Beltane and the Great Queen

As part of the ongoing creation and sanctification of the Cauldron of the Celts Sacred Calendar, we have the honor of adding two more days to the calendar. Both in honor of an Morrighan. I was having a rather hard time figuring out where exactly the holy day of the Great Queen would go on the modern calendar year, and it wasn’t until we welcomed more to our merry band of Celtic devotees that the answer revealed itself, apparently you need at least an attempted murder to get things brewing. With the help of my dear sister Verity Blue Midnight, we realized that one day was just not enough and that the date was less consequential than the timing. So for this year and hopefully many more future years to come we will be honoring the Morrighan on the full moon of May and the dark moon of October.

To be clear, I do not know of any direct connotation in the lore or otherwise between the Morrighan and the moon (although if anyone does know of some I would be interested in looking into it). However, given her association with the liminal states, it felt more correct for her days to be on a lunar calendar whilst the rest settle into the solar modern one. While her connection to Beltane and Samhain seem fairly clear, and are clearly felt. This years May full moon fell just days after May 1st/Beltane. Which seemed a blessing on things to come.

We crashed into May with a thunderous bang. I have always found this time of year to be one of high emotions and high energy, this year is proving no different. While my sister priestess planned a loving devotion to the Great Queen for dusk on the full moon, petitions tended to while walking a labyrinth at dusk and offerings given in honor and praise, I ran off to the woods. Truly it was a weekend where her presence and the spirits of this time of year were all around.

It started before dawn on Beltane, way up on inspiration point with the Morris Dancers jovially playing and dancing up the sun. It was incredibly warm this year, a contrast in years past when you would have to bundle up to greet the golden rays, a marker to the change our earth is going through. Every year I am amazed at the flutter and anticipation that this sunrise brings. What if I’m late? What if this time it rises early? Silly, perhaps. But it is part of the magic and the buzz of Beltane.

This year the heat and dryness of our land prevented any morning dew to be found. I suppose I can go one year without the blessings of Beltane beauty upon me. After basking in the golden hour light for a while longer it was time to go in search of food and then to work. A stark change from years before where I could stumble back to bed before rising and prepping for the day. The Rooster, a local cafe, was kind enough to provide us with a lovely meal, and then we decided to spread the May Day cheer by buying flowers and passing them around the office. There was quite a bit of bemused confusion as to why they were being given or offered flowers, and an equal amount of delight at discovering flowers on ones desk for apparently no reason. All and all I consider it a Beltane well managed.

That night we cleaned up the house, left out some offerings, and prepped for an escape to the woods. We left bright and early the next day, heading straight for the Canyon. A trip we have made countless times over the years that holds so many memories. It was brilliant and beautiful all day. Clear skies, jubilant sun, and fresh crisp air. Everything a person could need to clear their head and help ease their burdens. We decided for this trip to explore all the little side roads off the canyon in search for a great camping spot. We found many treasures, but one that still has a hold on my heart and desires.

There are several places through the Canyon where you cross the Feather River, and at one such place there is a road, and up that road is an oasis. You can’t see it from the road. We had just stopped because I have an ever growing obsession with rocky rivers and a need to be by them. At first I wasn’t sure whether or not there was going to be a way down to the water, but there was. I was not prepared for the beauty that I saw.

It was like stumbling upon the lagoon from Neverland. Completely picturesque. I desperately wanted to dive into that crystalline water, but the reality is that water is far too cold for swimming just yet. Treacherous and beautiful, the way I like it. We stayed by the river for a long while, climbing rocks and enjoying the serenity of it all. The Lumberjack recounted the story of coming to this spot once and all the rocks were covered in ladybugs! There were a few ladybugs here and there and many a butterfly on this trip. It seemed only natural to name the place Labybug Lagoon. I will gladly and happily be returning here this year.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Come to the river, child of the heart
Lay by the stream, all cares depart
Great Lady wash from my soul
My weakness and the doubts that I hold
Splendid One wash me in the waters from beyond
I arise glorious with only my courage and tresses donned

After stopping and scouting many more places, including my beloved Bullard’s Bar we settled down to camp for the night. We did not plan enough ahead to have gotten a campfire permit, so we went without. Eating a humble but filling meal of sandwiches and fruit, we enjoyed the calming solace of being outside and away from the hustle and bustle. We found a broken knife and fashioned a game out of throwing the blade and trying to get it to stick in some rounds. We planned to buy a small archery set to bring out next time, for fun and practice. We gathered some wild cedar tips and made them into bundles, the Lumberjack even picked some dogwood flowers for me. I think that dogwood is probably the regional equivalent of the Hawthorn in this part of the woods. It was in bloom everywhere, crowning the forest in beauty and joy.

The moon was full and splendidly bright, the air was cold and fortifying. That night prayers where made to the Gods and the Ungods with heartfelt devotion to see us all through the challenges and trials we walk. Offerings were made to continue to bring prosperity and joy to my beloveds. The land and all it’s many treasures were thanked profusely for being steadfast and welcoming. With a much lighter heart I slept that night.

The return home was slow, as we were want to leave. We revisited our plans and what the next five year holds. Each of us know we can’t stay forever in the city, it wears too much on out emotions and spirit. May this year bring the beginnings of dreams realized for my family and all those seeking and working towards their goals.

Blessed Beltane everyone! I pray that the month of May keeps you well and shows you the way to your dreams.

Cauldron of the Celts – Sacred Calendar Year – Brigid’s Holy Day

Being a Gaelic Polytheist that does not currently have a Gaelic Polytheist community at hand, I spend a lot of my time and effort being a public priestess in a interfaith pagan coven known as CAYA Coven as I have found the community aspect to be so very enriching to my life and practice. Over the years CAYA has grown to the point where we can now group off into devotional affinity groups of priestesses that share a deity or culture or other grouping. One such groups that I am apart of is the Cauldron of the Celts. All of us publicly dedicated to deities that fall under the “Celtic” umbrella. Currently that means Irish and Romano-Breton but in future could include Gaulish, Welsh and so on. Being a multi-faith group means that everyone is coming from a different angle as far as practice and so forth but I have to say that it has been refreshing to have more people to talk about the lore and cultural background of things, as well as be able to share our devotions and put on some truly wonderful rites for the gods.

In that vein we have collective decided it would be a good idea to start a Sacred Calendar year for the group, with a holy day selected for each of our dedicated deities. Understanding that nothing about this is particularly Gaelic but a more modern adaptation to further foster reverence and honor to the gods. It also provides an opportunity to share with the wider community, and be of service. With that being said the first day of reverence this year starts with Brigid, and below is a humble offering for all those who feel called to partake.

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Cauldron of the Celts Sacred Calendar Year – Brigid’s Holy Day 2/1/15

The Cauldron of the Celts, a multi-faith devotional group within CAYA Coven, is endeavoring to establish our Sacred Calendar Year. Each priestess is publicly dedicated to a deity who falls under the wide “Celtic” umbrella and has chosen a date on our modern calendar year to be a day of reverence to their deity. In an effort to connect with other devotees and be of service to the public we share this calendar and some of our own workings, that we may all raise up the Gods names in honor.

Our calendar year begins with Brigid’s holy day on Feb 1st.

The priestesses of Brigid, Foxfire Kells and Doyenne Rowan, invite you to send us any petitions you wish to make before the goddess and we will offer them to her in supplication and gratitude on her holy day. You may email them at cauldronofthecelts@gmail.com.

