SoulWork in Nature

by Madeleine Grant

February workshop - Standing in a circle of willow the group lit candles representing the Self and all those in their lives whom they love.

Salt, Sand, Sea,
Taste, Sense, Visual,Auditory
My Senses are alive
Yet I feel quiet,
Rested,
Awake yet distant
Seeking integration
Merging soul with nature,

The touch, the thoughts
Wonderful, yet so vast
Symbolise, Represent
Deeper and deeper
Your mind sinks
Thoughts threaten,
Disappear
What’s left?
Unrecognisable, Unexplainable
Mad, True, Honest
Bare

My whole life I have used nature as a place to escape, to heal, to grieve, to nurture both myself and others. According to Knill et al. (2004) we, as humans, have the capacity to be moved by beauty. This aesthetic response can be profound and awaken the soul. Nature has awakened my soul many times.

Therapy is the art of holding one another and holding space for sacred work. Atkins and Snyder (2018) explore how bringing therapy out into nature recognises that our dis-ease as humans often stems from living a life that is disconnected and out of harmony with the natural rhythms instinctive to us as human animals. Hillman’s (1996) view that we are moving further away from nature and the realisation of its importance to our lives, resonates powerfully with me. The natural world surrounding us plays an intimate part in the story of our lives. Nature can be used as a co-therapist to approach the existential themes of life, death, change, renewal, loss and new beginnings (Boon, 2020). Nature can be a bridge between the conscious and the unconscious.

Based on the work of Ian Siddons Heginworth (2009) I developed a series of 12, monthly workshops to run over the Celtic Ogham Calendar year – November 2021 to October 2022. These workshops encourage us to recognise the heart’s enduring connection to nature and its cycles and assist us in getting in touch with our ‘feeling’ side rather than our ‘doing’ side. Each workshop is based on the changing cycles of nature and uses metaphor and ritual to enable the expression and honouring of ourselves within a natural space. In the woodland space below my therapy room there is everything that is needed to give form and shape and voice to what is felt within. To enter this woodland, it is necessary to descend, so when you are down among the trees there is a sense of being cocooned by nature. Depending on the season the flow of the stream running through it can be gentle or fierce.

I created a covered area, with seats placed around an open fire pit. This is where each of the workshops started and ended. The essential archetypal elements of Fire, Earth, Air and Water were all present.

There is a spontaneity to environmental art therapy as nature holds and gives us what we need even if we are unaware of what that is. Nature is a canvas on which we can explore and represent feeling states using symbols and metaphors. Working therapeutically in nature allows for imperfection as the materials being used are natural. Nash (2020) describes how this therapeutic process involves a movement into feeling and into the body. Feeling is held in the body and we need to learn to integrate ordinary sensory experiences so that we can feel secure and complete in our bodies (Van der Kolk, 2014). Our creative expression begins with the sensory experience of the body and being out in nature creates and enables this. The woodland became that safe space for the group. A space in which to express strong emotions while also having them witnessed.

I was anxious at the start of our first workshop in November 2021 as I was unsure how the six participants would take to this creative therapeutic work in nature. The Celtic year begins in November when everything around is dying, the trees drop their seeds, and the cycle of growth begins. The leaves are also falling so the new is grown in the composting of old.

We started our first workshop with a ritual to our ancestors, ancient ones and those more recently dead, welcoming them to the space and honouring what they represent to us. The group also created dolls to represent their inner child. Each group member could stand at the gateway to the new cycle and be an elder to their child, honouring their fears and committing to carry them safely with them.

Despite a feeling of uncertainty, the participants, when asked, lay down on the leaf covered ground and inhaled the scent of autumn. They covered each other with autumn leaves. They were very still and allowed themselves to mould into the damp ground and thus were immersed in autumn in a very sensory, embodied way.

Life, namely Covid 19, threw up its own challenges and we had to have our December session online. Each group member found their own space in nature and joined the session. I lit the firepit and sat in our woodland space. In December’s workshop we explored our shadow aspects and the benefits of being still and of letting go. The rowan tree is the tree the Celts associated with December and on the base of its berries there is a pentagram which is an ancient symbol of protection. Although the group entered a cave to meet their shadow selves they knew there existed this powerful symbol of protection in this place of shadows. December’s workshop was also about celebrating the Winter Solstice and recognising that it was a time of change and renewal. Despite being online, group members described how they felt the love and care from the group throughout the workshop and described it as nourishment for the soul.

Grief in my bones
Your name in the wet sand
Disappearing
With the ebb and flow of the water
A faint resonance left
Nothing clear.
No metaphor for my grief,
My grief is
Clear
Rock solid
A part of my way of being forever.

