Tag Archives: Andrew Clover

Andrew Clover, Druids, Sioux

Andrew Clover: Talks to the trees

Leave a comment

The Hidden Life of Trees, Peter Wohlleben’s 2016 bestselling novel may have revealed trees talk to each other: but what would trees say to us? 

Yes… the idea seems odd – but it wouldn’t to Druids, The Sioux, or early Buddhists. It’s no surprise that the Buddha found nirvana by the Bodhi Tree, or that the Old Irish word for oak is duir: a druid is someone who connects to the oak – which brings wisdom, strength, and – even – vision.

But how does this work? How would you do that? Well…

1) Walk to your favourite oak. Already you’ll be feeling good. (Trees’ dappled light calms the mind; they emit chemicals that boost our immune systems). 

2) Greet your oak in some way. I fancy they like a hum. So I place lips and heart, and hum the question, “Can I sit, and be your sapling?” 

3) Most oaks will seem to say “Yes”. (Most yews will tell you to sod off). 

4) Sit, shut eyes, breathe slowly out. This stimulates the parasympathetic nervous system – releasing oxytocin – the body’s own version of the valium.

5) Meanwhile, mouth the seven magic words, ‘I breathe down and push down roots’. You’ll get a sense of fears and worries being drained down into the earth. 

6) Breathing up, mouth: “I breathe up and breathe up strength”. Imagine energy coming up, from the ground, filling your chest, your head, and passing up into the oak’s strong trunk. (By now you’ll be feeling way stronger).

7) Next time, breathe up to the oak’s calmly spreading boughs, mouthing, “I breathe up and breathe up calm”.

8) Next, breathe to the oak’s playfully wiggly twigs. In Latin, the oak was called quercus: and the oak is quirky. It’s the playful grandad of trees. Mouth, “I breathe up and breathe up lightness”.

9) Now, don’t hurry. If the oak might wish you to do one thing it’s that -never hurry. But when you’re feeling very calm indeed, breathe on the essential invitation the oak offers: think, “I am safe, to imagine, the future, that I need”

10) Let your imagination fly, like a bird, five years into the future. Imagine a tree, growing by the house, that you need. How big is it? What can you see in the garden?

11) Imagine entering its front door. What’s the floor like? 

12) You might see a photo of you, on the wall. What are you doing?

13) When you’ve returned home later, write down what you saw. The oak is known as The Gatway To The Mysteries. Your vision could be the start of something. 

Perhaps imagine the oak as Phil Oakey, singer of The Human League, a strange but trusted figure, inciting you to Open Your Heart. Imagine its rutted trunk is leading you into a better future. And it may.

When I first did this exercise, I saw the future I needed involved a shack, surrounded by jungle trees, that I’d helped plant, which, a year later, inspired me to sail the Atlantic, to plant 2500 trees. I lead this meditation, once, for a coaching client, who saw herself creating a company to empower female sport. Six months later, she’d raised a hundred million in investment. 

Now… hang on… I’m not saying breathing on trees makes you rich. Far more likely, you’ll embrace the lesson of the chestnut, “I want nothing… I have it all right now.” I’m just saying that there’s powerful magic, in the oak – and in all trees. 

And that connecting to them can bring a powerful, quirky magic into your life.

What’s your favourite tree? Would you like me to walk to it with you, to tell something of its magic? If so, get in touch. You’ll know what I’ll say. 

mrcloverthefamoussnail@gmail.com 

Andrew Clover

Andrew Clover – The Man Who Says “Yes” – Nov 2024

Leave a comment

OK, I very shyly confess it: there’s a neurodivergent basis to this Yes Man column. I have ADHD, so notice everything, and mild ASD (Autistic Spectrum Disorder) so am happy to write about it. (Phew, I’ve never said those words in public before!) But you guys are from Brighton – probably the most autistic city in the land – say “Yes” if you relate to any of these symptoms.

1) You focus on details, and miss the whole. Like most autists, I’m hypersensitive – specially to noise. This morning, an old couple passed in the supermarket…

HER: Do you want soup, dear?

HIM: No. I’m not a great soup drinker – not like Arthur.

