Category Archives: Walking

“So what are the essays in Being Alive actually about? Well, they’re about skills like sawing and kite flying; about Chinese calligraphy, line drawing, Australian aboriginal painting, native Alaskan storytelling, spiders, the art of walking, the art of being in weather … But that isn’t the half of it. These essays are really about becoming. About breaking down the great divide between human beings and the natural world. It’s impossible to cover all of the subjects and ideas that are part of Being Alive in this review, so I’ll focus briefly on the concepts that made most impact on me and that I believe will be of most interest to readers of EarthLines.

The key theme that runs throughout Ingold’s work is movement. Our humanity, whatever that might be, doesn’t come fully formed but is continually made and remade in our movements along the ways of life. Life, for Ingold, is an ongoing, unending process of wayfaring: ‘My contention is that wayfaring is the fundamental mode by which living beings inhabit the earth. Every such being has, accordingly, to be imagined as the line of its own movement or – more realistically – as a bundle of lines.’

“Amidst all these lines of movement-in-being (‘The wind is its blowing, the stream is the running of water. I am what I am doing. I am not an agent but a hive of activity’) Ingold sees the human being as so perfectly entangled in his environment that the two become inextricable. In this context, the concept of ‘meshwork’ is critical to Ingold, and so much more adequately represents what he is saying than the concept of ‘network’: ‘The web of life is not a network of connected points, but a meshwork of interwoven lines.’”

Hermes and the Heap of Stones, Snakes Among the Hills

This post is an attempt to gather some thoughts… please feel free to add comments if you have any insights or ideas!  I enjoy exploring ideas, and a good discussion 🙂

In his book ‘The Old Straight Track’ , which is one of the first studies into what are now more often referred to as Ley Lines, Alfred Watkins has a chapter dedicated to Hermes and Hermits.

Watkins writes of how the straight tracks (or leys) were used by man since the earliest times as a means of crossing the country, with strategic markers placed as a guide, these being ‘sighted’ by specialists  (hermits) who have been commemorated in folklore as being able “see” through hills or to tunnel through the earth.

He quotes another writer, Sir John Lubbock, as remarking on all of the different activities associated with Hermes, but who reached the conclusion that they all follow from the custom of marking boundries by upright stones. Watkins believes the word ‘trackways’ should be substituted for ‘boundries’.

Lockyer, among others has spoken of the Egyptian god Thoth becoming Hermes in Greece and Mercury among the Romans. Stone heaps with pillars were sacred to Hermes. These could be found at crossroads, or paths that traders or merchants would use, and he became associated with the Roman god Mercurius as a patron to tradesfolk in this manner. He was also seen as a shepherd with a crook, eventually becoming the messenger of the gods with his staff or caduceus.

Watkins quotes from a book named ‘History of Hampshire’ in which the author, Shore,  has collected records of hermits and hermitages, and says that ideas concerning hermits are very different from the truth. The hermit did live a solitary life, but it was not just for the sake of seclusion; rather, they received means of support for the role they played in guiding travellers on their way. There were 8 in Hampshire, all of whom were employed in this way – guiding travellers across dangerous waterways or through Ancient Forests. Similar hermits are recorded in Cornwall, and those recorded all have archaeological evidence to support that they lived on ley ‘sighting’ points. These sighting points on leys are often marked with an upright stone or mound.

The majority of mounds are sited on the highest point the eye can see, and in-between, the paths regularly go out of sight, though another mound will mark the direction needed to be followed.

If this was not the case, then I’m wondering if there would always have been a hermitage, with the guide taking travellers, traders etc. to the next point where a mound could be viewed?  Did such ‘hermits’ exist in other countries, performing the same duty – might the priests of Thoth have been employed in this capacity? Would hermits (in Britain for instance) also have been seen as performing a ‘priestly’ duty when guiding travellers? And would the travellers have known they were following the earth’s own ‘map’, and considered the paths sacred in some way, or have just known it was the simplest way to get from A to B without getting lost? Would these same people then have trusted the hermit to be able to guide them in the Otherworld – would all hermits have also been Shamans?  Paul Devereux has suggested that the straight lines/leys were used by shamans to guide the spirits of the deceased from one sacred place to another, using the paths and mounds as landmarks.

