New videos...

Since we released a bunch of videos earlier this month, which took us up to Midsummer in the festival year, Kathryn and I have been working hard on the next batch so we can get them out in time for Lùnastal.

Picking up where we left off, then, now have a new video for Lùnastal (Lúnasa):

And then tying in with that we have a video on the Prophecy of the Morrígan - Badb's Prayer for Peace:

Following on from that, we get to Là Fhèill Mìcheil, which roughly coincides with the autumnal equinox:

As with the other videos, Lúnasa and Là Fhèill Mìcheil are intended to be a short introduction to the festivals, giving an overview of the historical roots, lore, and practices associated with them. Là Fhèill Mìcheil is primarily celebrated in Scotland, but we also touch on the broader points of the significance of the solstices and equinoxes in Gaelic belief, as well as the customs that are observed in some parts of Ireland at this time. For more information on the festival, you can always take a look at the article I've done on Tairis (link to the archive, because the site is still down - hopefully not for much longer...).

The music we've chosen for the Lúnasa are two different versions of a traditional reaping song, called Buain a' Choirce (lyrics and translation are at the link). The first version, by Martyn Bennett, is a fusion of a more modern musical arrangement, with the song itself sung in the traditional style by his mother, the Scottish folklorist Margaret Bennett, and the rhythm track uses a sample of an old 1920s threshing machine. The second version, by Síleas, is a more traditional rendition over all.

The second video, on Badb's prayer for peace, is intended to tie in with Lúnasa, as well as Samhain, as we explain in the announcement we released over on Gaol Naofa. Lúnasa is the one time of the year where peace is an essential condition of the celebrations and gatherings that are held in honour of Taillte, as Lugh instituted the festival in her memory. We've chosen this particular prayer, as sung by the Morrígan from Cath Maige Tuired, because the tale has many elements that fit in with what Lúnasa is all about, as well as Samhain. Historically, a failure to uphold the peace at Lúnasa would have risked being thrown out of your túath, which was a serious consequence in a time when your legal rights were heavily tied in with your status and standing amongst your people. Without a túath you effectively had no legal rights, making you fair game, basically. Given the seriousness of all this, it's something that we, as Gaelic Polytheists, should think about too.

More videos are still to come, at some point. All that remains to say is another big thank you to everyone who's helped us produce the videos, from those of you who've helped us find music we can use, given us feedback and general support, and those of you who've very generously given us permission to use your photos. In particular, I'd like to thank Ali Isaac for allowing us to use her photo of Taillte's assembly site in our Lúnasa video. Mòran taing!

The end is nigh!

So as usual I have all of these plans for things to do and be all spirichual, and two snottery children hacking up chunky stuff and complaining about their ears come along and pretty much scupper all of that. Which was fun.

Not surprisingly, there's not much been done on the whole sprucing and preparing front, then. As yet. In fact, I haven't even had the chance to get any obligatory presents for their teachers or friends for their last day of school today. Rosie was back at school yesterday (just in time for her Nativity play, and to meet Santa; but not the real one, Rosie wisely informed me. He was clearly a fake Santa) and Tom's gone back in for the last day today, so I should be able to do a little bit of organising today. Thankfully - as yet - whatever horrors the kids were subjected to haven't manifested in their snottery glory in myself. But all in all we've had a wee celebration for the season, which coincides with the end of term for the kids, so it's doubly festive for them. From now until Tuesday they'll be pretty much bouncing off the walls and strewing the front room in Lego in anticipation. Yay.

In the meantime, with the kids not having much of an appetite lately and a shitload of buttermilk about to go off in the fridge, I decided it was as good a time as any to try some drop scones (or Scotch pancakes, if you will) last night. I've never had much luck with them, but having an old recipe to hand that I've not tried before, I figured it was worth a go; the recipes using milk just never seem to work for me. But these:

Oh yes. These came out quite nicely (cooking-wise I consider this a personal triumph; drop scones have been my final frontier, as it were). Mr Seren was out so it was just the kids and me for our impromptu Midwinter eve feast, with a choice banana, honey and apple (a pretence at being healthy); I was initially going to do a proper dinner but the recipe left me with so much batter I figured I might as well make the pancakes the main course. The kids were extremely impressed, and have declared that we should have them for dinner at every festival; I suggested they shouldn't count on it, though. I saved some for breakfast this morning, and set some aside to put out as offerings too, just as the day was dawning (and the world really wasn't ending, unsurprisingly).

I'm not sure what the weather's like in Ireland but if it's anything like here then once again the sunrise at Newgrange will have been dull and cloudy. There's still time for the cloud coverage to clear for the sunset alignment at Maes Howe, though, but the pictures from there so far aren't looking too hopeful on that at the moment. Maybe next year?

