It was one of those melancholic crisp autumn  mornings when I was clearing the garden in readiness of the winter, but still warm enough to have the windows open and blast out Maddy Prior’s Year CD. 

​They say that every death brings rebirth and renewal but death and dying can be a harrowing process. Thus it was with decay in my hands and grief in my stomach from recent losses, I mournfully sensed the coming harshness of winter approaching the garden gate. As my body ages, the winter brings yet more pain and discomfort, limiting all that I might do and sends the mood spiraling into muddy walking boots.

But...let me not look at the future just yet eh? Let me look to today and all its blessings. Of love, hope and dreams. Of friendships and laughter. Of joy and possibilities. Of happy times and companionship. As we winnow the grains of the year and move towards the Harvest Moon on September 23rd, I give thanks for all the boons in my life and enjoy the garden, not for its summer splendour, but for what it is today. After all, there is no other day to truly live in but the present and I give thanks for being able to still garden, even if just a little. 
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The photograph below is of the Harvest Moon over Glastonbury Tor and by Stephen Spraggon.
Check out his website for more stunning images. 

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​On the 26th April, just before the Beltane weekend, our ancient tree guardian, known as Gog, was set aflame. More than 2000 years old, Gog is partner to Magog and this is a plea to all those that that have ever used a candle (and ribbons) out on the land. There is someone out there, possibly still in the Avalon landscape, sitting with the knowledge that, in their misguided understanding of ‘honouring the trees’, they instead have burnt the bugger down.

These two ancient oak trees –with the traditional and biblical names of giant beings – stand in one of the further reaches of the sacred Avalon landscape, where they are in a relationship of alignment with other aspects of the sacred landscape such as the nearby Tor, Chalice Hill, the Abbey and Wearyall Hill. The Oaks gained their names from a legendary race of giants who, save for Gog and Magog, were slaughtered by Brutus and his Trojan army. Gog and Magog, marched to London, were held chained to walls of the city palace and their effigies can still be seen in the Guildhall to this day.

​Known as the ‘Oaks of Avalon’, the two trees are said to be a traditional point of entry onto the island, and part of a ceremonial Druidic avenue of oak trees running towards the Tor and beyond. Gog has been dead these past ten years, and indeed has burnt once before, [Edit: It was Magog that was previously set alight] but stood strong, keeping vigil with Magog as she too let go of her long life. To make a pilgrimage to these two sentries is to take a walk through time. They have stood witness to ever-changing populaces, beliefs and cultures, and watched whilst individual humans, long forgotten, have come and gone, passing beneath the leafy canopies fed by roots reaching deep into the sacred land.  Nowadays, a conscientious visitor, paying homage to the Oaks, is shocked to see spent night-lights placed at the base of the trees, some even in the bowls of the tree themselves and it took such foolish actions to turn Gog into a funereal pyre for 2000 years of myth and history. 

Hey folks, have a care!  Consider how leaving behind a metal casing, harmful to both flora and fauna and something that ‘hangs around on our planet’ for a very long time, can ever be considered ‘honour’.  Muse a while also on how placing a burning flame at the foot of a tree, especially a 2000-year old dead one, is up there with the most stupid of actions. JUST. DON’T. DO. IT! Leave nothing behind save your love.

I might as well mention that the same people who leave their night-lights might also be about the landscape tying ribbons to a tree. DON’T DO THAT EITHER! This particular practice stems back to pilgrimages to holy wells, often places that would always have a tree growing by the side or nearby.  The pieces of cloth, known as clooties, were dipped into the water before being tied to a branch with a prayer, often to cure an ailment, believing that as the rag rotted away, the ailment would disappear with it. Our forebears would use natural fabrics such as a strip of cotton petticoat and these would quickly rot away without harming the tree. Modern day ribbons are made from plastic and take an extraordinary amount of time to break down; tied to the branches of a tree, they strangle and prevent new growth whilst leeching chemical dyes into the wood.