Grief had consumed me over the weeks in December and early January and while I accept it as a natural result of the loss of one of the most precious people in my life 12 months previously, this knowing did not ease the pain. A lesson I have slowly learned from observing nature’s rhythms is not to deny it but go with it, feel it, as difficult as this is. These words from Kathleen Dean Moore (2010, p.6) describe it beautifully:

Sorrow is part of the earth's great cycles, flowing into the night like cool air sinking down a river course. To feel sorrow is to float on the pulse of the earth, the surge from living to dying, from coming into being to ceasing to exist. Maybe this is why the earth has the power over time to wash sorrow into a deeper pool, cold and shadowed. And maybe this is why, even though sorrow never disappears, it can make a deeper connection to the currents of life and so connect, somehow, to sources of wonder and solace.

Through this personal experience of grief it becomes possible to recognise and to touch the grieving parts of others. Self-compassion and the concept of common humanity plays an important part in this. Self-compassion is a way of relating to the ever-changing landscape of who we are with kindness and acceptance especially when we fail or feel inadequate. It requires acknowledging that we share the human condition of imperfection.

Over the months I witnessed the group’s bond develop and grow and this group dynamic played a huge role in the feeling of safety, care and compassion felt by each member. As the facilitator I began to trust the process, and to trust that nature would provide what was necessary. With each workshop I learned a lot about myself as co-facilitator to nature, and, I relaxed into the role as I realised I was only a very small part of what was happening.

This bridge crossing the woodland stream is made from the wood of a chestnut tree which uses its own resources to protect itself. It is self-preserving.

Alder is the tree that the Celts associated with the month of January. It is known as the king of the waters as its wood grows stronger in water, so it is used to build bridges. As Heginworth (2009) writes, “crossing the bridge of alder is a recommitment to growth and change” (p. 56). The group built bridges to represent symbolically what was needed to cross from the masculine to the feminine aspects of themselves or from the old year to the new.

Over the months as an observer, I felt a certain reverence and humility in being allowed to witness these creations. As one person became more willing to share how the process of creation was for them, this in turn gave permission to the others in the group to go deeper and speak about their process.

In February I moved our group space to a more secluded part of the woodland beside the stream. It was described by the group as ‘magical’ and it absolutely felt like the right space to be in for the remainder of our workshops.

In April we honoured the festival of Eostre. It is the honouring of the path through thorns. A time to look upon ourselves with the same gentleness and compassion that we feel for those for whom we care about. In May and June we looked at ways of raising the fire within ourselves and finding our own innate wildness. By comparison July was a time for sitting in silence in nature and writing words down on paper without censoring them. Poetry in itself can be intensely healing, because it can give us words for the unspeakable. In August we honoured the earth as mother by celebrating the festival of Lughnasadh. Labyrinths were built in September representing the different layers of our lives and the group then created a giant web to represent the feeling self, at the centre of which, the feminine sits. In the final workshop in October the group individually created reed boats into which they placed wishes and affirmations for the cycle to come and these boats were launched with much revelry into the stream.

September workshop - participants created a spiders web out of wool.

The workshops progressed and our awareness of the subtle changes in the woodland was heightened as we were immersed in the space each month. In each workshop there were two to three creative exercises. Making spears, masks, creating a large web, a labyrinth, covering their faces with ash, creating a sanctuary, honouring the warrior within, creation of wombs and the honouring of the shadow self were just some of the exercises completed. Exercises which required expression of anger appeared to be difficult for some participants. How often are we told as children not to be angry. Anger is viewed so negatively when really it is the actions rather than the feeling of anger that have the potential to cause harm. Heginworth (2009) explains how we can maintain our gentleness and our compassion in order to rage.

Within nature there are rocks to be thrown, sticks to be smashed, a roar to be carried on the wind. Over time it can become possible through reflection and self-love to begin to sow the seed for a new way of being in and with the world.

The weather played an important role in our sessions. Regardless of heavy rain or bright sunshine participants turned up to progress further on their journey alongside the cycles of nature. Depending on the season the fire gave warmth or protection from midges, and it was also a place for the ritual burning of art creations. Over the 12 months participants descended into their shadow and emerged more aware of their bodies' felt sense in nature. Seeds were planted and harvested and planted again.

We ended each workshop with a shared lunch, everyone bringing something to the table. This time was very important as it was physical nourishment but also a time to ground ourselves before returning to everyday life. The joy of bringing and sharing strengthened the bonds of the group and there was much laughter at these times. I was aware that in the weeks following each workshop the participants would still be processing feelings/emotions that may have been triggered from the creative exercises completed in the workshop. I assured participants that I was available to talk with them if needed.

Rituals
Burning, Shameful
Death Pyre
Honouring
Mournful
Guilt.

Sadness
Deep
Death, Life. Death, Life
Death, Life. Death, Life

Dance of Life
Quickly
Run
Need to arrive
Soft bed
Birth
Potential.

The workshops contained many rituals. According to Weller (2015) ritual offers us containment and release. The woodland became the safe space (container) which enabled the descent down into the layers of sorrow. He describes how there is something about ritual that resonates deep in our bones. According to Turner (1969), the altered state of consciousness achieved within a ritual process is the liminal space. We return from this liminal space with new resources and possibilities which were discovered in the art making. Totton (2011) describes how wild therapy supports, protects and defends this liminality and it celebrates embodiment and welcomes the spontaneous and the unknown.

