Ask Permission: Before cutting the branch of a tree or removing a flower, tell the spirit of the tree or plant what you are going to do, so that they can withdraw their energy from that place and not feel the cut so strong.
When you go to nature and want to take a stone that was in the river, ask the river keeper if he allows you to take one of his sacred stones.
If you have to climb a mountain or make a pilgrimage through the jungle, ask permission from the spirits and guardians of the place. It is very important that you communicate even if you do not feel, do not listen or do not see. Enter with respect to each place, since Nature listens to you, sees you and feels you.
Every movement you make in the microcosm generates a great impact on the macrocosm.
When you approach an animal, give thanks for the medicine it has for you.
Honour life in its many forms and be aware that each being is fulfilling its purpose, nothing was created to fill spaces, everything and everyone is here remembering our mission, remembering who we are and awakening from the sacred dream to return home.
“FOOD IS A WEAPON. WHEN YOU CONTROL SEED YOU CONTROL LIFE ON EARTH.”
About Vandana Shiva
Vandana Shiva, a world-renowned environmental thinker, activist, feminist, philosopher of science, writer and science policy advocate, is the founder of Navdanya Research Foundation for Science, Technology and Ecology in India and President of Navdanya International.
Trained as a Physicist at the University of Punjab, she completed her Ph.D. on the ‘Hidden Variables and Non-locality in Quantum Theory’ from the University of Western Ontario, Canada. She later shifted to inter-disciplinary research in science, technology and environmental policy, which she carried out at the Indian Institute of Science and the Indian Institute of Management in Bangalore, India.
In 1982 she founded the Research Foundation for Science, Technology and Ecology (RFSTE), an independent research institute that addresses the most significant problems of ecology of our times, and two years later, Navdanya (‘nine seeds’) the movement in defense of biodiversity and the contributions made to the climate, environment and society by small farmers.
The recipient of many awards, including the Right Livelihood Award, (the ‘Alternative Nobel Prize’) and the Sydney Peace Prize, she has been named among the top five “Most Important People in Asia” by AsiaWeek.
She is a prolific writer and author of numerous books and serves on the board of the International Forum on Globalization, and member of the executive committee of the World Future Council.
The Sheriff of Nottingham has a theory that The Major Oak is a Trysting Tree?
The shape and size of the Major Oak indicates that it has for most of its life stood in a clearing uncrowded by other trees close by. It could have been at a crossroads for local paths. This might have made it a Trusting Tree.
Trysting trees are trees which, because of their individual prominence, appearance, or position, been chosen as meeting places. A ‘tryst’ is a time and a place for a meeting, especially of lovers. The word tryst shares it’s original with the words true and trust.
In a medieval forest like Sherwood (before GPS and sat nav) trysting trees could have acted as essential markers and as perfect locations for secret rendezvous between trusted locals and outlaws.
“A Gest of Robyn Hode” is one of the earliest surviving texts of the Robin Hood tales. The Gest (which meant tale or adventure) is a compilation of various Robin Hood tales, arranged as a sequence of adventures involving the yeoman outlaws Robin Hood and Little John, the poor knight Sir Richard at the Lee, the greedy abbot of St Mary’s Abbey, the villainous Sheriff of Nottingham, and King Edward of England. In it there is a reference to a trstell-tree.
Broke it well,” sayd Robyn, “Thou gentyll knyght so fre, And welcome be thou, gentyll knyght, Under my trystell-tre.
The Major Oak is one of the biggest oak tree in Britain and we won’t discuss how old it might be (something from 800 – 1200 hundred years old ?? Who knows?) The world-famous tree weighs an estimated 23 tonnes, has a girth of 11.14 metres (36 and a half feet) and boasts an impressive canopy that reaches a whopping 28 metres (92ft).
Its height is in the region of (a mere) 52 feet (16m), that means it’s almost twice as broad as it’s tall. The Major Oak is a magnificent tree but she is not tall and is certainly very broad. This shape, where the tree has been able to grow out rather than up could mean that the Major Oak has for most of its life been in a clearing in the forest. Perhaps a cross roads of paths which gave the tree chance to spread out. It’s always stood a little a part?
The Sheriff was the chief agent of the crown in every county for hundreds of years and a vital part of royal government. He was the head of the fiscal, judicial, administrative, and military organisation of the shire and was a direct appointment of the crown.
