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Understanding The Mabinogi

1/11/2020

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In this recent post I looked at some common pitfalls when reading The Four Branches of the Mabinogi (and other Celtic myth). This is the other side of the coin. Some tips about what’s worth noticing and thinking about as you read The Four Branches.
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About the Four Branches
Although the Mabinogi manuscripts that have survived date to the 14th century, dating the stories themselves, is a lot harder. In the form that we find them, they probably go back a couple of centuries before that, but it’s much harder to date the material they came from. There are enough common themes that are shared with Irish material several centuries older to suggest some common ancestry. There are enough common themes with Indo-European myth, generally, to suggest that these stories have very long roots.

The “Mab” in Mabinogi means son, or boy and there are a couple of Celtic deities with related +names: Maponnos, and Mabon ap Modron. (Here’s a link to an in depth look at these deities.) Mabon ap Modron (divine son of the divine mother) has associations in Welsh-language lore with being a divine prisoner, and he is an important character in Culhwch and Olwen, which is in the wider collection of The Mabinogi.

The stories have a theme of mothers and sons and one theory is that many of these stories were originally stories about Mabon/Maponnos. It has also been suggested that “Mabinogi” might imply that these are stories for the instruction of boys – specifically for young noblemen who would have been taught by bards, and who would have been expected to learn about the responsibilities and dangers of leadership. I believe that both these ideas have a lot of merit, and there is no reason that they can’t both be true. Probably, the more deeply mythic themes of motherhood, male youth, and kingship represent an older layer.  This may have been developed, over time, into stories which would require young men to think deeply about honour, marriage, and leadership. I think it is important to keep these ideas in mind, when reading the Four Branches.

Women’s themes
Recent commentators have noticed that women’s themes play a big part in The Four Branches. There is quite a bit of mistreatment of women, and there is also some extremely assertive behaviour by some of the females characters. For the most part, the females don’t sit in towers waiting to be rescued, nor do their lives revolve entirely around producing heirs for their mates. A theory which has not been widely accepted is that the “author” of The Mabinogi was a woman. The reasons for discarding that theory have less to do with disbelief that a medieval woman could be the author, and more to do with the lack of evidence in this case, and the general consensus that The Mabinogi doesn’t exactly have an author. It almost certainly came down through the oral tradition, and how much responsibility any one individual had for the form in which we know it, is difficult to discern, although its likely that one individual was responsible for pulling The Four Branches together into the version we know. Still, referring to that person as “editor” or “redactor” is probably more accurate than “author”.
The way women are portrayed has caused some students to feel that the “true” stories of some of the female characters must have been altered by medieval patriarchal forces. That’s difficult to prove or disprove. While it’s true that the female characters are not always “good”, neither are the male characters. The motivations for the actions of Arianrhod and Blodeuedd, in particular, are left to the reader to think about for themselves. Characters in The Four Branches are surprisingly three dimensional, and it’s a mistake to assume that only good (or bad) behaviour is being modelled. A more useful approach is to look for cause and effect, or to consider that the choices open to some characters are limited. What we can be certain of, is that as Celtic myths, or medieval stories go, The Four Branches seems unusually concerned with the treatment of women and the issues they face.
Overarching themes
Although The Four Branches forms a loosely chronological narrative, it is worthwhile to compare the branches to one another, and perhaps track a progression of ideas as the cycle progresses, rather than just look at them as some kind of saga. There are a number of themes which recur, including: weddings; motherhood; mothers losing their sons; large, futile battles; honour; magic; and deception. It’s worth noting how each of these themes is approached.

To take one example, there is a wedding in every branch, but they are each very different.

In The First Branch, Rhiannon appears in Pwyll’s kingdom and proposes marriage to him. They encounter some difficulties on the way to becoming man and wife, but work together to achieve it. Their relationship encounters more problems, but Pwyll remains essentially loyal, if sometimes a bit ineffective.

In The Second Branch, Branwen, sister of King Brân, is given to an Irish king, seemingly without even consulting her. As in The First Branch, there is trouble at the wedding feast. In this case, it sets Branwen and her husband, Matholwch, up for trouble which ends in widespread tragedy. Branwen does attempt to help herself, but is essentially portrayed as a victim.

The Third Branch finds Rhiannon, now a widow, betrothed to Manawydan by her adult son. However, she and Manawydan like each other when they meet and have a happy marriage, although they have a fairly harrowing adventure together.

In The Fourth Branch, we meet Lleu – a young man whose conception seems to have been achieved through magic or deceit. His mother, Arianrhod, refuses to betroth him to a woman, so his magician kinsmen, Math and Gwydion, create a wife for him out of flowers. She soon falls in love with someone else, tries to arrange Lleu’s murder, and gets turned into and owl by Gwydion.
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Just this one theme of weddings and marriages offers quite a bit of insight into The Four Branches. The degree of agency shown by Rhiannon at the beginning of her relationship to Pwyll, is dramatically different that Branwen’s situation, or Blodeuedd’s. A similar trend can also be seen when looking at other themes, like honour. Generally, the trajectory from First Branch to Fourth is not a positive one. So, as well as there being lessons within each story, perhaps we can begin to see bigger philosophical questions being tackled, if we make the effort. To some extent, this may be a commentary on the state of society in which The Four Branches found its form, but I believe that there are also much earlier religious and cultural forces underlying these themes.

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Reading the Mabinogi. What could possibly go wrong?

27/10/2020

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I’m always encouraging people to read The Mabinogi – and Celtic myths in general. But I’m aware that not everyone gets a lot out of them. I put these thoughts together for a talk I gave recently, so before I forget it all, I thought I’d write it down. It’s safe to say that this advice works pretty well for reading most Celtic myth, not just The Mabinogi.

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Thinking it’s damaged goods
This takes two forms:
1. The Christians wrecked it!
Yes, most medieval texts were copied out in monasteries. As modern people, we tend to assume that if someone entered a monastery, then they must have been almost fanatical in their religious views, but there’s no evidence for this. Sure, if you were a religious fanatic a monastery might be where you ended up, but people were there for all sorts of other reasons. Some were given to the church by their parents as children, some were attracted by the access to books and learning, and It’s quite possible that for others it was seen as a path not that different from becoming a Druid. There is a line of thinking that some Druids were sort of “underground” in monasteries, although I’m not sure we should take it all that seriously.

Most of the monks were local, or had grown up in the culture that preserved the stories which became what we think of as The Mabinogi. There is every evidence that their main motivation for putting these tales on paper was to preserve them. It was because they believed that the stories had value. I think they were prompted by the same urge to preserve lore that sustained the bards and other lore keepers who had existed for millennia.

There is little, if any, Christianisation of the stories in The Mabinogi. There is some Christianised language salted through the dialogue. This may have just been a reflection of how people spoke at the time, or an effort to put a few “key words” into the text, so that it couldn’t be called completely ungodly. You certainly see this with a lot of early bardic poetry, where most of the Christian references are in the opening few lines, or sometimes the last few lines. As if a nod to Him Upstairs would keep any disapproving bishops off the scent. The stories themselves do not feel like Christian stories – the feel closer to pre-Christian myth.

