Well at least there's something good that's come of this year's impending Paddy's Day madness:
Book of Kells online
I don't know if it's because I'm on a mac (or just because my poor mac is old and decrepit) but the website seems a wee bit buggy (the scrolling down is a little hit and miss for me). There's and iPad app you can download, though, which seems pretty neat and has added commentary on it:
Book of Kells app
Alas, I'm skint so I haven't tried it out but if I ever do have €11.99 going spare I'm certainly tempted!
Saturday, 16 March 2013
Saturday, 9 March 2013
Ritual and tradition are closely aligned - two sides of the same coin, really - but when we talk about the two in a Celtic Reconstructionist (or perhaps more specifically, a Gaelic Polytheist) context, it seems like they're often talked about as separate things: one greater, the other lesser. By that, I mean that the kinds of traditions we might observe on an everyday basis - although perhaps (or potentially) ritualistic in themselves - are somehow seen as "lesser" to the kind of rituals we participate in at festivals, because these are perhaps seen as being more "formal" and therefore more important.
It's the timing that's key, I suppose.
It's not something that's articulated explicitly by anyone, I don't think, but on reflection I do get the feeling that there's a kind of general assumption there, especially when you consider how much attention the festivals get compared to daily practices (on the one hand), and then the kind of customs and traditions that also fill up our lives. I suppose it's understandable - festivals are special occasions, after all. But to a certain extent there's a danger that too much focus is placed on one area when there should be a more balanced approach.
When I think about the kind of rituals I do, they're mostly simple things. Prayer. Offerings. Observing certain customs and traditions. We say it's traditional to prayers at certain times of the day - when we get up, when we go to bed, and so on. So we do. It's traditional to make offerings as part of our ritual observances; it's part of how we build a reciprocal relationship with the gods, spirits and ancestors. So we do that, too. It's traditional to do things in a deiseil direction, where possible. It's traditional to sing as you go about your tasks, so often I do, in an off key kind of way when there's no one around to annoy (except when you cook; you shouldn't sing when you cook). Feasting can be a ritual - sharing food is important. Offering hospitality is a serious tradition, too. These things can become little rituals in themselves - whether they're accompanied by prayer or offering and a set, formal liturgy and format, or not - because they're rooted in the underlying values and beliefs of our religion. They symbolise and articulate the way we view our relationship with the world around us. Big or small, greater or lesser, they all have the same roots.
The prayers, the offerings, the traditions can underpin more formal or elaborate rituals too - the longer rituals, more involved, the kind of thing that's written out and memorised, prepared for in advance. So it's the little things, isn't it, that add up to become big things. Without them we have nothing to build on.
There are often complaints that there aren't enough rituals shared between Gaelic Polytheists, and certainly that can be a problem - if anything, because if you're new to it all then it's never a bad thing to find a few pointers in the right direction. Then again, if we want meaningful ritual in our lives maybe it helps to remember that we shouldn't overlook the "little" things, either. Little acorns, mighty oaks and all that...
It's the timing that's key, I suppose.
It's not something that's articulated explicitly by anyone, I don't think, but on reflection I do get the feeling that there's a kind of general assumption there, especially when you consider how much attention the festivals get compared to daily practices (on the one hand), and then the kind of customs and traditions that also fill up our lives. I suppose it's understandable - festivals are special occasions, after all. But to a certain extent there's a danger that too much focus is placed on one area when there should be a more balanced approach.
When I think about the kind of rituals I do, they're mostly simple things. Prayer. Offerings. Observing certain customs and traditions. We say it's traditional to prayers at certain times of the day - when we get up, when we go to bed, and so on. So we do. It's traditional to make offerings as part of our ritual observances; it's part of how we build a reciprocal relationship with the gods, spirits and ancestors. So we do that, too. It's traditional to do things in a deiseil direction, where possible. It's traditional to sing as you go about your tasks, so often I do, in an off key kind of way when there's no one around to annoy (except when you cook; you shouldn't sing when you cook). Feasting can be a ritual - sharing food is important. Offering hospitality is a serious tradition, too. These things can become little rituals in themselves - whether they're accompanied by prayer or offering and a set, formal liturgy and format, or not - because they're rooted in the underlying values and beliefs of our religion. They symbolise and articulate the way we view our relationship with the world around us. Big or small, greater or lesser, they all have the same roots.
