Category: Mythology

The Evil That Efnisien Did

7/8/2018

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...

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.

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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Getting started with Celtic Myth

15/7/2018

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Celtic myths can be fun and exciting to read, or they can be daunting and difficult. Newcomers to Celtic studies or Celtic Paganism often don't know where to start. I hope this post will help you to get started well and show you how to deepen your engagement. I'll stick to the main bodies of Irish and Welsh myths for this post, just to keep things simple.

Here's a working definition of myth, to get us started: 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.

The earliest sources we have for Celtic myths are manuscripts created from the 11th to 16th centuries. Most scholars are of the opinion, based on language and other clues, that the material in these old books is older than the books themselves. Some of it has the kind of errors which show that it was copied from another written source (now lost) and some of it shows the hallmarks of having been passed down orally for a long time, before it was finally written down.

There are many medieval books, usually created by monastic scribes, that contain bits of Irish and Welsh myth. Sometimes these are fragmentary because a book got damaged, or because whoever created the book only had access to bits and pieces of a longer tale. Sometimes we find the same thing word-for-word in several manuscripts, sometimes we find quite different versions of the same story in two different books. Fortunately, there are scholars who dedicate themselves to sorting this all out for the rest of us. They don't always get it right, but as time passes they are getting better at it.

Not many of us are ever going to be able to read these things in their original. Even if you speak fluent Irish or Welsh, it wouldn't be easy, because the language has changed so much. I speak English fluently, but I can't read Old English at all, nor Middle English very well. So unless you are a scholar of early forms of Irish and Welsh, you might appreciate a translation. So let's talk about that.

Translations vary. Extremely literal word-by-word translations can be harder to understand than you'd think. They don't explain things like idioms, except maybe in footnotes, and don't always deal well with poetry, or the many grammatical differences between languages. On the other hand, they may give insights that other translations don't. Good examples of this are R. A. S. MacAlister's Lebor Gabála Érenn or Morgan Daimler's The Treasure of the Tuatha De Danann.

Most translations are more "faithful" than literal. The translator tries their best to convey the exact meaning of each phrase, in a way that allows the reader to easily digest it. (Like Patrick Ford's translation of the Mabinogi.) You may also find it helpful to choose a fairly recent translation. Translations from the 19th and early 20th centuries are often available to read free online. Some of them are good, but if you don't enjoy reading Victorian prose, you may give up. (For example Whitley Stokes' The Voyage of Mael Duin's Boat or Lady Charlotte Guest's Mabinogion.)

Next in line for reading choice might be a "faithful re-telling". This is where the author has read the material, either in translation or through their own scholarship, but put it into their own words more than a translator would. A faithful re-telling might simplify the language for children, or condense the action a little for a story collection or encyclopedia, or the author might simply prefer to put it in their own words. However, it shouldn't remove or add anything important. The question here is always "How faithful?", and if you haven't read the myth from a good translation beforehand, how will you know? The fact that I don't recommend any here doesn't mean that none exist. I have seen authors make a good job of individual stories.

Finally there are looser renderings of myths. You may see these in collections in discounted book bins, read them on websites, or find them in literary forms like novels. Some of them are good from a literary standpoint but a long way from the original. Others may have been passed around the internet without anyone bothering to check their accuracy. I generally find the ones written by authors who are members of the relevant culture (James Stephens' Irish Fairy Tales) preferable to those writing from an alien culture who are just mining mythology for a good story with supernatural elements. (Evangeline Walton's Mabinogion Tetralogy for example.) Authors may also appropriate deities and other characters from myths and put them into their own stories, but don't expect to learn much about mythology by reading them.

For anyone wishing to really absorb and engage with Celtic mythology, I would suggest that they read translations first, rather than think they will work their way up via a fantasy novel or a bad synopsis. It's human nature that the first version of a story we hear sticks in our mind as the most true version, in spite of us trying to override that with logic later.

And so , to the tales themselves:

The primary body of Welsh myth is The Mabinogi (or Mabinogion). It is divided into four "branches" or sections, which each stand on their own, but loosely relate to one another. Another seven stories are associated with the Mabinogi, because they were found in some of the same early manuscripts. Some of these will probably be included when you buy a translation of the Mabinogi in book form. The Welsh myths were written down later than the Irish material, the manuscripts are generally in better condition and the tales are much less like a jigsaw with its pieces scattered through many books. Some scholars fell that there is material missing from the Mabinogi, but what, and how much is missing is open to opinion.

Irish mythology is messier. There are more manuscripts, and the material is fragmented and scattered between them. Modern scholars usually group the Irish stories into four "cycles": The Mythological Cycle concerns Ireland's origins and the doings of the Tuatha De Danann; The Ulster Cycle is about Conchobar, Cu Chulainn and the cattle raiding culture of the north; The Fenian Cycle concerns the doings of Fionn MacCumhaill and the Fenian warriors; and The Historical Cycle is a pseudo-history of Irish kings from the 5th-11th centuries.