Below are a few words from the priestesses of Brigid:

Imbolc is celebrated in honor of the goddess Brigid between January 31st and February 2nd; the name of the holy day comes from the Old Irish imbolg or oimelc, meaning “in the belly,” referring to the season of lambing and ewe’s milk. Brigid emerges from the silence of winter to herald the coming of spring and new life and growth; she is also a goddess of the forge, of the hearth, of poetry and inspiration, and of healing. Her symbols include lambs or sheep,  wells, writing implements, acorns, apples, milk, snowdrops and crocuses, and, of course, fire.

Imbolc falls during the Celtic tree month (a neo-pagan construct based on Robert Grave’s interpretation of the ancient symbolic language of ogam) of Luis (lweesh), which is the Gaelic name for the rowan tree, so one activity you can do is to make a protection charm of 2 crossed rowan twigs bound with red thread. For more information about the history of the Rowan and red thread charm you can find a incredibly thorough article here.

Another one of Her traditions is to leave out cloth or clothing to be blessed by Brigid on Imbolc, often to be used for healing and protection purposes for the following year. Given the current events happening, Her face of healing is very clearly one that is needed in the world and in our community.

To welcome and honor Brigid into your home and life, you may wish to perform the following ritual:

Lay out a white or yellow cloth
Place a white candle in the center
Arrange around the candle 3 acorns and/or apples, a small bowl of fresh water (spring water or melted snow is ideal), a sprig of juniper, and a small bundle of wool roving.
Prepare an offering plate with a piece of bread spread with soft cheese and a drizzle of honey, and some apple slices.

Light the candle and contemplate what new projects or endeavors you want to nurture this year. How will you tend to these goals? How will you tend to yourself? What parts of yourself or your life are beginning to emerge with the Spring? How do you keep the fires of your creativity and motivation burning as the year wears on?  Do you make space in your life for pleasure and the warmth of family (however you define it)?

Say a prayer or sing a song to Brigid to bring her into the room.
Feel free to use or adapt this prayer, as you wish:

My good lady Brigid,
I call upon you to light the fire of inspiration in my heart,
to warm my hearth and burn away the cold shroud of winter,
just as the snowdrops burn through the frozen ground to burst forth in flower
and give the promise of renewal.

My good lady Brigid,
I offer you my devotion and gratitude
for the many ways you bring joy and beauty to life in the world.
May my lips ever sing your praises and my hands bring comfort and healing;
ever may the embrace of my favour glorify your name.

Offer Brigid the bread with cheese & honey and the apples, for sweetness and sustenance.

Dip the juniper sprig in the water you have charged and asperge your house to bless and protect you in the coming year.

More Links and Points of interest:
Detailed article about the customs in Ireland and Scotland of Là Fhèill Brìghde
:http://www.tairis.co.uk/festivals/la-fheill-brighde
Craft Ideas for Imbolc: http://unfetteredwood.blogspot.com/2014/01/crafts-for-imbolc.html
video from Gaol Naofa on the celebration of Imbolc: http://youtu.be/oEieym5uI7k
Podcasts from Story Archaeology about Brigid and her various tales:  http://storyarchaeology.com/category/series-01-mythical-women/mythical-women-05-the-search-for-brigid/

Cauldron of the Celts 2015 Sacred Calendar Year:
Feb 1st – Brigid’s Holy Day
March 19th – Sulis Minerva’s Holy Day
June 21st – Honoring of the Selkie
August 1st – Lugh’s Holy Day
August 9th – An Dagda’s Holy Day

The Feast of the Dagda

 

For several years now I have been wanting to hold a feast in honor of the Dagda. Several different variations went through my mind, but for whatever reason they just never came to past. Then in my public priestess community of CAYA Coven I was presented with the opportunity to lead a ritual feast in his honor. Even more exciting this could be an outdoor feast! Early in the year I started plotting out the best way to introduce the Good God to a group of people who may or may not have ever heard of him. How best to honor his name and ensure a good time had by all.

Luckily I had an amazing crew, all of the initiates who are training to be public clergy in CAYA. They all went above and beyond and put such heart into their work it was really touching.

We were gathered in one of my favorite parks where there lives a 100 year old Oak tree. A wonderful tree that I sadly did not get to go visit this trip but love none the less. We spent the day grilling and playing games. Coconut shotput and Tug of Way being the highlights. I had originally dreamed of having a whole pig to roast for the feast but alas my budget at present did not allow for it. However I did go out and purchase the biggest shoulder pork roast I could from the local butcher, ethically sources and top quality. I decided to start cooking it the night before to ensure that it would be done in time for the Feast, and would finish it off over the open flames basting it in fresh apple juice. I have to say that I think it turned out delicious and since there were literally no leftovers and many folks asking for seconds, I think that is a far judgement lol. I will be making that pork again once I get a grill here at the house.

I kept telling myself that it would be a small crowd. Our outdoor rituals are usually smaller more 30-40 people than our indoor rituals that get more 60-80 people. Yet I was surprised, we had quite a turn out! I didn’t do an official head count but I think we were in the 50-60 range. Yet with great joy we made room for all. With equal joy we had more than enough food. There is nothing so sad as a feast where there isn’t enough food for people to eat their fill. And at a Dagda feast? Unthinkable!

There was a fire that was kindled with prayers and juniper burnt upon it for blessing. Offerings were made to the Dagda by all with wonderful words of praise spoken with adoration. There was beer and water on every table. The first round was served, food for everyone and then the stories began. They were tales of hospitality and lessons being generous. Songs were sung and the guitar AND violin played. Seconds and third helpings were served along with a delicious tasty dessert. Divination was cast to see if our offerings were received well and with blessing and what the next months held for the community.  There was much laughter, much conversation, and much enjoyment

I was so pleased and still am. For a public feast I do not think it could have gone any smoother. Thank you again to anyone who attended, to all the lovely people who pitched in and helped to make this dream a reality. Thanks to my beloved Dagda for continuing to teach me the ways of leadership, hospitality and enjoying the lust for life. May I continue to bring you honor and raise your name high. Looking forward to sharing more celebrations and joy with the community and for continued joy in devotion to the Good God.

 

 

 

 

Wisdom of the serpent be
Wisdom of bull be thine,
Wisdom of valiant eagle.
Voice of swan be thine,
Voice of honey be thine
Voice of the Shining Youth.
Bounty of sea be thine,
Bounty of land be thine
Bounty of the All Father, ever sustaining.

– Adapted from the Carmina Gadelica

Táin Tuesday: The Wealth of a King

This is a continuation of “How Conchobar was begotten, and how he took the Kingship of Ulster” but whereas the first part of the story I feel is more his mother Ness’s story (of being a mastermind and all around sharp lady), the second part of the story tells us more about what is to be expected from Kingship, idealized and legendary kingship, but in the paragons of myth we can find the lessons of the mundane. The first paragraph extols Conchobar’s virtues and how beloved of Ulster he was. There are the things you would expect such as:

There was no wiser being in the world. He never gave judgement until it was  ripe, for fear it might be wrong and the crops worsen. – Kinsella

Now later on we may talk about how true this statement actually is in reference to some the judgments he actually makes as King. But for now it is a telling piece of what is valued in a leader and very neatly and simply showcases the connection between sovereignty and the land.  This is a theme that you might have heard espoused before, especially if you have been looking into or have any connections with any of the many Irish Sovereignty Goddesses. Cue the Morrighan, Macha, Aine, just to name a few. I feel like there is a lot that could be said about this connection, but the one thing that strikes me in this reading may be the simplest. The sacred connection between mankind and the land.

If we concentrate down this, the king’s actions/words/being can cause crops to worsen and the people to suffer, we clearly see the ownership of stewardship in all things. We as human beings are not separate from the land that we live on.  This is a very animist view of things, and further gets complicated for those of us on U.S. soil and other places wherein colonialism has left us a history to have to weigh-in. But the solid foundation that there is a sacred connection between all of our actions and the land seems pretty clear and worth remembering. This simple foundation gives weight to the meaning of offerings, to seeing signs and omens in the day to day life, to cultivating the skills of wisdom and judgement. Because ultimately if you are taking on the mantle of personal sovereignty then you are taking up the mantle of your actions, your words, having profound affect on your world.