I could repeat the exact voices they used. I also pictured Arthur – a ‘great soup drinker’! – seeing him, astride his horse, mightily sipping his soup! (‘Der-der DUM der-DUM!’ Slurp!) And while all this went on, I forgot the dog food.

2) You resist societal norms – why so many ASDers are Gender Fluid, or Green (as I am) – which, then, distances you further. I avoid TV, town centres, and social media. Online, people love posting pics of themselves in places like Thailand… (I’m not thinking, “You look amazing!”: I’m thinking, “You just made four tonnes of CO2, you dick!” – but apparently that’s rude to say).

3) You have ‘mind blindness’, and struggle to work out what others are thinking. Personally, I don’t have that one – but learned to appreciate others’ mental states by examining my own. I remember being two-years-old, thinking, “I wonder if everyone else has a whole world in their heads, like I do…” Apparently it’s not normal to remember what you thought aged two. I remember the next thought, too: “But if I’m the only real person in the world – why would this be?” I concluded it must be a test – and I should pretend everyone else was real, and be polite. (This encapsulates autistic thinking).

4) You probably really like the soothing patterns of nature. (But if you can say how to recognise the 20 most common trees, you’ve learned not to).

5) You self-medicate to reduce anxiety. Many ADHDers use cannabis, but it’s not cool if, say, you’re a children’s author about to visit a school to do a quick bong hit in the car park (as I found to my cost). These days, I take Medikenit, and work out two hours a day to settle the mind. Sounds good, right? But then, on a rare trip online, I posted a pic of my naked torso. (Apparently it’s not normal, to be a 54-year-old, posting half-nude pics – I now know that!)

6) You hyper-focus, but struggle to make decisions. I often write 10,000 words a day – obsessed with how good prose flows like silk falling through fingers. But my ex-agent and ex-wife, both said the same thing: “Do you want to check the idea’s good, before you spend four months writing it?” They made a good point. Still, if I ever write that hit, I’ve a backlist of 150 works – though, yes, quite a few concern trees…

7) You avoid socialising. People say “Want to meet in the pub?”. I’m thinking “No, it’ll be TVs, people talking, it’ll be torture!” The problem for the autist, is you then have all this affection, going spare and if someone smiles, or – God forbid! – touches your arm, you fall instantly in love. (I’ve learned to resist saying this!) But if you’ve got all these symptoms, how come you’ve never known? Maybe…

8) You mask (pretend to be normal). When you look into this, you find so much research has focused on the loud boys who disrupt the class – as opposed to the quiet females, or sensitive males who are listening (very intently) to the teacher. 

I am saying all this as a public service – (if you relate to any of these, consider getting assessed; it’s amazing how freeing it is to say ‘yes’ to these ‘disorders’ – to accept them) – but for personal reasons too. I recently alienated my old friends, by trampling a few social rules, and am rebooting. If you fancy inviting me to walk in the park, you know what I’ll say. You can count on getting my complete attention. Just don’t touch me, or boast of your holiday – it won’t go well.

l mrcloverthefamoussnail@gmail.com 

Readers. The Whistler has obtained said half-nude picture of Andrew. For a small donation to The Whistler Benevolent Fund… it could be yours  

Andrew Clover, Brighton Life, Conservation, Dominican Republic

Andrew Clover – goes to the Dominican Republic

Leave a comment

The vow always to say “Yes” started on a cliff top in Cornwall, at a retreat about Magickal Thinking, which states “If you align your desires with those of Mother Earth, she’ll help.” I was being afflicted with a wild desire to do three things, which I wrote down: 

1: To find help to sail the Atlantic

2: To find ruined rainforest to rewild

3) To learn why I wanted all this. 

Then I tucked the paper in the rock. A week later, someone from the retreat invited me to write five Ted-Talks on the Climate Crisis, where I learned the average Brit makes six tonnes of CO2 a year, but scientists say the sustainable amount is 2.5. Could I reduce? I wondered. How?

The day after the Ted Talks, I had a date with a professional explorer, so asked her, “Where would you find ruined rainforest?” “Minca, in Colombia,” she said. Six months later, she said she’d come with me. 