The prayers, the offerings, the traditions can underpin more formal or elaborate rituals too - the longer rituals, more involved, the kind of thing that's written out and memorised, prepared for in advance. So it's the little things, isn't it, that add up to become big things. Without them we have nothing to build on.
There are often complaints that there aren't enough rituals shared between Gaelic Polytheists, and certainly that can be a problem - if anything, because if you're new to it all then it's never a bad thing to find a few pointers in the right direction. Then again, if we want meaningful ritual in our lives maybe it helps to remember that we shouldn't overlook the "little" things, either. Little acorns, mighty oaks and all that...
Wednesday, 6 March 2013
It's nearly that time of year
I've not seen one yet, but it's early days. So here's a pre-emptive friendly reminder...
It's Paddy, not Patty.
It's Paddy, not Patty.
Sunday, 24 February 2013
Notes: Continuity and Adaptation in Legends of Cailleach Bhéarra
Seeing as JSTOR is giving the public access to a wider portion of its catalogue now, I figured doing these occasional notes is a bit more useful to readers. I'm listing the articles covered so far on a page here, and I've added in a link to any of the articles that might be available on JSTOR if any of them happen to pique your interest. Unfortunately only two of them that I've done so far are accessible through JSTOR, but this next summary is one of the first ones I stuck on my shelf after browsing around and trying to think what to pick first. This is one I've been after for ages and I can foresee myself picking my way through pretty much the rest of this journal given half a chance...
Continuity and Adaptation in Legends of Cailleach Bhéarra
Gearóid Ó Crualaoich
Béaloideas Iml. 56, (1988)
This is an article that's mainly aiming to bring together the variety of traditions about the Cailleach Bhéarra in Ireland, with a view to tracing the evolution and influences of those traditions and legends. Or, as Ó Crualaoich puts it:
There are some important points raised in the article, and while some of them are only incidentally mentioned they provide a good reference as a starting point. For one, there's the fact that although the Cailleach is an incredibly important and popular figure in legend and lore, she's not a prominent figure in the myths. This can partly be explained by the fact that we can see she's been known by other names like Buí or Sentainne Bérri, before the name "Cailleach" takes over (the word itself being the result of Christian influence, originally referring to a nun, a 'veiled one' - as in a married women, and then old women/hags) and Ó Crualaoich comments:
Another point that's raised is the explicit association of the Cailleach with the seasons in Scotland, but not so much in Ireland - something that would be great to see more on, but Scotland isn't really Ó Crualaoich's focus (there are several pointers to other articles on that - most of them old and already public domain).
If you're looking for a good article that will help you pick apart the various strands that have accrued to the traditions of the Cailleach over the years then this is a good place to look. It may ultimately end up raising more questions than it answers, but it's a start, right? And while I have a bit of a problem with Ó Crualaoich's position on the Magna Mater, that's read around easily enough.
Continuity and Adaptation in Legends of Cailleach Bhéarra
Gearóid Ó Crualaoich
Béaloideas Iml. 56, (1988)
This is an article that's mainly aiming to bring together the variety of traditions about the Cailleach Bhéarra in Ireland, with a view to tracing the evolution and influences of those traditions and legends. Or, as Ó Crualaoich puts it:
At different stages and at different levels of Gaelic tradition the figure of the Cailleach Bhéarra has been used to represent different clusterings of cultural meaning so that we are faced with a multiplicity of forms and functions of Cailleach Bhéarra that prove very difficult to distinguish and whose historical and/or functional relationship to each other continues to be obscure to a great degree.These forms and functions include the Cailleach functioning as a "Mother Goddess" with Indo-European roots, or else she's a Divine Hag and Sovereignty Queen, and ancestress of various peoples. Otherwise she might be a supernatural woman of the wilderness and weather, which is perhaps most pronounced in Scottish traditions. Ó Crualaoich argues that this latter expression of the Cailleach is particularly influenced by Norse cosmology. Then there's her "geotectonic role in the landscape" - lobbing rocks about the place and making mountains, or causing rivers, lochs and whirlpools and so on. All of which can be seen to interrelate to each other to a certain extent.