There are things that make the modern person raise an eyebrow and make a face, namely these:

So high was their regard for him that every man in Ulster that took a girl in marriage let her sleep the first night with Conchobor, so as to have him first in the family[…]Any Ulsterman who gave him a bed for the night gave him his wife as well to sleep with.

Ahhh Ancient times, when men were men and women were chattle. Now besides this being a very sexist way of showing the adoration and love Ulster had for it’s king it may also show a bit more of the practice of Ancestor worship and the ties of kingship. There is an interesting article written by Fedelm Cruithn titled A Semiotics of Kingship in the Tain which goes deeper into the topics that I am brushing over, but talks directly about this connection:

The Táin also indicates a very important relationship between the king’s popularity and his genealogy. The men of Ulster worship Conchobor so highly, they allow their new brides to sleep with him on the first night, in order to “have him first in the family.” (Kinsella 4) Try to imagine an Egyptian king sleeping with the wife of every man in Egypt! In this part of The Táin, there seems to be a break from the droit de cuissage or ius primæ nocti, (law of the first night), which reflects the right of a ruling man to “sample the wares” of his family subjects. In this instance, there’s a peculiar combination of a worshipful gesture made by free men honouring their beloved king and a genealogical insurance policy for the tribe: a figure of royal blood who shares his blood with the people of his kingdom. This points to the possibility that in Celtic kingship, unlike many other sovereignty traditions, the king was not only expected to be of perfect stock, but was also expected to revitalise and perfect the stock of the tribe. In this way, Conchobor becomes a prize breeding bull, woven into the very fabric of a story about the royal cattle theft of a sacred bull. (Mac Cana 52)

This idea of genealogy, of being descendants of legendary heroes, and even the Gods themselves, is not a new idea or one that is only found in the Celtic context. While overall interesting to think about on it’s own, for me personally it just throws more weight into the respectful practice of Ancestor worship. These Legendary Heroes and Kings were looked on as family, as kin.

Extrapolating further and tying this back into the ideas of personal sovereignty in the modern context, this close connection of king and people teaches me that those that I consider part of my tribe, my community should be treated as family. Again writing that out seems like such a given, but I was lucky enough to grow up in a family were taking care of each other is given. It is easy for me coming from that background to extend that outward to know that there are times when the good of the all is more important, and that these duties when founded in love hold great rewards.

The last part of this tale goes on in great detail on the houses and wealth of the mighty King. Of note that he had three houses each with a different task. Lets just go ahead and point out that three is a number of great weight in the Irish world and it will be something to look for in future. Craebruad the Red Branch, Tete Brec the Twinkling Hoard, and Craebderg the Ruddy Branch.

Craebruad, was where the kings sat and presumably where Conchobor lived. We are told that it is the Red Branch and red is for royalty. This is just flat out interesting to me and endearing to me. Red is not usually the color associated with royalty, that would be purple. It could very well be that there was not readily available dye for making purple at the time, one of the leading facts to purples elevation to royalty in other places and times. But I’m inclined to think not…I could be wrong, but having seen a lot of the craft work of Ancient Ireland and knowing that they did have some contact and trade with the outside world if only from Viking influence it seems far fetched to believe that purple was just not a color they could replicate. So then why the elevation of red? In Rome red was the color of the army, due mostly to the great availability and thus cost effectiveness of the color. Gotta love the Romans and their keen accounting skills. But then that is just it, red is the color of war. Red is the color of blood and passion. I would even venture to say that red is the color of courage. Could this also be a contributing factor to it’s royal associations in Ancient Ireland, where valor and courage were such prized items? Another interesting note is that red usually helps to depict Otherworldly things, White animals with red ears and so forth. Perhaps this too tied the Kingship and royalty to the spiritual and sacred.

All and all I find it a fascinating tidbit. Not the least of which is that Red is a color I associate very clearly with.

But what of the other houses? Tete Brec, is the place that holds all the beautiful and deadly weapons and armor of legendary heroes. Everything from Cuchulainn’s shield to everyone else’s and their goblets and javelins and swords beside. And in Craebderg is where all “the severed heads and spoils” were kept.  There are several ways that these houses could be analyzed, but again on this reading I am struck by Craebruad representing the King’s duties to politics and the people. Such a fine house with all it’s decorations and trimmings much play host to many heroes and Chiefs, foraging alliances and offering hospitality.  A point underlined by Gerg’s vat, from which at any time 30 men may be drinking from it in Conchobor’s room and the vat is always full. Such abundance and generosity are things that a sovereign must maintain. With Tete Brec I see the need to maintain protection, an entire house filled with arms and shields of mighty warriors, of whom may be called upon at any moment. It speaks to the bravery and the heroism that is idealized in sovereignty. And then Craebderg, the ruddy branch, where we see that bravery and heroism has been tested and proven true. This is not just a king who speaks of valor but who has the proof of those swords and shields in a house all of their own. The grandeur and glory must not be without merit.

This speaks to the heroic morality versus the passive morality that is seen elsewhere, and was one of the key things that turned me away from Judeo-Christian religions. With them it is all about the things that you should not do. Whereas to me being judged and held to your actions is more in alignment with the make up of my soul. I am not a “good person” because I do not steal or any number of the other tenets of “Thou shall not”. It is through my actions based on the real features of the situations that mold and shape me. Just as it is that Conchobor’s actions, be them in judgement or on the battle field is what molds and shapes him into a legendary king.

The Cooking Hearth of the Great Queen – Lessons in the fire

The main error committed by those who have called the Morrígan a “war goddess” has not been in giving her that designation, but in defining it too narrowly. When one considers what war was for the medieval Irish, rather than in light of what war means now, or even to the Romans, the designation becomes as complex and nuanced as its subject herself. All the messiness, the intricacies, and the facets of the Morrígan are the facets, intricacies, and messiness of war as the Irish knew it. Nearly all the important narrative texts of medieval Irish literature, and Ulster cycle texts in particular, center on that enterprise. It is therefore no surprise that the Morrígan, as embodiment of war, would appear conspicuously in these texts. Fame and glory, gore and terror: in war, are all one. And so the Morrígan. — The Morrígan and her Germano-Celtic Counterparts A dissertation by Angelique Gulermovich Epstein

Ever since reading Epstein’s wonderful dissertation this quote has stayed with me. It helps to succinctly keep the mind open to all the possibilities and facets of such a complex goddess and culture instead of getting too trapped in single ideas. I am always looking to learn more and to more full integrate my spiritual beliefs into my everyday life. So when new nuances come to light and settle so harmoniously with what I already have in my life and methods it just helps to deepen those bonds that I have found and created.

Last year I was inspired to go on a ritual camping trip to honor the Morrighan. Having found a truly amazing location that would include a 3 mile hike to the campsite and then allow for a beach side ritual, I was deeply motivated and looking forward to the challenge that this camping trip would provide. I often find that physical challenge is something that I yearn for in my day to day life that is absent. Thankfully, I don’t have to struggle to procure food, or fight for my life. This is a privilege of the modern first world that I live in and I am grateful. Yet…there is a part of me that wonders if I can ever truly know myself in such comfortable surroundings. There is some nameless voice in my soul that believes that it is through adversity, danger, fear, that you temper your core and truly find yourself. Many a sleepless night I have wondered if I am truly living my principles by not fully embracing this belief.  Shouldn’t someone who believes such things dive head first into a life that would manifest these things? Shouldn’t I have joined the military? The Peace Corp? Any other of countless paths that would bring me face to face with what I describe? It is the paradox of my existence in that this belief and pull goes head to head with my belief that life is meant to be enjoyed. That I consider my life well lived if I and my loved ones are happy. I am a conflicted soul if ever there was one lol.