2. The jigsaw is incomplete
For centuries, there has been an industry devoted to trying to reconstruct “all of Celtic mythology” by drawing on reconstructive linguistics and Indo-European studies. When I look at Celtic myth, I’m impressed by how much we have, rather than upset about what we’ve lost. It’s not that I’m really a “glass half full” sort of person, but when it comes to Celtic myth the glass happens to be overflowing. You could probably never read or know all of the texts that survive. There is plenty enough to be going on with, but look outside if it makes you happier.
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Math, Son of Mathonwy - Dorthea Braby (1909-1987)
National Museum Wales

I can’t deny that many Celtic myths feel a little fragmented. Sometimes you sense that the story you’re getting must have been part of a bigger story. Other times, a text will refer to a story that we just don’t have anymore. I think it’s important not to get too hung up on this. Often, studying lesser known sources like The Triads and The Book of Taliesin will help fill in some gaps, but not always. Sometimes I do feel very angry at the Romans, the Saxons, and the Anglicised aristocracy, for destroying so much Celtic lore. Equally, I feel extremely proud and awestruck at how much was saved in spite of the cultural trauma being inflicted. I choose to celebrate that.
 
Reading it as fiction
We live in a society that consumes a lot of fiction in the form of books and films. We tend to plough through large books or multi-episode films with an enormous appetite. There’s an analogy there with a glutton stuffing themselves, but not really tasting their food very much.
Medieval texts are usually very economical with words. Some of that came from the need to be economical with ink and vellum, not to mention the human effort required to hand write them. So, The Mabinogi moves very fast. Almost every sentence is meaningful. Major action happens on every page. You can easily read The Four Branches in a day. But can you digest it?

Another habit we have from consuming fiction is reading mostly for identification. Notice how you read books and watch films. Most of us identify primarily with one character. Successful fiction is often constructed to encourage that. We feel we have a lot in common with the anti-hero or the oppressed female character. Or we long to be beautiful and engaged in romantic intrigue, or to be on a great quest or adventure.

Of course, myth can draw you into all of that, too, but keep your wits about you and you will get more out of it. Rather than wanting to be like one of the characters, or sort of falling in love with a character because you think you have a lot in common, pay attention to what’s going on in the story as a whole and you will find a much more interesting set of layers.
And finally
I believe this is good advice:
Take your time. Read a paragraph, think about it, repeat if necessary. Or read a story, sleep on it, or go for a nice walk and think about it. Then read it again.

Get above the trees and look down a the forest. What is going on in the story as a whole? Can you see causes and effects? What’s the cause behind the cause (behind the cause….).

Prepare for ambiguity and deep thinking. There are messages in myths. I believe that there are layers of messages that reveal themselves as we need them. But they are not black and white morality tales. Deep thinking will reveal surprising insights about justice, cosmology, and honourable behaviour. Those insights won’t be simple, or cut and dried. They will be nuanced. Don’t try to reduce them to some kind of Ten Commandments”.

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In Praise of Celtic Gods

28/10/2019

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I am looking forward passionately to teaching this upcoming course about the beautiful Celtic gods and goddesses, and their mystical, magical stories. I wanted to write something, to say how much I love them - the deities and their stories. Well, this is that something. The teaching, of course, will be more coherent.



If I begin, it will be with Brigid.


Did my journey start with Her? Saint or goddess, Bride, or Brighid, or Bridget – for all Her wide appeal, She’s a slippery one. Hardly featuring in the old texts at all, She has only the faintest of mythology as a goddess. Much more as Saint Brigid of Kildare, of course. (There are fourteen other St. Brigids in Ireland– but never mind!) Shall we speak of Brigando, and Brigantia? Shall we return to the keening mother of Ruadhán, to the goddess of poetry and smithcraft? Goddess-saint of healing wells.

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St. Brigid's Well, Loch Dearg, Co Donegal - Louise Price
Old gods like Bel, or Belenos, who may or may not be Beli Mawr, have no story left at all. It sounds like a good bet to honour Him at Beltane, but that is only a guess. Like Don, and Lir, and Anu, there is nothing remaining of their stories. They are merely the first in lists. A distant point of origin. So how is it that we can still sometimes feel them?

Lugh, who was once Lugos in Gaul and Iberia, but it is in Ireland that His story is so rich. Hero, foster-son. Son of both the Tuatha De Danann and the Fomorians. Lugh, who killed his own grandfather in battle. The many-skilled one, leader of a skilled people. He returned to father Cú Chulainn in a dream, and returned again to confirm the sovereignty of Conn of the Hundred Battles. Or so they say. He may somehow be Lleu. Their stories are different but nothing is impossible here.
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photo - S Pakhrin
Nothing is impossible and nothing is forgotten, as they say. It’s just a bit kaleidoscopic. Fragmenting and re-forming into beautiful, light shattered images, which your soul immediately recognises, while your mind rebels at the strangeness, and you reach out for something solid to hold onto.

These were the first deities I knew, and they were hard to know, partly because I had no point of reference. No sense of how or where to read their stories or not-stories, I went forward, mostly blindly, for years. It’s a wonder I didn’t lose interest completely, but even the thread of their names, an occasional sense of their presence was something.

They are woven gently through the landscape of their homelands. Don’t only look for them in the stone circles and under dolmens – you can find them all over. Go to any path that follows running water. Between two hills with beautiful curves, or in a hazel copse. Tread the same path repeatedly, and the very energy raised by your footsteps will awaken them. Or so it was for me.
 
These are the gods who went into the hollow hills. They receded into the very atoms of the hollows of nature. They are in the here-not-here. They are right beside you.
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Tumulus de Poulguen, Brittany
And their stories are a thread along which they travel. Along which so much is communicated, is transmitted.  A thread along which they feel their way toward us – into our time, and along which we find our way through the dark to Them. When we speak their names and tell their stories – when we think about them, they glow a little brighter, become more solidly here. They have more agency in our world again.

I began to find their stories. Mostly the tangled web of Irish stories, and from this emerged Manannán mac Lir, the beautiful, wise, generous god of the sea. He may be named for the Isle of Man or the island may be named for Him. He must, somehow, be one with Manawydan fab Llyr – son of Beli Mawr, second husband of Rhiannon. It’s just that we don’t know how they are one.

Do not enter the realm of the Celtic gods if you want black and white answers. There are no certainties here. They are mist. They are sunbeams. They will not get their stories straight in order to reassure you. It’s all hide and seek through a maze of texts, manuscripts, and recensions. Genealogies that go in circles, and cognates that don’t quite work. Ducks that don’t walk like ducks, and swans that may be princesses.

Don’t get me wrong. Scholarship is rewarding here. Just temper it with patience, and with mysticism. Allow imagination. Give it all time. You can’t know it quickly, no matter how high an achiever you think you are.

The next I encountered was Epona. Having been shepherded along for years by the three or four I’ve mentioned, I was playing it pretty casual. Epona began to show up, letting me know this was real. Glorious Epona, horse goddess.