If you're feeling festive and looking for inspiration, I've put up an Old Irish poem for midwinter over on Tairis Tales, and Treasa has a great post on things for Gaelic Polytheists to do, and discussing the relevance of the festival to a Gaelic focus. Kathryn points to the Morrígan's (or Badb's) prophecy, which mentions Newgrange (or Brú na Bóinne), and which we recently published in our prayer article, while Nefaeria has posted a run-down of some things too, including a video on mumming and guising that I haven't had a chance to watch yet, but looks good.

Whatever you're up to, have a good one!

Best laid plans and all that...

After all my planning ahead and idle musing on things a few weeks back - and then feeling all smug and organised - Samhainn rolls around and we here in our corner of the universe celebrate it with the delightful aftermath of Norovirus.

Which was nice.

If ever there's a sign that winter's here - you know, aside from the frost and snow we've had - the dreaded Great Affliction is pretty much a dead giveaway, I suppose. So things were a little more scaled back than planned, although all of the important stuff got done, fun was nonetheless had, and I think it was - all in all - a success.

The downside of being a parent is that your kids will inevitably bring varying kinds of snot and bugs home from school so you get to live it all vicariously through one child and then another before you get to experience the delights first hand (my child-free friends are grinning smugly at me through the internet, I can feel it...). By the time it comes around at least you know what to expect, I suppose. On the plus side, by the time the eve of Samhainn rolled around we were all over the worst of it and we were all feeling just a little tired and delicate rather than properly unwell, so at least we were able to celebrate. The feasting element of the proceedings were not something I was particularly keen on, though; nor was Mr Seren. But for some reason, as if my own body was trying to tell me something, I'd had a real craving for gingerbread at the weekend so I'd done some festive biscuits:

And that was all I could really stomach on the eve itself; the ginger helped settle any rumblings quite nicely. I was originally going to let the kids decorate them but Rosie couldn't stomach it and Tom only decided to help out once I'd done most of them. He was very proud of his efforts, though. "The red's blood, mum," he said helpfully. I'd baked a whole load of cake with the intention of sculpting a festive cake, too, but that just wasn't going to happen in the end - so much for great ideas.

But the morning before the big evening rolled around, the kids came bouncing in excitedly to wake me up so they could have breakfast and get ready for the Hallowe'en parade at school. Tom was going to go as Optimus Prime, but after wearing the costume to the Hallowe'en disco the week before and finding it way too small he opted for his old Power Ranger costume instead. Rosie went as "Bat Cat," as planned. She wanted some face paints to complete the look so I did what I could there, with the hasty help of Google that morning:

So long as she had whiskers she didn't really care, so she was very pleased with her look in the end. I managed to drag myself along to the parade later that morning to cheer them on, and the school was awash with anticipation. And also Norovirus, probably. 

There's nothing like a good bout of lurgy to motivate a thorough housecleaning session, is there? So the house was shipshape and in good order for the evening festivities, and I got some decorations up at least, in between a nap or two during the day. While we did get round to making some more decorations during the half-term holiday we haven't done a seasonal mural yet; our Great Affliction scuppered any plans to do it at the weekend, along with a Hallowe'en party Tom was invited to and the party games I'd had planned.

My mother-in-law had got us a large pumpkin for carving (they were on special offer so she got us one spare), so I'd bought two smaller ones for cooking - in the comments of my previous planning post Judith suggested a bread and butter pudding baked in a pumpkin that sounded delicious, and I was going to give that a go until the Great Affliction happened. The other small one was intended for soup and another lantern if I could manage to get the flesh out without having to cut it up. By Samhainn eve I'd already scooped out one of the small pumpkins so I could use the flesh for soup, which I'd done at the weekend while the kids were ill (and my husband promptly ate the whole lot before anyone else got some, barring a small mug I'd had, to see how it was). By Wednesday, although I had at least one pumpkin ready to carve I wasn't convinced I could stomach doing even that one. Mr Seren chipped in and carved the big one into a Stormtrooper's helmet (ish), though, so I knew we'd have at least one. But when I picked the kids up from school the fresh air did me good and I knew I'd have to keep them occupied until they could could go out guising, so they were set with the task of designing a lantern each. The flesh from the second smaller pumpkin went to another batch of soup, instead of pudding. For that we made do with cake (or the kids did, anyway).

I usually carve the lanterns the night before Samhainn, as a way of kicking off celebrations. That night I usually devote to the ancestors in particular, while I carve and make some opening offerings. But given the delicate nature of my condition that evening, carving was out of the question then. I didn't have the opportunity to get any tumshies at all so this year there were no turnip lanterns - that was a real shame, but while I wasn't convinced I'd manage the pumpkins, to begin with, I knew there was no way my nose/stomach would stretch to accommodate the stench of turnip. But what we ended up with still did the job nicely:

Tom designed the cross-eyed one, and Rosie decided the scariest thing she could think of was a spider after flicking through Google and being told that no, butterflies weren't scary and E.T. was way beyond anything I can manage. I royally ballsed up the legs on hers, but I think Tom's came out pretty good.  Young sir was very pleased with it, anyway, and we had fun talking about all the scary things that would be afoot that night as they got creative.

