The Art of Conversation with the Genius Loci

Author: Barry Patterson
ISBN: 1861631693

I don't know why it took me so long to finish this book. I do know that my bookmark kept falling out, which meant I often re-read whole sections with a very deep sense of déjà vu, which was frustrating.
I liked this book - a lot. Its a great introduction to connecting with the world around us on a more profound level. The author includes several exercises, in the form of guided meditations, and these should be helpful to anyone starting out in magic or broader pagan practices. The author states he is buddhist, and although I did not agree with a small number of his views, overall I liked (and understood) his reasoning for behind the ideals he put forward; agreeing with him far more often than not.

The content of the book clearly demonstrates that Mr Patterson practices that about which he writes. He often includes personal anecdotes to illustrate a point. This is not someone trying to set themself up as a master (and he states this himself), but rather provide clear guidelines for those just starting out. In fact, this book excels in that regard and, in future, I will not hesitate to put in on recommended reading lists for those new to the pagan or witchcraft worlds.

Mr Patterson writes so that his ideas are easily absorbed and he also provides an extensive set of appendices including list of various organisations and a bibliography for further information. He has also taken the time to incorporate some of his prose and poetry, which is helpful in understanding the concepts discussed.

I have to say it is one the most sensible books I’ve read about outdoor practices in a very long time. He speaks of not taking anything from sites but memories and what constitutes a suitable offering (as opposed to crystals blasted from mines, etc.). In my opinon, Barry Patterson is a breath of fresh air in the beginner’s guides.

It was a unique read for me in that some of the places explored are quite near to my own place of residence and it was interesting to hear the insights of another who had visited those areas. Having an experience of the same locations made for interesting connections whilst reading the book. I was able to put myself in the author's shoes on occasion and this was somehow comforting.

I have to admit my favourite chapter was the first where we learn of his experiences on a solo trip in the Outer Hebrides. Having visited the area, I immediately understood the nature of his experience. Even so, the rest of the book is a joy, and a must to read. I certainly learned a few things, and there are a few people out there I believe need to read this book and should read this book.

The book loses a tenth of a point in ratings solely because of the extra blank pages disrupting some of the chapters. A fault with the publishers I feel.

Rating: 4.9/5

Barry Patterson does have his own website at: Red Sandstone Hill if you wish to learn more about the man behind the book.

Spirit of Place/Genius Loci

It became apparent during my recent trip across the northern border that I somehow more "in tune" with the spirit of Scotland than with England. Although I had only ever crossed the border whilst in an aeroplane before, and we were travelling on a motorway at the time, I immediately knew when we had crossed the border - the whole feel of the place changed and I felt like I was coming home. It was the same on the return journey, I instantly knew the moment we had crossed back into England - it felt flat to me, whereas Scotland had felt vibrant.

When I finally came back on-line, it was with interest I noted various conversations about genius loci and how some are welcoming and some are not. It was especially noteworthy given the conversation I had with Fae (from my tour group) about her experiences of local spirits in Derbyshire and how she had paid her respects to one at the entrance to a quarry, only to be ousted by another close to the quarry walls. It was interesting, too, in light of one particular member of the tour group, who insisted on overpowering the brí with her essential oils, crystals and ringing bells, rather than tuning in to the natural energies.

These past few years, it has been my practice upon entering a new landscape to attempt to acknowledge the local wights or spirits in order to ensure I am not encroaching on hallowed ground or stepping on anyone's feet. Sometimes I get a warm feeling, sometimes nothing and on the odd occasion I've received a very cold reception indeed and promptly left. If I remember, I try to take something as an offering - something appropriate such as local seeds for the birds in a wood, or fruit to be placed about the roots of trees for ground animals and so on. I refuse to use things that aren't biodegradable such as crystals or ribbons, such as can be seen at holy wells or even standing stones these days. I even offered something up to the spirits of the North Sea on recent ferry crossings - needless to say each went smoothly.

I'm not saing that everyone needs to make an offering or even acknowledge local spiritis/deity (or else suffer some horrific experience), just that a respect for the landscape, its history and your place in it is preferable to trampling all over the place with total disregard to the ecosystem of which humankind is a part.

As I have progressed along my pagan path, I have become more aware of the difference in energy and the individual guardians of various place. There are times when I still remain completely closed to such influences, but these are becoming less frequent as I choose to stay "open" to what is happening around me. I am not quite so sensitive as to be able to tell the difference between parishes, but I can tell some counties apart and a lot of rivers are beginning to show their individuality, too. At least, I can tell when I'm in Cornwall, England, Wales, Scotland or Ireland - each has its own feel. Scotland is very much a country of localised wights, as is Ireland. Wales has a different overall feel, but then I've only been there once, so perhaps were I to visit today, I would get a sense of difference between local areas. Cornwall certainly has a myriad of genius loci and marked difference between coastal areas and those inland, who appear to be a little more cautious than curious.

I have to admit to not knowing the names of any of these guardians/spirits/wights, but there is a definite sense of them and sometimes a vision occurs. Perhaps names are reserved for local residents who build up relationships with the landscape, rather than interlopers like myself.

Having had this conversation with Fae, I wonder how many others have had similar experiences?

Residential History

Someone posted a question at one of the fora I frequent about the impact where we grew up has had on our present life as a pagan. I have written about the effect of my past on this blog before in "On Revelations", but I have not thought about the areas in which I resided as being significant.

