Tag Archives: Old Norse

Religious wildernesses

I remember childhood Bible stories referred to the Wilderness. These days I find it interesting to consider most if not all religions link with the concept of the wilderness. Laura Feldt covered this topic in “Wilderness in Mythology and Religion”: ‘Wilderness is one of the most abiding creations in the history of religions.’ Her book ‘addresses the need for cross-cultural anthropological and history of religions analyses by offering in-depth case studies of the use and functions of wilderness spaces in a diverse range of contexts including, but not limited to, ancient Greece, early Christian asceticism, Old Norse religion, the shamanism-Buddhism encounter in Mongolia, contemporary paganism, and wilderness spirituality in the US.’

In her 2014 article ‘Religions need wilderness’, Kathleen Braden wrote “The three monotheistic religions based on a common root – Judaism, Christianity, and Islam – have an expression of nature and wilderness as places that allow perception of God’s sovereignty. … Wilderness is a territory (both on land and sea) where one encounters God, and it is not always an easy geography. For the ancient Israelites, it may be a place of repentance coupled with renewal. When the Israelites leave Egypt and displease God, they must wander in hostile lands before reaching a promised place. Abraham casts the slave woman, Hagar, into the wilderness, but she is saved by God, who renews her spirit and gives her a vision that she will build a great nation. Similarly, in the New Testament, the gospel of Mark begins with John the Baptist proclaiming God in the wilderness, foretelling the Christ who is to come, and calling for, again, repentance. Jesus has his own time in the wilderness being tested and honed for his ministry. For believing Muslims, creation is a gift from God and a sign of God’s grace. Similar to Judaic and Christian traditions, in Islam, nature reflects the dominion of God, not the hubris of human control. For these three monotheistic faiths that began in the Middle East, groups of believers through history have set themselves apart in monastic communities, often seeking out the wild places in self-imposed exile to allow the voice of God to be understood more clearly.

In other religions, nature and the sacred helps bring humanity into a right relationship with creation. Baha’i traditions hold that nature reflects the perfection of God and thus, sacred spaces help create a sense of harmony, transformation, and wholeness. In Hinduism and Jainism, nature reflects the abundance that the earth provides and also reminds us of the wholeness of humanity with all other life forms: there should be no barriers or separation.

Likewise, Buddhism suggests that nothing that exists is in isolation, but the sacred can lead us to understand the interdependence of all living things and help us express compassion for creation. Some sects of Buddhism also have, like the desert Christian communities, an ascetic tradition, adherents who must be removed from the material world. Their spiritual quests may be best realized in wilderness.

Religions or traditions with cultural hearths further east in Asia – Shintoism, Confucianism, Daoism – also have expressions of harmony and continuity with nature, but perhaps more in a cosmological view, although places, such as sacred stands of trees with shrines in Shintoism, may be manifest of the need to have a holy place of contemplation and refreshment.

Finally, Indigenous religious traditions are so varied and numerous that outlining them in a short essay might risk stereotyping these faiths. But in many regions, Indigenous spiritual traditions connect the wild with a worldview that interweaves humanity with nature in an unbroken relationship. Whether the shamanistic traditions of Central Asia, Native American religions of North and South America, pre-Christian European practices, animistic faiths of the African continent, or contemporary paganism, none are devoid of practices and stories related to the human relationship with nature. 

While the sacred does not have to be wilderness, wild places must be sacred. Religion needs wilderness. Whether we call this hunger an expression of God’s sovereignty or evidence of the union of all living things or connection with ancestors and a world of spirits, religion requires the wild – the not-us – to show a crucial interrelationship. The threats to wilderness, therefore, also pose a danger to the heart of humanity’s most treasured faith doctrines.”

As an atheist I don’t believe a God or other deities exist, whatever name is given by any religion. However, I am happy to be playful with one ancient Greek god who came out of retirement to meet me. A recent comment by my sister about the danger of snakes when I walk in the Tasmanian bush (all Tasmanian snakes inject their venom poisonously), reminded me of my meeting with Zeus last year. While walking in the visitor-less grounds of one of his temples located in Dion, northern eastern Greece, he and I surprised each other. Zeus has the ability to transform himself and appear as a snake. There he was basking in the sun near the end of the path I was following. Having welcomed me, he slipped away quickly.  I felt very safe then, as I will do when walking along the Derwent River. Besides, Tasmania’s Mt Olympus overlooks Lake St Clair on its western flank, and we all know Zeus’s home is Mt Olympus, albeit the one in Greece. I suspect Zeus will look out for me in some form, and make sure I reach Lake St Clair.

