Fires and more fires, blights, an ogam reading in a storm and more….thoughts over at paganbloggers:
Fires and more fires, blights, an ogam reading in a storm and more….thoughts over at paganbloggers:
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’.
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.
I meant to post this a couple weeks ago but came down with a nasty cold. But here are my impressionistic PantheaCon thoughts.
By turns revivifying, draining, overwhelming, recharging, hope giving, and ever so American in its hugeness PantheaCon charged up in the Doubletree Hotel owned by the Hilton hotel chain, which sits in the flood plain of the Guadalupe river, though from the hotel you would never know it flows nearby. Perhaps the incongruence and contradictions are appropriate—earth-revering pagans and corporate America, the rush of the adjacent freeways, the bubble of other worlds seeping from portals within a middle class generic hotel. Rhyd Wildermuth spoke on witches in a crumbling empire, on how empire is lodged everywhere in our mind/bodies. Walking near the hotel and to the Motel 6 where I spent the last nights of the conference (don’t even ask) on avenues allergic to pedestrians, I found a convocation of crows had gathered around the building; to me a good sign of protection, though for others it might mean something menacing (omens are relative and directed). I felt more of an exhausted empire myself in the landscape of onramps and tech ‘campuses’ and Denny’s. Here is America hyped and amped up, determined to race along until the fuel tank is empty, circuits of pointless rushes, oblivious to surroundings, as long as the ear buds are in and the smartphone is working.
In a smallish hotel room has been transformed into a temple. The entire room is lined with marvelous shrines, images of many deities, and pervaded with presences. Rhythmic song and people swaying, this is a place of transport in this very same mundane hotel, but here we are in another world; another culture is in birthed action. A place of Wide Branches and Deep Roots.
I speak one evening about the sea and filidecht to a surprisingly large group of attendees, we explore the cauldron of poesy. Beforehand I had gone outside into the pouring rain which purified me, and the otherworld lapped around my feet, momentarily took my glasses, and said it’s time to turn to that inward vision now.
A few days later I watched a construction site near the Motel 6 that had turned into a lake, with a small mound rising from the center by a construction crane. The floods rise in any landscape, no matter how postindustrial and seemingly manmade*. The mounds are to be found in all countries, with their portals to the dead. The dead are invited in, to walk the concourses, as we open more doorways into the impossible futures full of beauty and joy. At a marvelous rite led by Welsh Druid Kristopher Hughes, he said that a real spiritual path takes anxiety and transforms it into joy.
To turn the Cauldron of Motion, our sorrows and joys move the cauldron, and help to move it upright due to our own efforts of a fully lived life. I cried tears of blocked sorrow, saw the sky bright eyes of a goddess looking down, and let go into the tide. This is a time to both delve deep and activate on the surface. Cauldrons were abrewing, spells woven, blessing poured forth over the long weekend. My body was exhausted by over 6000 miles of travel, my soul revivified, shards of empire pulled out of flesh.
* Just a few days before the start of the ‘Con the town of Oroville to the north was evacuated due to the waters building up and threatening the Oroville dam, one of the world’s largest such structures. A crater formed in the spillway and the emergency spillway was seriously eroded.
Here are some useful resources.
Breatnach, Liam. “The Caldron of Poesy”. Eriu 32. 1981.
Calder, George. Auraicept na n-Eces: the Scholar’s Primer.https://archive.org/details/auraiceptnancess00calder
Carey, John. “The Waters of Vision and the Gods of Skill”. Art and the Sacred Kairos and the Dallas Institute for Humanities and Culture. 23 March, 1991. Santa Fe.
Carney, James. Medieval Irish Lyrics with The Irish Bardic Poet.
Chadwick, Nora. Poetry and Prophecy. Good worldwide survey form 1952 (but does contain some racist/colonialist attitudes prevalent in that era).
—, Chadwick. “Imbas forosnai”. Scottish Gaelic Studies, 1935.
Corkery, Daniel. The Hidden Ireland.
Ford, Patrick. “The Blind, the Dumb, and the Ugly”. Cambridge Medieval Celtic Studies 19.
Guyonvarc’h, Christian J. The Making of a Druid: The Hidden Teachings from The Colloquy of Two Sages (the text with annotations).
