Day one of path we were met with torrential rain. For the past few days I have been undecided on what path to take. I had even suggested in passing that I would take the path of one, just me, tucked away somewhere warm with pastel crayons and my book of black paper. Already the path of the Edge-Walker was testing my boundaries and limits. Here I was huddled in an alcove with my fellow Edge-walkers, all silent with wonderment and expectation.
As path starts questions were being asked of us, I didn’t even have time to take a breath, as I pondered – what is an Edge-Walker, why have you arrived at this path. What expectations do you have? Who are you? as we were flung into the first exercise, milling around in the pouring rain. With only my Taronga zoo poncho that I had received months back on a roar and snore sleepover. My edges were up. As we mill around the teacher poses some simple but poignant questions.
Please don’t look down, let your gaze meet another’s, amongst the people gathered here, who would you most like to have lunch with? who here would you least like to have lunch with?
Our edges were being tested again, what did these other people think of me. Would anyone here want to have lunch with me and share their camp experiences, or would I sit alone on the outside, on the edge of civilisation. Perhaps that was the path to madness the untamed the edge-walker always on the outside. Briefly peering in to cure or heal, yet always walking alone.
Is this the path for me, what am I doing?
I am irritated.
We were then invited into our first trance exercise, of blood and bone of breath and ancestors, across time and space to meet spirit allies. I was instantly taken to the white crossroads of the cardinal directions – then I spiralled down, deep down to meet a witchy ancestor on the roots of an ancient Oak tree, deep within the earth, to commune to gather power and prophecy. Everything melts away, my irritation, the rain and discomfort of sitting on cold bricks and I am transported to another world to meet the mighty dead my cunning man ancestor.
After our spirit journeying, some shared their ancestor experiences, others remained silent, still caught between the two worlds of ancestor and the present. With the rain still pouring down, it seemed fitting to our journeying where our primal ancestors didn’t have the luxury of modern conveniences. But lived closely with the elements and the land.
With out ancestors as guides we finally ventured out upon the land to find green blood totems. I don’t care anymore about the discomfort of the weather, as the land rose up to meet me and I ventured to the boundaries of the property. To the edges, where the cunning ones have always resided, to gather wisdom and to commune with moss and lichen that nestled on weathered old fence posts. With my ancestor whispering in my ear, the path of the Edge-Walker is not about the rational – it is in the maddening silence of the in-between places.