I was then contacted by ex-Brighton resident, Kate McAllister, who runs The Hive, a school of self-directed learning in the Dominican Republic. Would I visit their school? I’d teach a term in spring 2023. I replied I would – if the school could help plant a thousand trees. 

The explorer and I both paid a deposit to sail the Atlantic on a schooner. The next day she chucked me. Heartbroken, I sold off my possessions, rented out my house, and set off to sail the Atlantic – where I was delighted to see minke whales, sperm whales, Atlantic dolphins, gannets, cattle egrets, and – 900 miles from land – a swallow, who spurned my seeds and water. He just wanted what I wanted on that ship: a rest.

Arriving in the Dominican Republic, I sought a tree-planting project to learn what trees grow there – and the only one that replied was in Haiti. At the border to Haiti, I learned criminal gangs were kidnapping foreigners. A text arrived from my ex, telling me not to contact her. I thought I might as well proceed.

In Haiti, forbidding instructions, trying to contact the ex, I fell 10 feet to concrete – breaking ribs, and spent six days lying on a floor, where my only visitor was Patrick, who wanted £400 to train as a plumber. I gave it to him. Next day, I planted my first trees.

Back in the Dominican Republic, I planned to visit local schools, to persuade 1000 children to plant 1000 trees. But the project’s hardest moments (after the heartbreak) were the seven two hour visits to the bank, seeking 3000 dollars, to buy trees. Almost catatonically depressed, I applied Antony de Mello’s advice: “Don’t change yourself, observe yourself” and I saw myself objectively – still heartbroken, and desperate for encouragement. 

Realising I was the witness of the thoughts, not the thinker, it engendered grace. Now magical things happened fast. Having only paid 1200 dollars, I was given 1000 trees. I was approached by a headmaster, who invited us to visit.

Still, as we started the day giving out trees, we had arranged only two school visits, reaching 140 children. Leaving the first school, the bus driver stopped at a second, where we met the mayor, and were photographed for the local paper, spreading our message further. Another school contacted… By the day’s end, we’d seen six schools, giving 840 trees.

That still left 160, but a friend from the Atlantic crossing connected me to a local organic farm. I took the 160 trees, and 20 volunteers turned up to plant them. We quickly filled the organic farm, then doubled its size, by buying a new fence…

Though proud of the project, I’ve not publicly written or spoken about it – from bashfulness, and serenity too. But… 

“We’re doing a Fringe edition,” said The Whistler editor last week, “Have you a story you can make into a show?” 

Well, I do, as you’ve heard, but surely I was too late to register it, wasn’t I? I dived into the Festival website, where I learned of the hundreds of venues which even include someone’s back garden, and found a spot at the Caxton Arms, at 13 45 pm, on Sunday June 2nd. I’d walked it the day before, and an instinct said, “This is your venue”.

So I’ll be there, longing to tell the tale, and to meet like-minded folks afterwards. I’ll also tell the juiciest bit of all – how I got lost in Colombian jungle, as I headed for Minca, but found my way to the Lost City of the Kogis, where I made a life-changing discovery – even more impactful than the idea “If you align your intentions with those of Mother Earth – she’ll help.” 

Will you please come and hear what it is? 

The Caxton Arms, 36 North Gdns, BN1 3LB

01273 387346

Andrew Clover, Real Junk Food Project, Table tennis

Andrew Clover at The Real Junk Food Project

Leave a comment

In the first in a new series, Andrew says “Yes” to volunteering
at The Real Junk Food Cafe. But first, table tennis was calling

As a boy, I was obsessed with table-tennis. I dreamed of competing at high levels but a career stopped in its tracks at the Shropshire Under-13 tournaments, where I was dumped out 11-0, by the eventual champion. A once promising career never recovered, and like so many other once promising careers, I hadn’t really thought about it since. But then, out of the blue, The Whistler called. 

“Do you want to come to a night of table-tennis at The Fitzherbert Cafe?”

“Yes.” 

I was in a bit of a swamp after the failure of a dramatically difficult project,   dithering about the right way out, so this was perfect timing.