There are some important points raised in the article, and while some of them are only incidentally mentioned they provide a good reference as a starting point. For one, there's the fact that although the Cailleach is an incredibly important and popular figure in legend and lore, she's not a prominent figure in the myths. This can partly be explained by the fact that we can see she's been known by other names like Buí or Sentainne Bérri, before the name "Cailleach" takes over (the word itself being the result of Christian influence, originally referring to a nun, a 'veiled one' - as in a married women, and then old women/hags) and Ó Crualaoich comments:
I find it very interesting indeed that Professor Wagner, in his recent Zeitschrift article, should identify both these earliest names for Cailleach Bhéarra, viz. Sentainne (Bérri) and Boí/Buí with derivations from the Indo-European forms *Senona and *Bovina meaning, respectively, ‘female elder’ and ‘cow-like-one’ - the latter being, Wagner claims, a characteristic appellation of Indo-European manifestations of the Magna Mater. On Professor Wagner’s terms, then, both the rivers Shannon and Boyne are named ultimately for the female divine who herself begins to become known as Cailleach Bhéarra round about the late eighth or early ninth centuries when the famous Lament was composed.This comes across as being a wee bit conflationist (the Magna Mater??? is that still a thing?), and is something that Ó Crualaoich does quite a few times, but it's interesting to ponder nonetheless.
Another point that's raised is the explicit association of the Cailleach with the seasons in Scotland, but not so much in Ireland - something that would be great to see more on, but Scotland isn't really Ó Crualaoich's focus (there are several pointers to other articles on that - most of them old and already public domain).
If you're looking for a good article that will help you pick apart the various strands that have accrued to the traditions of the Cailleach over the years then this is a good place to look. It may ultimately end up raising more questions than it answers, but it's a start, right? And while I have a bit of a problem with Ó Crualaoich's position on the Magna Mater, that's read around easily enough.
Saturday, 23 February 2013
Fastern's Eve
While this is a week overdue (and then some) you can still feel free to commiserate and feel sorry for me, dear reader, for I'm about to reminisce in a misty-eyed fashion about my horribly deprived childhood. Yes. Poor me.
It was horribly deprived, you see, because we were only allowed pancakes once a year. This, I think you'll agree, was a terrible travesty - for what else embodies all that is good and yummy in the world than the humble and versatile pancake?
Certainly The Church agrees with me, apparently.
Yes, as a kid there was just one day in the year when my family would have pancakes (and when I say pancakes I'm talking about the thin crepe-like pancakes that are common here, not the kind of pancakes we would call "American pancakes," or other nummy versions like drop scones or pikelets), and that was on Shrove Tuesday - the day before Lent starts on Ash Wednesday.
So as a kid, Shrove Tuesday was a Big Deal. I wasn't raised religiously so the pancakes were very much part of a very secular tradition and Lent never meant all that much to me beyond having a vague idea that the Easter Bunny was on the horizon. And something to do with palm trees at some point? But sod the chocolate: Shrove Tuesday heralded a day of deliciousness served with lemon, sugar and butter, and dad trying to flip a pancake onto the ceiling so it would stick.
As an adult I now have the luxury of making pancakes whenever I like (so there, mother *blows raspberry*). And while I'm still not Christian and nor is my husband, there was a unanimous demand for pancakes in the Seren household last Tuesday because It's Traditional, Damnit. Who am I to deprive my loved ones of tasty goodness? Or deny time-honoured traditions their rightful place?