I was raised in the tropics of the southern hemisphere. I did not know what a cardigan, sweater or jumper was until I was eight years old, when we moved to the sub-tropical capital of my state and temperatures dropped below 20 degrees celsius. We had two seasons in the tropics: wet and dry. Even in the dry season, you could count on rain in the afternoon at least once a week - it was daily in the wet season - the type of heavy, hot rain that soaked you through to your underwear in under two minutes.

As a child, my family lived in a tin shed on a remote island in the Gulf of Carpenteria amongst the indigenous people, though I remember little of this, on a tropical island getting about on Mini Mokes (based on the Jeeps of WWII), on dusty, vast remote cattle stations, at my grandmother's house in a railway oasis on the tracks to a distant mining community in the desert and on the edge of suburbia in a large, armed forces town. Mostly, we were never far from bushland and the dangers that lurked within (fears my mother instilled in me), and we had the odd poisonous snake cause concern, plenty of jellyfish to keep us from swimming in the oceans and a few spiders who liked biting people in awkward places.

What I remember most the places we lived was the stifling heat - sticky and draining. I remember we did not have air conditioning and the temperature was frequently over 32 degrees celsius and you could wake up in a pool of your own sweat in the mornings. I don't remember the cyclones, even though I've seen the pictures of me on horseback with the flood waters lapping at my sandals, though I do remember our neighbours losing their roofs. I remember playing in the gutters in the pouring rain, making boats and watching them go down the drain, which was big enough to fit five grown men. How we never went down it ourselves, I don't remember.

When we settled down in the southern, sub-tropical capital, the heat was less intense (we had three seasons); it rained with less frequency and sometimes it drizzled; but the storms increased. They changed to aquamarine-coloured, hail infested, thunderclapping bursts. Instead of the rain lasting for hours, you'd get a flash storm - one caused just as much damage as the cyclone we had experienced in the north and, though our house remained untouched, we had the possessions of neighbours (near and far) strewn about our front and back yards - rather than continous, pelting rain that lasted for hours.

Strangely enough, I come alive during a storm. I used to love watching them roll in over the ocean towards us, counting the time between lightening flash and thunderclap. Eventually, I would clamber home and listen to the tapping of rain on the galvanised tin roof. The smell was awesome, too. Heavy, thick and delicious. I never had a fear of them like others did.

The other place I felt alive was by the ocean. I have a fear of going in the water - the result of someone attemping to drown me once - but being on it or by it revives me. Most of my childhood was spent within 10 minutes drives of the ocean. Down south, there was only a wetland area between us and the beach and, if a storm was forecast, it was a two minute drive to the oceanfront. I still enjoy just wading in the sea, feeling the will of the waves as they hit my legs, listening to the sound of the ocean as it sings is soothing song. True, sometimes its loud when storms rip it up, but mostly its quiet and there is strength in its whispers.

For all of this, I never felt at home in the bush or natural areas of my homeland. Even less so in the cities, even though they have their own energies. I just knew I did not belong to that land; I was an intruder. Having watched many programmes made in the land of my ancestors, I knew that I had to try and emigrate in order to feel "at home". I wanted the experience of four seasons and the different energies of each. I wanted to spend time in those lush, green places and those wet autumnal woods, bursting with colour. I could almost sense the clean, crisp energy of frosty winters and I yearned for them. By the time I was fourteen years of age, I felt the overwhelming draw of the countries where my ancestors once lived. It would be eleven years before I made the journey, and another eighteen months before I found my footing, but I was home. Finally, I could start to seek out my true spiritual connections on the land of my ancestors.

So, did my childhood have an impact? Yes. Whilst I could work with the energies of the land of my birth, I always felt like I was stealing or intruding in some way; I felt alienated. I could never find a place where I was happy. Though there was one spot I felt to which I felt some connection, by the time I returned five years later, it had changed and, once again, I felt abandoned by the genius locii.

Once I travelled to England, Ireland and, finally, Scotland, I found the energies more familiar, and was able to expand my practices. That feeling of not belonging to the bush, the city and, finally, the country in its entirety was gone and I felt free to follow my own path without stepping on the toes of local spirits. Not only did I break away from the beliefs of my family, but I was able to explore my own spiritual leanings without feeling inhibited by place. I found myself opening up simply because of my location.

True, I work in the city, but I feel most at home in the countryside and more remote areas of the United Kingdom. Wild areas near the seas are still a favoured spot for me. If I can hear the waves, I am at peace. So, that connection from childhood remains, but I still prefer moodier weather, such as rain, mist, fog, freezing snow than the sun. Here, though, I am happier outdoors exploring the woods and wildlife than I ever was in my land of birth. The spirits seem to accept me.

I still get excited by storms, like the one of yesterday - so much energy just waiting to be absorbed - and I still feel the pull of the ocean and I know, one day, I will have to move so that I am right on the sea. For the moment, though, I can work with my current location.

My childhood experience has taught me the importance of place. I think I have an understanding of the sacredness of land, and the importance of relationships with the genius loci simply because of the disconnection I felt as a child to the spirits of my homeland. I think, too, that this alienation spurred me on to seek out the spiritual traditions of my ancestors, as well as the traditions of the area in which I live.