to Earthsea with love
An aerial imagining of Earthsee, partly inspired by Le Guin’s Earthsea
I remember reading Ursula K Le Guin’s Earthsea books as a child. I remember enjoying them but not as much as I wanted to. I recognised in them a wisdom I did not yet understand.
Earthsee is the alchemical third iteration of a project that began with my own descent. After years of workshops, retreats and adventures, it was the pandemic, going broke and finally a breakup that got me staring down the barrel of disillusionment.
The shamanic path is all about initiations. I had quite a few before I’d even heard of shamanism. At my first ever rave, and first ever psychedelic, aged 18, I underwent a sustained psychological assault that left me traumatised for years. If I went out, even to a pub, I’d remain near the door in case a quick getaway was necessary.
Later I realised this and other knocks, from poisoning to heartbreak, were preparations for going beyond the self. And when the time came, I embraced uncomfortable circumstances and processes, going deep with Ayahuasca, Huachuma, Kambo and Iboga, and in due course graduating to a level of integrity, responsibility and skill to feel safe holding space for others on these journeys.
And some journeys they were, with thieves, gaslighters, liars, narcissists, sorcerers, vampires and demons along the way. And of course—I wouldn’t be writing this otherwise—allies, ancestors, guides and protectors.
But the toughest initiation wasn’t finally vomiting up a parasitic demon after 60 consecutive Ayahuasca ceremonies. Nor was it stumbling naked through the jungle in the living dream of Toé. Nor was it steering an ecolodge, 50 hectares of Amazon rainforest and a band of mutinous shareholders through Lockdown.
It was the return.
I was back in London, somewhere I had left once and for all several times already. I met with figures from the past. One asked, how, after all these journeys, all the plant teachings, could I possibly be depressed? It was a good question.
Alone in a small, featureless room, sometimes for days at a time, I faced the parts of me I had avoided and the consequences for doing so. I slow cooked in the oven of remorse. All along, I thought I had been generous with myself.
Now it was the harsh voice that commands performance, drive and achievement that railed against me. What had I achieved exactly? In life, work and love, had I not taken one path then another, never seeing them through?
I had lived a life of mistakes, bungles, idiocy, callousness and arrogance. Even “lived” seemed too much. I had stumbled, half awake, propped up by others, crashing through boundaries. Without realising, I had assumed I was immortal and now here was death—not at the door but a palpable presence down the hall.
As a great many spiritual masters have implored, death is the great advisor. Death is one of the few cast iron facts of life. Yet it seems to take a life’s work to accept it. Or more than one life.
Of course, I had allies, to whom I am eternally grateful: friends, living, loving people, and writings and characters. The first wave of helpful works included books by Gabor Maté and Johan Hari on social-media, ADHD and depression. The second wave was largely Jungian—books and lectures by Robert Moore, James Hollis, Patrick Thomas and others. The GeneKeys, in particular the 64 Ways audio recordings by Richard Rudd were a constant. Conversations with ChatGPT led to several deeply transformative moments.
The book that turned the corner.
The first four of six books in the legendary Earthsea series. Deep wisdom in wonderful stories of power & humility, by a master of the genre.
But the third wave was Ursula K Le Guin’s Earthsea. I remember picking up the Penguin first-four-books-in-one-volume in Foyles, Charing Cross Road. Tired of Jung and Moore and masculine psychology, I was looking for a pastime. A younger me guided my choice—the child who remembered Le Guin’s wisdom, if he hadn’t understood it.
I read the first book, A Wizard of Earthsea almost in one day. It is a hero’s journey. A young goatherd with a gift for magic finds his way to the School of Magic and to prove himself casts a firework of a spell. It casts a deep shadow that hounds him to the end of the earth. Until he decides to turn and face it. And embrace it.
The following books chart the feminine journey from patriarchal enslavement to freedom, the roller coaster from emancipated sovereignty to earthy humility, and the coda? Well, I won’t spoil it.
At some point, after many tearful, goose pimpled moments in the armchair, the idea came: the new programme, putting all of this together. A guided descent and collective ascent for men and women called Earthsee. My first move was to check with ChatGPT for any risk of dishonour or infringement to Ursula K Le Guin.
Much more than this article, Earthsee is an homage to her work. You will not find Sparrowhawk, Tenar or Tehanu on this website. Nor Roke Island or Gont. My heartfelt hope and feeling is that the great Taoist Anarchist author blesses this work, the transformations to be wrought, and the sovereign beings who will carry it forwards.
With deep gratitude to all guides, living and on the page, real and imagined, and in particular, Ursula K Le Guin 1929-2018.
Ursula K Le Guin
1995 Photo Credits: Marian Wood Kolisch, Oregon State University