So pancakes there were.
It's a tradition that might seem a bit odd - whether it's observed as part of a religious context, or a secular one like I've always experienced it. But when you look into its origins it does kind of make sense even though my experience of them has been fuck it, PANCAKES.
It came up on the Gaelic Polytheism group a while back, so I figured that even though it's not particularly relevant to the average polytheist, it's still worth looking at from a cultural perspective. And any excuse for me to waffle on about something, right?
So in the traditional sense it all comes from the idea of penitence. "Shrove" is the past tense for shrive - striving for absolution and repentance - so in that sense the day heralds the start of the Lenten period which focuses on that kind of thing as Easter approaches. Along with penitence, lots of Christians these days tend to give something up for Lent - a vice or luxury, something that represents self-sacrifice. This comes from the traditional fasting that most Christians would have observed from around the Middle Ages onwards - eschewing the enjoyment of rich foods like meat, dairy, and anything sweet. So pancakes - being delicious and made of just the kinds of things that wouldn't be allowed during Lent - were just the thing for Shrove Tuesday, allowing one last chance to enjoy rich foods, as well as providing the opportunity to use up the ingredients.
In parts of Scotland, because Scotland always has to be different, Shrove Tuesday was traditionally better known as Fastern's Eve (or "Fastren's" Eve) - "Fastern" meaning "Fasting." Here the pancakes would be drop scones or sauty bannocks - drop scones made with a little oatmeal and salt added. When the pancakes were to be made the family would gather round the hearth, and one person would make the batter, one person would pour it out onto the girdle, and another person would turn the pancake to cook the other side, and then whoever the pancake was for would get to enjoy it however they liked - with a bit of butter and jam, perhaps.
The last pancake was special, and might be used for divination games. The Easter period was traditionally the time for marriages, so those who were coming up to the age when thoughts were turning to settling down might make a special bannock to take to bed with them - the "dreaming bannock," or "sauty bannock." The bannock would have a little oatmeal added to thicken it, a lot of salt, and sometimes even soot to discolour it, like these (minus the soot):
It was supposed to be made in absolute silence, and then a little bit was eaten before the rest was placed under the pillow. No drink should be taken (the ensuing thirst during sleep presumably inducing the sort of uncomfortable sleep that would make vivid dreams more likely), and the person was supposed to dream of their future spouse.
In a group, a similar kind of pancake might be made - again thickened with oatmeal and well-salted - with charms added to it. Whoever was in charge of baking the pancake had to do it in absolute silence, and everyone else present would make a great game of trying to make the baker break their silence. If they did, someone else would take over the baking, and so on. The pancake would then be broken into pieces and placed in the pocket of the gudewife's apron. She was then blindfolded and would pick out a piece of the pancake and would cry out, ‘Wha owns this?’ until someone claimed it. The charm contained in the piece was supposed to indicate the kind of person the recipient would end up marrying - a bawbee (a halfpenny) indicated a bachelor; a farthing, a widower; a button, a tailor; a piece of straw, a farmer; a piece of cloth, a clothier; a nail, a blacksmith. Apparently this is still a thing in parts of Newfoundland but I've never heard of anyone doing it round here. The kids are a little young to be particularly fussed about who they might, if at all, so I've not done it, but it's all very reminiscent of the Samhainn crowdie.
So...that's Fastern's Eve in a nutshell.
It was horribly deprived, you see, because we were only allowed pancakes once a year. This, I think you'll agree, was a terrible travesty - for what else embodies all that is good and yummy in the world than the humble and versatile pancake?
Certainly The Church agrees with me, apparently.
Yes, as a kid there was just one day in the year when my family would have pancakes (and when I say pancakes I'm talking about the thin crepe-like pancakes that are common here, not the kind of pancakes we would call "American pancakes," or other nummy versions like drop scones or pikelets), and that was on Shrove Tuesday - the day before Lent starts on Ash Wednesday.
