Yearly Archives: 2018

Post Samhain Musings

Samhain has become increasingly important to me as the years go by. And although my celebrations are still far from over, for nowadays the festival seems to spill over into days rather than hours, to fit around complex working patterns and the need to co-ordinate many people, I still hold Samhain night as the most sacred.

Last night I chose to spend time with a lovely group of people honouring the ancestors in a way that couldn’t have been more perfect for me if I tried. For mere miles from the town where my father and grandfather grew up we performed a Despatcho ceremony. A ritual quite literally from the land of my paternal ancestors.

A Despatcho is in essence a living prayer bundle, used in a number of ways. It can be for healing, emotional or physical, gratitude, honouring or even celebrating such as blessings for births, deaths and marriages.

A mandala is built up slowly over time, with each item representing something the participants wish to pray for, or honour. Last night we gave thanks for the land we live in, all the peoples of this world, human, animal, vegetable and mineral. We gave praise and thanks to our ancestors and offered up Kintus sets of 3 leaves which we infused with our intent. I chose my leaves very carefully. One Sycamore, one Bay, one Ivy. Make of that what you will 😉

We also honoured our ancestors with sound, participating in drumming in the winds and spirits of the directions, the spirits of those above and below, the spirits of place and Mother Earth. Followed by a Gong bath that allowed us to fall into trance and if the ancestors wished it, receive messages and guidance. It was terribly moving. And I truly felt a weight lifted and a child like delight return to me after the Despatcho was passed over me.

However, I would dearly love to know who Michelle is, for whilst in trance a young boy came to my side, knelt down and told me to say to Michelle that she will not find the stone for her ring. Not very mystic I know, but hey we don’t get to dictate what the spirit world offers us. Obviously its very important to somebody somewhere or they wouldn’t have bothered breaking through into my reverie. If this relates to you, please, please tell me, my curiosity is eating me up.

 

By the Great Pumpkin.

I’m going to have to have a little rant. Because to be frank it’s been bugging me. I love Halloween as much as the next person, but please by all that is orange and pumpkin like don’t confuse the modern holiday of Halloween with the festival of Samhain, or Nos Calan Gaeaf for that matter.

Please don’t go round running rituals where everyone dresses up as the Worst Witch, or a reject from Twilight or Potter world. It actually cheapens many peoples beliefs and practises. By all means have a party, invite me along I love a bloody good knees up. But don’t pretend that what you are doing is pagan. Particularly if you then plaster pictures of yourself all over Facebook. It totally misses the point of guising, which was to be unrecognisable.

If you want to combine reverence and mirth, how about a dumb supper eaten in silence, food brought to share, an empty space laid out for those that have gone before. Each person lighting a tea light for their ancestors. After the solemn meal songs and laughter may ensue, and when the last tealight burns out then the last ancestor has departed and the party is over. Another excellent practise is a vigil, take time to process to your local cemetery. Find the oldest graves there, for quite truthfully they represent the ancestors of the community. Take time to clear their graves, light a votive candle and thank them, sit vigil for a while before departing silently, not looking back.

If you aren’t squeamish about mixing a bit of ancient Christian lore you could even make soul cakes. A medieval tradition. Sweet biscuit like cakes made with cinnamon and nutmeg, which would have been almost prohibitively expensive and therefore a true sacrifice of time and resources. They were set out on All Hallows’ Eve, sometime with an alcohol libation as well. Very reminiscent of the Hekate’s suppers practised on New Moons. You can find a nice recipe for souls cakes here it’s a recipe from the Welsh borders so quite authentic.

I love Samhain, it’s possibly one of the most important festivals of the year for me. I genuinely feel the Magick in the air. The light has an eerie quality. Your skin prickles. You can almost smell the feral musk of the creatures of the hunt slowly waking from their summer slumber. Leaves skitter along the paths leaving you feeling like something is just a few steps behind. Whispered voices travel on the wind and you can almost hear small scampering feet. Waiting for the moment when the final shift happens. When, for another cycle Gwyn ap Nudd gains the upper hand in his eternal battle with Gwythyr ap Greidawl. The hounds of Annwfn bray and the hunt rides forth. Ready to sweep the unsuspecting human with eyes to see along, helter skelter into the night.

A sight both fearsome and truly wondrous to behold. A feeling that brings you to tears of awe and fear and love. And worth far more respect than some parody in black lipstick and a nylon costume bought from a superstore.