Heaney, Seamus. Sweeney Astray: A Version from the Irish. Irish poet’s translation of Suibhne Geilt, the poetry of “mad Sweeney’, a glimpse into the world of a geilt, outsider poet living in the woods.
Henry, P. L. “The Caldron of Poesy”. Studia Celtica 14/15. 1979/80.
Jones, Mary. Jones Celtic Encyclopedia. 1998-2015. Web.
Laurie, Erynn Rowan. The Well of Five Streams (contains her Cauldron of Poesy article).
Minahane, John. The Christian Druids: on the filid or philosopher-poets of Ireland.
Nagy, Nagy, Joseph Falaky. The Wisdom of the Outlaw: The Boyhood Deeds of Finn in Gaelic Narrative Tradition. Berkeley and Los Angeles: U of California Press, 1985. The Fenian outsider warriors were poets too.
Ó hÓgáin, Dáithí The Sacred Isle. A crucial book for understanding pre-Christian practices and believes in Ireland by an Irish Celticist.
Ó hÓgáin, Dáithí. Myth, Legend and Romance: An Encyclopaedia of Irish Folk Tradition. London: Ryan, 1990.
Ó Tuathail, Sean. The Excellence of Ancient Word: Druid Rhetorics from Ancient Irish Tales. Idiosyncratic modern practitioner’s take is worth a read.
Patterson, Nerys. Cattle Lords and Clansmen: The Social Structure of Early Ireland. The historical background.
Skelton, Robin. Samhain and other poems in Irish Metres of the Eighth to the Sixteenth Centuries. Contains an appendix with the different traditional meters.
Thompson, Christopher Scott. A God Who Makes Fire: the Bardic Mysticism of Amergin. A recommended practitioner’s handbook.
It’s been quiet around here (it seems with the gloom of the US political situation, prepping for a new job, and my mom being hospitalized my ability to write has been stopped up), but before the newness of the year is gone I want to spill out a few words here. The old year sputtered out with an occasional remaining fit of coughing and spewing. A new one has come in with the energy of a careening freight train, will the rails hold, or if not what might be down there at the end of the line? Some will say years are arbitrary but they are astronomical realities. Sure, it’s a cultural thing where they’re said to start and to end and begin again but we are symbolic animals and psyche is as real as soma.
For many in the northern hemisphere it’s winter, but here in the tropics day and night are the antinomies, but the nights have at least cooled off. At the end of the year I had the opportunity to journey up to a high summit (just under 14,000 feet) where winter is reigning. Plenty of snow on the amazing mountain of Maunakea. The effects of high altitude, of low oxygen can easily induce light trance-like states, and the otherworld can more easily communicate with this one at these heights, I have found. Whether via literal heights or those we can reach in our imagination, in “interesting times” it is important to get above the clouds from time to time, above the light pollution of the media (including social media). Of course, one can go underneath too, but that is a different journey.
I do have a few announcements to make:
I will be at PantheaCon in San Jose in February and presenting a class on filidecht practice on Feb. 17th, “Cauldron Work: The Cauldron of Poesy” (9PM). Here’s from the program:
The Three Cauldrons are discussed in the medieval Irish text: “The Cauldron of Poesy”, attributed to the mythical vision poet (fili) Amergin. We will talk about the nature of the whirlpool-like cauldrons and their turning in this wisdom tradition, the importance of our emotions in this tradition (which can turn the cauldrons), and techniques to scan for personal knowledge. To turn the cauldron of wisdom upright, even if momentarily, brings mystical insight. We will discuss the key technique of incubation as well; poetry, art, song, knowledge, wisdom are fruit of this work.