When I was pointed to Rhiannon, I knew they were not the same. Rhiannon, who they say, linguistically, might once have been Rigantona, if there ever was a Rigantona. And Teyron – who may have been Tigernonos. But Rhiannon and Teyrnon are enough, surely? But, oh, the Mabinogi! I have learned so much, keeping that under my pillow – a copy in every room of my house.

So much makes sense now. I can almost lay the cards out straight sometimes. Almost. I think back to that encounter I had with Mabon. I get in touch with Maponos. “Divine sons of divine mothers,” they say to me in slightly out-of-synch stereo. I’m fine with that. I’ve been under the earth, seen the prison. I understand the healing there, and the importance of setting it free.

I hear from Macha. Macha of the many Machas. Queens, warrior women, land goddesses – swift, shining ones. Macha of the triple Morrigan (although exactly which three of the four …). Macha, horse goddess, who is not Rhiannon, who is not Epona. I see them travelling together more and more, these days. Herd mothers. Mare mothers. Horse queens.

Macha is looking over my shoulder. Reminding me that we have things to do. Mabon wants us to unblock the healing springs. To unblock the dammed up door to the gods. The door of myth. There is help, and healing, and wisdom behind that door!
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St. Brigid's Well, Brideswell Big, Co Wexford - Goreymurphy
There is always more. Ogmios. Who, they say, linguistically, cannot quite have become Ogma. God of poetry and eloquence. God of strength and writing, and a sunny countenance. He leads his followers by silver chains from his golden tongue to their enchanted ears. They follow him willingly, as I follow this misty path – preferring beauty to logic, every time.

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Honouring Macha at Lughnasadh

26/7/2019

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I’m hardly the first person to honour Macha at Lughnasadh, but the reasons behind that might not be clear to everyone. First, honouring Macha does not mean that I am rejecting the tradition of honouring Lugh and Tailtiu at this time. I think Lughnasadh has room for all of them, and more deities, besides, if you want to bring them in.

According to old Irish texts, Lughnasadh was instituted by the god Lugh to honour his foster mother, Tailtiu, who died clearing land for agriculture. The agricultural aspect, particularly harvesting grain, would make sense for a festival at this time of year. Lughnasadh/Lammas was a time of important agricultural fairs all over Britain and Ireland until the mid-20th century. Once the grain was harvested, rents had to be paid, agricultural workers might look for a new position, marriage bargains were often struck, and people were looking for a bit of fun, too.

In Ireland, Lughnasadh fairs, or óenacha, might also include athletic games or horse racing. Two of the most famous of these fairs were held at Emain Macha, near Armagh, in Ulster, and at Teltown, County Meath. The fair at Teltown (Irish Tailtin) is the one said to have been instituted by Lugh in honour of Tailtiu.
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Tailtiu is portrayed in Irish myth as daughter of the king of Spain, whose name is given as Mag Mor (Great Plain). She is married to the exemplary Eochaid mac Erc, king of the third wave of settlers in Ireland, who were known as the Fir Bolg. After the Fir Bolg were defeated by the Tuatha Dé Danann, Tailtiu paired with one of their number, and in time was given Lugh to foster, by his father, Cian, also of the Tuatha Dé Danann. Lugh’s true mother was Eithne, daughter of Balor of the Fomorian race, who was an arch-nemesis of the Tuatha Dé Danann. It appears that the Fir Bolg never went to war against the Fomorians, so Tailtiu would have been an ideal choice to protect the child, as well as being of noble rank.
When Lugh was older, Tailtiu is said to have cleared the wood of Caill Chuan, creating a large clover-covered plain, ready for agriculture. This work was so arduous that she died from exhaustion. On her deathbed she asked that Lugh hold a fair with games in her memory, which became Lughnasadh. You can read the passages from the Irish texts which tell this story at this link.

This story is used to explain both the origin of Lughnasadh and the naming of Teltown/Tailtin, but there are two other stories in Irish texts which are uncannily similar. One refers to a shadowy goddess called Carman (or Carmun), in whose honour a fair was held every three years in Leinster, possibly at Carlow. Carman came to Ireland from Greece during the time of the Tuatha Dé Danann. She was an evil sorceress, and brought her three equally evil sons, who plundered and pillaged. The Tuatha Dé Danann drove the sons away, keeping Carman as a hostage against further invasion.

According to the Rennes Dindshenchas, “Their mother died of grief here in her hostageship, and she asked the Tuatha Dé Danann to hold her fair at her burial-place, and that the fair and the place should always bear her name. And the Tuatha Dé Danann performed this so
long as they were in Erin.”

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At the End of a Harvest Day by Willem Carel Nakken
Which brings us to Macha. While the fair at Teltown was associated with the high kings of Tara, the one at Emain Macha was associated with the Ulaidh, or kings of Ulster. The Dindshenchas associate the naming of Emain Macha with several of the different Machas we know from the Irish texts. First, Macha the wife of Nemed, who had a vision of the sorrow which was to come because of the Táin Bó Cúailnge (Cattle Raid of Cooley). This vision causes Macha wife of Nemed to die of sorrow, after Nemed clears twelve plains, the twelfth being Magh Macha (the Plain of Macha), where Emain Macha is located. The story seems to be eating its own tail, since it is the curse of Macha, wife of Cruinniuc, which makes things so difficult for the Ulstermen in the Tain. A curse which is delivered at the fair at Emain Macha.

The story of Macha Mong Ruadh (red-haired Macha), daughter of Aed Ruadh, is also given as a reason for the naming of Emain Macha. This Macha won and held the kingship she inherited from her father, variously killing, marrying, and enslaving those who opposed her rule. It was said that she forced the cousins she enslaved to build Emain Macha.

So, we come to Macha, wife of Cruinniuc. This is the Macha who appeared mysteriously at the home of Cruinniuc, a wealthy widower and cattle-lord, and without a word took over the duties of wife and housekeeper. Her presence brought prosperity, and in time she fell pregnant. One day, Cruinniuc decided to attend a fair. Macha told him not to mention her to anyone while he was there, but before long he had carelessly boasted that his wife could outrun the king’s horses.

The king was angered, and Macha was brought to the fair and forced to prove her husband’s claim in order to save his life. Macha felt her labour pains starting and asked to be allowed to give birth with dignity before she ran, but the king and his assembled men refused. The race began and Macha won, giving birth to twins as she crossed the finish line. She then cursed the men of Ulster, that they would be helpless and feel the labour pains of a woman whenever they were required to do battle. This, as I mentioned above, had grave implications in The Tain.

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Inis Meain 5 Hooded Crows by Roland LaVallee
The video below might help you make sense of these tangled strands.
It should now be easy to see why the goddess Macha has a strong claim to be honoured at Lughnasadh. Her associations with horse racing, with Emain Macha and its fairs, have deep meaning for me. I also feel that the story of Macha, wife of Cruinniuc, provides us with much to think about as far as how we treat the goddesses of sovereignty and the land they represent. Are we showing them respect? Are we treating them well, or using them thoughtlessly?

