Taking a Threshold Walk

Welcome to A Wild Green Heart. It's so very good to have you here. Make yourself a hot beverage and get cosy - there's plenty of soul nourishment on offer today!

One of the practices I've been focusing on over the last couple of months has been taking threshold walks. In this post I intend to outline what it means to take a threshold walk, and then to relate some of my own experiences while taking one. I hope you find some magic amongst the descriptions, and perhaps feel moved to make your own threshold walk, if it isn't already part of your own practice.

In writing this piece, I am grateful to all my fellow travellers on the Murmurations mentoring course, and it's follow-on sessions, Interesting Conversations in the Forest - and in particular to Natasha Lythgoe our mentor and guide. One of Natasha's gifts is her ability to synthesise a great deal of information from different cultural settings and teachers into a clear overview, and then to break this down into an easily digestible "how-to" of practice. In both my practice of making threshold walks, and in my ability to articulate that here, I am a beneficiary of Natasha's teaching and clarity.

The form of taking a threshold walk isn't complicated. Anyone with access to a wild or natural space can do it, and it's easily adaptable to the access needs of the individual. I've made such adaptations for myself, which I'll explain further as I go along. However, while it isn't difficult to understand in principle, it does require a sustained degree of attentiveness to one's own body and emotions, and to all the other beings one is walking amongst.

In fact, I think it is fair to say that the key priorities of any meaningful threshold walk are attention and intention, along with an openness to making connection with other beings. Let's begin with intention, because this needs to be formed first, before setting out on a threshold walk.

Intention

In a nutshell, the reason for making any threshold walk is to ask for either advice about, or help with an issue, from the more-than-human world. This usually begins with a question that we are wrestling with or that we sense life is asking of us. To help make this clearer, I'll first share the intention that I took on the walk that I'm going to write about here.

I made the walk in late October, when I was deep in a long trench of fatigue that had been with me for several weeks, and which continued until the end of November. I'm familiar with finding the transition into autumn very difficult to navigate, as my limited body moves from it's summer energy into a much more tightly bounded state for the next six months. But, as I've written about previously, this year's transition felt especially challenging. With the increase of fatigue and other bodily symptoms, my emotional bandwidth was also diminishing, and I was finding it hard to move into a state of acceptance of the shape I was in. I knew I needed help with this.

So the request I took on my walk - and the language here is specifically informed by Cynthia Bourgeault, and her excellent book The Wisdom Way of Knowing, which I wrote about last month - was this: "Please help me to fall fearless into love this autumn." At the heart of this request was an acknowledgement that I was struggling physically and emotionally; a desire to move into greater acceptance of the time of year we were in, and of my more limited shape; and an understanding that the place I was visiting and the many beings there were both willing and able to help with this need.

Natasha emphasised in one of our sessions that we can make our request to the place itself, to one or more of the beings there, or to a particular spirit, such as "the spirit of autumn". I made mine to the place itself, which was a relatively small woodland area, bounded by distinctly urban edges: a motorway, a tram line and an area of suburban housing. I chose it because it is easily accessible for me by car, only a 15 minute drive, and has a car park at the exact place I would begin a walk there. It also has an incredible maze of pathways and a great variety of terrain in its relatively confined area, so I knew it could offer me many possibilities, but that I would never be so far from the car that I couldn't simply head back if needed.

Preparation

In its "purest" sense, a threshold walk takes place over an entire day, from dawn until dusk, and is undertaken while fasting (though obviously plenty of water should be taken along). I'm not capable of walking for that amount of time even in the height of summer, so I set aside a couple of hours - knowing I'd spend that time either going very slowly or sitting still - and gave myself permission to cut it short if my body needed. I also chose a day on which there was nothing else I needed to do, as I well knew the rest of the day would need to be given to resting.

The fasting element was more straightforward for me, as this year I've been in a pattern of intermittent fasting¹ for three days each week. Having become accustomed to this habit, my body can quite easily go until lunchtime or early afternoon without feeling the need for food. However, as is advised, I took some food along anyway, in case of emergency, along with my supplies of hot water (seriously, people - our bodies have to spend energy heating water up if we drink it cold, especially in winter, so save yourself that job and drink it warm!)

The other thing to take on a threshold walk is a notebook and pen, so that you can write down your experiences at the end of the walk, while they're still fresh. It is also advised, especially if you're going to be out for the whole day, to let someone know where you're going and what to do if you're not back by a particular time. Personally I took my phone, in case of some kind of accident, but - and this is important - it was switched off. There's nothing that will disrupt a focused time in a natural space like a smart device, so if you have to take one along, do turn it off! (I did turn mine on later, once the walk itself was over, so as to photograph a few of the beings I encountered for the purposes of making this post, and I took more on a return visit - so you're able to see the actual environment I was in.)