So here presented itself a safe but challenging opportunity to get out into nature and connect with myself and the divine. More I knew that there were others in my community that would welcome the opportunity for the same. In my public priestess work amoungst a  mixed crowd of personal paths I relish the opportunity to do things the way I do them and invite others along to partake. I spent some time trying to figure out who to invite and how open to make this trip. Ultimately it seemed best to invite those who worked with the Great Queen or had approached me about working with her and those willing to undertake the physical challenges.

Not surprisingly when you set out with the intention of holding a ritual camping trip with the Great Queen to challenge yourself, you are challenged…and expected to adapted.

The first location that inspired the trip was just flatly not available for the weekend for up to a year in advance. Being someone who has only ever done much camping in national forest situations I was shocked that a month in advance was not enough. That in fact a year was needed. Adapted or die, right? Lol

Interestingly as this first plan and rendition of the ritual trip fell away there was an extreme influx of emotional and personal challenge in our community and amoungst my dear inner circle.  Things were hard, everyday was an emotional roller coaster. Within my own house we are still grieving for the loss of the Lumberjack’s mother and the first year of her passing quickly approaches. As anyone who has suffered through hard times know that the stress, depression, anxiety and other aspects take their toll physically and mentally. During this time I continued to pray, and to hold that some how I would do my best to honor her and her glory.

It was the Lumberjack that had me look farther inland after spending so long looking for a good site on the coast. I wanted some place that was a little less populated than most state parks and also had some water source. Then as the emotional turmoil reached its peak we went for a long and much needed drive out to scout out prospective camping sites. There is something spiritually comforting to me about long driving trips. It probably hearkens back to my childhood spent driving from one side of the country to the other. Something about it can just rest my mind, pull me out of the drudgery and see the bigger picture of life. I have to say that is was exactly what the doctor order. Truly I am blessed to have the Lumberjack in my life willing to support me and tend to my emotional needs amoungst everything else.

The drive up was beautiful and the location was stunning. It was a much more developed camping site than the original site, but still remote and next to an amazing reservoir. Stunningly blue and filled with pyrite and quartz. The location did not have the same wild rugged energy that had drawn me to the first location. Instead it was serene, inviting and ethereal. Standing on the banks looking out on the tranquil reservoir feeling that familiar welcomed feeling of finally being able to breath fully deeply, two ravens languidly circling the trees and I just accepted it as a gift. The time and energy of the present was harsh and tumultuous, here was the time and the place to gain respite. To nourish the soul. How often do such opportunities present themselves? And again should you limit the understanding and honoring of the Gods? No we would not be physically challenging ourselves, and meeting nature in the untamed wilds. But each and every one of us were being challenged in our daily lives. Having to self analysis, to face difficult situations, people and conversations and not turn away. It seemed more than possible that in the stillness and rugged outdoors we all would find a piece of ourselves that would help to preserve us through the challenges at home.

With the new location came new possibilities. If the original offering of physical exertion and shear will to make this happen was no longer the center point, then naturally food would be the new center. Food is the center point of most of my offerings and connection to deity at home and I saw no reason why we shouldn’t feast to her honor. Luckily for me the group was equally eager to bring abundance and feast to the trip, and in the end we had so much food. We planned the meals together as a community. Marinated Chicken and grilled corn, plenty of sandwich meats and cheese for lunches and snack, pancakes, bacon and eggs for breakfast, and a Primal Heart beef stew for the culminating supper. No one went hungry.

We spent out days in the cerulean quartz charged water. Delighting in the refreshment and glitter. Quickly we found a treasure of pyrite laced clay mud. Smooth and glorious it immediately became a favored past time to cover ourselves in clay and search for quartz treasures on the shore. Beer, laughter, swimming, mud, I didn’t know these were things I needed.

The late days were spent tending the fire, getting the stew started and fighting off mosquito. I enjoy cooking on most days, but I have not had the pleasure of cooking over that many open flames yet. That is soon to change, there is something amazing and so heartening to throw hunks of meat into a cast iron pan over a roaring fire, hearing the sizzle, smelling the sear. There is a deep contentment in getting a large cauldron boiling and stirring into it the intentions of health and comfort for all.

Generally I associate my cooking with the Dagda. He has a shrine in my kitchen, and it well associated with food. His cauldron of plenty, his ever roasting pig, etc.  But over that fire, I felt her presence. There isn’t much more that I can say than that. Upon returning home from trip I was inspired to look up an article that was in my que to read for a while on Tairis Tales, I vaguely remembered it was about cooking and the Morrighan. Lo, indeed it was:

There is a popular belief that the Morrígan is a war-goddess and not much more than that, but like any other deity, things are never as simple as they might seem. Aside from her associations with war and magic there are some intriguing references in popular lore and the medieval manuscripts that associate her with the Fulacht na Morrighna, or ‘The Spit of the Morrígan’, often simply referred to as the ‘Cooking Hearth of the Great Queen’ (or variations thereof…). — Fulacht na Morrighna

Isn’t that just amazingly in alignment with just freakin’ everything? I laughed when I read it. Just laughed. But more it really did drive home the feelings and inspirations that I felt in that campsite. This part in particular:

It’s notable that the last paragraph in the excerpt above specifically mentions outlaws approaching the Morrígan, since the fulacht themselves are generally found in places that are not associated with settlements; they are commonly called fulacht fiadh, the latter word meaning ‘wild’, possibly referring to the location of them, or else the wild meats (such as deer) that were cooked and then consumed in them. Outlaws were usually young men who left their tuatha to live outside of normal society (and therefore the law and protections that such status within the tuath brought with it), and made their living as hunters and warriors for hire (or brigandage). 

We very much were outside of our normal community for those three days. We were outside of our homes, our families, and the usual titles and jobs that we tend to day to day. For those three days were were just in the “wilds” and had found comfort and solace at the hearth fire of the Great Queen. It is my hope that the other also felt this since of comradery and sanctuary amoungst the trees, the swooping birds, and dirt.

Over the two nights I told the tale of Cu Chulainn and his first meeting with the Morrighan and then his last stand. Probably not my best retelling but it was fun and heartfelt. Ritually I kept things simple and as I do at home just part of the natural weave. Offerings to the Land, Sea, Sky and Ancestors on arrival. Burning juniper on the first fire of the night for protection and blessing. Offerings to the Morrighan every night. Chicken hearts roasted over the open fire and joyfully popped into the mouth. Offered up on the open flames to the Phantom Queen. I sang her songs, and then we that felt called to sang their own inspirations. We asked for wisdom and visions that we might need. We raised our glasses in her glory and honor. We composed a new song to her in the dark by the light of the fire. We enjoyed ourselves, and washed our clay and oil caked hair in cool water. We laughed, we ate, and just lived in her presence.

One dim morning I sat up in my tent to brush my hair and listen to the wind in the trees. Just in time to watch a sleek regal raven swoop down and land on a branch above our camp and sweep a glance over us all before flying off towards the water. It was a moment of peace and I smile remembering it even now.

There are many small lessons that I took away from this trip. It was a subtle expression of what is usually portrayed to be a very catalystic deity. It was the light hearted stories of glory and triumph. It was the comfort of a well cooked meal found even so far from home.  I hold a renewed respect and love for my Queen. The Queen who demands self improvement at all times, who does not flinch at throwing adversity and terror to teach lessons. The Queen who knows, who sees, and who foretells. Is the same Queen who keeps her people fed, who shows that even in the wilds there is a way. There is always a way. Maybe just not the way you were expecting…

I look forward to more such trips. To trying my hand at returning to the original location and the different lessons learned there. But ultimately I am grateful I have the opportunities that I do.