One author/translator deserves very special attention for her treatment of the Irish material: Lady Augusta Gregory, who made a bold attempt to put the jigsaw of fragments together into a cohesive, chronological narrative for the first three cycles. Certainly, scholarship and attitudes have moved on considerably since Lady Gregory published her translations, and a hundred years later the language is becoming dated. However, I still recommend the collection of her work, called Complete Irish Mythology, as a good way to read the Irish myths for the first time. After you've done that, you will probably want to find newer and better translations of various stories, or delve into early Irish texts that aren't included by Lady Gregory, but you will have a much better grasp of the big picture.

Another handy book of the Irish cycles is Ancient Irish Tales, edited by Cross and Slover. This contains much of the same material as Complete Irish Mythology, although some tales have been edited for length. The translations are also good, and the language a little more approachable.

The Mabinogion is not that long. Even with some notes and all the extra tales it makes a manageable sized book. Complete Irish Mythology is heftier (around 550 pages), but not enormous if you think of it as a trilogy in one volume. It's helpful to read the four branches of the Mabinogi or Complete Irish Mythology in order the first time, but don't devour them too quickly. There is a great deal of action within just a few pages in these stories, and not much exposition. Give yourself time to let each little story sink in. Give yourself time to ask questions, even though you may have no answers. Live with these stories and savour them. There are many scholarly interpretations of these tales, but what is your interpretation? What are your instincts telling you? Take the time to go back over things that don't make sense, or that haunt you. Remember that people once grew up hearing these stories regularly, and continued to hear them throughout their lives. It is only by living with them, that you will find their true depth.

You might like to read the follow-up to this post - Seeking Meaning in Celtic Mythology.

You can also find short reviews of books on Celtic topics on my YouTube channel. Look for the Books from the Coffee Table series

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

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That Mabon Thing Again!

18/9/2013

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Sometimes, it's wise to question whether swimming against the tide is worth it. I'm beginning to think that "the Mabon thing" may be one of those instances. The Autumnal Equinox is nearly here, and my social media world has been filled with references to the day as "Mabon" for several weeks. Many people new to Paganism, and some who are not so new, simply accept that name without thinking. If I were to enter a new culture, I probably wouldn't question the names of the holidays, either. I'd assume that these names had been in use for centuries. However, the fact is that "the Mabon thing" has no venerable history - the practice was begun by Wiccan author Aiden A. Kelly in the 1970s. Anyway, why should we care? Wiccans and Neo-Pagans are forging new territory, right? Surely we can call our holidays by new names.

autumn equinox, ric kemp, mabon, avebury

Autumn Equinox by Ric Kemp

Mabon is certainly not a word that Kelly simply coined. It is the name of a Welsh deity/mythological character Mabon ap Modron, which literally means "Son, son of Mother". However, there is nothing in the story of Mabon which has links to autumn or the balance between dark and light, etc. which really justifies relating him to this event. One occasionally sees tortuous attempts by modern writers to draw correspondences, but they always seem to me to be reaching very hard and not really succeeding. However, there is no doubt that the name has caught on in a big way, and I'm not interested in trying to stamp out its use. I would just like to raise awareness, that Mabon is the name of a deity, and hope that if people are going to throw that name around, then perhaps they could at least take a little time to learn who Mabon was and hear his story.

Modron is a shadowy figure, and all we are told is that she gave birth to her son Mabon, but when he was three days old he was taken from "between her and the wall", in other words abducted by some supernatural means. He had been a beautiful and precocious child - obviously one connected with the otherworld. The on ending of the two names also provides a clue that these are not mere mortals. Eventually, Mabon was found and rescued by Arthur (yes, that Arthur) as part of the fulfillment of a quest. You can read this tale, which is part of the longer story of Culhwch and Olwen in the Mabinogion. If you find it rather heavy going, you might prefer this gentle re-telling by Alison Lilly: The Tale of Mabon.

Mabon by Jen Delyth

The main story of Mabon doesn't give us a great deal to go on in understanding who or what he really is as a deity or personality. A couple of other Welsh tales have similar stories of the abduction of divine babes, most notably the story of Rhiannon and Pryderi. An interesting discussion of these tales and what they might mean can be found in the excellent Mabon ap Modron The story of the Divine Son. Another worthwhile link, discussing various early literary mentions of Mabon is Mabon ap Modron "Divine Son son of Divine Mother".

Finally, my thanks to Brian Walsh for his excellent article Mabon - A God of Spring Misplaced.

Have a good one! Whatever you call it!

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What I Could Do

25/7/2013

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Remembering our skills at Lughnasadh

One of my favourite books is a slim thing called "I Could Read the Sky" by Timothy O'Grady and Steve Pyke. O'Grady wrote the text, which is accompanied by Pyke's black and white photography. It is an odd, poetic novel - disjointed death bed recollections of an Irish labourer at the end of a life passed mostly in England.

In 2005 I was lucky enough to attend one of Tim and Steve's performance/readings of the book, which involved projections of the photos, Tim reading, and great musical performances by Martin Hayes, Dennis Cahill, Mairtin O’Connor, Iarla O’Leonard and Karen Casey. Perhaps this has something to do with the deep impression the book has made on me, but the quality and content of the writing, and Pike's stark images are enough in themselves.