Another name for Lughnasadh is Brón Trogain, which means something like “sorrow of the earth” and includes implications of the pain of giving birth. In each of these stories I have shared, we see sovereignty goddesses ending their time in pain, sorrow, or bondage. As hostages. As work horses. What is the real message of these tales for us today? I can’t help feeling that we are too quick to apply a story of almost Christ-like sacrifice to these goddesses of the land, who die in pain and grief so that the people can eat. Are we okay with sacrificing women’s sovereignty, nature’s sovereignty, for this? Or should we be reading these myths as cautionary tales?  

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detail: A Rest in the Fields by Jules Breton

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Links to most sources are in the texts, but for further reading on Brón Trogain I recommend these blog posts:
  • A Dream of Lughnasadh - Morgan Daimler
  • The Victory of Lugh - Blackbird Hollins

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What is Mythology for, Anyway?

11/7/2019

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Tuatha De Danann by wildelbenreiter
This post is full of unanswered questions. I hope it might start a conversation.

I’ve been living deep in mythology for the past couple of years. I believe the Mabinogi, in particular, holds an important message for us that I hope to share before too long. I feel like this way of looking at myth is a little out of step with what the majority of other Pagan writers have to say.

The psychological approach of Carl Jung and Joseph Campbell has primed us to read myth with an eye to self-analysis and personal development. Any story, old or new, can offer us inspiration and self-insight. Even characters in novels and films can influence and motivate us. That’s fine, and characters in myth, whether they are deities or mortals can do the same. But if that’s all we can gain from them, then we don’t really need myths at all, and I think that we do.
I’ve said before that I consider myth to be a deep distillation of human experience, and of our relationship with the gods. As such, it will always be open to individual interpretations. However, that isn’t the same thing as simply mining it for personal meaning or messages, valid as those may be.

We need to remember that we live in groups, in a society. We need to remember that all things are connected. It’s not all about me, and my suffering, and my dreams. It’s not all about my tribe’s happiness and survival. It’s not all about the human race, and its cultural productions and social ills. We need to consider what messages myth has for the greater us, and those of us who study myth need to be fearless in talking openly about what we think those messages are.

I sometimes hear people talking about the meaning they find in the story of Rhiannon, in the the Mabinogi. Often, in this type of discussion of deities and myths, they are finding identification with Rhiannon, and some useful motivation that helps them in their daily life. 

Of course I am pleased for them, because life is hard and if you can find something that helps you get through it, you are blessed. But in this case, I wonder whether they are necessarily blessed by the goddess Rhiannon, so much as by their own understanding of the story at a rather superficial level. (I’m basing that on how they talk about the story, not on my own assumptions.) It’s not up to me to judge someone else’s experience, but examining their interpretation is still worth doing. Especially if they are leading workshops, or publishing their thoughts.

The vast majority of the stuff which happens to female characters/deities in the Mabinogi (and to a bit lesser extent in Irish myth, too) isn’t good. In fact, I’d go so far as to say that women in 21st century developed countries are generally getting a better deal than the heroines/goddesses in these stories. If I felt I needed a figure to emulate, someone to inspire me to be a better person, I could find better models in both fiction and real life. Which brings us back to the question I asked at the start. What is mythology for?

If I’m right, and mythology is a distillation of human experience and our relationship with the gods, and if it is something which arises from a whole culture or society, then I think it stands to reason that the messages may also be more broad than personal. Mythology is perhaps a way to hold a mirror up to our society and culture. These stories have a lot to teach us about what we value, about what makes a good leader, about what success and failure look like, and about what kind of actions are likely to bring destruction on the kingdom.

This still leaves us with more loose ends than I can tie up. For one thing, if the myths do contain messages for us as a society, who gets to decide what those messages are? I find that this quickly brings us back to the question of identification. If you are concerned about feminist issues, you will likely find a feminist narrative in myth. If ecology is your thing, you’ll be able to see that interpretation everywhere in mythology. If you believe that a society will benefit from more warriors or magicians, you can probably find material in the myths to back that up.
Mythology

A chapbook collection containing the allegorical tale The Story Shawl, a poem about Macha entitled Approaching the House of Cruinniuc, and a long essay called The Beach.


Size 8.5" x 5.5"


14 pages


Please see product page for more information.

$
8.00    
Another question is that if the gods aren’t simply there as archetypes or examples to identify with, what are they doing in the myths at all? Are we to believe that these stories literally played out once upon a time among our gods? I admit that I struggle to believe that. I suspect that if more devotional polytheists gave this some thought, then they would also see some slight dissonance when it comes to this approach.

My best guess is that the deities came first, with certain attributes and associations, and that the myths grew up later, probably developed organically over time by the wise and the powerful, as a method of communicating certain ideas. What better way to get people to listen than to cast the gods in the starring roles of the stories? Does it make sense to first identify with a character in a story who possibly acts very badly, or at the other end of the spectrum, is pretty much a victim, and then to offer devotion to that deity as they are in their myth?

You’ll notice that this essay is riddled with unanswered questions. That’s partly because I’m thinking out loud, and also because I feel we need to question the 20th century, psychological, approach to the gods and their myths. Myths can help us to diagnose current problems, help us illustrate them to others, and help us find solutions. I also believe that reading the myths is one path to knowing the gods.

Both of these endeavours require the reading of myths at a deep level. Reading or hearing them repeatedly, not just once. Reading good translations before we go for the fanciful or romantic re-tellings. Comparing different versions of the same myth, or looking at all the stories about a specific deity. Reading them with the attention and respect due their antiquity. If you are not going to do that, then please listen to the voices of those who do, because they have worked on your behalf. And if you are delving deeply into the myths, please share what you are learning, because people need to hear it.

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The Work of Bards - The Mabinogi Lives Again

28/11/2018

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A review of The Assembly of the Severed Head by Hugh Lupton
I've been interested in Hugh Lupton's work ever since I first discovered his poem about the Mari Lwyd. Hugh is an ambitious storyteller (not many will take on re-telling the Iliad or Beowulf), as well as a poet and author, so I was intrigued when I heard that he was writing a book based on the Welsh cycle of stories known as The Four Branches of The Mabinogi. I mostly prefer to read Celtic myths in direct translations, these days, because literary re-tellings leave me confused as to which parts belong to the original text and which to the author. Still, I knew that if anyone had potential to do this well, it would be this man.
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One of the best things about The Assembly of the Severed Head is the way it places the first transcription of these tales in a meaningful context. Lupton has obviously taken quite a bit of care with this aspect of the work, and set his story up to show that while Christian influence on this event must have been considerable, it is unlikely that the project of collecting these stories in writing was merely an attempt by Christians to suppress pre-Christian ideas. Modern readers agonise a great deal about this question, and I suspect that the picture Lupton paints of a "middle ground" scenario is as close as we will ever get to the reality of what happened. Because of this, I think this book might help readers who are struggling to understand the context in which early Celtic texts came into being. Yes, it's a work of fiction, but it paints a picture which could easily be close to the truth.

The premise of the book is that Cian Brydydd Mawr, the last great bard of Gwynedd, is dying, and that the stories he knows must be recorded in writing or lost. Arrangements are made for a monastic scribe to write the tales down, but the old bard insists that he must have a suitable audience, and so a lay brother, a widow with a struggling farm, and a young lad also attend each storytelling session, over a period of many months, until the work is accomplished.
    