Táin Tuesday: Before the Táin

Well this project took a little longer to get off the ground than anticipated. But now that I have both books in hand and have a few moments to peruse both I see that this isn’t going to be as straight forward as reading chapter by chapter of each one.

For the duration of this project I will be referring to the two versions by the last name of their translators. So, The Táin by Thomas Kinsella will hereforto be known as Kinsella and The Táin by Ciaran Carson will hereafter be known as Carson.

On the initial examination of both books it immediately struck me that the Carson does not begin in the same place at the Kinsella. Whereas Kinsella begins “Before the Táin” and includes the birth and rise of power of Conchobor, the story of the sons of the Uisliu, and the Pangs of Ulster. The Carson begins with the actual cattle raid with Medb and Aililli talking in bed. This is an interesting choice and I will go back and read Carson’s introduction to see if he explains that choice here. Maybe it’s the old stubborn person in me but I feel like leaving out those stories at the beginning leaves out a lot of the context for the cattle raid itself. Though I suppose I only associate them with the Táin because the Kinsella version was the first version I read. But to me they were world builders and set the stage for what was to come. Especially the Pains of Ulster! But then I am rather fond of that story and could be very bias at the moment.

But since I do find those stories to be important and since they are in the Kinsella, I will begin with my take aways and overviews of them and when the two version meet then we will have comparison. Seems fair enough to me.

With that said we being “Before the Táin”

In Kinsella’s notes he attributes this anecdotal text to the ninth century text in the Book of Leinster. I have to say that it does have a different feel and sound to me than some of the other parts of Kinsella, but I wonder how much of that is Kinella’s own voice coming to the translation.

In any event this short little story tells us that the knowledge and story of the Táin itself was once lost or at the least not know in its entirety. And in the fashion of all good important myths and legends had to be quested for and sought out.

Now you may be asking “What can you possibly get out of this tiny little story?”

Well, not a huge amount but some things in my practice are certainly underlined and other things that I have known but not paid as great attention to are brought to the forefront.

In the start of this story it is plan that the “Poets of Ireland” have convened to see if they could all remember the story of the Cattle Raid of Cooley. This illustrates that the poets or bards were very much the history keepers. This is something that my previous research already told me, but it is them all discovering that they only know parts of the story and then deciding it was important to go and find the whole tale again that helps brings few things into focus for me.

First, that people especially educated people, and I will go a step farther and say probably especially educated people who considered themselves or were considered by their community to be spiritual leaders, had A LOT memorized. And by memorized I don’t just mean they  had the cliff notes version that I could tell you off the cuff, I mean it was in verse. Word for word, line for line, verbatim. This doesn’t just apply to Ireland of course, the ancient world in general seems to have this trait. A trait that we of modern times have fallen behind on and something I would like very much to work on. This isn’t to say that I’m going to memorize the Tain line for line, but who knows maybe someday. But I do want to memorize more prayers and songs, reading this helps to solidify my dedication to that cause. Also to you know…write more lol.

Second is a little more…spiritual practice-ish. In the story Muirgen, the son of the great poet teacher who set the challenge before them all, finds the gravestone of Fergus mac Roich (deposed King of Ulster who aids Queen Medb in the Raid) and entreats him in verse to tell the whole tale. A mist comes over Muirgen for three days and three nights he cannot be found. In that time Fergus appears before him (dressed spectacularly I might add) and recites the whole thing.   Thus Muirgen is able to return from the quest victorious and the Tain is returned to Ireland in full.

There is quite a bit in that little story. We see that there is a strong ancestral connection, even to figures of myth and legend. That they are real, that they are able to speak and teach us even after death. That is something that I have always connected with. That tangible thread of spirit that links the living to the dead, and the living to their ancestral and mythical past. It is a huge part of what brought me to the Gaelic Polytheist path. I started out following the threads of these same stories and heroes. Ok maybe it didn’t start here it started over a bit of water with King Arthur and his lot but still it didn’t take long to find my way to Erin.  For me this underlines the already standing practice of honoring and learning from the Beloved Dead. It is something that a lot of CR sites and Gaelic Polytheist talk about. Clearly with good reason.

The other thing that I note here and just sort of put on my List-of-things-to-look-for further in this reading, is the mist. The mist came and then knowledge from the beyond was received. There are several different things I can take away from this. One is that there may be future connection between the mist/fog and the dead/supernatural. My other research and knowledge and just flat-out gut says that this is so, but I will make note of it here and see how often this occurs.

Because then I can start and pay more attention to the mist and fog. I live in an area where it is not a stranger to me. Perhaps next time I look outside and see the mists at my door I will leave out an offering to passing spirits. Or it occurs to me that in times when the mist is coming in may be a good time to try to contact the Beloved Dead more easily. Things to think on, things to see how they can fit in my life.

A different take on the time that Muirgen spent in the mist; is that a mortal was able to gain supernatural information from the beyond. Granted this was lost information that was already part of the mortal world but I don’t consider it too far a leap to see a parallel in this to the times that I go into a state of trance and come back with new inspirations, song and prayers. Now I’m sure for some that might be too great a leap in lines of thought, and that’s fine. But for me I can see how the literary use of mist that hides a person for 3 days and 3 nights could in fact be a way to describe a state of trance. Where the body remains and the mind or soul enters into the mist and beyond. Like I said perhaps too far fetched for some but it makes complete sense to me. Which makes it reassuring and helpful. It’s not something I have talked at length about as it’s hard to articulate, but I find a great connection to the divine in a trance state. Interestingly most of my trance states happen in the shower, where there is a mist in the steam and water. This is something else that is on my list of things to look out for. The connections of the divine and supernatural to water, mist, steam etc.

That my friends are my take-aways from this wee tale. Also a very good example of what the rest of this project will look like. So if this interests you please stick around! Let me know what you glean from these stories. What are the nuggets that leap out to your mind. I’d love to hear!

I’m already working on next weeks so I do hope to have these up every tuesday but you know there may be some flubs here or there lol.

Update: Dusting off the Blog

Clearly things have slowed down to a grinding halt as far as my internet shenanigans. Lots of different factors have attributed to it, life in general being one. The juggling that was required from the end of last  year to the now of this year just did not leave a lot of room for documentation and the time for sitting down in prose contemplation. This coupled with some anxiety issues made it just better all around to take a break from my usual plugged in time. But that is the way of things, and the rhythms of life work so that everything changes and flows.

I find myself now in a place of wanting to return to the basics and refresh myself on research that is the foundation of my practice. Gaelic Polytheism being one of those religions known for it’s “homework”. One of the immense perks that I see to the internet and the pagan and polytheistic community on the internet is being able to better share information and ideas. I don’t know how many times I have gone to the internet for research convinced that someone somewhere must be talking about this, must have some ideas of their own, and sometimes find very little. Because of that feeling I try and make it a point to put out what I can. Which was one of the many reasons I started this blog to begin with. Granted I’m not a great producer of content like some people, but I do hope that what I have to share may find the right person looking for it.

All that wordy preamble is to say that I will be posting my thoughts and “work” here on the blog. There are two larger projects that will be happening that in all likely hood will inspire more work on my part.

First, is that I will be re-reading the Tain (twice over actually). I recently dug out my old copy of The Tain by Thomas Kinsella, and felt inspired to go through reading it while making notes of my observations. The things that I find useful to my practice, or the things that I ponder about spiritually etc. But I also know that there is a translation out there that is more supported in the CR community, that is Ciarán Carson’s version. It seems entirely possible to me that by reading both versions there would be a huge chance of discovery in the comparison. So I went ahead and bought a copy and will by posting reviews and break downs story by story, starting next Tuesday. These posts will always be posted on Tuesday and will go on their own page titled Tain Tuesday.