​I'm asking, as I am sure you are too, are both of these acts of ‘homage’ something to be undertaken by one who professes to care for the land and its spirit? No way, Jose! They are entirely selfish deeds, symbolic only of our own needs and desires. There are hundred’s of different ways in which we can serve those, but proclaiming that we are also working for spirit is to make a complete error of judgement. We are not serving anything, other than ourselves. This is a one-way street.  We are no more re-enchanting the land and connecting with the Spirit of Place than we are when we drop litter. Leaving non-biodegradable products of the modern age is about as non-magical as it gets and, if we claim to be ‘of the land’, should these ever really feature in our thinking?

The careless act of the person that lit and placed a flame within the dead heartwood of Gog is hard for some to bear. Grief strikes at our own hearts and if we allow it, sinks into the soul. In 2010, another hallowed tree was destroyed in these sacred precincts when the Glastonbury Thorn on Wearyall Hill was chopped down, by persons unknown, in an act of wanton vandalism. A community came together and wept. Bridges across voids were built. Pagans and Christians held each other and mourned…and a shift of consciousness took place. In the seven years since the Thorn gave up its life, understanding, acceptance and mutual explorations have taken place.  Bridges that didn’t exist previously have been created between secular and spiritual communities.  The death of the Wearyall Thorn can, if we wish, be seen as an emblem of new understanding arising out of the collapse of an era. A new period where possibilities and positive actions are born out of the desire to connect and give way to a time where the re-connections of a community give rise to the re-enchantment of the land.
 
More than 2000 years ago, a seed in the ground reached up towards the light. It grew into a mighty oak that people named Gog. Saddened though we are in this time, what a privilege it is to be the ones bearing witness to 2000 years of presence becoming the fires of transformation. On a practical, outer level, it is a timely reminder, as we draw ever closer to war, not to be careless in our own conduct within our own environs. On an internal level perhaps it can be seen as a timely reminder of who we might be becoming. Destroyers? Or those that construct? Builders? Or those that tear down? Perhaps we are both? These are our choices to make now and our application of conscious thinking and learned wisdom will help us to plot our course. A funeral pyre made of the heartwood of ancient Gog marks a transition and, as we move into a new era for the world, let him be a reminder that only from death, can a new beginning be wrought. How those beginnings play out, is up to us, as is our own interpretation of the burning of Gog. 
 
Whoever you are, that happened to light a small flame in a tree - your guilt will be a heavy burden to bear. Take heart though and learn from your error of judgement. Mistakes are something we all make, how we rectify them is the key to how we grow. Leave these sacred precincts now, plant seeds wherever you go; kernals of Hope, Awareness, Consideration, Understanding, Love and all those qualities that help humankind to grow.  Plant a new tree and dedicate it to the memories of Gog and Magog. Remind yourself that it is the Light within your own self that is the True Flame, the Divine Spark that links us all. From this place, everything is possible. For the rest of us, perhaps Gog can serve to remind us of how our own actions can have an effect we might not intend and incite us also, to have a care.
 
Walk softly,
Morgana

UPDATE:

In the comments below is a message from a member of the family who are the guardians of the land on which Gog and Magog stand. I post it here for your reference. 

The 2000-year old reference is an anecdotal one, and can be be found in Glastonbury: Maker of Myths, by Frances Howard-Gordon. Published by Gothic Image. (ISBN: 9780906362730)

‘This avenue was cut down around 1906 to clear the ground of a farm, but someone from the timber firm remembers one of the oaks being 11 feet in diameter and more than 2000 season rings were counted."

Myths are archetypal stories of the human journey through life, based on tradition or legend, which has a deep symbolic meaning. A myth 'conveys a truth' to those who tell it and hear it.  Although some myths can be accounts of actual events, they have become transformed by symbolic meaning or shifted in time or place. Myths are often used to explain universal and local beginnings and involve supernatural or special beings. Glastonbury examples are the stories of the wounded Arthur being rowed to the Isle of Avalon, the nine Morgens, and the fairy kingdom of Gwyn Ap Nudd under the Tor.

What's the difference?
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Legends and myths can sometimes be difficult to classify and often overlap. Visual a line with an historical account based on facts at one end and myths or cultural folktales at the other; as you progress towards the mythical/folktale end of the line, what an event symbolises to people, or what they feel about it, becomes of greater historical significance than the facts, which become less important. By the time you reach the far end of the spectrum, the story has taken on a life of its own and the facts of the original event, if there ever were any, have become almost irrelevant..

...it is the message that is important.
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