Nature lends itself to ritual and in its rhythms (the seasons, the tides, the winds etc.) and seasonal changes we are reminded of our own losses and subsequent growth or decay. Fires can be lit, altars created, dens built, we can just walk and reflect on our loss. Having a witness makes the sense of ritual more profound. Rituals and their embodied experience enable people to make meaning from their loss and to honour it. There is a spiritual aspect to the process of ritual and there is healing in that sense of ‘doing something’. Within our rituals there was the space for changes to be made in order to make these rituals personal to the group.

There was a sense that each member of the group left a little bit of themselves behind each month in the woodland. Thus, when re-entering the woodland, they had a sense of familiarity and safety and a sense of ritual. They could revisit what they had created previously and acknowledge the changes made by nature, thus recognising the impermanence of all things.

Each session started with a meditation which helped people to arrive in the space and to recognise how their bodies felt within that space. I found myself going barefoot in the woodland as with each month the feeling of oneness with that beautiful place increased. I continued to be amazed at the power of nature to provide what was needed to do some deep therapeutic work.

Poetry was an important part of the workshops. Poetry by John O Donohue, Mary Oliver, L.R. Knost, David Whyte, Adrienne Rich – to name but a few.

There was a sense of loss in the final workshop. As in the first workshop we created an altar to honour our ancestors but this time it was a group one. It is essential to recognise and to acknowledge our elder within and all the wisdom and pain that is carried from generation to generation. We had come to the end of one cycle but the cycles will continue. By aligning ourselves with nature and its cycles we ensure our rhythm of life is more in tune with our soul’s needs.

“The seeds we plant will not grow yet. They require a season of stillness, dormancy and descent and so do we” (Heginworth, 2009, p.29).

Group altar to our ancestors

Some of the feedback received from those who attended:
“Immersing myself in nature through the seasons, in the trees and ferns, wildflowers, pebbles, rocks, stream water and earth, to explore what is going on inside myself and my connection to others and the world around me, while being held safely and caringly has been a wondrous and precious experience for me.”

“The woodland setting is so beautiful and it was a joy to see the changes in the woods and in myself through the Celtic year. A unique opportunity to experience something deeply precious.”

“...allowed us to explore deep issues and stories using nature and creativity, which led me to a deeper understanding of self. A real privilege…”

“Almost from the beginning of the course you could feel yourself being opened up... For me I felt almost like being reluctantly prised open, much like an oyster shell but the gentle support of my fellow pilgrims made this opening a gentler process than I could ever have imagined, to reveal the lustrous pearl of my own wisdom and insight to help me deal with long forgotten/hidden inhibitors.”

To attend these workshops for 12 months was a big commitment but the experience for those attending and for myself made it very worthwhile. I hope to run this series of workshops again in the near future. The whole process of preparing the monthly workshops, carrying what was needed down into the depths of the woodland, creating the sacred space, being a witness to others therapeutic process and most importantly seeing how the bond of the group grew was in a way a spiritual experience and definitely food for my soul.

Madeleine Grant, MSc, RGN, Accredited Play/Creative Arts Therapist, Post Grad Diploma in Integrative Counselling and Psychotherapy, Post Grad Certificate in Environmental Arts Therapy. She can be contacted at wicklowcreativeartstherapy@gmail.com

References

Atkins, S., Snyder, M. (2018). Nature Based Expressive Arts Therapy. Integrating the Expressive Arts and Ecotherapy. Jessica Kingsley Publishers.

Boon, L. (2020). The Wild Inside. In Heginworth, I., and Nash, G. (Eds.), Environmental Arts Therapy. The Wild Frontiers of the Heart (p. 47-60) Routledge.

Heginworth, I. (2009). Environmental Arts Therapy and the Tree of Life. Spirit’s Rest Books.

Hillman, J. (1996). The Soul’s Code. Random House.

Knill, P.J., Barba, H.N. and Fuchs, M.N. (2004). Minstrels of Soul. EGS Press.

Moore, K.D. (2010), Wild Comfort: The Solace of Nature. Trumpeter.

Nash, G. (2020) Taking Art Therapy Outdoors. A Circle of Trees. In Siddons Heginworth, I. and Nash, G. (Eds.). Environmental Arts Therapy. The Wild Frontiers of the Heart (p.137-150). Routledge.

Totton, N. (2011). Wild Therapy Undomesticating inner and outer worlds. PCCS Books.

Turner, V. (1969). The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure, NY: Cornell University Press.

Van Der Kolk, B. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking Press.

Weller, F. (2015). The Wild Edge of Sorrow. Rituals of Renewal and the Sacred Work of Grief. North Atlantic Books.

IAHIP 2023 - INSIDE OUT 99 - Spring 2023