“If you come in silence to a place, you come as an enemy. If you come singing, you come as a friend”.

Have you ever greeted a place?

Have you ever asked permission to enter a lake, or climb up a mountain?

If so, who did you ask?

Someone wise once told me always to ask permission. I immediately defended myself… I am born of this earth. What do I need to ask permission for? Is this not our garden? Besides, I am not one to leave Coke cans or cigarette butts around, I am wholly invited!

After some time, and some practice of asking permission, I see that it is the attitude of humility that counts. Do not assume you are entitled to everything when you want it.

Historically, mankind has traversed the land slowly, either on foot or using cattle. We saw and felt the changes in the landscape, adjusted with the climate, percieved the moving winds and colours. We could sense the place in human time. We entered in human time. We entered with care.

Remnants of these approaches are found among indigenous peoples even today. I am reminded of the famous story of the anthropologist who was very hurried to reach a particular spot in the jungle. His guides sat down after 3 days and refused to move, saying they were waiting for their souls to catch up with them, they had gone too fast to keep it all together.

Nowadays, we have little metal boxes with wheels that zoom us along tarred landscapes. We keep eye to road and foot to pedal, trying to keep up speed. Our evolution is ticking on, our technology, our pace, but our bodies and the landscape are still dense and ever-sensitive to the laws of space and time. They do not move as quickly as our thoughts and wishes do.
By moving in this way, we don´t really see places, because we don´t see the progression in real time, according to the percpetion of the human eye. And we certainly don´t arrive slowly enough, breathing the air, sensing the changes. We get there, open the car door, BOOM, I´m here!

I was reflecting on this, and the practice of asking the blessing of a place before entering and doing whatever it is you plan to do, remembering an experience that felt like a trial of initiation.

A couple years ago, after a minor disappointment in love, I moved up to Scotland on a mere whim, from one day to the next. I caught a lift with a friend up the whole of the Island of Great Britain, from South to North, to live there. Cruising along, I was transported to another country, another climate, another world. He dropped me off at a main high street bridge, with a new pair of walking boots. I threw my old ones which had served me well for 7 years in the river, and considered that was enough of a ritual to warrant my new life in Edinburgh! (Ok, so I don´t leave Coke cans, but I leave old stinky leather shoes…)

The whole change was quite a shock, and it was an overwhelming thing to be in that towering grey city, beautiful as it is. I was now a small fish in a big pond. One day I decided I needed to get some air and go walk up the mountain that was beckoning from the distance. The afternoon was spent marvelling the green grass and the view of the town from up high. With Edinburgh below me, the challenges of a new life there seemed manageable. I walked back home, content.

Sighing and happy to be back, I searched my pocket for the key, but, oh, dear…

I was locked out. My flatmate had gone to the country for the night and his phone was off. What to do? Not knowing anyone, I realised I´d have to spend the night back on the mountain. I went to the all-night store (by now it was 11pm) and got some black dustbin bags, to get some kind of waterproofing in place. A punk band that had just played in a bar was loading up their van, and they gave me a blanket. So, up the hills I headed, with the full moon above, and a sense of courage. Everyone knows that Britain is rainy. My mother calls it Mud Island. What not eveyone knows is that Scotland is rainier. In fact, it was so wet, the hillside saturated with so much water, that there were big fat frogs all along the hillside. I made a poncho with one plastic bag, a sleeping bag with another, and hoped for the best. I spent the night shivering under a tree, trying to sleep while the frogs sang me a chorus. I´m sure they were singing “welcome to Scotland”, but their accents were so thick I couldn´t quite make it out. I also dreamed about a nice strong whisky, for medicinal purposes, of course.

Needless to say, I survived. In fact, a night in the fresh air did me good.  From that time on, I had made friends with the place. I had earned my right to be there. As I descended the hill, the whole town was bathed in golden sunlight with a magnificent rainbow above, and I went back singing…