      The scribe leaned across the table and whispered into Llywelyn's ear.
      "Lord, it concerns Cian Brydydd Mawr."
      "What of him?"
      He feels the hand of death closing around his heart. His apprentices are dead. Everything he passed on to them, in the old way, with the breath of his mouth, is lost."
      "You do not have to tell me. It wounds me every time I think about it."
      "Lord, he has made a request. He has drawn me aside and asked that certain matters be set down on the page, matters the will otherwise die with him and be forgotten."

      But the Sub-Prior was already standing.
      "Lord, if I may speak?"
      Llywelyn opened his hand in a gesture of approval.
      "Lord, this Matter to be set on the page - it is hardly the province of the Holy Church."

      Llywelyn leapt over the high table. The Sub-Prior found himself seized and shaken for the second time.
      "How many lands have I gifted to your Cistercian Brotherhood?"
      "Many hundreds of acres, Lord."
      "And golden vessels, silver plate?"
      "You have been most kind."
      "And you wish to keep my favour?"
      "We do, my Lord."
      Llywelyn drew him so close that their noses were touching.
      "Then write me my book."
   

Thus, Hugh Lupton cleverly sets the scene for a background discussion of 13th century events and attitudes, as well as introducing a set of fictional characters and their stories, which are interspersed with Cian's telling of the tales from the Mabinogi. The author does a good job of balancing his sub-plots with the mythological material, while firmly placing the myths centre stage. It is during the telling of the stories that Lupton's ability as a poet and storyteller shines. Here he is especially confident and fluent, as in these passages from the opening of the tale of Branwen.

If I could sing I would sing of Bran the Blessed, High King over the Island of the Mighty.
      I would sing of Bran whose name means Raven.
      I would sing of mighty Bran, son of Llyr, watching the blue sea from the high cliffs of Harlech.
      Look.
      A golden crown is glittering on his broad brow.
          He sits on the soft grass at the cliff's margin.
      His legs hang over the edge. His heels are kicking the rock face.
      His body, from the root of his spine to the back of his head, is the height of the twisted mountain oaks that stand behind him.
      His hands rest on this thighs, each as broad as the spread hide of an ox.
      His eyes are fixed on the open sea.
      Beside him sit three companions.

They saw thirteen ships.
      Their sails were swollen with the wind. Their prows were slicing through the waves. They were approaching Harlech from the western horizon at a smooth and swift speed.
      Bran lifted one of his huge hands to shelter his eyes from the glare of the sun.

     
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A mythic map of Wales by Margaret Jones

I found myself distracted, while reading this book, by my own need to keep tabs on how closely the  suthor was following the original myths. If you are deeply familiar with the four branches of the Mabinogi, I suspect that you will find yourself doing the same, and like me, you will find that Lupton is very faithful to the original. I am pleased about that, and the re-telling here is deft and the language beautiful. I would very much enjoy hearing Hugh Lupton tell these stories live.

Mabinogi enthusiasts will enjoy this book, but it would be a perfect gift for someone who enjoys good historical or fantasy fiction, especially if you are trying to spark their interest in The Mabinogi. If you are approaching the  four branches for the first time, for study or devotional reasons, I would recommend one of the many excellent translations of these tales instead. However, I think for the general reader who simply likes mythology, or who likes books set in early Britain this book is ideal.

Final analysis. If you are looking for a good read and an easy introduction to The Mabinogi, this is the perfect choice.

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The Assembly of the Severed Head is available to order from the publisher, Propolis Books, and from the usual booksellers.


If you enjoyed this post, you might like Of Oracles, Wonder and Inspiration which also features some masterly re-telling of myth.

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The Story Shawl

26/9/2018

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What is mythology?
Because I have been around mythology all my life, I sometimes forget that the first thing people think of when they hear the word myth, is probably the phrase, “That’s just a myth.” In other words, they think of a myth as something like an old wives’ tale or fake news. On the other hand, I think of something like this: Stories people have believed for many generations, which cannot be fully confirmed, usually concerning their own origins, culture and gods. These stories have a fairly high degree of stability over time. That’s a pretty standard definition of mythology. There are some important nuances, like the difference between folklore and mythology (they’re not exactly the same thing, but can overlap), or that an “urban myths” should probably be called “urban folklore”, but we’ll save that for another time!

For the purposes of Celtic Pagans, our mythology would include things like the Welsh Mabinogi and the Irish Battles of Magh Tuireadh. These are stories about gods and goddesses, and the ancestors of the Irish and Britons. They are not historically accurate, and they don’t tell us exactly what Celts anywhere believed about their gods at any given time. So, what are they? Are they just very old short stories? Maybe this will help …

Update:
This post is an early version of a story I later published in a chapbook called Mythology. You can purchase it, and other chapbooks here on the website, or receive a new chapbook every three months by becoming a patron at the $7 per month level on Patreon.


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The Story Shawl
Once upon a time, when there were only a few people, and every person was therefore precious to those who knew them, your grandmother’s hundred-times-back-great-grandmother made a shawl. She spun it and wove it with wool from her own sheep, and she lovingly embroidered little pictures all over it, which reminded her of her relatives. A type of flower her mother liked, a black bull of the sort her grandfather raised, a trumpet like the one her brother blew in battle, and a little girl’s dress that her own baby daughter would have worn if she’d lived. Not just these four pictures, but many more.

When she handed this shawl down to another daughter, she explained the meaning of each picture. The shawl was passed on in this way for several generations of women, until one girl, who also loved to sew, decided to add some new pictures about her relatives. On and on the shawl went from mother to daughter. If a woman died before she got a chance to explain the meanings of the pictures, an aunt or grandmother did her best. As the generations fanned out, cousins also wanted to remember the shawl so someone made a song about it.

                                                                                                                                                        
Then a famine came, and because people were hungry there was a war. Everyone’s life was in turmoil. A grandmother had the sense to pack the shawl away carefully, but in the chaos, no one knew where she put it. Much later it was found, lovingly wrapped, but people had forgotten what it was, so it was put in a trunk. Still, a few families here and there had an old bedtime song about the story shawl. It began:

A flower, a bull, a trumpet
What was upon the shawl?
Our daughters shall remember
Their mothers and grannies all.

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Portrait of a Devonian by Francis Henry Newbury. Royal Albert
Memorial Museum
. CC BY-NC-SA 4.0
A long time passed, and then one day a woman happened to open the trunk, and there was the shawl. When she unwrapped it, it was moth-eaten and faded, and a bit smelly, so she put it on the back step for the cat to sleep on.

One day, Grandma was visiting, and she went out back to sit in the sun. She saw this old piece of needlework and began to really look at it. Wasn’t that an old battle trumpet? And a black bull? She began to sing scraps of the bedtime song over to herself, and she remembered a few old lines that seemed to fit with some of the other pictures she could still make out.

She folded the shawl up and took it around the village, showing it to the oldest women she knew. One said someone must have made it in their mother’s time, perhaps for a child who liked the bedtime song. Others spread it out on their kitchen tables, and wrinkled their brows, and tried to reach back into their memories for something they couldn’t quite touch.