By the time the carving was done it was time to do dinner - I did stovies, since the soup needed a bit longer to cook (we had that the next day). And then we lit the lanterns and put them in the windows at the front of the house to let the guisers know that they were welcome, with great ceremony and excitment. Mr Seren did some games and dancing with the kids while I was doing the fiddly bits of carving and then dinner, but we just didn't have time for party games proper in the end. Seeing as many of the games are food-based, that was probably for the best! But after dinner the kids did go out guising and that's really all they wanted to do, so as far as they were concerned it was the best Samhainn EVAR. For me, though, it's another year without having tried treacle scones. A sad Gaelic Polytheist am I.

While Mr Seren was out with the kids, I had the opportunity to get my ritual on. The guisers were very thoughtful and managed to space their visits out between my opening offerings, then my prayers and devotions, saining and putting up some rowan and so on. It was a little piecemeal in some respects, but none the worse for that.

For once I could sain the kids' room properly without disturbing them - I usually have to do it after they've gone to bed, so I had some luxury to be more thorough there and give the room a good sprinkle. This time, seeing as no one was in the house, I tried burning some juniper, too - I couldn't do too much to get a good smoke going and fill the house, but I have to say the bit of smoke I did generate certainly has a powerful quality to it.

Tom was the first to come back, dashing in to go to the loo (and having to do battle with his costume first). Mr Seren and Rosie arrived not long after, Rosie sporting the manic grin of the happily E-numbered and well-sugared. They had been very successful on their tour of the street, with lots of generous treats from neighbours - it was a fairly quiet night compared to some years previous, but I know a lot of the kids' classmates had also been laid low by the bug that we'd had, too, so like us I think folks had a bit more to hand out to those that did turn up. Mr Seren said the kids did well with their entertaining; at the first couple of houses they were pretty much bricking it and Rosie didn't get much further than the first couple of lines from Twinkle Twinkle Chocolate Bar before trailing off into the Shy Mumble, but by the fifth house or so Tom had already fired into a festive cupcake and had to be held back by Mr Seren before he ended up spraying crumbs over whoever answered the door while Tom tried to do his joke through a mouthful of cake. I'd thought about going out with them, but I'd had such a busy day already I didn't want to over do things - my back is doing a whole lot better but I'm still being a little cautious.

After the kids were back we all gathered in the kitchen to share out the sweets (and a good number of apples and nuts, too), then it was time for homework while the last of the guisers knocked at the door, and then it was bedtime. For once, I didn't have to take the lanterns away from the window because the sweets had run out.

Seeing as I'd already done my ritualling before the kids went to bed I had the opportunity to spend a quiet, candle-lit evening in contemplation and just relaxing. Of course for Samhainn there's a big focus on the ancestors and I had a candle up in the window and invited them to come for a visit if they so wished. I had food out for them, and made offerings to them, and I spoke to them and drank a toast to their memory. And the same to the spirits too, with offerings of peace.

I made offerings to the Cailleach and an owl (the cailleach-oidhche in Gàidhlig) struck up a thoughtful song in the woods nearby. I made offerings to my ancestral deities and a crow cawed off in the distance. I thought back on the year and gave thanks for all the good things that have happened, and thought about the maybe not so good things too. I prayed for blessings, for my family and friends. And I looked up at the stars and out into the night and I listened for a while, and breathed in the cold, slightly smokey air, and that night I slept like the dead, and if I dreamed I've no idea what it was.

At the weekend we went to the beach and I made my offerings to the river and the sea. On Monday night - Bonfire Night, here - the fireworks filled the sky, and as the air was heavy with smoke I chopped up the pumpkin lanterns and buried pieces of them at four points around the outside of the house. I can't beat the bounds around the house with a flaming torch but I can reinforce the boundaries in my own way. We didn't manage to get to a fireworks show (they were at the weekend and we didn't realise, but the local event was Disney-themed anyway, so it was probably for the best - we don't do Disney in this house), but one of our neighbours always has a display in his back garden so the kids didn't miss out. Poor Mungo practically had a nervous breakdown, though, wrapped in a towel and cowering beneath Mr Seren's desk. Our older dog doesn't mind them (plus he's basically deaf now) but Mungo can't stand fireworks.

So that was Samhainn. Not quite how I'd planned but it all came together in the end, I think.

Hogmanay

It seems I kind of forgot to post about Hogmanay...


There's no denying I've had a lot of things going on in the past year that I'm glad to see the back of, if at all possible, so I was quite keen on celebrating Hogmanay. To me it's about renewal, as much as it's a farewell, and I suppose you might say I'm deeply superstitious about some things. Starting the New Year is one of them: I'd like to start on a positive note in the hopes that it carries through for the year, at the least.