In the search of the Mabon.

It’s that time of year when the whole, “Why is the Equinox called Mabon?” debate rears it’s ugly head. Like many Gardnerians I’m fairly unimpressed by the name thanks to a whole bunch politics. There are other names for the festival, however, my personal preference is Equinox. It’s a good sturdy name that even those who do not follow my path understand. But On the whole I’m pretty happy to state that it’s each to their own.

I thought about writing a nice long academic post about the historical evidence and the modern justifications for calling this festival by certain names. But it’s been done to death by many very eloquent people. So if you are looking for that kind of article may I suggest you start HERE with Jason Mankey’s blog on the subject.

For the last few years I’ve been very much about the experiential being balanced with the academic. And that wondrous synergy that can occur when the historical and factual meets the new imaginings of dedicated practitioners of the craft. So this year I thought I’d approach the whole event in a different and innovative manner.

Last Winter Solstice I took part in an excellent read along on Twitter #thedarkisreading. In which participants read the enchanting Susan Cooper book “The Dark is rising”. Not only was it lovely to have a reason to sit and read for a short while each evening. It really made me focus on certain seasonal themes. Which gave me an idea.

One of the primary sources for the existence of Mabon ap Modron (Great Son, son of the Mother) is the Welsh Medieval tale “How Culhwch won Olwen”. The story is included in the misnamed collection of tales known by most as the Mabinogion. On the surface it’s a rip roaring tale of adventure, knights and valiant kings, brave young men and giants. This epic quest for true love sees the erstwhile hero and his amazing companions travel from the very South of Wales all the way to Cumbria. Performing seemingly impossible feats. Meeting the oldest animals and battling formidable creatures using all the powers and Magick sat their command.

It can of course be read just as that, an amazing tale of daring-do, but its a tale of layers. Embedded within are mysteries for those who care to look. Initiations of the body and mind, for those who would immerse themselves ritually into the very tale itself. So this year I resolved to take time reading it to see what wisdom it could impart for me during this season. A touch of meditative bibliomancy if you will.

I’ve studied this story many times, as an Awenydd of the The Anglesey Druid Order it comes up a fair amount in the orders amazing annual training course. So I wasn’t really sure what I might get from this exercise being so familiar with the text. But the gods of Land, Sea and Sky never fail me.

The first thing that struck me was the sheer quantity of shape shifting that occurs during the tale. Culhwch’s mother Goleuddydd (quite literally daylight) losing her mind in an echo of Rhiannon’s story and seemingly reverting to a zoomorphic state to give birth. Poor Pryderi is linked with a stable in the first branch, Culhwch a pig sty. Perhaps his mother is the very same sow that led Gwydion to the Ash tree from which the young Sun God Lleu Llaw Gyffes hangs between the worlds.

In fact pigs feature very heavily in many of the tales, from the very first branch it is the swine of Arawn slipping into this world that starts the whole story arch moving. Not a mare of sovereignty at all. Is this then an indicator of an older or parallel belief/initiatory system hidden within all the tales? Certainly food for deep thought. And now undoubtedly the focus of experiential ritual in my future.

I find this idea particularly poignant as the whole tale hangs on the hero’s relationship to sovereignty. In his case his relationship with Arthur. The kings willingness to trim the youths hair in recognition of kinship is echoed in the demands of the Giant Ysbaddaden. Reading between the lines his only real desire is to ensure an appropriate wedding feast for his Goddess like daughter and to have his hair trimmed using the comb and scissors held between the ears of the great Boar Twrch Trwyth (another pig). Thus effectively regaining his own sovereignty. Interesting huh?

Secondly the textual notes to the tale (if you get a good translation) reveals that one of the companions Teyrnon Twrf Liant ( Great Lord, Roar of the flood tide) whose kingdom in Gwent is often associated with the Severn bore. Now I’ve known this for a while, but I’ve never really put much consideration into it. My ritual landscape is primarily that of North Wales. But the Mabon of whom we seek it is claimed was held somewhere along the Severn estuary. He was discovered by the Salmon of Lyn Lliw who travelled the bore every flood tide. So here we have our divine child of the season, in his prison in Caerloyw (Gloucester) but held apparently by the bore. Just as Pryderi was kept by Teyrnon in his youth. And when is the bore at his strongest. At the equinoxes.

