to enhance it. The Seeker must know himself the way the Whittler knows the block of wood. He must learn the grain of his soul, the cracks within, the hidden knowledge that has been there all along.

When he is done, when the sweat of his hands has polished the work to a bright shine, when he lays down his tools for a time to admire his work, to see what has been revealed, what was hiding within him, he can be proud of what he has accomplished.

And then the Whittler begins again.

Dreams: Conflicts of various types

A dream, interrupted.

---

We are in a campground which is heavily wooded. There are gravel roads and worn footpaths. The day is sunny, but the shade under the trees is heavy, with the fully-formed leaves of summer. It is neither particularly hot nor particularly cold, but simply comfortable.

There are two groups of people in the campground, at odds for some unknown reason. This is not the friendly competition that occurs in some places and campgrounds, with two groups that come from different areas for a regular contest. This is an aggressive, in-your-face conflict, with shouting, threats, and occasional fisticuffs.

At one point, as I am traveling alone from another area of the campground back to our encampment along one of the footpaths, I am accosted by a group of men that appear to mean me physical harm. I am severely outnumbered, and I know that if I try to make a stand against them, the results will be heavily against me. I dodge, weave, and evade, more than once managing to free myself from grasping hands that cannot quite hold onto my wrist, my arm, my ankle. I free myself from one assailant by springing off of a small rock, placing my feet against his chest, and kicking off. As I run and turn a corner in the path, I find more of them waiting, but I somehow manage to evade them as well.

Returning to our encampment, I find that the two groups have decided to participate in an archery competition, to try to use friendly sports as a way to reduce the tensions between the two groups.

I am a decent archer in the dream, but not exceptional. I can hunt, but a lot of that is patience and close shooting. I am not sure that I would be able to contribute much to our team, but almost all who are archers (which is almost all of the encampment) are going to participate, so I go into my tent to assemble my archery tackle.

The tent is a modern nylon dome tent, about five feet tall in the center. My archery tackle, however, is traditional, a D-section longbow, wooden arrows, hip quiver, leather bracer, leather archer's glove. The arrows are not target arrows, but rather have diamond-shaped hunting heads. These are the arrows that I have with me, so these are the arrows that I will use.

But when I emerge from my tent, the rest of the archers in the encampment have gone. I ask one of the few remaining in the encampment where they have gone, and I am told that they have gone to the competition, which is to be held in the southern section of the campground.

I do not know where that is, or what route to take to get there. Perhaps they saw my hesitation, and decided to go on without me. Perhaps there simply wasn't time to wait for me. In any case, if I still want to participate, I will have to find my way on my own.

---

At this point, I was awakened by our elder cat's semi-regular early morning howl (which will not stop until someone gets up to go find her, to be actually seen by her), so I arose to find her, calmed her, and then started preparations for my day.

On the nature of time: Daylight, Sunrise/Sunset, Twilight, and Dawn/Dusk

Note: The writer is in North America, and is writing primarily about conventions in North America using American English for this post. If and when I get more information on this particular topic in other cultures, I will add that to the series.

Why does it matter what we name a unit of time (second, minute, hour), or call a particular point in time (daybreak, sunset, Noon)? Frankly, it's to facilitate communication. If I want to meet someone at a particular point in time, I might tell them that I want to meet them at 1300 hours, or 1:00 PM, or an hour after Noon, and I would have a reasonable expectation that we would be talking about the same thing if we had the same convention for referring to a particular time. When we don't have the same convention for referring to a particular time, we need to know that so that we can agree on when to meet.

In my last post on time (On the nature of time: hours), I noted that some systems of measuring time start the day at nightfall/sunset, daybreak/sunrise, or at midnight mean solar time. I also mentioned that saying nightfall or sunset may not be saying the same thing.

Since the hours of daylight are usually defined according to sunrise and sunset, the unequal hours time systems have to have an agreement on just what that means.

Let’s start this at the easiest point to deal with: Sunset (also called sundown in some areas). This is, from the term, the time of day when the sun, well, sets. As a point in time, sunset is usually defined as that time of the day when the sun's trailing edge disappears below the horizon at the end of the daylight period.

Sunrise, likewise, is that point of time when the sun's leading edge first appears above the horizon at the beginning of the daylight period.

Because these conventions refer to the position of the trailing and leading edge of the sun in relation to daytime, not the center of the sun's disk, that means that at the Vernal and Autumnal Equinox, when the path of the Sun crosses the equatorial plane of the Earth, the defined period of daylight, using the definitions of sunset and sunrise above, is actually slightly longer than the defined period of darkness.