So on the 31st, as the bells approached, Mr Seren and I were together, waiting for the bells. We rang them in with BBC Alba, drank a toast and did the usual, and then I ran outside to see the fireworks. I had some offerings to put out too, so it was good timing, and evidently all the noise had disturbed a bird or two because a crow flew down and perched on the fence right in front of me - some coincidence, I'd say. We looked at each other for a moment, and there was one of those pregnant pauses before the moment broke. It felt like Badb was making herself known and I wondered what that meant (and I've been pondering since). I stayed outside for a bit, but nothing else happened.

I did my devotions, sained the house and everyone in it, and eventually went to bed. I couldn't get comfy though, I had a cold coming on and I was achy and still hyperactive from everything. In the end I got up, without having had more than an hour's broken sleep, and pottered about the house, meditated, and eventually saw the sunrise in. Mr Seren lasted until about 3am - he was trying to stay up too, like he usually does, but he was just too tired and we were going over to the in-laws the next day anyway, so he needed to be fit to drive.

I was hoping to perform the frìth again, but I was in two minds about it. On the one hand I felt that my crow-sighting was a sign enough, but on the other hand I wanted to do it 'properly'. The kids were up before the sun was, though, so in spite of my best efforts it just didn't work. Unless you count being interrupted by Rosie because she wanted help putting her fairy wings on (in which case...fuck). I swear, those things breed in this house. I did see the moon setting, though, which made a nice symmetry to how I started my celebrations the night before - seeing the moon rise, and then the partial eclipse. But all in all it wasn't so much portentous - or as portentous - as just rounding things off a bit.

I managed to grab a catnap or two before we went to the in-laws, with some freshly made Yethol bannocks as a first-footing gift, and we had the obligatory steak pie, lots of chat about the impending wedding, and (for the kids at least) far too many sweeties. It was good fun, even though I was absolutely knackered by the end of it all. Rosie had to have a reassurring cuddle when Doctor Who started regenerating, it was all a bit confusing for her (not least because we were shouting at the TV because it was so overblown...GET ON WITH IT!!!!).

Anyway, seeing as my mother-in-law gave me a surprise windfall, I've spent most of it on some new clothes (that fit, yay!) and so on, but I also allowed myself a little splurge on some books. I got a Gaelic book to help me with my studies, and a book on Irish Food and Folklore (which sounded good, but is mostly disappointing. I tried the recipe for an Irish Curd Cheesecake and as I was working through the instructions, realised the author had neglected to mention when the cottage cheese was supposed to be added. It's the main bloody ingredient! Not hard to figure out, though, but shoddy work. The folklore was thoroughly lacking, superficial, and poorly researched for the most part, too). I also got two books on Scottish fairies - academic books, so I was bit more confident that they'd be good and meaty, and happily it seems I'm right. The first is Scottish Fairy Belief by Lizanne Henderson and Edward Cowan, which is kind of an introduction to the subject, and the second is Fantastical Imaginations: The Supernatural in Scottish History and Culture by Lizanne Henderson (edited by, anyway), which is a collection of essays on the subject. I'm nearly finished with the first and was pleased to find something that comes with good timing:

"The most interesting name of all, used to specifically denote the queen of the fairies, is NicNiven or Neven, which appears to derive from Neamhain, one of the Gaelic and Irish war furies better known as Badb. The matter is complex since Neamhain and Badb may represent different aspects of the same persona, but badhb in some Irish dialects is the word for the supernatural death messenger more familiarly known in Ireland and Scotland as the banshee, bean-sithe literally 'fairy-woman' in Gaelic. Badhb also means a hoodie-crow and carries the sense of 'deadly' or 'ill-fated'; it can also translate as 'witch', which is apposite since Scotland NicNiven was also queen of the witches. This intriguing name therefore, originated in the Gàidhealtachd whence it was imported into the Lowlands and even found its way to Shetland. W. B. Yeats was therefore incorrect when he stated that 'the gentle fairy presences' which haunted the imagination of his countrymen became 'formidable and evil as soon as they were transferred to Scottish soil', since this truly terrifying death messenger seems to be shared by both Ireland and Scotland while her associations give some indication of how the Scots regarded the fairy queen."

So lots for me to ponder, I think. I have to say, I'm really enjoying Scottish Fairy Belief, which is always happy-making.

Archive: Nitpicking, CR-style (2)

It's that time of year again...More spiritual ponderings...

Labels are a tricky thing. Sometimes they can be as liberating as they can be confining. It's good to be able to say you're something; this is where I belong, this is where I am; to be able to say you have a home, a family that you share things with and lean on when needed; be inspired by or receive a timely boot up the arse as necessary.

