Some Eclipse Thoughts

 

As Whiteness shows its lethal qualities more and more nakedly (I don’t mean that it hasn’t always been lethal, but it’s now parading undisguised once again) Heathen Chinese has some very interesting thoughts on whiteness as an ‘egregore’.

http://wildhunt.org/2017/07/column-whiteness-is-dead.html

 

As a person who is constructed as white in terms of racial privilege and has long attempted deconstructing that I found it very chewy and insightful. I say this as a person of Irish and British descent, two of whose grandparents immigrated to the US and one other one whose lineage stretches back to a Welsh boy abducted into indentured servitude in the colonial era.

I have long navigated Celtic practices/customs as one path out of some of this, within the limits of being a US citizen brought up with English as mother tongue.

To be blunt I don’t see Celtic anything having anything whatsoever to do with being ‘white’. White is something that was born in the US colonies of Britain and was a result of creating divisions among the peoples of said colonies. There were no white people in Europe before early modern times. No concept. It shouldn’t be that hard to see but I know for many people just can’t get it. Pagans in general need to fight this egregore of whiteness.

 

 

Also, I have some thoughts up on Boann, and the visions from the Well at paganbloggers.

http://paganbloggers.com/finnchuillstrack/2017/08/18/thinking-on-boann/

Some New Publications

I’ve got an essay on filidecht “The Well, the Sea, the Dead: the Poet in Irish Lore” in the latest issue of Air n-Aithesc, Volume 4, Issue 2. http://ciannai2.wixsite.com/air-n-aithesc

And a poem: “Fleet as Deer” for Flidais.

dc54003d171f8a4180106e2136fcd588.jpg

 

I’ve also got some poems in the new Bibliotheca Alexandrina book,

Blood and Roses: A Devotional for Aphrodite and Venus:

“A Grammar for Aphrodite”, “Venus and Felix Roma”, “Eros Unloosed”, and Hermes’ and Aphrodite’s Child”.

 

https://www.amazon.com/Blood-Roses-Devotional-Aphrodite-Venus/dp/1973810816/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1501828200&sr=1-3&keywords=Blood+and+Roses

 

 

 

And a new post over at paganbloggers: Slipping Out Into the Mythic:

http://paganbloggers.com/blog/2017/07/29/slipping-out-into-the-mythic-by-finnchuill/

 

 

 

And happy Lughnasadh–and Imbolc for southern readers!

Sea Whispers

IMG_0487.jpg

When I found this staircase into the sea, I thought what a good place to offer to Manannán. So I came back on St. John’ Eve and ‘paid rent’. The water was lukewarm and murky. Perhaps you can tell.

IMG_0485.jpg

 

A few days before on solstice I did a ritual invoking of Nechtan’s well. I had recently found out (thanks to Brian Walsh) about St. Nechtan’s day, observed on the 19th. I was a day or two late but it was the summer solstice. At a tidal pool walled by black lava on the northern coast forming a large cauldron, I first plucked out litter–even these remote islands have lots of plastic floating in these days. I made offering to the spirits of place, and then offered water to the well, calling on Nechtan. IMG_0479.jpg

An excellent place to chant: am fuaim mara…..

The ocean is wild and fierce here!

IMG_0472.jpg

How the waves laugh

the memory of death lingers

told in the wind

 

the sea giveth

the sea taketh away

it will again

the bells of Lyonnaise

travel through world’s ocean

 

the sound of the sea

resounds in my cochlea

the most beautiful herb

a border

 

the face of the deep

waits in the black

still waters

far below the whale

and the dugong

 

Somewhere a meadow

with read & white mushrooms

speckled, a dappled

horse, waiting

for a rider on

an otherworld isle

 

–will you join me?

she whispers.

 

Written under the ironwoods, June 20th.

In 1946 a tsunami took out a village here.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Passage of Time and a King

 

It’s hard for me to believe that it’s well over a year that I’ve been on this island. But it has. The holiday of King Kamehameha the Great came around again last weekend, and we went back to the little town of Kapa’au for the parade, festival, and to see the leis and offerings at his statue. Cycling. It’s beautiful to see the indigenous Hawaiian spirituality in operation here in this festivity open to all. I really enjoy this holiday–I have found the king helps me to connect to the powers of the island. Here are a few photos.