The woodland I took my request to is a place that I have fond memories of, but that I hadn't visited for a few years. I found the mix of familiarity and unfamiliarity to be a key element of my experience there, as I'll outline in a while.

Finding or Making a Threshold

A threshold walk begins (and ends) by consciously crossing a threshold in the landscape - either a natural one, or one that you've made yourself, such as a stick placed on the ground to step over. I prefer to find natural thresholds, so I spent the first part of my walk wandering rather aimlessly, keeping an eye out for a suitable place or marker.

I'll write more about attention shortly, but it's important to mention here that, even before crossing the threshold, one's inner state is important. A threshold walk is not about trying to reach a particular destination or make a specific step count. Rather, it is about paying attention, and noticing what is going on around you in your surroundings. Moving in this state is what I call "letting your feet take you where they want to go", or "letting the body lead". This is another thing that isn't complicated in theory, but can take practice for some folk, myself included! In the western world, we're so conditioned into letting our rational brain take control, dictating which way we walk, pointing out what is significant, ignoring what is deemed insignificant. It can take some unlearning to move into a more receptive state. I'm grateful for five years of slow wandering at Pomona to help me attain a more embodied, open state towards my surroundings.

After a while of wandering, I found my threshold. It was immediately obvious at every level: an apple tree, surrounded by other trees that had turned yellow or brown, or shed their leaves entirely. This apple tree was still bearing some leaves; but far more notably, it was absolutely laden with green apples! It struck me forcibly and emotionally that I would find no better metaphor for a state of not yet "falling fearless into love" than a tree whose fruit was long ripened but unfallen!

I took this photo about a week and a half later, when the leaves had fallen but not the fruit, which made it even more obvious!

It is good practice, in my opinion, to make a small ritual at one's chosen threshold. Sometimes I leave a small offering of found natural materials, or pour a libation. I took a few moments to thank the apple tree for showing themselves to me, and told them I would return later. Then I set out on my walk, holding my request - "please help me to fall fearless into love this autumn" - in my heart, and asking it aloud whenever it felt apt to do so.

Attention and Connection

Once again, these qualities are at the very heart of making a threshold walk, just as they are for any practice of interacting with the more-than-human world. So, to reiterate, it involves moving through place in a state of attentiveness. Of noticing what's happening around oneself - on the ground, in the sky, with other creatures; the light, the temperature, the weather. The grand sweep off things, and particularly the granular detail.

Here are a few of the more notable noticings and encounters from my walk that day. I share them in the hope that their specificity might better illustrate the nature of a threshold walk, the inner qualities it can evoke and the kind of encounters that can occur.

The Heap of Mossy Stones

The first of my encounters, hidden away in a small stand of trees between two parallel paths, was a pile of old stones. Stones that were shaped into large bricks by human hands, and which at some point had presumably been a wall or small structure of some kind. Now, though, they lay in a heap, recognisable more from shape than texture, for they were heavily coated in shaggy moss and covered by other plants nestled over them, all crowned by a sapling growing proudly from the top of the pile. Pausing next to this, I found a question rising up in me:

"What structures in my life am I holding onto that might better be left to fall, so that life might grown over their ruins?"

The Intersection of Familiarity and Unfamiliarity

A while later, at the crossroads of several paths, I caught sight of the top of a cable-stayed footbridge over the motorway, perhaps two hundred metres away, its paintwork gleaming in the sun.

As soon as I saw this landmark, a flurry of thoughts came to me. "Oh, I think there's another path near that bridge. Hmm, I should go and check. I'm feeling a bit disoriented not having been here for so long. It would be nice to have a better internal map of this place so I could find my way around." Then, even more urgently, "oh, now I remember a hidden path somewhere in these woods, it feels lovely to walk along, I want to find it!"

I noticed that these thoughts created an inner tension between my remembered familiarity of this woodland and my current, slightly disoriented unfamiliarity. I had to pause for several minutes in order to navigate this inner quandary. Eventually I realised my knowing mind was craving a sense of stability and control. That wasn't why I was here. So I chose to let go of that desire and wait until I could once again simply let my body lead me where it wanted.

Becoming Creaturely

Almost immediately on relinquishing my desire for knowing, my eyes were drawn to a nearby patch of undergrowth, in the midst of which the sun was glowing through some fallen leaves. I can only describe it as an animal instinct to go and take a closer look. I pushed my way through the low branches and undergrowth, and found a little pocket of space where the sun was breaking through. I became transfixed by the way the light shone - both through the fallen leaves and onto the glossier ones still attached to trees. There was so much colour! So many interesting shapes! So many earthy smells! I felt a creaturely urge to blend in, to become simply a form amongst these shapes and colours.