Perhaps it’s not such a bad name for the festival after all. I rather like it in-fact especially if we were to pair the autumnal equinox of Mabon with a vernal equinox of Modron…..oooo now there’s a thought?

The Nine Sacred Woods of the Need Fire

This year has been very much about me challenging my beliefs and why I do certain things. Ive been trying simultaneously to pare down my practise cutting out the unnecessary whilst also *upping my game* magically with a deeper understanding of things that I have just previously taken as the ‘truth’. Partly this is because I am teaching a lot more than I have done previously and there is nothing like new eyes to make you challenge how you understand and practise things. Partly because I feel that people should periodically examine their beliefs, practises, habits etc. It is in my opinion necessary for strong, well adjusted personal growth.

So I am sitting here on a glorious spring morning. The birds are singing and I am contemplating. This evening is May Eve or Walpurgisnacht. The beginning of Summer. Tomorrow is Beltane or Calan Mai. Quite an important festival for me but maybe not for the reasons that most people would assume. For the kindling of the Bel fire is to me representative of the kindling of the fire beneath the Cauldron of Inspiration. And it is the time when my work with Ceridwen begins. Beltane through to Samhain after all would have been the prime times for collecting herbs for a magickal brew.

This time would also coincide with the battle between Gywn Ap Nudd and Gwythyr Ap Greidol for the hand of Creiddylad. A battle that is to be fought “every May day forever from that day forth until Judgement Day”.[1. How Culhwch Won Olwen – The Mabinogion Oxford University Press] This battle is one that within my ritual landscape persists until Samhain where the balance tips back into Gwyn Ap Nudd’s favour. This tipping of the balance is the tipping/cracking of the Cauldron, the time of the ‘chase’. For within my personal and geographical ritual landscape it is easy to see the Goddess during the darker months in her many zoomorphic forms. Rushing helter skelter along with the wild hunt across the wind swept peaks of the Berwyns at the very tip of the Clwydian range, down into the Dee Valley, and onto the White Kingdom and Llyn Tegid as she runs down the boy Gwion Bach.

So Beltane and Samhain are intrinsically linked. Points in my ritual year where the veil thins, and time and reality warps. Our Gods and Goddesses change shape, events happen perpetually and simultaneously. And both points are triggered with with the kindling of a fire. This fire is often called the Bel or Need fire and it is often said that it must be kindled by Nine sacred woods. I realised I didn’t know where these nine woods came from or why it was important to use them so I thought I would have a good look around and try and uncover some sources.

The first and easiest source is of course the neo-pagan poem entitled rather erroneously as ‘The Rede of the Wiccae’. Without getting into a whole debate as to why this isn’t actually the same as the Wiccan Rede lets just take it as red that this delightful piece of popular culture has little to do with initiatory craft and move swiftly onwards. Within this poem is the following line:

“Nine woods in the Cauldron go, 
Burn them fast and burn them slow.”

After which nine of the Ogham woods are listed. But as this poem dates probably no earlier than the 1970’s I thought I would try and find other provenance for the nine sacred woods. The Cad Goddeu (or Battle of the Trees) which in its written form  dates from somewhere around the 9th-10th century does mention nine trees, or forms related to the creation of the flower maiden Blodeuedd by Math and Gwydion. [2. Kat Goddeu – Legendary Poems from the Book of Taliesin CMCS Aberystwyth] But it also lists many more than nine during the actual battle part of the poem. So whilst the imagery of the flower maiden is a very fitting ritual motif for the folk practise of bringing in the May, it doesn’t really enlighten us any further as to the origins of the sacred woods.

The following poem attributed to Ossian a legendary Irish bard provides us with many woods, some of which have explicit instructions not to burn. The remaining woods either come with warnings, an explanation of their qualities or an explicit instruction to burn. This curiously leaves us with Nine woods. Being Rowan, Briar, Alder, Whitethorn, Birch, Aspen, Ash, Holly & Yew.  Not all of these choices are ones that automatically spring to mind as part of a Bel or Need fire.

O Man that for Fergus of the feasts dost kindle fire,
Whether afloat or ashore burn not the king of woods.

Monarch of Innisfail’s forests the woodbine is, whom none may hold captive;
No feeble sovereign’s effort is it to hug all tough trees in his embrace.

i>The pliant woodbine if thou burn, wailings for mis-fortune will abound,
Dire extremity at weapons’ points or drowning in great waves will follow.

Burn not the precious apple-tree of spreading and low-sweeping bough ;
Tree ever decked in bloom of white, against whose fair head all men put forth the hand.