 

 

Also I have a new post over at paganbloggers about the trap of people thinking their spirituality  is based on genetics, something that’s become unfortunately commonplace.

http://paganbloggers.com/finnchuillstrack/2017/06/10/haplogroup-identities-and-pagans/

May Update

Another post at paganbloggers:

I’m sitting on a bench, happy that the stream that has been dry lately, except for a few diminishing pools, the last hideout for the frogs, has water again.

I met this stream last year, just about a year ago, and since walk along the ‘streamside trail’ frequently. Walking is a druidic practice for me. The land by the stream slowly opens itself to me. Small naio trees form an open grove about me.

http://paganbloggers.com/blog/2017/05/16/the-stream-by-finnchuill/

 

And a few photos form Bealtaine:

FullSizeRender-1FullSizeRenderunnamed

Towers: A Satire

These are times for satires. Here’s mine. Some of you might perceive an echo of a famous prophetic poem here, among other things. In Celtic lore, satires really do have venom.

 

Towers: A Satire

 

it rose obscenely pink

like a plucked turkey neck,

then it rose more,

slathered and viscous, not from

primeval slime but

from a polluted swamp.

 

it rose, its towers flung

upward into the heaven of circuitry

into money’s pure domain, where it was

sly at manipulating the currents.

forgetful of its place of emergence,

wiped clean of all traces of roots,

leaves, humus in a sterilizing chamber,

simultaneously calcified and virtualized it was.

 

it turned itself into sign

in the eddies of the monetary,

yet, its towers slipped having

lost their foundation, the muck and mire

from which they had emerged,

the fecund perennial glut and rut

of hordes of teeming soil, oblivious

it was to the seismic twisting of restless serpents,

slipping their fetters far beneath,

the lands and waters

growing ever more active.

rapturous with its penetration

of heaven, the phallic thing

now orange and lurid, smirked,

unaware of the scythed ones,

the raven-clawed ones, and

the red-mouthed ones rising in

fury, their cries echoed

by the shadows of the dead—shrieks

shivering the forgotten foundations

of the network of fruiting bodies

now turned putrid, purple flecked,

and blackening with rot.

 

the millennium tilted as

they threw down

sheets of blood, and

cursed with mists of confusion,

their cups of blood emptied.

the scythed ones

with a flick of wrists unseen

slice the lurid orange things.

 

falling back,

falling back

falling down

down down

 

the hitherto weightless circuits

drift down in ashy precipitate,

mad mangled metal work

and tarantellas of glass.

against the tower

a fortress wall of storm

strong as white steel glowers

over this spectacle.

the unleashed torrents lash

a bare fortress now,

crumbling, naked, defenses failing—

the high places that cannot endure

before the packs of wolves, the terrible storm birds,

the outlaws of the woods, the

reivers, the revenants, the enchanters.

 

a ghastly scene lit by

artillery of lightning reveals

corpses bobbing in the wash.

as floodtide washes away the wreck

a rainbow breaks and I see

an old lady with a basket of mushrooms grinning,

making her way through the salvage.

 

 

 

Paganbloggers post & Berkeley

I’m doing some blogging over on the new paganbloggers portal. Check it out.

http://paganbloggers.com/blog/2017/04/15/werewolves-gnosis-decolonization-by-finnchuill/

Don’t worry, I will keep this blog going too.

 

In other news I am following the alt-right rally and counter-protest in the civic center park in downtown Berkeley. I once lived catty-corner to the park. I used to make offerings to the spirits there and the magnificent poplar and other trees (there are redwoods, holly, and magnolias) there around the beautiful tiled fountain (no water) made by children with peace messages. A park loved by the local crows too. This is a place with a long history of radical politics (it’s often called Provo park by locals) and also long the site of the Pagan fair. It’s no accident that the vile white supremacists of the alt-right would choose this location to invade. I’m glad to hear many counter-protestors turned out.

This is a place that has been imbued with much magic over the years. Let’s never forget magic is a weapon of liberation.