Meeting Old Pan: The Wild Music Behind the Mask

I stood before the mythic arch, steeped in ancient memory, exuding the wisdom of times long past and times yet to come. Above it, the word RESURGAM glimmered like an eternal vow, entwined with ivy and green secrets.

Leaning against the right-hand column, I whispered his name softly, reverently:

“Swithun.”

Of course—he was already there. He is always there, just out of sight, ready to serve, yet waiting until I call.

I asked to meet Old Pan—the wild goat-footed one who lives in the marrow of my soul, the untamed rhythm yearning to leap free.

At once, the atmosphere shifted. The air grew heavy, dank, sodden with care and neglect. A moss-clad mass began to stir in a stagnant puddle on the stone floor, shrouded in a greenish mist. My breath caught in my throat. Is this truly a part of me?

Slowly, the thing crawled forward, shedding the shadow of water. And then I saw it: a great brown toad, warty and weary, with eyes like two black pools—ancient, sorrow-laden. It took all my will not to recoil.

I turned to Swithun, standing steadfast at my right. His calm blue gaze held mine, and he gave a slight nod, urging me onward.

So I looked deeper into those careworn eyes and felt the ache of something holy, something forgotten. A spirit, yes—but buried under centuries of silence. Dear wild soul, I thought, is this what you’ve become? How long have I ignored you? How can I bring you back into the sun, so you can run, leap, and play again?

The toad did not speak, but Swithun, with his ageless kindness, interpreted the truth that rose from its silent heart:

“Love yourself… warts and all.”

At those words, something wondrous happened.

With a sharp, bright pop!, the toad cracked open like a shell, and out sprang Pan himself—no longer dead-pan and dulled by sorrow, but laughing, alive, and radiant with wild delight. His goat legs stamped the ground in rhythm, his ivy crown shook with mischief, and his eyes sparkled like green flames in the dusk.

He raised a wooden flute and poured forth a melody so sweet and fierce it seemed to weave the forest into sound. When the last note trembled on the air, he stepped toward me, pressed the flute to my higher heart, and with a breath of magic, it dissolved inside me—dancing into my essence, melding with my soul.

And as the echo faded, his parting words rang clear:

“Dance to the music of your own tune.”

Then, as swiftly as a shadow shifting at noon, Pan was gone.

In his place stood a presence older than Pan, vaster than wild laughter: the Green Man, sovereign of all that grows. His robe was a mantle of giant emerald leaves; his skin bore the rugged texture of ancient bark; upon his brow lay a crown of oak and acorn. His stillness thrummed with the pulse of sap, the turning of seasons, the eternal life-force of the forest.

I do not know how long he lingered—perhaps a heartbeat, perhaps an age. Time dissolves in the presence of such truth.

His voice was no sound, yet it fell like dew into my mind:

“Love life. Love self.”

Then something green and potent, like a dewdrop of light, entered my pineal gland—a seed of wisdom, a living acorn of vision.

With awe and gratitude, I bowed low before the majesty of these encounters. Swithun stepped close, warm and steadfast, and we embraced in the silence that speaks more than words.

And so I returned, carrying the whisper of music and the breath of leaves in my soul, eager for the next turning of the path.

Commentary: The Toad, the Piper, and the Green Man – Loving the Untamed Within

Threshold work often begins in darkness. When we call for the Green Man—the archetype of life-force and renewal—we do not always receive the gentle greenness of spring. First, we meet the places where our wild self has been forgotten.

Here, the Green Man’s first mask is the toad: heavy, warty, waterlogged with ancestral weight. This is the neglected soul-self, the vitality we have buried under layers of duty, judgment, and fear. For some, this toad is shame. For others, exhaustion. For all, it is the ancient instinctive life-force that has been asked to sit silently in the dark for too long.

The message is clear:

“Love yourself… warts and all.”

Self-love is not sentiment—it is an act of liberation. When we embrace even the rough, shadowed aspects of our nature, transformation begins. The toad cracks, and Old Pan leaps forth—the goat-footed, flute-playing god of wild joy. He reminds us of a truth we often silence:

Life is not a cage; it is a dance.

The gift Pan gives—a flute placed in the higher heart—is more than symbolic. It is the reawakening of our soul’s own melody, our unrepeatable rhythm. When we suppress it, life becomes stagnant and grey. When we honor it, we feel the music move through our bones.

And then, beyond laughter and pipes, comes the Green Man—the deeper force of rootedness and rebirth. Where Pan brings play, the Green Man brings presence. His whisper,

“Love life. Love self,”

is the vow of the eternal forest: to live fully, fiercely, and tenderly, in harmony with all that grows.

This is not a myth to read; it is a mirror to enter. Where in your life does the toad still crouch? What part of you waits to leap into freedom? And when it does—will you dance?

Reflective Practice: The Flute at the Higher Heart

1. Prepare Your Space

Find a quiet spot where you can sit comfortably. Close your eyes and take three slow breaths.

2. Call on the Wild

Imagine yourself standing before the ivy-wreathed arch of RESURGAM. Whisper softly:

“Show me the wild within.”

See what comes—a toad, a shadow, a flicker of green. Do not judge it; simply welcome it.

3. Receive the Gift

Picture Old Pan stepping forward, laughter in his eyes, music in his breath. He lifts a wooden flute and presses it gently to your higher heart (the space at your upper chest, between heart and throat). Feel it melt into you—a current of living sound.

4. Speak the Affirmation

Whisper these words, slowly, three times:

“I dance to the music of my own tune.

I love myself. I love this life.”

5. Rest in Green

Let a wave of green light rise from the earth, flowing through you like spring water, carrying vitality and peace. Sit in that greenness for as long as you need.

When you are ready, journal:

What part of me longs to live in its own rhythm? What would loving myself—warts and all—look like today?