A noblewoman who came to the house to buy butter got sight of the shawl, where the old women were looking it over. She said she thought it was ancient and VERY IMPORTANT. Granny handed it over in lieu of five years’ rent.

The lady took it back to her house, and she and her waiting women got to work making as exact a copy as they could. When they came to missing bits, or pictures they couldn’t make sense of, they just put in something that would look nice and enhance the overall piece. Then they put it in a glass case in the library. Once a year during the village festival, the local children were all paraded past it and told, “That’s your heritage. Now get back to your sums and your Latin verbs and stop acting like peasants.”
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The Ladies Waldegrave - Joshua Reynolds

When the noblewoman died, and her grandchildren decided to downsize, the old shawl went out with the boxes of junk. The shawl in the glass case went to a museum where it began to generate a great deal of interest. Young women began to bring their children to see it. They would sing them snatches of the bedtime song, and as they looked at the shawl, they seemed to remember more verses than they thought they knew. Their children gazed not at the shawl, but at their singing mothers, with great, round, wondering eyes. Old women came and pressed their hands and faces against the glass and wept, but no one could tell whether it was for joy or sadness – not even the old women themselves. Such was the power of the picture shawl.

No one knows what became of the old shawl. Some say it never actually existed, and that people just get hysterical over the slightest thing these days. Other people say it was witchcraft, and that somehow the old shawl was made new again. Some people have started a new custom of singing the bedtime song (all fourteen verses) with their children, as they dance around their Midsummer fires. And on winter evenings, women in houses throughout the land can be seen embroidering shawls and humming, while their men wash the supper dishes.

Wait! What just happened?
This little story is intended to show how something may be handed down for a very long time, and although parts of it are lost, and other parts misunderstood, that which survives still has tremendous value and meaning. Like mythology, the shawl carried information and connection to the ancestors, but ultimately it awoke that connection within the people themselves. While the shawl in the story was only concerned with cultural and ancestral meaning, the myths have a third function for us as Pagans. They connect us to the gods. Their stories may have become a little fragmented here and confused there, yet the gods still underpin the myths. We can still listen for the old song that’s buried deep, and allow ourselves to sing the new song that arises,
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 St John's Eve Bonfire on Skagen's Beach - Peder Severin Kroyer

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like Once upon a time, deep in the forest ...

Mythology

A chapbook collection containing the allegorical tale The Story Shawl, a poem about Macha entitled Approaching the House of Cruinniuc, and a long essay called The Beach.

Size 8.5" x 5.5"

14 pages

Please see product page for more information.

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Seeking Meaning in Celtic Mythology

1/9/2018

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In a recent piece on getting started with Celtic mythology, I touched briefly on how to approach reading myths. In that post there are a few suggestions about finding accessible, inexpensive translations of the Mabinogi and the Irish cycles. Let's now talk more about looking for meaning in the myths.
I'm assuming that most people will be reading myths from a book. However, we must learn to listen to them, to give them our deep attention. There are definite advantages to hearing someone tell stories from Celtic mythology in person, especially if the speaker is pronouncing the names in their native language. (Wrong pronunciations can be hard to unlearn so it's great to hear correct ones early on.) There is an immediacy and a shared experience with live storytelling that no other method has. Listening to recordings can also be good, but it can be harder to keep your full attention on a recording. However, an advantage that both books and recordings have, is that you can go back over things whenever you want to. The "listening" I'm talking about, though, is not about reading vs hearing, but about how we receive and respond to the story once we encounter it.
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If you are the kind of person who puts a book down in mid-chapter and picks it up again when you have time, I suggest you take a different approach with myths. Try to read a whole story, or at least a clearly defined episode, in a single sitting. For example, we could divide the first branch of The Mabinogi into two stories. There is the story of Pwyll's adventures in the otherworld, and there is the story of Pwyll and Rhiannon. The second story could be divided further as: 1) Pwyll and Rhiannon's courtship; 2) the two wedding feasts; 3) the loss of Rhainnon's child and her punishment; and 4) Teyrnon's story.  These four episodes can't stand alone in the same way that the two overarching tales do, but they might provide you with reasonable landmarks. If you do get interrupted while reading, it is worth going back to a point that feels like the beginning of an episode, and starting there.

As you read mythology you will probably meet ideas that cause a strong response. Your response might be awe or aversion, an epiphany or curiosity. A good storyteller knows these points in a tale, and will pause, perhaps even repeat a phrase, or explain something. When we read myth, we act as both teller and listener, so please show honour to both yourself and the story by sitting for a moment to feel or think, or even going back over something that stands out.

Over time, some myths will probably feel more important to you than others. Remember that in a storytelling culture, an individual will hear the same stories many times in their life. Allow the tales that are important to you to get under your skin. Allow yourself to live and eat with them, to dream them. As well as reading my favourites often, maybe in different translations, I sometimes try to repeat them in my mind, as if I was telling them to a group of friends. This allows me to see how well I know the story. Can I get all the events in the right order? Am I clear on any causes and effects? This is a great way to make the story part of your life, and maybe one day you will find yourself telling it.

Some people will tell you to read various books about mythology "for starters". While they often suggest very good books, I feel that you should let the myths themselves have their say first. Keep an open mind. The depth you find on your own is real, too. It can be both magical and fragile. Don't let a more scholarly interpretation crush the wisdom you've found. Maybe your wisdom will evolve, and maybe the scholars' wisdom is not the only wisdom. Later, you may want to read commentary on the myths that interest you.
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Celtic mythology is hard to pin down. It's messy, fragmented and mysterious. You have to work for what you get out of it. Talking about mythology is not the same thing as listening to it. If you do listen, you'll find that somehow the gods have woven themselves into the strands of it in such a way that if you look for them there, or you look for wisdom or 'medicine' there, they will meet you halfway. They will meet you with things that are relevant to you right now.


"In this tradition a story is 'holy,' and it is used as medicine ... The story is not told to lift you up, to make you feel better, or to entertain you, although all those things can be true. The story is meant to take the spirit into a descent to find something that is lost or missing and to bring it back to consciousness again."
    - Clarissa Pinkola Estes


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The Trouble with Kings is a five week course which will look at kingship, leadership, stewardship, and sovereignty figures from the many angles provided by Welsh and Irish myth, with a few folktales thrown in for good measure. The relationship between leadership and the health of the land is a frequent theme in Celtic myth, and one which certainly concerns us today. I'll be telling the old  stories, followed by  moderated class discussion.
For more information on The Trouble with Kings online class, follow this link.

Starts last week of September, 2020.


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The Evil That Efnisien Did

7/8/2018

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In this story we meet some noble Welsh characters. There is the giant King Bran, who is also called Bendigeidfran or "Bran the Blessed", the High King of The Island of the Mighty (Britain). Bran, Branwen and Manawydan, are the children of Llyr, and their mother is Penarddun, the daughter of Beli. Penarddun also has twin sons, whose father is Euroswydd. Nisien is introduced as being a peacemaker within the family, while Efnisien is the opposite - a troublemaker.

Matholwch, King of Ireland arrives on the coast of Wales, bringing 13 ships full of men and horses. He asks Bran for Branwen's hand in marriage. This is agreed, and the marriage feast takes place. This short excerpt from the Jones and Jones translation takes up the action, which I prefer not to have to paraphrase...