The surly blackthorn is a wanderer, a wood that the artificer burns not ;
Throughout his body, though it be scanty, birds in their flocks warble.

The noble willow burn not, a tree sacred to poems ;
Within his bloom bees are a-sucking, all love the little cage.

The graceful tree with the berries, the wizard’s tree, the rowan, burn;
But spare the limber tree ; burn not the slender hazel.

Dark is the colour of the ash ; timber that makes the wheels to go;
Rods he furnishes for horsemen’s hands, his form turns battle into flight.

Tenterhook among woods the spiteful briar is, burn him that is so keen and green ;
He cuts, he flays the foot, him that would advance he forcibly drags backward.

Fiercest heat-giver of all timber is green oak, from him none may escape unhurt ;
By partiality for him the head is set on aching, and by his acrid embers the eye is made sore.

Alder, very battle-witch of all woods, tree that is hottest in the fight
Undoubtedly burn at thy discretion both the alder and whitethorn.

Holly, burn it green ; holly, burn it dry ;
Of all trees whatsoever the critically best is holly.

Elder that hath tough bark, tree that in truth hurts sore;
Him that furnishes horses to the armies from the sidh burn so that he be charred.

The birch as well, if he be laid low, promises abiding fortune ;
Burn up most sure and certainly the stalks that bear the constant pods.

Suffer, if it so please thee, the russet aspen to come head-long down ;
Burn, be it late or early, the tree with the palsied branch.

Patriarch of long-lasting woods is the yew, sacred to feasts, as is well-known ;
Of him now build ye dark-red vats of goodly size.

Ferdedh, thou faithful one, wouldst thou but do my behest :
To thy soul as to thy body, O man, ‘twould work advantage. [3. Song of the Forest Trees – The Poem Book of Gael]

A Scottish poem which can be found in the Carmina Gadelica [4. Carmina Gadelica – A compendium of folklore and prayers and poetry from the late 19th & early 20th century.] provides eight woods under the title “Choice of timber”. This list only has a few commonalities with the earlier list however, which isn’t very helpful. However the ‘feel’ of the poem certainly feels more magical.

Choose the Willow of the streams
Choose the hazel of the rocks
Choose the Alder of the marshes
Choose the birch of the waterfalls

Choose the Ash of the Shade
Choose the Yew of resilience
Choose the Elm of the brae
Choose the Oak of the Sun

Academia is ominously quiet about the components of the Need or Bel fire. However Professor Ronald Hutton mentions it in Stations of the Sun calling it the tein-eigin and goes to some length as to how various methods were used to kindle the fire. He also provides an excellent description from Marie Trevelyan in Glamorgan in the 1830s who stated that:

“Nine men would turn their pockets inside out, and see that every piece of money and all metals were off their persons. Then the men went into the nearest wood and collected sticks of nine different trees. These were carried to the spot where the fire had to be built. There a circle was cut in the sod and the sticks were set crosswise. All around the circle the people stood and watched the proceedings. One of the men would then take two bits of oak, and rub them together until a flame was kindled.” [5. Hutton, Ronald. Stations of the Sun: A History of the Ritual Year in Britain (p. 221). OUP Oxford. Kindle Edition.]

Professor Hutton is however dubious about the ancient provenance of the practise and provides no further evidence as to the composition of the fire itself other than it was “ of nine different trees”.  Which to be frank is a little frustrating as it leads me to believe that this may be somewhat of a modern practise. Of course, that doesn’t necessarily mean that it is bad or that we should discard it. I have spoken at length about the worth of modern festivals before (you can read it here). But what it does mean is that perhaps we do not necessarily need to enslave ourselves to the commonly accepted ideas either.

Therefore as I rather like the Seven of the Eight woods described in the “Choice of timber poem” I will happily include them in my Bel fire, however with the scarcity now of Elm I would probably exclude that wood in favour of Holly and as my Bel fire is just that, a Beltane fire, I would of course include Hawthorn.

Manawydan – A Pilgrimage

It must be close to a decade now since I made my first conscious pilgrimage. A journey to the Norfolk village of Walsingham. At that point I didn’t even know that pilgrimage was still a ‘thing’. I had read Chaucer’s The Wife of Bath at college. And we had debated the purpose for people making pilgrimages in the middle ages. But by the time I took those tentative steps. Barefoot towards the Slipper Chapel. I was about as far removed from mainstream religion as you could get. So, I was unaware of any modern practise and was surprised to find a thriving tradition.