Eventually I was startled by footsteps on the nearby path, and a man wearing a royal blue waterproof marched past my hiding place. I took it as a cue to move on - it was quite uncomfortable crouching down among the branches - but something about those moments had enabled me to enter into a much more bodily, sensorial state. I emerged from the tangle and made my way onwards, though I'm not sure which direction I took!

Wandering as Creature

The next part of my walk I look back on fondly. I know I walked quite a bit, but time and direction both became much more fluid elements. As I walked, I found, to my suprise, that the question I was carrying, my request for help, desired to emerge as a song. So I began to sing it. The tune already knew itself, apparently, and all that was up to me was to change the words slightly from time to time, so that my request could be more fully articulated. I was singing my soul desire. I sang it to the trees, to the birds, to the paths and to the undergrowth. I found a steep slope down to a stream, and sang it to the water.

I walked and sang, but I've no idea how long for. It felt quietly joyous. And then, as if awaking from a dream, I realised I was walking along the very path that I had so desired to find! I had no clue what route I had taken to get there, but I was overwhelmed with gratitude, and the sense that this was where I was meant to be.

The Mirror of Nature

The mirror of nature is a phrase I've learned from Natasha, but which neatly describes a great number of experiences I've had in wild places over the last six years or so, particularly at Pomona. It describes the ways in which we find ourselves, or aspects of ourselves, or answers to our questions, reflected back to us by other beings. Mostly, for me, this has happened through encounters with birds. But on my threshold walks, I've had a flurry of meetings with trees. Very specific kinds of trees.

I shall interrupt the narrative for a moment to recount a couple of these. I had taken a threshold walk in late summer, in a more familiar woodland. On that occasion I was walking with the simple intention of having an encounter with another being, and making a connection. It's hard to describe, but it was incredibly obvious somehow when I met them. They were a huge, old white poplar that had fallen down - perhaps blown in a storm - but had been caught in their fall by a nearby oak. So now they were at about a 30° angle to the ground. Some of their roots were pointing to the sky, but others were still embedded deep in the ground, and the poplar was still very much alive, though in a very different shape.

Some of their branches were in full leaf, and indeed also had, like the trunk, new shoots sprouting along their length. Others, that were now amongst the canopy of the oak, were in the process of decay - as if the poplar had noted their new relation to the surrounding trees and chosen to sacrifice the parts of themselves that would now be in competition with others.

The most notable thing from this encounter was how I saw myself in this tree: a man, beset by chronic illness in midlife, and now still very much alive, but in a shape that would be completely unrecognisable to the me of a decade ago. I knew I was somehow catching a glimpse of myself from a new angle, and seeing something important that wasn't quite clear yet.

Then, in September, I took a threshold walk in a different woodland, with a different question. There I spent a long time in conversation with a particular tree, until I noticed I was being watched by someone from a short distance. I wandered in their direction and noticed a makeshift camp in a nearby grove, then saw an old man with matted hair and beard, who had obviously made his home there. I asked him if I was invading his space by being there, and he replied, "kind of, yes."

With that, I opted to make myself scarce, and walked in the opposite direction, not paying as much attention to my surroundings, just wanting to put a respectful distance between myself and this woodland-dwelling gent. As I paused and looked around, I was astonished to find myself in a small clearing dominated by another fallen-but-living tree, this one a willow, even closer to horizontal than the poplar, though also caught in their fall - this one by a neighbouring tree, a maple.

I noted that this willow was providing so many different habitats. Rotting, moss-covered branches littered the ground. Woodlice colonies hid away in limbs that were dead but still attached. Abundant, diverse fungi grew on decomposing parts. Wood avens flourished on the elevated base of the trunk, where it met the raised roots. Above, vibrant green leaves on the still-thriving branches waved against blue sky. There was even a low, mossy limb that provided me with a seat.

Imagine providing a home for something as spectacular as this!

As I sat there, I realised I was learning more about myself as I inhabit this differently shaped life. Living in a different shape opens you up to a greater variety. A greater openness to life and also to death. This creates many connections - ones that are seemingly more varied than those of beings in "normal" healthy shapes. But not necessarily the ones that a thriving individual would have chosen.

Back to the Story...

Returning to the threshold walk story that is today's focus: I walked along the desired path I had unintentionally found, feeling delighted. Great swathes of tall bracken grew either side of it, giving it a secretive, hidden feeling.

It weaved and zigzagged between the undergrowth, and eventually opened out into a small clearing. This was the moment my jaw dropped. Because dominating this clearing was a great willow tree. Their two main trunks had split apart at the base and were growing in two directions, almost at right angles to one another - both of them along the ground! From these main trunks, others grew, many of them also along the ground or close to it. Some of these grew out over one edge of the clearing, where there was a very steep drop, perhaps thirty metres, down to the valley below, where the stream snaked through. From these many horizontal trunks, an even greater number of vigorous willow saplings grew, dozens of them, each of them straight and vertical, reaching for the skies. I did not remember this tree at all from previous visits!