Even if you do measure the daylight period as the period when the center of the sun's disk is at or above the horizon, we can still see the sun when it is actually physically below the horizon due to refraction of light in the atmosphere, and again, the day when observed daylight and nighttime are the same length does not fall on the equinox.

This can lead to some very interesting conversations as some folk who understand the sunrise/sunset convention of defining the daylight period, or the effect of refraction, try to explain to others that the days that daytime and nighttime are the same length don't actually occur on the day of the equinox.

We call that period when the sun is not visible but there is still light in the sky twilight. In the morning, twilight begins at dawn, and in the evening, twilight ends at dusk.

So, what are dawn and dusk? There are three common definitions in use.

EDIT NOTE: In the following definitions, it is important to note that the sun's disk appears to be ½° wide, and that during all periods of twilight, the sun's disk is completely below the horizon.

Civil or civilian twilight: That period of time between when the center of the sun's disk is less than 6° below the horizon and the upper limb of the sun's disk is visible above the horizon (sunrise/sunset). The beginning of the morning twilight is called civil dawn and ends at sunrise, and the end of the evening twilight period is called civil dusk and begins at sunset. It is also sometimes referred to as the elapsed half hour before sunrise and the elapsed half hour after sunset, for simplicity's sake.

Nautical twilight: That period of time between when the center of the sun's disk is less than 12° below the horizon but greater than or equal to 6° below the horizon. The beginning of the morning twilight period is called nautical dawn and the end of the evening twilight period is called nautical dusk.

Astronomical twilight: That period of time between when the center of the sun's disk is less than 18° below the horizon but greater than or equal to 12° below the horizon. The beginning of the morning twilight period is called astronomical dawn and the end of the evening twilight period is called astronomical dusk.

Each type of twilight is often thought of by what kind of activity you can undertake during that period. During civil twilight, you can still perform regular outdoor activities without artificial light (one convention is that if you can no longer read, it is no longer twilight). During nautical twilight, you can still distinguish large objects at a distance, and there is sufficient darkness to take sightings of brighter, known stars and compare their positions to the horizon for navigation purposes (there are some additional practical definitions of nautical twilight regarding whether or not you can still see the rings of a target at a fixed distance). During astronomical twilight, you can observe most stars, but some of the dimmer objects, such as nebulae, are not distinguishable.

A moment's reflection should be sufficient to realize that sunrise and sunset, dawn and dusk, and the periods of twilight are all dependent on time of year and geography (including but not limited to the observer's latitude and longitude). They are local conventions.

Here's to local conventions.

Dreams: Seeking the Unseelie Court

Over a vast area, there is a maze of white walls, pillars, and open doorways. No area is closed off from any other, but in many areas there are no direct routes. In some areas, there are floors of stone, in others, areas of grass. All areas are open to the clear blue sky, even the areas that serve as corridors. The light is natural, as if from the sun, and appears to be directionless.

The rooms vary in size, from small courtyards to larger yards suitable for great gatherings, with the wind flattening the grass. The walls also vary, from strictly regimented, evenly spaced areas, to more haphazard, wandering paths and uneven rooms. The walls in the more strictly regimented areas appear to be less structurally sound and newer; the uneven areas are older, made in the more distant past.

I do not know where the entrances are to this vast area, nor did it feel important to know.

The many people there wear a variety of clothing, mostly on a theme of reënactors of the Middle Ages and Renaissance. Many wear knives and swords. Capes and robes are common. The clothing is worn comfortably, as regular, everyday clothing, not as if it was a costume. They go about their business, cooking, eating, talking with each other. Some areas are open to all; others are more private, with people standing at the paths to those areas to make sure that no one wanders in uninvited. Everyone seems to be at best friendly, at worst preoccupied with their own activities. Some voices are raised in excitement and happiness, some to call from one place to another; no voices are raised in anger.

I know this place. I have been here before. But this place is not my goal; it is an area that I must pass through on the way to my goal.

I am traveling by invitation to another place, and have joined a small group of six or seven others being guided to the entrance that will lead to that place. The entrance to the path that will lead there is hidden somewhere within this maze of walls and pillars, rooms and corridors. Somewhere, I know, there is one wall that you can pass through as if it were not there, if you press your hands against the wall in the right fashion, with the right frame of mind. I have been through that entrance before, some time ago.