But generally these labels come with responsibilities. Am I doing it right? Does the label still belong? Because there's not much point clinging to a label that no longer fits. It's kinda like weariing a pair of jeans you really really like the look of even though they don't suit you and there's a serious amount of muffin top going on. It's just not attractive. And if you're not honest with yourself and others, then you're not being honourable, and how can you do honour to the gods if it's based on a lie? Because ultimately, doing the right thing is what counts; finding truth.

So then sometimes, with wanting to live up to those labels you've set upon yourself along with some high expectations, the focus comes to be on doing it right (whatever that means), and then thinking about doing it right instead of actually doing anything, just to make sure that you're going to be doing it right. Combine all that with the worry that those experiences, the thoughts and feelings that come with practice and exploring a relationship with the gods, might not be True because this is an area well out of the comfort zone of being able to Cite Your Sources: That maybe those thoughts and feelings are just what you want to hear, because it feels good to be validated sometimes, so you don't have to worry about whether or not you're just plain bonkers...Suddenly in amongst the mental jumble you've just made it all gets disconnected, the threads get lost. Maybe it's just me. Not that I tend to over-analyse or anything.

For the most part a healthy dose of Get A Grip sorts it all out, and that's something I've been working on. I do, but I don't overthink what I'm doing. I do research and find inspiration in it, rather than letting it restrict me too much by getting bogged down on the minute details (although I like exploring the minute details sometimes; the trick is making sure I don't get lost in them), and now I've got to the point where I have a rhythm of practise that takes me through each day, each season. I find that sharing what I do, and reading about what other people do also helps to keep things in perspective. Although recently I've come to realise I've been slipping into over-analysing again (or veering close to it, anyway). I realise I've been hesitating, stalling a little.

My practises are constantly evolving as I gain a better understanding of what I think reconstructionism is and how it shapes what I do; I enjoy the challenge and I find the results to be incredibly personal and meaningful. And as I do, and then think about what I've been doing, what I've experienced, I get an idea of what I still need to work on to gain a better balance in my practises. I'm not there yet (and probably just as I think I've got it I'll find I need something slightly different), but I've got to a point where I think I have the basics down, for now.

But just as I feel like I've dealt with the distractions of getting settled into a new house, somewhere I can put roots down, and a feeling of being on a firmer footing with what I'm doing here, something happens: A realisation, finding myself going off in a different and unexpected direction. And as much as it's been a good thing, part of me is left feeling all off-kilter again, like I'm just learning about all this and finding my way again. So I've gone back to feeling like I'm stumbling around in the dark a little - especially when it comes to how I see the gods and my relationship with them. At times they still feel so...nebulous. And no, I don't expect (or want) it all to be laid out in a how to manual before me: this is how you do it, this is what you should expect to happen, and this is how you know you're doing it right...But sometimes, when it's just you and Them, you start to wonder if you're really not just plain bonkers after all, especially when things don't quite go how you were expecting them to.

Just when I thought I was getting to grips with the attention of one particular goddess who seemed to be making herself known, it's all gone a bit unexpected. This winter, my first winter here, I've really been feeling like I've been making some sort of connection with the Cailleach, and given the season that all makes sense. No real surprise, and it's nice to know that I'm getting something right, it seems. Finally I'm starting to feel like I'm getting a proper footing with where I am and what I'm doing, and it all feels like it fits into this landscape and into the context of my practises. But then it gets a little confusing because my attention is drawn back to Badb and deep down I still really don't know where she fits in, but I know that she's there and she'll bide until I figure it out. I can't help but feel there's a reason for her prodding at me, and so far I haven't felt it's because I'm supposed to devote myself to her. Yet, perhaps, if ever. Whatever the future holds, there are some things I need to figure out before I get a complete picture of things, but as much as I've made some progress on finding answers, I've started to feel like I'd come to a bit of a dead end.

There've been a lot of good discussions about the place recently, here on lj and some of the lists, and combined with some questions somebody asked me, it's all put a few thoughts in motion. I was asked about how I saw things with Badb these days, and whether the sticking point for me in the past had been that she's not a goddess who 'lives' here, but in Ireland. Or whether it was the context, only a tenuous connection between there being a historical link with Badb and Scotland - as in, she could have been brought over here, but there's nothing I've seen to suggest an overt link.

I don't believe the gods are tied to a place in a literal, physical sense (solely, anyway), so I replied the latter, but that in my meanderings and somewhat tentative practises (at times, anyway, I'm still a little leery of this mysticism stuff, as I've said in the past), I'd come to realise that perhaps I was over-emphasising the differences between Ireland and Scotland rather than recognising their joint heritage. One thing that brought it all home to me is that I've been doing some writing and research about Bealltainn, and in comparing the Scottish and Irish practices the similarities are striking (but I digress...). And then there's the fact that I can't help but feel that there's some sort of connection between Badb and the Irish side of my heritage, which I've always felt a deep affection for (especially because it's through my nan's side of the family), and because Badb seems to have her origins in the area my family's from.