Despite not believing in a God, I do believe in the personally transformative power of the bush, wilderness, forests, whatever you may call those bunches of trees and natural collections of flora and fauna.

When with friends I have talked about walking, particularly in the bush, as a meditative practice. Sometimes the impact of the bush and its flora and fauna is so great that a well of great happiness is tapped – as evidenced, for example, by my bursting into song as described in an earlier post . At the end of any walk, words such as reinvigorated, revitalised, relaxed, uplifted, satisfied and at peace always come to mind. In addition, the power of the bush allows me to put the rest of life and living into perspective. Nature and its forces are so much stronger and more beautiful than any one of us, and it is a delight to be reminded of this in such profound ways. The rich rare world out there, rather than any religious connection, draws me to our wilderness.

Cranes, or should it have been Herons, at Tranmere on Stage 4 of my walk along the Derwent River?

In an earlier posting, I examined the name of the suburb Tranmere and discovered the word was derived from the Old Norse language and referred to the birds known as Cranes. Since Tasmania does not have Cranes, but some Herons have characteristics in common, I speculated that perhaps Herons might have been seen in our Tranmere area.

Imagine my joyful surprise when I looked down at the rocks and espied a White Faced Heron, near bus stop 31.  A lone bird. Standing ankle deep in the salt water, pecking his or her way seeking food. Oblivious to my goggled eye stare. Naturally going about its business. Almost camouflaged into the waterscape.

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Tranmere

Last week I arrived in the suburb of Tranmere, walked to Trywork Point and then retraced my steps back into Tranmere.

Today I have been wondering why this suburb was named so. Wikipedia was my only source of information. If that information is true, then this Derwent River edge suburb in the City of Clarence was named after a suburb of Birkenhead in the Wirral Peninsula in England.  And where is that I wondered. This is the Liverpudlian part of England on the north western coast of England. Home of ‘Gerry and the Pacemakers’ ferrying across the Mersey River. English Tranmere skirted the edge of part of that River in a similar way to our Hobart Tranmere skirting the edge of part of the Derwent River.

In addition, I discovered that South Australia also contains a suburb named Tranmere in its capital city. However, so Wikipedia tells me, that Adelaide suburb was named after a town in Cheshire, England.   These bits of information raised more questions. Good ol’ Wikipedia.  Another of its sites tells me that Tranmere was, before local government reorganisation on 1 April 1974, a part of the County Borough of Birkenhead within the geographical county of Cheshire. It seems a reasonable guess that Adelaide and Hobart’s suburb are named after the same English town.

Vikings!

Apparently the name Tranmere was given by Norwegian Vikings who settled and colonised Wirral in the 10th century. Tranmere in Old Norse is Trani-melr, meaning “Cranebird sandbank” or “sandbank with the Cranebirds”. So … now I am wondering whether cranes rested on the shores of the Derwent in the area of Tranmere. Australia has only one cranebird: the Sarus Crane lives mostly in the northern tip of the Northern Territory. However Australia has a number of Herons and, despite being considerably smaller and shorter their long necks might have been considered comparable to a Crane. Tasmania welcomes both the White Necked Heron and the White Faced Heron. This former bird is similar to England’s Common Crane in colour. Is it possible that a person from England’s Tranmere area was walking along our river’s edge before the suburb spread, saw the White Necked Heron wandering around, felt the power of our Derwent River providing a separation ribbon from Hobart city on the other side, and remembered standing at Tranmere looking across at Liverpool city?  I don’t know the answer.

Music lovers

A final bit of trivia. Tranmere in England is home to Dave Nicholas the last resident cinema organist in the United Kingdom. You can read more about him at http://picturepalace.org/cinema-staff/organists/. In addition there are some extraordinary videos to be watched.