Second, in my larger public coven work we have started smaller devotional groups amoungst the clergy that have dedications to the same or similar deities. This is another opportunity to further our internal interfaith work of being able to come together as people with different practices and create rituals and works around those deities and energies specifically. One excellent example of this is the Queens of Heaven, a devotional group that is dedicated to the goddesses that hold the title of Queen of Heaven (of whom Temple Witch is apart of) are putting together a zine Crowned by Star and Sky. Not surprising in both of my groups I am the only Gaelic Polytheist (lets be real in the whole coven) but everyone in the group is very much interested in pursuing some Celtic studies. We have decided to start with Barry Cunliffe’s, The Ancient Celts. This will be another re-read for me but the added discourse of discussion with other people will be awesome.  We are going to start in May, and again I will be posting my notes and reviews here.

Then in addition to this I have already started to collect my prayers and songs on their own page. I will continue to post new things there, and will be adding audio files for the songs soon.

That’s the plan thus far. Thank you to everyone who has stuck around in this little corner of the internet.

Sacred Places: Cove Beach

I thought it was about time to spotlight one of my dear and sacred places. What perfect timing as I just made a trip out there with Temple Witch to continue with our Dark Moon offerings practice! As you can see the beach has the glorious appeal of having cliffs as well as the Sea, oh but wait there is more 😉

The beach has a official state name, as it is an official state beach, but that name doesn’t seem to sit with it in my mind very well. Originally I was calling it Crab beach because it is a massive grave-site to countless crabs. Literally thousands of crabs from tiny tiny to big ol’ guys carcasses and shells litter the beach. Temple Witch has taken quite a few of the shells home for her own Sea dealings. But that name didn’t last long as the true star of the this amazingly peaceful and treacherous land emerged.

Before I indulge in that I’ll give you a little background. It was Temple and the Giant that found this beach, and were generous enough to share it. Unlike our other Sea haunt of Muir Beach, Cove Beach seems to be at the same time more peaceful, and more active. It is more peaceful in that most of the humans who visit tend to stay within a 100 feet of the parking lot, leaving the whole other side of the beach empty and gloriously isolated for our feasting and pleasure. More active in that the spirits and animals of the place just seem more…restless. It is not uncommon to watch a huge 100+ flock of seagulls diving and feasting on the crabs when the waves hit just so. Or to watch the Pelicans diving not to far off shore and the Gulls clamoring for scraps.    There are often many dead on the beach, not just crabs, gulls and other birds as well. And the turkey vultures always seem to make at least one pass of the sandy area. The waves themselves hit a little rougher, the undercurrent unforgiving and relentless in its want to pull you out. All and all Cove beach is a bit more wild.

Which suits are needs just fine.

Now the title of this wonderful beach is due to its neolithic-style coves that immediately impress the mind with the majesty and beauty of natures temples. There really are no words to describe the joy at seeing this powerful combination of Land, Sea and Sky. So instead I shall show you.

 

The pictures cannot do it justice. It is primal raw natural energy. It is intoxicating in its simplicity and it’s complexity. It is holy. The first cave (there are several) is accessible at certain times of the year when the tide is farther out. Making it an amazing liminal place, let alone that fact that it is a cove that tapers off into nothing. A true opening to the underground, the other world, the beyond.

There is a lot of evidence of the holiness of these underground spaces. There are huge man made cairns in Ireland and France, neolithic structures many of which are oriented to celestial bodies like the sun and moon. One of the many things that I would like to study more about, the way the sun has a habit of beaming into the cove really speaks to me. Was it finding such a wonder as this that made the Ancients of Ireland decide to build there own? Portals have always been a fascinating feature in the myths and stories, and staring into the darkness at that point when suddenly the crashing waves are muffled, feeling the cold damp and heaviness of rock. I can feel the draw. The pull to somewhere else. Somewhere beyond.

Luckily I have always managed to feel the sun’s call and return back to the glittering passioned sea.

One of these days we will get around to holding a ritual in this cave. Temple has long wanted to honor Persephone in this manner, and I know there are several of my deities who would use such a portal as this to be honored. But till that time, we continue to come and leave our humble offerings.

I to sign my songs and praises of the Gods that I have oathbound and those who I have not. To feel the warmth of the sun and the strength of the rock, to see the darkness of the shadow and size of the sea. Under the massive cliffs I feel the Morrighan’s watchful eye, the challenge and the expectation forever weighing upon me. I thank the Dagda for his continued blessing, and for the guidance to keep hospitality in my heart. I acknowledge my vows to the Great Queen and know that there is much yet I need to do to be worthy. I turn smiling to the jovial sea and sing flirtatious love songs at the wild outsider Manannan Mac Lir. I give thanks to the beach and the land, those small spirits that have opened up this sanctuary to me.

And I feel blessed.

Into the Wilds

Oh internet. When I am right. I am totally right. You remember in my last post where I went on about how I was stuck in a bubble and needed to get out into nature more, that was after all were my spirituality is.

Yeah, totally 100% right on the money.  We went camping, and I am feeling so amazing. It was just so fucking good. It felt so refreshing even tho it really could have gone better lmao. That’s the thing it’s just that good.

The Lumberjack has taken some time off before Labor Day and we decided to go camping for one of the days. We had heard about a remote camping site near-ish by from a friend and decided to take a chance on it (since our regular camping locations are a 4 hr drive away). We settled on one night, since we weren’t sure if we would like the location. They were all hike-in camp spots on a state park. Generally we are not state-park people. The Lumberjack grew up in National Forest locations so the restrictions and “Disney-land” attitude of state parks do not mingle well with his rugged outdoors attitude and hermit nature. But we had heard good things, and figured that everyone would be going camping on Labor Day not before. So we pulled out the old camping gear and hit the road.

Some handy tips for future reference. When a state park says “slightly uphill” they mean UPHILL. No slightly about it.

If there is a long way and a short way, go the long way it is flatter and more enjoyable.

Invest in good hiking shoes.

Overall we were silly and took the “short” “slightly uphill” trail to the camp site going in. Needless to say it was not that much shorter and the uphill was really really hard. Especially since I have only just started working out again and was carrying something like 40lbs. Granted that was nothing compared to the Lumberjack who was carrying the majority of our stuff which was easily 90lbs. We were very out of breath and very hot. BUT I didn’t get woozy at all, which means that my increased hydration has worked, woot!

I think it took us an hour to hike in and set up and then we went straight to the beach. The campsite was only 200 meters from the beach and you could hear the waves pounding. It was glorious. Glorious and empty and amazing and cool and everything we needed.

 

There wasn’t anyone on the beach for as far as the eye could see! In either direction!

 

I’d never experienced anything like it. Despite having just walked 2 miles one of which up hill with crazy weight we then spent the next several hours walking the beach.  Happily, delightedly, without any hint of being too tired.  In fact it was just relaxing and joyful.

In fact that was the big thing about this whole trip. Even tho this was the most exercise I have done in a very very long time, even tho I was lifting more weight than I thought I could, and walking for longer, and just being sweaty and just working. None of it made me feel even an ounce as tired as the stupid video I’d been doing. None of it made me complain and whine. And even tho I know that over the last 48 hours we might have barely gotten our 2,000 calories in a day and the food was no where near as delicious as I usually eat. Neither of us felt like we were starving. We weren’t unsatisfied and scavenging for something else to eat. We were happily eating out sausage and bread. We were happy just to be out and about and in the quiet. Happy to sleep on the hard ground and hear the ocean waves.