The devotional book The Dark Ones, published late last year by Neosalexandria has my poem for the Cailleach, along with a lot of familiar voices. Ordering info here:
The new issue of A Beautiful Resistance is available for pre-order and will be out next month. I have an essay there about the left-hand sacred, an important understanding of the sacred earlier developed by Emile Durkheim, Marcel Mauss and Georges Bataille and very relevant for 21st century pagans/polytheists. https://godsandradicals.org/2017/01/01/left-sacred-presale/
Here’s a lovely meme with a quote from the essay made by Rhyd Wildermuth:
Finally, a quote from an inspiring essay by William Hawes:
“Each of us must find the strength to light their own flame, find their own inner strength and sacred fire, and use their passion and creativity to change the world. By using our collective brilliance, a new space could be opened up for a new kind of Earth. Reviving our communities one-by-one gives us our only chance to confront and defeat the many tentacle monster of international capitalism and US imperialism. There is an alternative: but you won’t find it by watching your TV, or playing on your smartphone.”
Imbolc is coming! May Brigid’s flame inspire us.
If you are interested in Celtic Reconstructionist paths, a Gaelic Polytheist or interested in the Irish/Scottish outsider warrior paths, and you don’t know the work of Saigh Kym Lambert, you should. She was the first to use the term Celtic Reconstructionism in a religious sense in print and has long been devoted to the Irish War Goddesses, and has written the best of the pagan scholarship on the Morrigan (Check out some of her articles on Air-N-Aithesc). Saigh has a pack of canines and a small herd of horses (some rescued) on a mountain homestead. Animal health care, just as human, can become overwhelmingly expensive and she is currently running a fundraiser with various interesting items, and an offer for vouchers for future workshops in fennidecht (the Gaelic outsider warrior tradition, think Fionn MacChumhaill, and Scathach). Info about what these workshops would entail can be found here: http://www.dunsgathan.net/feannog/workshops.html
Here’s a link for the fundraiser itself.
So please help, if you are able to do so.
And on just a general note, we really need to be building community in these unstable times.
The winds are blowing hard. Last night they howled and moaned, things clattered and knocked about outside. A light rain falls. A storm is expected tomorrow. It seems to reflect things happening far away in the national ‘center’. I think of David Abram’s intuiting of the wind as spirit. This has been a difficult year on a personal level. When you have a local focus and animistic practice big moves, changes of geography and ecology are painful. At times I have been nearly overwhelmed with what the French call mal du pays (yes, the French have a much better word for what English makes do with homesickness; readers of Haruki Murakami, that animist novelist, will recognize this term, and know Lizt has a musical piece by this name). Local spirits left behind. Meeting new ones, but that takes time.
Things are shifting, realignments occurring on the macro-level. This is happening within our pagan/polytheist communities as well. Unpleasant things have come to light this year, things that weren’t exactly invisible before, but like seeing peoples’ masks slip, and seeing such ugliness revealed.
Rootedness is good for animism, good for learning ecological ways. But uprooting can be needed, so a god tells me. And there are much greater ones, much greater uprootings. I received rebuke (it hurt), my complaints getting in the way of doing the work. The storm warning says trees will be downed. Be prepared. Stock up on water, batteries…
A god shows me we must make otherworld sanctuaries, places not of this world. With our gods-given gift of imagination we co-create these places. They will be needed.
The winds blow harder. I am much more aware of the sky here. The stars. Much of my practice has long been deeply earth-focused (and still is) but the sky is becoming more prominent. There are times for flight. I receive lessons. I watch the birds, especially the white ones. At times it is necessary to fly high above the cloud layers, above the storms to high mountain summits, to the Cities of Knowledge, to the abodes that shine with the light of the Shining Ones.
We need to unleash the imbas, the awen, the intuitive flows. I touch the odd vitreous substance of the castle walls. There are others here too, others heeding have flown here.
I went up on the mountain, almost to the summit. Iron-red and black cinder all about. I was light headed, this one was this-worldly but not really, it all intersects, the heavens and the earth. Some build bridges with science, some with poetry. I was oxygen deprived, I was drunk, the light was tangible. Poetry flit in the thin air, the god wanted me to go there for a long time, I could see for two hundred miles. It’s necessary at times to go high above the cloud layers above the storms to high summits.
Musings from a Germanic polytheistic Pagan with Roman inclinations
Exploring Myself and the Northern Shaman Path
poetry, Celtia, mythology
The official website of The Koinon
Diasporic Chinese Polytheism
Children of Brighid
A Poet's Life in Italy
Spirit-Work & Devotional Polytheism
Provocative Pagan Philosophy