About an hour into the hunt, I finally worked up the courage to ask them, “What’s actually going on here? This is more than just an off-shoot of the Scouts, isn’t it?”
They both looked at each other. “Yeah,” Alex said eventually. “It’s more than that.”
At that age, I was permanently cynical and suspicious, quick to make a joke out of everything, but I respected these guys, as well as the others I knew at the youth group, and I held back my usual urge to make fun of the situation. Instead, I asked them, “Tell me about it.” And so they did.
The group called itself Herne’s Hunters, and at its roots, it followed shamanism—a nature-based spiritual movement that teaches men how to have a closer connection to nature, and as a result, gives access to a source of profound wisdom. There have been shamans in England since prehistoric times, although the guys assured me that they no longer practice human sacrifice as they were rumored to in the old days.
Shamans believe in reverence for the natural world and all living things, and I came to learn that respect is one of the cornerstones of our belief. Our veneration of nature means that many of us are also part of environmental groups, and our respect for living things has led to many of us working in the emergency services, or in other professions that enable us to help others, such as doctors or counselors.
“So we’re like environmental superheroes?” I asked that day, when they were trying to explain. “Do we get a cape?”
“Yes, but the tights are optional,” Alex said, and we all laughed.
Rob followed that with, “You’ll find out more later.”
I shrugged, and we continued with the hunt, and I decided that calling ourselves shamans was just a poetical way to describe a group of guys who felt a close connection and wanted to establish a sense of brotherhood.
And then it came to the evening.
Some of the men built a campfire, and as night fell, we sat in a circle around it. Damien thanked everyone for being present, and then turned his steady gaze on me. It was only later I realized he’d planned my initiation for that night, hoping I’d respond to the ritual he was about to carry out.
He asked me what I’d discovered about the group that day, and I repeated what Alex and Rob had told me. He nodded, then asked if I was ready to access the deeper mysteries. Having no idea what he meant, I said definitely.
“Do you believe in magic?” he asked me.
My lips curved up and I opened my mouth to laugh and joke about wizards in pointy hats, but nobody else was smiling. I closed my mouth and frowned. I trusted these men. My instincts told me they had knowledge of something that was out of reach for me, and I was curious; more than that, I was burning to know.
So I thought seriously about what he said, and replied, “I believe in natural magic. I think nature itself—the cycle of life—is magical.”
He nodded. “Shamans believe in balance and harmony. Things go wrong when that balance is broken. Day and night, hot and cold, the moon and the sun, light and dark. For us, and for witches—our female counterparts—this is represented as the Goddess and Herne, her Horned Consort. Tonight, you’ll go on your first spiritual journey. It’s All Hallows’ Eve, the night of the Wild Hunt, and you’ll get to meet some animal spirits. Follow them and do what they say. Let them be your guides. Are you ready?”
“Yes,” I said, having no idea what to expect.
One of the men started playing a small drum he’d brought with him. The beat reverberated through the ground, into my bones, until my heart seemed to beat along with it.
Someone began passing around a large cup, and everyone took a sip of it. “Mugwort and honey,” Damien explained as Rob sipped it, then passed it to me. “It’s not a hallucinogenic, but it will help you descend into a trance state.”
I had a mouthful and swallowed. My heart was banging on my ribs by now. I knew something powerful was going to happen, although I had no idea what.
Damien threw a handful of herbs on the fire, and smoke rolled across the clearing.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed us. “And join us in the Forest of Dreams.”
I closed my eyes.
The drumming made my body hum, and I felt a little dizzy from the smell of the smoke. I tried to calm my breathing and relax, even though excitement was rising inside me. This was all bullshit, surely, the emperor’s clothing—everyone would wake up and say they’d had these amazing visions, and I’d be sitting there thinking what a load of crap.
I could feel myself entering a dream state, as if I was asleep, except I could still hear the drum and smell the smoke. Damien had said the drug wasn’t hallucinogenic. Had he lied to me?
After a few minutes, I felt an urge to open my eyes.
Everyone was still seated around me, their eyes closed. The drumming continued, although it seemed quieter, off in the distance. The fire burned and crackled.
And in front of me sat a large hare.
I stared at it. It was as big as a small dog, with brown and gray fur, and long ears. Its nose twitched, and it studied me for a moment, then hopped a few feet away. It turned and looked at me. Did it want me to follow it?
Let them be your guides, Damien had said, and so I got to my feet and walked across the clearing. I glanced back—my physical body was still sitting there. I was moving in spirit form. Shocked, excited, I continued on.
The hare stayed a few yards ahead of me, leading me away from the others, to another, smaller clearing. Here, lanterns hung from the trees, bright with red fire. In front of them stood a man.
Even now, I get shivers when I think about my first meeting with Herne. He was eight feet tall and towered over me, with powerful shoulders and huge arms. He was dressed in natural colors and fabrics that blended in with his surroundings. The light from the full moon slipped down beneath the trees to fall across him, and I blinked as, for a moment, I thought I saw a pair of huge antlers on his head. His eyes glittered with stars.
“Welcome, Callum Macbeth,” he said in a deep, gravelly voice. “Have you come to join us on the Wild Hunt?”
“Yes, sir,” I replied, knowing immediately I was in the presence of something special and amazing.
He held out his hands and I walked toward him. When I stood before him, he reached out a hand and placed it on my head.
My world spun, and I felt a fierce surge of energy rising through me. Now I know there are many names for this spiritual awakening; Hindus refer to it as kundalini, which means coiled serpent, and they describe how the rising energy passes through the seven chakras or energy centers in the body. All I knew was that I felt this power flowing through me, and at the same time my consciousness seemed to expand, as if until that point I’d been asleep, and now I was awake and finally understood. I was part of everything, and everything was part of me—my body was the earth and my arms were the trees with my legs as the roots; I could feel the wind in the leaves of my hair, and I gave life to the animals that lived on me.
“Do you pledge your life to me?” Herne asked.
“Yes, sir,” I whispered.
“Do you promise to protect the weak, to respect every living thing, to honor the Mother Goddess and all her maidens?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then come with me,” Herne said, and his voice was the wind soughing through valleys, the tumble of snow in avalanches, the crash of the waves on the shore.