So then came the question, do you think that Badb's presence has anything to do with your nan's condition, given the ancestry angle? Hmm, I thought, maybe. Good question. I've been trying to work on the whole ancestry aspect of my practises because it's the one area I've been feeling I need to think about more, and express more in what I do. There's something about honouring my ancestors in general that I'm fine with in a non-specific way, but it's a different matter when I think about those I've known personally, so I feel I've been shying away from that side of things because I don't want to 'bother' them. Which is odd, really, but it's something I'm going to have to get over, and I'm working on it.

And if I consider all this, then I can't help but think that yes, maybe that's got something to do with finding how Badb fits in, because deep down I feel that there's a reason, something I haven't been getting. Maybe I need to learn more about my ancestors, and if that's the case then my nan's key to that because she's the genealogist in the family, and the more I'm confronted with the thought of losing my last living grandparent (and vaguely sane member of the family) the more I feel the need to be able to honour her properly when the time comes. Even though she'll probably hang around for another 20 years or so...

So it's all led up to a bit of an AHA! moment, because finally things are all starting to feel like it fits together. Connections are being made and a new direction has opened up, and it's all because of a handy label I stuck on myself, and a handy label that other people use too, that brought me to meet people who have given me a good shove in the right direction this time. Or so it seems. It seems to be the right way to go; "it feels good", but it also "feels Right". All in all, I can say I'm on step one. Now I just have to see if it works...

Archive: On being a dumbass...

By popular demand (all two of you, anyway), I'm going to try to tell you a tale about crows, goddesses and being a dumbass...It may be long and rambling, as I'm wont to do, so consider this fair warning. I'll understand if your eyes start glazing over...

So here goes.

For the most part, unless I feel that I should do otherwise (for personal or seasonal reasons, say), I tend to honour 'the gods' in my spiritual practices. I've never had what I'd consider to be a patron or patrons, and I've never really considered it necessary to have one (or more) in order to find my spiritual practices fulfilling, or to find a connection with a deity. For me, so far, some relationships have been fleeting, others have been longer lasting. There are a few of the gods that I consider myself to be close to, like Manannan and the Dagda, but I wouldn't say that I'm 'theirs' utterly and completely. Occasionally I've called them my patrons for convenience in conversation, but ultimately I realise that that particular shoe doesn't quite fit in the sense that I should dedicate myself to either of them above all else. My affection for the Dagda stems from the fact that I spent a very intensive year doing my dissertation on him at university. My tutor suggested that I'd appreciate his somewhat cruder elements, and he was right (though I was never quite sure whether or not to be offended by my very Catholic tutor's opinion of me...).

With Manannan, he's been with me since pretty much the beginning - never really overtly, in a daily-conversations-in-my-head kind of way, but more powerfully so than any other relationship I've experienced with a deity. More than any other god, he's the one with whom I have a father/daughter kind of relationship. He's there whenever I go to the sea or even rivers; he's there whenever I travel the well worn path to him at night when I need him, and take grateful comfort in him. He was there everytime I went to the vantage point at the top of the street where I lived in Bo'ness, to look at the view of the Forth, leading out to sea, doing my daily devotions. Sometimes he 'speaks' to me; mostly he's there, nodding and smiling, or tut tut tutting as I stumble about on this path, finding my own way. He's there when I pick myself up, and he's there when I need a kick up the arse.

Until I moved to the west coast, that is. Now, he's there but distant. I assumed that I would have felt him even more strongly, being that this is closer to his territory, so to speak, but no. I look out to sea in search of him, and he tells me that's not the direction I should be looking. OK, I say, I can take a hint (even if it takes me several weeks to get it...).

Since moving here ("over here", where I am now, not "up here" in this country, I mean), one of the things I've been endeavouring to do is to make a connection with the spirits of the place. Naturally, I've also been thinking about the deities of this place, and for a good seven or eight years now I've had an interest in Clota/Clud (or is it *Clota?), who is thought to lend her name to the river Clyde. On my walks to the beach I've been making offerings to the sea, to the spirits and to the gods of the place - generally separately, as it seems appropriate to recognise them separately and distinctly. While I've had the distinct impression that my offerings have been received favourably, I've not had anything to suggest that there's something more I should be pursuing in that avenue - in terms of attempting to build a relationship with any local deities, that is. It all remains somewhat distant and slightly beyond reach so far.

So anyway...In trying to build a relationship with the land and the sea - this place and those in it (spirits or deities or otherwise) - I've done pretty much exactly the same as when we moved up to Bo'ness - albeit in a less focused way then, because it was something I'd not really had to consciously think about doing before. At that time I looked for signs and I received them in abundance, mostly in terms of crows. Crows were everywhere, and for some reason it made me start to think about Badb and I followed that route until I convinced myself out of it. My offerings continued to be received in a generally favourable manner, and I continued to have the sense that there were Those who were close; Those I could trust to put myself into their hands when I needed it, and Those that I honoured as I always had...