 The Fitz Café is in Bristol Road in the St George’s Rd bit of Kemptown, right beside The Brighton Table-Tennis Club. Inside, I was warmly greeted by Tim, the club’s inspirational Head Coach, who proudly introduced me to Harry, who’s apparently the UK’s top ranked player with Downs Syndrome. He was smacking down backhand drives to Bly, who he assured me, would soon be a World Paralympic Number One.

I just knew he’d ask me to play, and I knew I would – I can’t refuse to do anything!] – but for now I felt shy, and ducked into the café.

The Real Junk Food Project was set up in 2014 by Adam Buckingham, who would visit supermarkets, and allotments, picking up surplus, or almost-off food, which would be cooked to cater for a Pay As You Feel Café, where the richer diners – who want to eat delicious food, while doing some good – help to fund a community of people who might be rough sleepers, or just hungry.

Café Manager Kathy loves this element. “I used to help run a soup kitchen in Florida, and we’d turn hungry people away, since they couldn’t prove their credentials. The mix of people makes everyone feel good. You should come and volunteer!” I said I would, and came back the next day, when…

I started with Front of House, which basically means chatting to people. I  sat with DJ and Rob discussing addiction. DJ’s been five weeks sober; Rob has gone 12 months without crack or smack. 

“Wow,” I said, “I hear they’re quite more-ish!”

“That’s why I’m here!” he said. “It distracts me. Most days I volunteer somewhere, but here I just come for the chat!”

“It’s same for me,” said DJ, “I love that you meet rich people, poor people, sober people, street people, famous people, but also it’s incredibly good food.”

“Who’s famous?” I asked. “You’ll have to work that out, yourself!” he said. 

In the kitchen, I met Jimmy, who was making Dauphinoise. “I worked in the music business, which can be all about ego and solo glory. I love that here, you turn up, you’re part of a team, and you feel you’ve done something. Plus the food’s amazing!” 

I met Elodie, Head Chef, who’s worked in Michelin-starred restaurants. ‘But I prefer it here. You work with the ingredients that turn up, so it’s creative. Try!”

 I sat down with Anna, who was beaming the room’s warmest smile. An Arabic woman, recently moved from Italy, she was with Voices In Exile – an organisation that helps refugees with food or toiletries or legal help. “I love to come so I can practice my English.” I smiled at her friends. 

“You need to play table-tennis,” commanded Wadie, a Syrian refugee.

There was no putting it off, and, when you haven’t played ping-pong in 38 years, your game’s rusty. But four minutes in, he hit a ball high, and I thwacked back a backhand topspin. “Good shot!” said Tim, and I could see why his club’s so successful. It’s not just that the guy’s got skill: he takes an interest. 

And suddenly there I was, playing doubles with Tim (former UK Number 8), against Wadie and Harry. I barely hit a good shot, but it was as Jimmy said: success is not about solo glory; it’s about being in a team; and sometimes you’ve just got to step up, and stay in the point. We won two games to one, and I left feeling connected and content and proud.

I went outside where I’d been invited to help plant a new tree, but it was on a slope, so the water was draining away. But this is the thing about volunteering: you find you can offer something. 

“I know what to do here,” I said, and dug a moat around the tree. That’s how they taught me in Haiti. 

“So what was your dramatically difficult project?” asked Deb, Head of Gardening. “I sailed the Atlantic, and I persuaded 1000 Caribbean kids, to plant 1000 trees.”

“So what was a failure about that?” 

“Well,” I said, “I haven’t told anyone about it!” 

“Well, you have now!,” said Tim. 

God, I felt good about the whole day, and would urge anyone out there who’s vaguely thinking about it, to volunteer. Or just to get down to the Fitz Café, where if you pay for lunch, you’re paying it forward. 

I’m now looking to volunteer for something else. So if you know of a community project, and wonder if I can join, you know what I’ll say. 

Mrcloverthefamoussnail@gmail.com

l The Real Junk Food Project Brighton’s Community Cafe is now open at St John the Baptist parish hall, 2 Bristol Road BN2 1AP

Opening times:

Mon: 11.00-15.00 (lunch from noon)

Tues: Fri: 10.00-15.00 (lunch from noon)

Sat12.30-14.30