Yet this seemed to be the clearest mirror I had encountered yet. I sensed I was in the presence of an elder; someone capable of teaching me how to live. And, more to the point, a being who had seemingly made an art form out of falling fearlessly, and of demonstrating just how much space this created to generate and host newer, younger life, in the form of many new willows growing from the body of the lying down trunks. Of letting the new grow from the old.

I don't claim to fully understand all of this yet, but I'm taking time to absorb the lesson. And clearly there is still much more to take in: even since taking this walk, I've unexpectedly encountered yet another fallen-but-living tree, another willow. On that occasion, I was moved to tears, largely by the beauty of the new shape they have inhabited. Something is shifting in me, and I welcome whatever it is.

On a practical level, I still experienced another full month of deep fatigue after this walk. Sometimes it seemed like it was going to last forever. But there was a deeper sense of trust in life within me, which opened up a greater acceptance of my shape, which in turn created space for me to rest much more deeply and take better care of my body's needs. It's amazing how many times I still need to learn this lesson, even after eight years of experiencing chronic fatigue!

Returning to the Threshold

Once I knew I'd had the encounter I was there for, and had spent sufficient time being with the willow, and honouring them with my words, I headed back to my threshold tree. I was surprised at how close they were to where I had ended up, and just how short (and lacking in experience) my walk would have been if I'd simply set out towards where I wanted to go. I said my thanks once again to the threshold tree, and asked to pick some apples. Most of the fruit was out of reach, but I managed to pick a few apples to take home. I knew what I wanted to do with them.

Experiential Writing

There was another task set for us as part of our Murmurations mentoring: to write our Threshold Walk experience into a poem, focusing on the bodily sensations and emotions of the walk. Here's what I wrote:

Falling

At death's threshold, 
unfallen fruit hangs heavy. 

Heaps of old stone lie hidden, 
covered thick with moss. 
In the boundaries between
familiar and unfamiliar 

a desire arises, to map
the land, to know the way. 

In relinquishing my desire, 
a space is opened in which 
to become creaturely: form and
breath amongst colour and shape.

I wander as creature, 
singing aloud my longing.

My body is drawn to the very path 
that was hidden from my knowing. 
At its heart I find the mirror, both
old and fallen, young and vigorous.

Falling in love, falling to ground,
releasing my fruit, nourishing life. 

Follow-up Visit

I added an extra element to my threshold walk practice in this instance, because it felt important to respond reciprocally to the place that had been such a beautiful container for my encounter. So a couple of weeks later I returned to this woodland spot with two gifts: the poem above, and a spiced apple crumble made with apples from the tree of unfallen fruit.

This time round I headed straight to the threshold tree, and there discovered that both leaves and fruit had all but disappeared! It was evident that someone had come and cleared a lot of the brambles around the tree, and, probably with the assistance of a ladder, had picked a great deal of fruit. There was also ample evidence that a large amount of it had fallen to the ground, and was in various stages of being eaten and decay - releasing the potential for new life in the process.

I told my poem to the apple tree, and left a small offering of crumble next to the base of their trunk. I repeated this when I visited my mirror, the lying/standing old/young willow. My intention was to leave the final portion of crumble amongst the undergrowth where I had metamorphosed into my creaturely state. However, try as I might, I couldn't find that spot again. Perhaps it had opened up for me just the once, enough to enter another mode of experience. So I left the last offering in another small clearing. Not far away, I bumped into this gorgeous being, though they looked like they were already sufficiently fed to not need pudding!

That wraps it all up for today. As always, I'd be delighted to find you in the comments, and to hear your own experiences of taking threshold walks, or whatever thoughts and feelings this post brought up for you.

I know I'm in a fortnightly pattern of posting now, but as next Sunday is the winter solstice here in the northern hemisphere, I'm intending to make an additional piece here next week, before rounding off the year the following week with a final 2025 photo-diary report from beloved Pomona. Meanwhile, Wild Green Blessings on your December.

1. Intermittent fasting is often spoken about in connection with weight loss, a subject about which I know nothing and have no personal interest. However, intermittent fasting is one of many practices I've found supportive of my body in its limited shape. 17-18 hours after eating - if liquid intake is limited to water, black tea or coffee, or herbal teas - with all of its digestive processes finished, the body begins the process of autophagy. This is essentially a cleaning and recycling process for old, damaged cells and parts of cells, to help generate new ones. This includes clearing old viral material from the body, including difficult-to-shift matter like the covid virus. My body is littered with viral matter, including from covid, glandular fever, and even a particularly nasty strain of malaria I contracted over thirty years ago. I've found that regular (approx every other day) intermittent fasting to be easily accessible, and my sense is that it's doing me good. If you're unsure about any kind of fasting, make sure you get good advice from someone who knows what they're talking about first!