I was elated that I managed the physical feats I accomplished without getting light headed, without getting dehydrated, without any issues at all! I was strong enough. I worked hard enough and my reward was witnessing and reveling in this glorious beach.

Immediately I wanted to hold ritual out there lol. You can get a day fire permit for the beach and it’s just all too tempting. A bonfire ritual with the cliffs and the waves and not surrounded by people? Glorious. Of course I still need to figure out who exactly would be willing to trek in with me. But the Lumberjack and I have figured that the best way to go is the long way which is flat and is bike accessible. We’re going to get some bikes so that next time we can bike the gear in. Lot easier and much more practical to get a load of firewood out there by bike. Still not sure who I’d want and would want to go out there, But we’ll see. I know that the Lumberjack and I are going back that is for sure.

Of course it also brought to light some of the mundane things that need getting put to right before such trips can be a regular thing. Mainly the Truck and getting it fixed for good. So we will be focusing on that in the up coming months.

Unfortunately the Lumberjack tripped getting out of the tent that night and sprained his ankle. Which was not great at all. But we had an ace bandage in the kit (always be prepared) and being the tough hard headed person he is we still found our way down to the beach in the dark of night. It was foggy and dense, the waves magnified and much louder now that the sun was long since gone. Standing there on the beach only a few other pin pricks of light appearing and disappearing along the coast line, it felt heavy and ominous. There was no horizon. Just the waves and the nothing.  It was the edge of the world. It had that very real “The End is nigh” feeling to it. I imagine that beach has seen many ends and many beginnings and will see many more yet to come. Because that is the essence of the sea on this planet.

We slept blissfully despite the rocks, and even tho I had a brief odd nightmare in which the Lumberjack had to wake me, it was weirdly peaceful. I don’t remember much about the dream except conversing with a large shadow beast with multiple yellow red eyes peering down through the window of our tent. When I awoke I wasn’t frightened like I usually am. The air wasn’t heavy with energy despite my heart still pumping. It felt very much like it was there and I was there and the Lumberjack pulled me out of there and now we’re here and it can’t be here. I accept that sentence doesn’t make a whole lot of sense but there you have it.

The next morning we woke to the fog rolling over the hill. We lit up the BBQ and made a humble breakfast of oatmeal, coffee, and the remainders of bread and cheese. Merrily chomping and planning our next adventure. A couple of nights, what food to bring, getting the fire permit. Then coffee in hand we walked down to the beach for one last goodbye. Peaceful and enveloped in mist.

I have to take the time to brag about how amazing the Lumberjack is. The man is a machine. He twisted his ankle. It was visible swollen. Yet without a complaint, without an issue he took some painkillers, we packed up the site and then he hiked out the 3 mile trek with the same 90 lbs on his back. Insane. Somehow he is healing perfectly fine. The swelling stopped and is now going down. Doesn’t seem to be in much pain, other than soreness.

I have to say internet. I am happy. I am happy for my love. I am happy that we both enjoy the outdoors. I am happy to be able to go on adventures. I love the feeling of things starting to come together. The feeling of balance.

So over all internet things are starting to look up at least spiritually.

A while ago my main altar got a revamp under some interesting circumstances, which you can check out over on my Tumblr if you so desire.

And the horizon?

Well there is a Dark Moon approaching which means another trip to the sea with the lovely Temple. Then there is the quickly approaching coven Harvest Home retreat. So a lot on the horizon. Stay tuned my lovelies.

Revelations at the Sea

It’s been a while blog. Such is the way of life that things have just gotten complicated and I haven’t felt the inspiration or need to sit down and enter the login information that would bring me here and write, until today. Spiritually and just in general things got hard, and my treading water in the storms that have arisen have demanded all my attention. I won’t go into the nitty gritty details but as this is a spiritual blog for the most part I will talk about the spiritual side of the coin.

About the time that this little blog became dormant the Morrighan had made it known to me that the accordance we had agreed to prior and had put the nebulous stamp of “someday” on  was changed to “Now or Never”. At that point I went into a state of self analysis and processing because frankly that is a hefty thing to have to face. While my choice was fairly self evident to me; do the work, be the person that she expects me to be, or be a worm. I say that and I know that many people may infer some melodrama on my part, or attempts at sensationalism. All I can do is assure that is the actual feelings and breadth of the situation. Although to me it was a non-choice that I was going to accept the path before me, it still took an amount of gearing up and adjusting to the “someday” being “now”.

In the taking up this mantle it meant a pretty heavy overhaul of life style, and doing that has taken up a lot of my time and attention. Which meant that the stand still of spiritual life settled into that standard of layman.

What I mean by that is I said my prayers when I needed to, I made toast on occasion, but otherwise just lived my life. There is nothing wrong with that, just being a believer living in the world. It is the standard I held for a long time, But I am a priestess, more I am a High Priestess, and as such am required to have more of a spiritual life and practice than that. If you know me or read my blog enough you know that this then triggered another session of self analysis. I believe pretty strongly that self analysis is the tool for life fulfillment. It is time to go back and ask myself if being a Priestess is still for me? Is this a service I am still called to render? Why? What does that mean? What are the standards that I am willing to uphold? The list goes on.

While I am still in the process of  turning these questions around, I’m fairly certain that I am still able, willing, and called to serve as priestess. But obviously need to reestablish the lines of what that means, what my personal practice is in need of, and how they can be in accordance with the vows that I have made to the Gods.

Which brings us to yesterday, and the clarifying refreshing insight that the grey stormy sea gave me.

It had been a long time since I was last at the Sea. Temple and mine’s monthly dark moon trips had petered out for the same reasons that everything else had. So when a coven sister of ours revealed that she had not been to the beach in 8 or so years we knew it was time.

When we got there I was immediately hit with how incredibly good it felt to breath. No, really something as remarkably simple as that. The difference between the short shallow constrained breaths that I had been taking ever day and every night of my life recently and the soul satisfying deep all through the belly breathing that the open sky and sea air enticed into me. Even now sitting here in front of my computer far away from the crash of the waves, I remember and my breathing is better.

The sky was a glorious shade of grey. The low hanging clouds and a fine curtain of mist rolling at a steady clip across that wide sky. We had chosen our beach wisely for it’s lack of popularity, hoping for privacy. We were rewarded beautifully. After a long trek across the crab littered beach it was just us, the gulls, crows, pelicans and our various Gods.

We took our time, enjoying the lush spread of food that we had brought along. Savoring each others company and just the freedom of the sun, water and being sans four walls. Then it was time to do what we had come to do. For me that was to make my most humble offerings, with no grand design other than to say “I am still here with you”.  I had brought what felt right. An apple for my love and devotion. Oats for the sustenance that my faith has given me. Olives as the wealth that they bless. Beer for the pact between mortal and Gods as well as the pacts between mortal and mortal. And blood for the cycles and power that is in the world.

I took my small offering further down the beach towards the stoic cliffs and felt compiled to sing. I sang my self blessing, a song I have not sung in a while. I sung loudly into the wind, my sisters each wandering off their own way on their own journeys. My self blessing is a fairly simple song that helps to connect me to the three realms. It usually goes as follows:

By the Sky, I speak truth
By the Sea, I know my beauty
By the Land, I walk my path

By the Sky, I sing your beauty
By the Sea, I know myself
By the Land I am your daughter
All Three are in me

But today that was not the order that the words came out of my mouth. Today the Sea wanted to be the path that I walked, to be the place from whence I was born from and I was happy to oblige. I made my procession around the corner of the cliffs, tide being low enough to allow. Coming face to face with the Ancient Temple sized giant that is the shear cliff side, the magnificent deep cave to the Underworld and the Sea. I will someday bring my camera to photograph the grandness of this holy sacred site, adding it to the entries of my Sacred Places. It is a Temple. On it’s rough sea hewn walls you can see where the sigils and writing would be, you can envision the regal Lion that would guard one side and the benevolent Bull on the other. Offerings in hand I sang even louder turning in time with the song to serenade each of the realms.