There is an alchemical illustration ‘Snakes Among The Hills’ included in one of the most famous of all Alchemical books entitled, The Book of Abraham the Jew – who is purported to have been met by – and who influenced – the legendary alchemist, Nicolas Flamel, in the 14th century as he made a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostella.
It shows the Earth’s landscape littered with shimmering snakes or serpents in between mounds. It seems that the artist was trying to convey that the Earth’s landscape is littered with “snakes” and “serpents” – which we might now interpret to be twisting, spiralling and snaking lines of positive and negative energy .

Nicolas Flamel – The Figures of Abraham the Jew: This series of seven figures, purports to be a copy of an original ‘Book of Abraham the Jew’ which Nicolas Flamel is supposed to have found in the 14th Century, and which inspired him to undertake his quest for the secrets of alchemy. There are no early manuscripts of these figures, but there are many beautifully coloured manuscripts dating from the late 17th and the 18th century.

Flamel figures

individual links
Mercurius meets with Saturn
Planetary dragons on a hill
The workers in the garden
The massacre of the innocents
The winged caduceus of Mercurius
The crucified snake
Snakes among the hills

Watkins compares Thoth and the Celtic God Tout (Romanised as Toutates) as guides over pathways. Caesar wrote of the Gods of the Druids that ‘Mercury, whom they regard as the guide of their journeys and marches, also had influence over mercantile transactions and was their chief divinity.’ The God’s name was inscribed on a Romano-British altar.

He draws attention to the fact that many mounds are called Tot, Toot, Tout, Tute and Twt. This is pronounced Toot (places like Tottenham and Tooting in London get their names from this root).

Watkins speaks of how easily it would be to associate these stones with spirits; I would imagine the next step, would be towards actually associating them with ‘personalities’ – maybe as the origin of deities.

The most interesting thing for me is that a collection of real people – who were ‘sighting’ the land, and invaluable to travellers, may have eventually evolved into deities – spiritual guides as well as practical guides.

The Old Ways by Robert Macfarlane:  book review by Alexandra Harris

“Leys, dykes, drongs, sarns, snickets  bostles, shuts, driftways, lichways, ridings ” Macfarlane will have many of his readers dreaming in path-language this summer. Certain images keep glimmering in the dark when I close my eyes: fragments of white china clay scattered as a trail across the bogs of Dartmoor; marker stones on Bodmin guiding a parson safely around his parish; posts sticking up from the water in the monochrome mirror-world of flooded Doggerland where the narrow “Broomway” leads out to Foulness.

Macfarlane’s first two books, Mountains of the Mind (2003) and The Wild Places (2007), were published to huge acclaim and have achieved the status of modern classics. The Old Ways joins up with them to form what Macfarlane calls “a loose trilogy about landscape and the human heart”. That definition is striking. It takes some courage for a writer to say that his subject is “the human heart”. It sounds a little old-fashioned, a little out-of-step with modern detachment. But that is part of what makes Macfarlane’s voice significant. He willingly declares his love of things. He brings his powerful intelligence to bear on the need to express sentiments and sensations.

He keeps asking, “what does this feel like?” Walking barefoot on Lewis: “The peat was slippery and cool, and where I stepped on sphagnum it surged up and around my foot, damp as a poultice.” Or in Hampshire: “I was walking in a stormlight that made the linseed pulse a hot green  Dark shoals of rooks over the woods, and billows of rain like candle-blacking dropping into water.” He is wry about his own romanticism (“what I thought was the first star turned out to be the night light for a plane coming into Luton”), but he wants to make space for it.

One of the most compelling chapters is concerned with a path across the Isle of Lewis to shielings, or stone shelters, built by crofters near their summer grazing grounds. The path is detectable only by learning how to read the stony landscape. “Look for what shouldn’t be there,” Macfarlane is told, so he looks for minor disturbances in the lay of the land, dots that only become visible when connected”

“Macfarlane is delighted to discover that the verb “to learn” links back etymologically to proto-Germanic liznojan, meaning “to follow or to find a track”. The walking of paths is, to him, an education, and symbolic, too, of the very process by which we learn things: testing, wandering about a bit, hitting our stride, looking ahead and behind. That is the rhythm of learning in all kinds of disciplines and ways of life. ”

Full article: http://www.guardianbookshop.co.uk/BerteShopWeb/viewProduct.do?ISBN=9780241143810#