Echoes on the Path: Teutoburg Forest (Part 1)

 








Images: All taken by myself at the Varusschlacht. First image, the dark Teutoburg Forest. Second image, the start of the literal path the remnants of Varus's legions marched on their last day of battle. Third image, the Roman calvary mask found just below the German earthworks on the Roman left flank. Fourth image, a model of what the German earthworks would have looked like in 9 AD. 


I really wanted to see the site of the Battle of Teutoburg Forest, or as they typically call it in Germany, the Varusschlacht, or Varus Battle. It was very far north, and I really only had one day to see it. But it was a place I had wanted to see for many years, as it was such a historically significant battle. Around 20,000 Romans died there in one of their greatest defeats in history, at the hands of the Germanic tribes and the betrayal of Arminius.

Anyway, I drove the roughly four hours up there. It had gotten considerably colder that day. As soon as I entered the Taunus mountains, snow began and left a thin blanket for most of the land past there to my destination. Fog clung to the trees, as did icy snow on every branch, in some places making all the trees appear like crystals sprouting from a white sea. I could not help but feel as if it were the setting of some fantasy land, but what’s more, I could feel the age of the land and people as I went, imagining what it would have all looked like 2000 years ago.

I arrived in the early afternoon and went to the museum. All was fine and well. I got my ticket, looked at history books in the gift shop, went through the museum, and learned much. I didn’t have any particular spiritual feeling while I was there. I could feel my excitement rising, thinking I had waited decades to see this place. But again, as in Mainz, not any more than any average hobbyist or enthusiast would. The idea of communing with spirits was not even in my mind as I perused the thousands of artifacts of the dead displayed on the walls, to include some of their bones. It did not even cross my mind, though I was fascinated.

I stepped out onto the grounds, the gently snow-brushed field surrounded by trees. Historically, the field would have been marshy woods, with large spaces between the trees. Amazingly, despite the draining of the great moor that would have been there, I could feel the soil was still uneven and rather water-logged, punctuated by frequent stagnant pools and streams. A metal path allowed one to walk in the literal footsteps of the Romans, as well as markers and partial reconstructions of the wall the Germans built. All 20,000 or so Romans would have been bottlenecked here. It was an utterly catastrophic position to be in, especially with the muddy, loose soil, with men and horses slipping and falling.

Regardless, I walked the Roman path. I want to say I felt something when I first began driving near the battle site. It was quiet, very light; perhaps my excitement drowned it out. But I felt it growing the closer I got, the closer I walked as I passed through the museum. This growing sense of the spirit, but also other feelings, foreign feelings. As I began at the start of the Roman path, I felt interest, but also a light sense of anxiety, of fear. Still, this all sort of rested below my level of general interest, so to speak. I was overlooking it, really, in retrospect.

I proceeded down the paths, read the signs, the cold air numbing my face and chilling my body. It was about twenty-eight degrees and windy, and with the dampness, it was quite cold. I kept trying to imagine the warriors of the respective sides, the Germans lying in wait, the Romans marching unwittingly to their deaths. I would be lying if I said I felt normal. The closer I got, particularly to the German earthworks, I felt different. The excitement in me began to die. I felt the spirit stronger. I felt it all over the battlefield, feelings that spoke to me as echoes, feelings of fear, anger, and sadness. These feelings came to dominate the excited interest I once held. And I could not shake it. I tried to stay objective, to shake myself from these feelings, but they would not leave. I felt almost dream-like, a serene sense of calm from the spirit accompanied by this aloofness, as if I were becoming an observer to somewhere my body did not have a place in.

The journey from historical curiosity to a chilling spiritual encounter has begun. Follow the blog to find out what happens when I call out to the spirits in the woods.

Location: 49565 Bramsche-Kalkriese, Germany

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