In fact the purpose for that entire journey was about as far away from Christianity as you could get. So the destination raised more than a few eyebrows. It was the culmination of a prolonged and often confusing contact with a particular spirit. I am not entirely sure what her motivations were in asking me to light very specific numbers of candles in each of the shrines I came across. Other than perhaps to bankrupt me, because votive candles aren’t cheap. But in my heart I suspect it was to install into me what now appears to be a life long fascination with ‘the journey’. And how it is both an act of magick and of devotion that transcends religion.

Artists house on the Camino, a stop for pilgrims

Since then I have marvelled at the very beginnings of humanity. At the Cradle of Humankind in the Sterkfontein caves in South Africa I took time to honour my ancestors. I have fallen in love with Lugo a wonderful ancient city on the Camino Primitivo (the original way) heading towards Santiago. There I felt the power of the Great Mother Isis. I have travelled alone from the very Northern tip of France to the Sierra Nevadas in Spain in a personal journey of enlightenment. Left offerings to the Goddess Minerva in an ancient thermal spring. Performed rites to Hekate, Asteria and Perses under a meteor filled sky by a crystal mountain lake. I have followed my nose and communed with the spirits of place in Carnac. Rested on the nearby tumulus St Michel. Stretching my mind far out to sense Glastonbury Tor and St Michael’s Mount far away along the serpentine line.

In recent years the focus of my pilgrimages has been almost singular. The Isle of Yns Môn. I travel along the North Wales costal route, and key points along that journey have become like a mantra. The droning of my engine. The sound of my car tyres on the Tarmac beneath me. Acting like the Buddhist prayer wheels. Rumbling out to the universe my devotion to the landscape around me. And an Island that always feels like home.

So this weekend saw me rise early on a cold and positively wintry morning. With parts of the country caught in the grip of the ‘Beast from the East’ I was uncertain how many would join us in a Pilgrimage to meet the God Manawydan. An event which I helped to organise for members of The Anglesey Druid Order as one of their “Deity Days”. Manawydan is particularly close to my heart as he was the first male deity I ever felt a true connection with.  He reminds me of my own foibles, fragilities and sometimes downright bloody mindedness. He also ensure that I never forget to claim my sovereignty. Nor does he fail me when I have a need for certain types of Magic. But that is another post for another day.

We live in a results based world, where everybody talks in terms of where they went. What they achieved. What they hope to achieve. Always aiming for the final destination. Impatient to be anywhere but where they are right now. Of course I am not perfect and there are many ways in which I still live a thoroughly modern life. But when it comes to my Magick, my Spirituality, I try very hard to take time to enjoy the process. Therefore, my purpose of this day was not to ask him for anything for myself. Just to honour him with each step I took. To facilitate others coming to know him. And hopefully kindle a deeper connection with him.

His location in the Anglesey landscape is without dispute. His story, as we know it, starts with the marriage of Branwen in the 2nd Branch of the Mabinogi. The festivities taking place in the village of Aberffraw. Situated on the south western coastline of the Island. So it was pretty much a no brainer then to walk part of the famous costal path.

View on the Coast Path

We started from Llyn Coron (Crown Lake), through the village and along the costal path to the ancient city on the headland at the mouth of the estuary. Along the route we contemplated his nature and how it might inform our own actions. We left offerings to him and to the house of Llŷr. And we ritualistically left behind us, in small cairns, representations of that which we felt stopped us embracing Manawydan’s qualities of Humility, Justice and Magic. Particularly in relation to claiming our own sovereignty.

My offering in the humility cairn was a handful of pure white dog whelk and cowrie shells which I always covet when I walk along the sea shore. I had been systematically ferreting them away as we walked. For that stretch of coast line is particularly rich. Treasures to bring home and add to my collection. It pained me greatly when I realised that I couldn’t get more humble than to give away a thing I prized in honour and recognition .

The Scallop, A Symbol of Pilgrimage

So imagine my joy later as we were clearing the beach of plastic when I was rewarded with the most beautiful, almost perfect Queen Scallop shell. A symbol which has become almost universally associated with the act of Pilgrimage thanks to the Camino de Santiago. In my mind a clear sign that Manawydan was pleased with our endeavours.

If you would like to know more about The Anglesey Druid Order and what they do you can find them here and here.