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Every time I read this passage I mourn.

However, let's finish the tale:
Naturally, at this point in the story Matholwch is offended and angry, but Bran manages to patch things up with gifts and apologies. However, as the story unfolds we find that the repercussions from Efnisien's actions have barely begun.

Back in Ireland, Branwen bears a son, called Gwern, but resentment against the Welsh over the mutilation of the horses resurfaces, and in retaliation Matholwch forces Branwen to live as a mistreated kitchen slave. When she manages to send to Wales for help, Bran raises a huge army and invades Ireland.

Seeing himself greatly outnumbered, Matholwch swears to give Gwern sovereignty over Ireland in order to make peace. Bran says this isn't enough, so the Irish offer to build a giant feasting hall, large enough to accommodate him. This is accepted, but turns out to be a trap. The Irish warriors are lying in wait, hiding in supposed flour sacks. Efnisien systematically crushes their skulls with his bare hands, unknown to Matholwch.

At the feast, Efnisien throws Branwen's child, Gwern, into the fire, killing him. More fighting ensues, with great losses on both sides. Efnisien dies by breaking a magical cauldron, Branwen dies of a broken heart, and Bran is mortally wounded by a poisoned spear. In the end, only seven of Bran's army return alive, including Manawydan, Taliesin, and Pryderi - the son of Rhiannon.


This is a very brief synopsis, but I have tried to mention everything, and add nothing. Whether one looks at my short re-telling, or the story as it stands in the second branch, every event, every nuance is open to many interpretations. That is the nature of myth, and I can only tell you what I am thinking at the moment.

Horses, the land. queens and sovereignty are closely bound together in the Mabinogi, and to some extent in Irish texts, too. Exactly how this thinking evolved through time is impossible to say. I suspect that it runs all the way back to a time when humans developed some kind of spiritual or magical relationship with horses as prey. This evolved as horses were gradually domesticated first for meat, and then were both ennobled and enslaved for warfare and heavy work.

Humans are adaptable and innovative, but paradoxically their societies are remarkably resistant to change. If the wild, swift and free horses who were hunted for food were venerated in some meaningful way, how did people feel about taking that freedom away? What stories did they create to make this acceptable, and who within these societies was driving these changes? Was the mare already a kind of earth mother deity? Did the changing status of the domesticated mare mirror, or alter the balance of power between male and female in human society?

I can't help feeling that Celtic stories carry some coded message for us. A distant echo, if you like, of how humans came to terms with or even excused, their changing relationship to nature. Did we change an association between the horse and the earth mother into an association between the horse and our new ideas about owning them, and holding territory for them to graze on?

These gradual adaptations must have brought spiritual or religious adjustments with them. Perhaps during times of change there was a sense that humans might be transgressing natural/sacred laws, or at least that they must be careful to continue to show respect for what had been sacred under the old system. The need to conflate the sacred earth and the sacred feminine (equine and human) and with the holding of territory would have been a philosophical balancing act. One which introduced the need for a more concrete idea of sovereignty.

So how is this echoed in the Mabinogi? In the first branch we have the well-known story of Rhiannon, who is more insulted than abused. Pwyll, although rather inept, makes some attempt to show respect for her, and things are resolved to bring about a happy ending to the story.  

When we come to the second branch things shift. While there is a similar tale of the mistreatment of a woman who should be an honoured bringer of sovereignty, she is no longer directly associated with horses. The suffering of these divine queens following their marriages is bad enough, but pales in comparison to Efnisien's mutilation of the horses and the catastrophic events that follow. In the first branch, the insults to the sovereignty bringer, Rhiannon,  are the result of Pwyll's foolishness, and while painful for her, impact only her. Efnisien's actions, however, are cruel and show a deep disregard for the sovereign earth mother in the form of Matholwch's horses. It is no wonder that the destruction which follows is also on a different scale.

Although the narration of the Mabinogi concentrates on the insult to Matholwch, and the rendering useless of his horses, this emphasis probably has its roots in  legal preoccupations and  Christian theology. However, the visceral and highly specific description of Efnisien's crime carries a deep sense of wrongdoing against nature and beauty. Perhaps this hearkens back to an atavistic taboo from our earliest beliefs. The pain and terror inflicted on these horses is an immediate shock to anyone who hears the story. Perhaps we should look into this wound, rather than turning away to focus on the romantic tragedy of Branwen.

It's as if the second branch is saying to us, "Listen. I don't think you fully comprehend the importance of the lesson of the first branch. Let me show you again, more vividly. Let me remind you that there are limits." Efnisien has overstepped the limits of both intention and severity. In the first branch, Rhiannon upbraids Pwyll for unfairly spurring his horse, a crime that shrinks in comparison to Efnisien's bloody rampage.

It is no wonder that none of the characters in this story are able to fix things. Neither sweet Branwen with her tame starling, nor two kings alternating between war and placation, nor Efnision's last minute attempts at heroism can alter the outcome. Men, horses, kings, heirs and kingdoms, the precious cauldron of rebirth and the divine queen herself are lost. At this time in history when those in power seem to have lost all sense of the sacredness of nature, but are leading us to destruction while they squabble over riches and insults, this is a story we need to revisit.

A Tale of Manawydan

A chapbook containing my original re-telling of The Third Branch of the Mabinogi from the point of view of Manawydan himself. This is a work I never imagined I would produce but the urge to tell Manawydan's story became too strong to resist, so here it is!


8.5" x 5.5"


25 pages


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Contemplating Lughnasadh

26/7/2018

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As most Pagans know, both Lammas and Lughnasadh are associated with grain. Lammas comes from the Anglo-Saxon "loaf mass" - a time when the first loaves made from the new wheat crop were taken to the church and blessed. The season of Lammastide had, and still has, all sorts of grain harvest customs associated with it. I remember when I moved to Scotland in the 1980s being amazed to see "Lammas (Scottish quarter day)" printed on the appropriate date, in the appointment diary I bought. The Lammas fairs of Scotland were once major points in the agricultural calendar. With the grain harvest in, it was a good time for agricultural workers who didn't like their current positions to look to "fee" with a different farmer, and Lammas fairs became important hiring fairs. It's not unusual, even now, to hear older people say "It's like a Lammas fair!" when a place is unusually crowded or busy.

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The Irish name for Lammas is Lughnasadh (or Lunastal in Scottish Gaelic). This refers to the funerary games which we are told the god Lugh initiated to honour his foster mother, Tailtiu, who died after the labour of clearing the land around Telltown, County Meath, for agriculture. Telltown is said to take its name from Tailtiu, and gives its own name to Lammas fair customs like Telltown marriages, which were year-and-a-day trial marriages performed at fairs. Another tradition was that of young people agreeing to be sweethearts just for the duration of the fair period. These couples were then referred to as being Telltown brother and sister.  Since the quarter days were important in the Scottish legal calendar as starting and ending dates for legal contracts, it's natural that these informal romantic contracts would be struck at this time.