But now I'm in the same position again, and things are...different but the same. While I get the sense that what I've been doing has been favourably received, I get the impression that this favour is at some remove. Kind of like...Thanks, but you're looking in the wrong direction...Take a feckin' hint!

Ok...So...I'm thinking, let's sit back and think about this. My general philosophy is Stop Thinking, Do! Because I have a tendency otherwise to Sit There And Think About Stuff Rather Than Ever Getting Round To Doing. I could easily be an Armchair Reconstructionist, but in focusing on doing, perhaps there's a risk that I'll miss what I'm being prompted to do. So, I think, what have I observed since moving here? Well...Even though I live in a slightly more urban area than in Bo'ness, there are many more birds in my garden. There are, in particular, many more crows in my garden. And on the street. And wherever I walk.

I'm especially superstitious about birds because of how I've been raised, as well as the lore that I've read about since discovering CR. As a recon, I see birds as messengers; when I see them, especially when I get the feeling that they want to be seen, I take note. As I've been raised, I see birds as messengers, but not necessarily good ones. Crows and ravens have negative connotations in many superstitions, for example; in particular for myself, I was always taught by my nan and dad that magpies especially are an 'evil' portent. I reconcile these often contradicting beliefs, based on a lot of thought and some experience, by seeing them as messengers, certainly, but not of messages that I may be particularly glad of receiving. Whereas my nan and dad may see one magpie as an ill portent, I may see it as a sign of impending sorrow, or success, depending upon what the magpie's up to.

Similarly, to me at least, a crow in and of itself may not mean much more than 'ooo, look at the crow', but at certain times it can have a lot of significance. In the story I linked to, I concluded that the crow in question was representative of 'the spirit of the place,' perhaps in hindsight because the crow was interacting with Tom more directly than myself. Or perhaps, with hindsight, because I'm reluctant to appear 'speshul'.

In some respects, I stand by the former assertion; crows, more than any other common bird in this neck o' the woods, stand for a lot of things...They are in many ways the spirit of this place to me, purely for the fact that they're a typical 'messenger'. Perhaps the message on that occasion wasn't meant for me per se, perhaps it was meant for Tom...Time will tell. But still...The crows are still with me, and have been since that episode. I see them when I step outside, three of them hopping about on the road. I see them in the garden, three of them cawing away as the dog runs about doing his business...They're at the beach, as I try to entertain Tom and Rosie, cawing and cawing to let me know where I am and am not welcome...Until I pay an appropriate price...Drawing my attention away from the sea. And every time I'm charmed by them.

When I leave some buttered bread and eggs for them in the garden, they make such rucous that it can only seem personal to me, from me to them. Sometimes it seems as if they wait until I'm there to see them take whatever I've set out for them. And Badb's name pops into my head again as I see all this going on.

And ultimately, I'm feeling like, really, I'm a bit of a dumbass. Because while I might see crows as messengers in general, this doesn't mean that they can't be messengers in their most obvious sense, which to me would be associated with Badb. Whether it was because I didn't want to appear speshul, or whether it was because I was genuinely confused, I don't know - a little bit of both, really, I think - but increasingly I'm beginning to think that ultimately...from the general gist that I've been getting as I've opened myself up to her...I'm a dumbass. Not a very Gaelic sentiment, it has to be said, but generally it's one that's fitting of her "oh for fuck's sake, why are you so slow?" sort of sentiment that I've been getting.

So yeah, I'm a dumbass, and I'm slow. Maybe I can't say just yet that Badb is explicitly supposed to be my patron as other people deem such things, in the long term. I'm in very early stages just now, and time will tell. But then she's someone I keep returning to, and she's someone that is very annoyed that it's taken so long to get here; and ultimately, instinctively, yes, I think one day she could come to take that title for me.

Ultimately, perhaps I need to just get over myself and stop shying away from titles that can be seen as very grandiose because I don't want to be associated with the many people I see (or perceive to be) - though not all, I hasten to add - abusing such a title...Because while I'm not speshul, that doesn't mean that I'm not supposed to pursue a relationship with a particular deity.

Archive: Samhainn 2007

Samhainn celebrations were a little dampened by my feeling crappy, but I did nearly everything I'd planned to do. I spent the day trying to get the house in order in between the kids, and Tom and I baked gingerbread men, which we decorated in suitably Hallowe'en style with icing. I made stovies while the gingerbread baked (minced beef, potato and onions - staple Scottish dish for which Mr Seren's gran, namesake of my daughter, was famous. They seemed appropriate) for dinner, and finally nailed them after last year's disaster. Mr Seren later proclaimed them Stovies. Which is apparently a good thing. I did cream crowdie for dessert, which I served with the gingerbread men Tom and I had made earlier, though I didn't have any charms to put in them (and it seemed fairly pointless, just me and Mr Seren having it).