The path that we seek the entrance to will lead us to the Unseelie Court. My own path leads to the Shadow Court. In my mind, the two Courts are the same. I am expected, have been invited, but I must find my way there by my own means, with no direct assistance from anyone of the Court.

As we walk single file through this white area of corridors, rooms, and courtyards, the first part of our group moves ahead, away from us. The tail end of the group is falling behind, and I am caught between my desire to keep up with the first group and remain behind to help the laggards, a woman and a young girl. In the end, I lose sight of both parts of the group, and must find my own way.

I know what the wall that conceals the path looks like, feels like, but this area is vast, and it will take me some time to find it. I know that once I find that entrance, I will be able to follow the path to my destination; the hardest part is finding that entrance. I don't recall any details of the concealed path itself (though I know that I have followed it in the past) save one: In the last open area of the concealed path before reaching the Court, I must pass through the Earth gate, which in that area is in the east, rather than its expected location in the north. It is an important detail that needs to be remembered about following the concealed path.

With assistance of some people in the area, I go back to find the woman and girl, and do find them, but they seem to be distracted now, and may no longer be seeking the concealed path to the Unseelie Court.

The first part of the group is long gone, and now I am traveling alone.

It is difficult to ask for directions, because I know that many of the people here will not understand. If they believe in the Unseelie Court at all, they will not understand why I would be seeking it. They will not stop me, but they will not help me, either.

I finally find an old friend that I have not seen in some time, a tall knight with long dark hair, beard and mustache. I know that he can and will help me, that he will not question why I am going where I am going. Whether or not he has been there himself, I don't know, but I do know that he knows the way.

He helps me by giving me the following advice: When seeking the Court, sometimes it is easier to build your understanding of the path by working backwards from your destination, and knowing that somewhere the path leading away will join the path leading towards. He mentions that the path leading away from the Unseelie Court starts by leading west through the gateway of Earth, which matches my recollection that at the end of the path leading to the Court must lead east through that gateway.

With that advice, I set out again, feeling more confident that I will find that entrance to the path that will lead to my destination. I don't know how long it will take me, or how far that I must travel, or who or what I will meet along the way, but I will reach my destination, and learn why I have been called to go there.

Cleaning up

NOTE: I will be continuing my posts on our methods of measuring time, but wanted to write on a different topic first. I will probably be doing that during my entire "Nature of Time" series.

Many years ago, probably before I was even a teenager, my brothers and I used to pick up trash along the roadside between the farm and town, almost a two mile stretch. This is what I recall of the practice (this is how I remember it, but I was young enough that my memory may not be completely accurate, and the time frame is severely condensed).

It started out simple enough: Occasionally, when we walked to town or back, we would pick up a few items of trash and then throw them in the first trash bin that we found. Then, we started carrying trash bags and filled them as we went on the occasions when we did it. It got to the point that we got thorough enough that we would collect more trash than we could carry, so we would take extra bags with us, and set the filled bags along the side of the road as we went. My father would then come along in the pickup and collect the bags, and then we would take them to the local dump.

At some point, more people in town became involved in the project, starting to do the same thing of collecting trash along the side of the road in an annual clean-up of the town.

Newly returned to living in my hometown, I don't see that happening these days. My wife and I walked into town a few days ago, and did a second walk in a loop around some of the local roads (about four miles for each walk), and there were discards everywhere. It looked like someone used one particular stretch of the road on a regular basis to discard their Bud Light empties — we picked up what we could carry, but it wasn't much compared to what was out there (at least a case's worth on that one stretch).

Part of being a Druid is stewardship of the Earth, caring for it, maintaining it. There are many ways to do that, but a simple one is to pick up litter along the roadside wherever you might find it. It's a dirty job, no doubt of that. And you don't have to be a Druid to do it. You can even get exercise at the same time. ;-)

So, I have in mind to start the process all over again, picking up litter, starting with our neighborhood and the local roads, and hopefully inspiring others in town to do the same. I've already broached the subject to two ladies who run the local hardware store, and they say that they're very interesting in participating. I will also see if there are members of our local Grove who would like to participate.

Disposing of the trash will be a little more complicated — the town now charges to dispose of trash ($2 USD per 45 lb bag). But I think the small financial investment will be worth it. Plus I think that we can redeem some of the beer cans and soda cans to offset some of the disposal costs.

When enough of the snow is off the ground, we can start the work.