More generally, both folklore and neo-Pagan lore at this time of year is full of harvest customs, corn maidens, and fancy loaves of bread. Increasingly, I'm feeling a bit disaffected when it comes to this. The more I study human history, and the more I look at the mess our human sprawl has made of our home (planet Earth), the more I begin to regret that the human race chose to take up the plough in the first place. The taming of grain allowed humans to settle down and raise more children, who in turn raised even more children. All those children who grew up and needed more land to clear, conquer and plough for ever bigger fields of grain, and so the dominos began to topple. Forests, wildlife, indigenous people -- all stood in the way of this process we called progress. The progress that enabled us to build cities and sit still long enough to create the industrial revolution and the population explosion, which in turn influenced the tendency to factory farming and vast, destructive monoculture grain plantations.

Although I know we will never intentionally turn the clock back as far as I might wish, there is a part of me that feels reluctant to celebrate what my ancestors started. I've spent most of my life living in agricultural communities. It's not a distant, hazy dream for me. I understand its cycles of arable and stock rearing tasks and celebrations. I also love the deities of the Celts. They are my own deities, and  many of them are deeply bound up with agriculture, as is our neo-Pagan wheel of the year. I'm not going to throw that away. For one thing, it's reality. I still like to eat. I like to drink beer and whisky. Throwing John Barleycorn and The Corn Maiden out with the irrigation water seems a little ungrateful. However, at the same time I trust that the reasons for my current feelings are also valid, and like my ancestors before me, I'm not afraid to begin to look at things through a new lens, and place more weight on what is important now. And right now, preserving the unploughed natural world is more important to me than whether me and my tribe have enough to eat over the winter.

Lugh, we know, was not only a successful and clever warrior, but was known for his many skills. Skill at crafts and music,  at gaming and healing. After the second battle of Magh Tiuragh he and his wise men refused the offer of four grain harvests per year and cows that gave milk perpetually. Gifts offered by Bres, the defeated king who had taxed and worked his people into utter misery. This may have been Bres' idea of a good thing, but to the Tuatha De Danann is was unsuitable. They preferred to keep everything in its natural season.

Tailtiu, meanwhile, died in bondage after clearing the land for agriculture. I think it has long been the general assumption that she is honoured for having made a great sacrifice, and that is a reasonable reading of the myth, especially in a wider context. However, I see her also as representing the land put under the bondage of the plough, and of the loss of the hunting grounds which were destroyed in the process.

What will I be thinking of at Lughnasadh rituals this year? I'm not sure yet, but I have plenty to be going forward with. The making of experimental or short-term agreements, considering how best to use my skills, honouring the natural cycles of nature and not asking her to work overtime on my behalf, and supporting animal rights and wild nature. I will also be thankful and mindful of where and how my next bowl of porridge and bottle of beer will make their way to me.
Tailltiu daughter of Mag Mor king of Spain, queen of the Fir Bolg, came after the slaughter was inflicted upon the Fir Bolg in that first battle of Mag Tuired to Coill Cuan: and the wood was cut down by her, so it was a plain under clover-flower before the end of a year. This is that Tailtiu who was wife of Eochu son of Erc king of Ireland till the Tuatha De Danann slew him, ut praediximus: it is he who took her from her father, from Spain; and it is she who slept with Eochu Garb son of Dui Dall of the Tuatha De Danann; and Cian son of Dian Cecht, whose other name was Scal Balb, gave her his son in fosterage, namely Lugh, whose mother was Eithne daughter of Balar. So Tailltiu died in Tailltiu, and her name clave thereto and her grave is from the Seat of Tailltiu north-eastward. Her games were performed every year and her song of lamentation, by Lugh. With gessa and feats of arms were they performed, a fortnight before Lugnasad and a fortnight after: under dicitur Lughnasadh, that is, the celebration  or the festival of Lugh.
Lebor Gabala Erenn - R.A.S.MacAlister, traslator.

­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­_________________________
Taltiu, daughter of gentle Magmor, wife of Eochu Garb son of Dui Dall, came hither leading the Fir Bolg host to Caill Chuan, after high battle.
Caill Chuan, it was a thicket of trees from Escir to Ath Drommann, from the Great Bog, a long journey, from the Sele to Ard Assuide.
Assuide, the seat of the hunt, whither gathered the red-coated deer; often was the bugle first sounded east of the wood, the second time on the edge of Clochar.
Commur, Currech, Crích Linde, Ard Manai where the spears used to be; the hounds of Cairpre killed their quarry on the land of Tipra Mungairde.
Great that deed that was done with the axe's help by Taltiu, the reclaiming of meadowland from the even wood by Taltiu daughter of Magmor.
When the fair wood was cut down by her, roots and all, out of the ground, before the year's end it became Bregmag, it became a plain blossoming with clover.
Her heart burst in her body from the strain beneath her royal vest; not wholesome, truly, is a face like the coal, for the sake of woods or pride of timber.
Long was the sorrow, long the weariness of Tailtiu, in sickness after heavy toil; the men of the island of Erin to whom she was in bondage came to receive her last behest.
She told them in her sickness (feeble she was but not speechless) that they should hold funeral games to lament her—zealous the deed.
About the Calends of August she died, on a Monday, on the Lugnasad of Lug; round her grave from that Monday forth is held the chief Fair of noble Erin.
White-sided Tailtiu uttered in her land a true prophecy, that so long as every prince should accept her, Erin should not be without perfect song.
A fair with gold, with silver, with games, with music of chariots, with adornment of body and of soul by means of knowledge and eloquence.
A fair without wounding or robbing of any man, without trouble, without dispute, without reaving, without challenge of property, without suing, without law-sessions, without evasion, without arrest.
A fair without sin, without fraud, without reproach, without insult, without contention, without seizure, without theft, without redemption:
No man going into the seats of the women, nor woman into the seats of the men, shining fair, but each in due order by rank in his place in the high Fair.
Unbroken truce of the fair the while through Erin and Alba alike, while men went in and came out without any rude hostility.
Metrical Dindshenchas - Edward Gwynn, translator

________________________
"The cows of Ireland will always be in milk," said Bres, "if I am spared."
"I will tell that to our wise men," said Lug. So Lug went to Maeltne Morbrethach and said to him, "Shall Bres be spared for giving constant milk to the cows of Ireland?"
"He shall not be spared," said Maeltne. "He has no power over their age or their calving, even if he controls their milk as long as they are alive."
Lug said to Bres, "That does not save you; you have no power over their age or their calving, even if you control their milk. Is there anything else which will save you, Bres?" said Lug.
"There is indeed. Tell your lawyer they will reap a harvest every quarter in return for sparing me."
Lug said to Maeltne, "Shall Bres be spared for giving the men of Ireland a harvest of grain every quarter?"
"This has suited us," said Maeltne. "Spring for plowing and sowing, and the beginning of summer for maturing the strength of the grain, and the beginning of autumn for the full ripeness of the grain, and for reaping it. Winter for consuming it."
The Second Battle of Mag Tuired - Elizabeth A Gray, translator

Lugh Lleu

A collection of prose and poetry about two intertwined gods. This is a literary approach based on scholarship, so I have included bibliographical notes for those who want them.

8.5" x 5.5"

28 pages

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