As near to 8pm as I could I went outside and made offerings to the spirits to start off the Tara ritual. I'd planned on doing it the night before but in the end decided not to 'sideline' it - although I thought doing it a day earlier would mean I could give it full attention, and not give myself too much to do all in one day if I did it on Samhain itself, I decided it would be better to do it on the night proper. After I made the offerings (including one of the gingerbread men we'd decorated earlier) I looked for a sign to see whether or not they'd been accepted, and caught sight of a spider happily spinning a web on my washing line, in the light of a street lamp. I took that as a good sign and went back in to get the kids ready for bed, lighting the turnips (including some white turnips I'd carved earlier in the day) so Tom could see them before he went upstairs. He had lots of fun trying to blow them out.

Once Tom and Rosie were settled I did the rest of the Tara ritual. Having a cold and having to feed Rosie half-way through didn't help with the flow of it, but my main problem was trying not to get ahead of myself...the pull I felt when I was visualising the hill itself was strong, and I felt...kind of connected with what everyone else was doing. It's hard to describe, maybe it doesn't need to be described...

I spent the rest of the night quietly contemplating and relaxing, and made some more offerings and leaving out food and drink for any 'visitors' before bed. I was too tired to do any divination or anything with my ogam set as I'd planned, but I think it would be better to finish them off properly before doing anything with them, instead of rushing them.

In the morning I was up and baking some bannocks, using a 'traditional' ritual I've reconstructed (mostly from The Gaelic Otherworld). I've had a hard time making 'proper' oatcakes so I usually make the drop bannocks that are more like a batter than a dough, so easier to make, but this time I decided to brave the 'proper' dough ones again. They worked out nicely this time - I think I've finally found the knack - although they were a little too thick so tasted a bit gluey. I made one for each of us, plus a family bannock which I gave to the 'Rascal' to keep us from harm in the coming year. None of the bannocks broke as they cooked, which is supposed to be a good sign.

Later in the day I took the dog and the kids out for our first walk of the winter. We went up to the park to play on the swing, Tom ran around and had a whale of a time and I left an offering at my favourite viewpoint. Then as we went to go home something strange happened. Tom, as usual, was refusing to go anywhere, wanting to stay and play in the sandpit instead. So as usual this involved playing the waiting game to see who would break first. Would I go and make him come home, or would he get lonely and come of his own accord?

After the crow landed, I was clearly not going to win this one...

Ever since I moved here I've been seeing crows. There are a huge amount of them about the place, and several parts of the town are named after them. They seemed to be making their presence felt with me and I started wondering if there was something in it. The name Badb popped into my head, which was natural enough seeing as her name means 'crow', and I began wondering if maybe I should pursue a relationship with her. I was hesitant at first because...well...it's a bit too kewl, isn't it? But the feeling didn't go away and I started doing something about it, and felt I was getting somewhere. I started making offerings to her, and even Tom began to greet the myriad crows that would come and see us when we were waiting for the bus just by where a lot of them nest. Unlike pigeons, he's never seemed keen on chasing them.

Anyway, while I've been feeling I've made a connection with her, I've come to the conclusion that she doesn't want me to dedicate myself to her or anything like that. But certainly she seems to have led me into seeing things in a different light. Instead of relying on the tried and tested books-and-research approach I've been so firmly rooted in previously, I've realised that it's time to allow myself to consider the more mystical side of CR, to try and find a healthy balance between the two for myself.

Seeing the crow that plonked itself down right next to Tom got me thinking again, and instead of calling Tom I waited to see what would happen.

Tom said hello to the crow. The crow cocked its head to one side and then jumped closer to Tom. Tom laughed and jumped towards it. The crow cocked its head to the other side and deliberated for a second, then jumped to the side. Tom found this hilarious and jumped towards it again. The crow jumped again...more hysterics from Tom, and this time he decided to try and swoop in. Mr Crow was having none of it and jumped again, just at the last moment before Tom caught it. Now Mr Crow, just out of reach, cawwed at Tom, goading him to go after him again. Tom obliged, and the crow kept jumping and teasing until Tom was nearly out of sight. Off I went after them, the crow jumping and Tom following, until a nice elderly gentleman walking his one-eyed sheep dog came along and seemed to break the spell. He'd seen what was going on and was mightily amused, and we both agreed we'd never seen anything like it before. Mr Crow perched himself smugly on the chimney of the nearest house and refused to move in spite of Tom beckoning to him.

It seemed the crow didn't want us to go home just yet, and so I took the hint and carried on with our walk. I contemplated what had just happened, wondering if maybe it was a message or something, trying to convince myself it was just one of those things...But ultimately I've decided the answer is almost embarrassingly obvious. While crows are associated with the Badb, they're also intrinsic to the place in which I live. So why can't they just represent the spirits of this place?

So it's taken me pretty much most of the summer, but I finally seem to have got there. Or not...