Tom Tom Woods

The Watery Tale of Tom Tom Woods

 Shortly after Autumn Equinox, I was invited to a party - a house warming party, in the Sussex countryside.

 It was a soft gentle party, with beautiful, magical, dancing, singing, playing young women, and strong, wise, handsome young men... I was the eldest, and both happy and honoured to be in such bright young magical company.

The party held promise. Unknown, but beckoning.

I went into the dark night garden at around 1.30 am, to sit and smoke, under a large autumnal tulip tree. The soft wind rustled the drying leaves, and caught my wandering attention.

My mind rambled and roamed, explored and enquired, and suddenly I was talking to a bright eyed young man - Thomas. I really liked this man's energy, and I felt compelled to talk, and to realise the nature of our encounter.

We talked of trees, of woodlands, and of water, and within moments he had produced a map of Tom Tom Woods, asking where water might be found. The map showed old topography, revealing the ancient pathways of the water's flow, and within minutes we had arranged to meet the following day, for an exploration.

We climbed through from the track, along a lane, and onto a pathway, ever narrowing, the canopy starting to hold and enclose the space.

I saw the swamp - the sign of a clumsy hand, an attempt at creating a pool on a steep hillside, now blocked, filthy and inert... and with a tragedy within its soul.

Rowan berries hung deep and heavy over the swamp, the ripened red fruit conveying a promise, but the story had an unfoldment, an unexpected turn.

Gonna see The Riverman, gonna tell him all I can, about the plan...

The alchemy of water and sunlight - the beckoning of the golden light.

I was told the story of how the daughter of the previous land-owner had died in this swamp... drowned. And I realised that not only was the land to be cleared for the water's flow, but the trauma released from the soil.

It was time to work, to clear and to begin the release. Decades of decay and casual neglect had blocked the water's path, holding back that which needed release.

Teach me the lesson of flowing...

The flow exists, and though its labyrinthine passage is excrutiating and agonisingly slow, working with bare hands is the perfect way to feel into the soul of the earth, and tenderly clear these old pathways. A gentle reveal, of both outer and inner.

Purifying and cleansing the water, cleanses and purifies the soul. Each handful opens up and frees deep needs from within, and the release of water opens the energetic flow of life.

The water carries subtle prayers and wishes, as an amplifier, a lens, through which intentions are carried far downstream to the great oceans, and back up to the spring source, and into the vast unknowable inner earth. The cycle, never-ending, completes and begins, once again.

And soon, it flows. And I breathe, and I am healed once again. The water sings and dances, the air is alive and fresh, the passive becomes active, and the wheel begins to turn once again.

Soon fishes will be swimming here once again, life returning with renewed vigour and vitality. This is so simple to do, so easy to do, and so profoundly rewarding.

 Join me sometime, or take me with you - in the service of water. If you know of woodlands in need of my hands, I am a friend of the water.