All the legends of Robin Hood refer to The Sheriff of Nottingham in fact our Sheriff was Sheriff of Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire. Only from 1567 were Sheriffs for Nottinghamshire and Derbyshire appointed separately.
Photo by Tracey Whitefoot
The iconic statue of Robin Hood stands in the former moat of Nottingham Castle. Cast in bronze and weighing half a ton, the figure is 7ft tall, Robin is literally larger than life!
Robin Hood stands outside Nottingham Castle, the point of his arrow aimed at the gatehouse.
References ~ The Sheriff of Nottingham facebook page.
Something happened last week that made me rather sad. The 600-year-old Bretton Oak, near Peterborough, one of the last survivors of Grimeshaw Woods, an ancient forest that once covered much of that part of the world, was felled after final desperate attempts to save it failed.
This ancient tree, which had stood since the reign of Henry VI, was ripped apart by men with hi-vis jackets and chainsaws in a matter of minutes, to the horror of many locals. Its crime? The roots were allegedly causing ‘structural damage’ to nearby housing. Although, as one resident pointed out, that case was debatable.
No matter. Insurance companies were refusing to underwrite the affected properties, and so the man from the council decreed that the oak had to go. Six centuries of history, a living organism that had outlasted kings, queens, plagues, war and famine, felled by petty bureaucracy.
Oh, it’s just an old tree, I hear you say. And yes, it is – or was. But the thing about ancient trees is that they are not just old, knarly bits of wood. They are a living connection to the past. Their bark bears the marks of many generations. Their roots and branches mark the passing of the decades.
They are, in many cases, astonishingly beautiful, living sculptures in our green and pleasant land. And unlike humans, they ask very little from their environment. Indeed, if anything they enrich it: the soil, the air, the countless generations of animals and insects that live among their leaves.
I must confess, I’ve always had a thing about trees, ever since I was a child. My favourite children’s book was Enid Blyton’s The Faraway Tree, about a series of revolving worlds at the top of a magical tree in an enchanted wood. When my father read me The Lord Of The Rings, I fell in love with Treebeard, last of the mighty Ents, described by Gandalf as ‘the oldest living thing that still walks beneath the Sun upon this Middle-earth’.
In middle age, as life has presented its challenges, trees have once again become my escape. When it all gets too much, I get in my car and I go ancient tree-hunting. I seek them out – by rivers, in fields, in churchyards – and I spend time with them.
This may sound batty, and maybe it is, but they bring me great comfort and solace.
They are like old souls, wise and gentle, a reminder that, good or bad, everything passes – and ultimately, nothing really matters, certainly not success or money or whether the barista makes your flat white just so.
Some reside in splendour in National Trust glory, tended to by expert horticulturists, others grow wild in the most unlikely of places – in people’s gardens, by the side of roads, in the corners of fields.
Last week, the Woodland Trust published research indicating that there are between 1.7 and 2.1 million trees of ‘great age’ across Britain, only about 115,000 of which have been recorded.
Like the poor old Bretton Oak, very few have any legal protection, although some – such as the Major Oak in Sherwood Forest (around 1,000 years old) and Big Belly in Savernake Forest (which would have been an acorn around 1066) – are famous enough to be immune from the attentions of town planners.
Everyone loves an oak, of course, but there are many others.
Some, such as birches, are defined as ancient once they get to the age of mere 150. Yews, on the other hand, are practically classified as teenagers until around the age of 800. Some in this country are thought to date back to the Bronze Age. One of my favourites is the Defynnog Yew, which lives in a unprepossessing churchyard in the Brecon Beacons. As wide as it is tall, it is so old the trunk has split, so now it looks like two trees – but it is in fact one.
Climb inside the belly of this gentle giant, as I have done, and you will feel a stillness and a peace like no other. If I could choose anywhere to draw my last breath, it would be in the soft caress of its mossy woodiness. There is a reason so many churches are built where these extraordinary trees grow: there is something deeply spiritual about them.
Why do we protect our ancient buildings and not our trees? Why are we so arrogant as to think bricks and mortar matter more than a creature that was alive when we were still grubbing in the dust?
Our ancient trees are part of our culture and history. We should honour them for the giants they are.
Tree Weaver 