Chest bursting with the power and beauty of it all I carefully laid out my offerings, said my prayers and began to make the lightheaded way back to the blanket and my final offering to the Man of the Sea himself.

It is the tradition of these beach trips that our Sea Gods get their own offering and time. Usually it’s a bottle of beer, today it was a bottle of Guinness. The waves were white and rough, pulling in zig zag crosses, easily warning of the deadly undertow that would be all to happy to snatch a wandering soul out to the tepid blue and the isles of the spirits. The water was not as frightening cold as I expected, and though the skies were grey the air was pleasant and humid. Without hesitation or even a hiss of pain at the cold I walked out into those waves. I sang the song of Manannán . Well…it’s not a whole song yet, but it will be, and I sang it none the less. Pouring out the heady foaming mixture into the white foamed surf. Mimic the ebb and pull of the waves to ensure that I would not also get swept away into deeper water, gasping when the inevitable excited waved came up too high and drenched me more thoroughly in thanks for my offerings.   My song soon changed to a different melody. One I had never sang before, but reminded me of many an Irish love song.

I stayed out there much longer than intended. Enjoying the flirtation with the waves, really feeling relaxed. The first time in a long time. At length I joined back up with Temple and we talked of our Sea Gods and our love of them. When our sister had completed her own workings we took her around the corner of the cliffs to see the glory of the cave to the Underworld and the Temple Cliffs. We went into the cave and stood in its dark embrace for a while, taking a few moments to chant to Persephone who much loves the place. Just as I felt the darkness pulling me in, the Sun which was beginning to hang low in the sky hit the perfect angle to shine into the cave. The darkness was lifted and I could hear the deep melodic voice calling me outside. Beckoning me back. I had been gone so long it was too soon to disappear again. In pure elation I turned from the cave to the Sun pouring down through the hazy clouds and ran out to the sea. My heart pounding, a wolf grin on my face, straight into the Sea. It was a home coming.

Sussing ourselves further on the waves, the water, the salt, and just everything, we slowly made our way back to the blanket. It was only then that the chill caught up to me, it was easily pacified with a towel but I was covered in sand and resigned to it happily. Laying on the blanket staring up at the shifting sky Temple and I do as we always do, shared.

I will take this moment to say some things that will embarrass and hopefully please my beautiful friend Temple.  I am so incredibly thankful to have her in my life and as my friend and sister. It is a rare thing in our society these days that you find more than one person to share your soul with. We are told sublimely that there is only one way to have intimacy and that is in a sexual, romantic relationship with one person. It’s just not true, nor do I think the weight and health of an entire soul can be sustained in that way. We are social creatures, I am a social creature, that craves true connection, and various types of love that life can bring. The comforting love of family, the fun love of friends, the supportive love of community, the strong connective love of people who you make the active choice to be your family, as well as the sustenance of the love of a partner who is your friend and lover. So to be blessed in this life time with so much love, and with finding a friend where there is absolute trust is just amazing.  So hear me fully and completely when I say my beautiful, kind, witty, Temple, that I love you.

Now then back to spiritual revelations on the the beach.

Sitting there watching the gulls, and the pelicans, we shared our current spiritual conundrums. How my altar has been veiled for about a month, how it was just feeling like it was trying too hard. Temple being the cleaver one who asks the right probing questions asked me what I meant by the altar “feeling it was trying too hard”? Having to put feeling into words things just started to line up for me. My altar felt like it was trying too hard because it wasn’t being what it wanted to be. It wants to be a stone slab table outside. It wants to be a flat rock in the middle of a standing stone circle. It wants to be a carved wooden statue in the center of an apple orchard. It wants to be at the base of a guardian Oak tree. It wants to be a fire pit and a hole in the ground. But it is a vanity, in a apartment, covered in man made items.

I am an Animist stuck in a bubble.

I don’t know what to do in my practice here in this urban nature. I tend my household spirits, I cleanse etc, but I don’t know what else to do. I know what I would do. On land that I owned. There would be no question of what to do because it would be everywhere all the time. The boundaries of the property would need to be walked and tended to. The harvest would need to be offered. At first bloom there would be rites that needed to happen. When the land was still and dead there would be rites. Dates on a calendar mean nothing to me, I need to be able to feel the breath of the land and just know when things need to be done. I know that this is what I would because this is what I did when we lived out in country. It was a year of watching the milk thistle grow, watching the walnut trees bear fruit, keeping an eye on the wild pigs and coyotes. It was the most spiritually fruitful time of my life. Some people feel connected to the rhythms of the city, the ebb and flow of people, of commerce. Some people feel connected to the nature of the urban forest, and the ivy that grows on the overpass, and the concrete temples that simply are. That connection is not easy for me. Lately I have fallen into staying within the confines of my four walls, cut off from the indicators of the three realms. Cut off from the messages of how to maintain the natural order in my life. I have let myself get surrounded in plastic and concrete things that are not my conductors. My roots veer off to land where the ratio of human to nature is much smaller. Where I don’t have to worry about the neighbors hearing. Where bonfires and bones are just part of the day. I need trees and forest, and hills and garden, not too far from the sea. Flowing water and just land.

All illuminating to my character. All helpful insights into “Yes, the goals you have set for yourself are good ones. Ones that will make you happy.” But in the mean time? I will have land and house, but in 5, 10, 12 years. What to do till then? How to feel connected, how to maintain my spiritual integrity with the reality of my life now. There is still work and opportunities to have here in the city. A balance must be struck.

Plotting with Temple is always helpful, and then plotting with the Lumberjack just even more so. The Lumberjack, my beloved, does not share my beliefs. He is more of an agnostic jedi scientist, but he is incredibly support of my spirituality. Actively supportive, talking things out with him telling him my revelations, he immediately added in methods and ideas to help obtain my goal. Immediately volunteered ways he could be involved in making things happen for me. Truly I am a much loved woman and I am so thankful.

The plans currently are to immediately get the Dark Moon beach trips on the calendar and started again. Getting out meeting Land, Sea and Sky at their nexus. Making offerings, that is how I maintain my own natural order. Doing the work and making monthly petitions for others as part of my Priestess service, more information on that to come. We are going to clear off and spruce up our little back porch. I’m going to get more plants, the Lumberjack is going to make a little altar table space for me out there. Then I’m just going to open the door and spend more time out there. When Temple comes over, we’ll sit out there and talk. I’m just going to go outside more. Walk more. The Lumberjack wants to take me on more camping trips, would like to find a good spot for us and Temple and the Giant to go. He’s going to help make me some items out of branches and wood to bring more of the outside onto my house altar. I’m going to cut it back, and really just put the things that connect to the realms and the Gods on there. Separate my spell work and community work for another place. At our coven’s up coming Harvest Home retreat, I’m going to spend as much time outside as possible. Temple and I are going to recruit someone into drumming for a trance ritual.

And that’s the plan thus far. Not a lot. But it’s a plan. It’s a start, and I feel good about it.

I feel good about the whole day yesterday. I feel emotional and weeping today, but I can still look back on yesterday and feel the energetic buzz. I’m sort of clinging to that at the moment. In the long run I don’t know what others might call my path, if it’s Celtic Polytheism with a Recon bent, if it’s Recon flavored Celtic Revivalism, if its just a woman grasping at feelings of rightness in order to live her life happily. I don’t really care. I’m just going to keep on remembering to breathe.