So as a kid, Shrove Tuesday was a Big Deal. I wasn't raised religiously so the pancakes were very much part of a very secular tradition and Lent never meant all that much to me beyond having a vague idea that the Easter Bunny was on the horizon. And something to do with palm trees at some point? But sod the chocolate: Shrove Tuesday heralded a day of deliciousness served with lemon, sugar and butter, and dad trying to flip a pancake onto the ceiling so it would stick.
As an adult I now have the luxury of making pancakes whenever I like (so there, mother *blows raspberry*). And while I'm still not Christian and nor is my husband, there was a unanimous demand for pancakes in the Seren household last Tuesday because It's Traditional, Damnit. Who am I to deprive my loved ones of tasty goodness? Or deny time-honoured traditions their rightful place?
So pancakes there were.
It's a tradition that might seem a bit odd - whether it's observed as part of a religious context, or a secular one like I've always experienced it. But when you look into its origins it does kind of make sense even though my experience of them has been fuck it, PANCAKES.
It came up on the Gaelic Polytheism group a while back, so I figured that even though it's not particularly relevant to the average polytheist, it's still worth looking at from a cultural perspective. And any excuse for me to waffle on about something, right?
So in the traditional sense it all comes from the idea of penitence. "Shrove" is the past tense for shrive - striving for absolution and repentance - so in that sense the day heralds the start of the Lenten period which focuses on that kind of thing as Easter approaches. Along with penitence, lots of Christians these days tend to give something up for Lent - a vice or luxury, something that represents self-sacrifice. This comes from the traditional fasting that most Christians would have observed from around the Middle Ages onwards - eschewing the enjoyment of rich foods like meat, dairy, and anything sweet. So pancakes - being delicious and made of just the kinds of things that wouldn't be allowed during Lent - were just the thing for Shrove Tuesday, allowing one last chance to enjoy rich foods, as well as providing the opportunity to use up the ingredients.
In parts of Scotland, because Scotland always has to be different, Shrove Tuesday was traditionally better known as Fastern's Eve (or "Fastren's" Eve) - "Fastern" meaning "Fasting." Here the pancakes would be drop scones or sauty bannocks - drop scones made with a little oatmeal and salt added. When the pancakes were to be made the family would gather round the hearth, and one person would make the batter, one person would pour it out onto the girdle, and another person would turn the pancake to cook the other side, and then whoever the pancake was for would get to enjoy it however they liked - with a bit of butter and jam, perhaps.
The last pancake was special, and might be used for divination games. The Easter period was traditionally the time for marriages, so those who were coming up to the age when thoughts were turning to settling down might make a special bannock to take to bed with them - the "dreaming bannock," or "sauty bannock." The bannock would have a little oatmeal added to thicken it, a lot of salt, and sometimes even soot to discolour it, like these (minus the soot):
 |
| OMNOMNOMNOM |
In a group, a similar kind of pancake might be made - again thickened with oatmeal and well-salted - with charms added to it. Whoever was in charge of baking the pancake had to do it in absolute silence, and everyone else present would make a great game of trying to make the baker break their silence. If they did, someone else would take over the baking, and so on. The pancake would then be broken into pieces and placed in the pocket of the gudewife's apron. She was then blindfolded and would pick out a piece of the pancake and would cry out, ‘Wha owns this?’ until someone claimed it. The charm contained in the piece was supposed to indicate the kind of person the recipient would end up marrying - a bawbee (a halfpenny) indicated a bachelor; a farthing, a widower; a button, a tailor; a piece of straw, a farmer; a piece of cloth, a clothier; a nail, a blacksmith. Apparently this is still a thing in parts of Newfoundland but I've never heard of anyone doing it round here. The kids are a little young to be particularly fussed about who they might, if at all, so I've not done it, but it's all very reminiscent of the Samhainn crowdie.
So...that's Fastern's Eve in a nutshell.
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