One of the most memorable and popular parts of the book is a short chapter which begins with the phrase "What I could do". It is the central character's recollection, by way of a simple list, of his abilities and accomplishments as a young man still in Ireland.

What I could do.
I could mend nets. Thatch a roof. Build stairs. Make a basket from reeds. Splint the leg of a cow. Cut turf. Build a wall. Go three rounds with Joe in the ring Da put up in the barn. I could dance sets. Read the sky. Make a barrel for mackerel. Mend roads. Make a boat. Stuff a saddle. Put a wheel on a cart. Strike a deal. Make a field. Work the swarth turner, the float and the thresher. I could read the sea. Shoot straight. Make a shoe. Shear sheep. Remember poems. Set potatoes. Plough and harrow. Read the wind. Tend hens. Bind wyndes. Make a coffin. Take a drink. I could frighten you with stories. I knew the song to sing to a cow when milking. I could play twenty-seven tunes on my accordion.

Steve Pyke, I Could Read the Sky, hands, what I could do

this and following photos by Steve Pyke

A list of skills valuable in a particular time and place, and a list to be proud of. Skills of the sort handed down through generations, and so often undervalued. Skills of the ildanach. Ildanach, is an Irish word which means many-skilled, or perhaps skilled-in-all-things. In the story of The Coming of Lugh, there is a famous scene where the young hero-god arrives, unknown, at the gates of the castle of Nuada, a king beset by the Fomorians. Lugh is there to offer his help, but first he has to gain entry and acceptance. The gatekeeper questions him as to what skills he offers. Lady Gregory's "Gods and Fighting Men" tells it this way:

"Who are you yourself?" said the door-keeper. I am Lugh, son of Cian of the Tuatha de Danaan, and of Ethlinn, daughter of Balor, King of the Fomor," he said; "and I am foster-son of Taillte, daughter of the King of the Great Plain, and of Echaid the Rough, son of Duach." "What are you skilled in?" said the door-keeper; "for no one without an art comes into Teamhair." "Question me," said Lugh; "I am a carpenter." "We do not want you; we have a carpenter ourselves, Luchtar, son of Luachaid." "Then I am a smith" "We have a smith ourselves, Colum Cuaillemech of the Three New Ways." "Then I am a champion." "That is no use to us; we have a champion before, Ogma, brother to the king." "Question me again," he said; "I am a harper." "That is no use to us; we have a harper ourselves, Abhean, son of Bicelmos, that the Men of the Three Gods brought from the bills." "I am a poet," he said then, "and a teller of tales." "That is no use to us; we have a teller of tales ourselves, Erc, son of Ethaman." "And I am a magician." "That is no use to us; we have plenty of magicians and people of power." "I am a physician," he said. "That is no use; we have Diancecht for our physician." "Let me be a cup-bearer," he said. "We do not want you; we have nine cup-bearers ourselves." "I am a good worker in brass". "We have a worker in brass ourselves, that is Credne Cerd." Then Lugh said: "Go and ask the king if he has anyone man that can do all these things, and if he has, I will not ask to come into Teamhair." The door-keeper went into the king's house then and told him all that. "There is a young man at the door," he said, "and his name should be the Ildánach, the Master of all Arts, for all the things the people of your house can do, he himself is able to do every one of them." "Try him with the chess-boards," said Nuada. So the chess-boards were brought out, and every game that was played, Lugh won it. And when Nuada was told that, he said: "Let him in, for the like of him never came into Teamhair before."

Then the door-keeper let him pass, and he came into the king's house and sat down in the seat of knowledge. And there was a great flag-stone there that could hardly be moved by four times twenty yoke of oxen, and Ogma took it up and hurled it out through the house so that it lay on the outside of Teamhair, as a challenge to Lugh. But Lugh hurled it back again that it lay in the middle of the king's house. He played the harp for them then, and he had them laughing and crying, till he put them asleep at the end with a sleepy tune. And when Nuada saw all these things Lugh could do, he began to think that by his help the country might get free of the taxes and the tyranny put on it by the Fomor. And it is what he did, he came down from his throne, and he put Lugh on it in his place, for the length of thirteen days, the way they might all listen to the advice he would give.

What a fine thing it is to be many skilled! Most of us long to be able to do things we don't know how to do. We've all had the experience of people seeing some skill we have and saying "I wish I could draw/make a souffle/play the guitar!" Yet when we tell them it's simple enough once you know how, they often reply, "Oh, no, I'd never be able to." Perhaps we've had the same feelings ourselves: we don't have time to take up gardening, we were told at school that we weren't musical, or we're afraid to attempt tennis because we'll look silly.

Steve Pyke, woman knitting, Irish kitchen

In honour of the season of Lughnasadh, I'd like to offer you an idea. You might like to use it as a journaling exercise, turn it into a meditation, or use it as part of a Lughnasadh ritual. Sit down and make a list of "What you could/can do". You can make the list long, and divide it into categories, if you like, or you can limit it to a set number of the things you're proudest of.

When you've made your list, think about who taught you those skills. I think maybe one reason that Lugh was so skilled was that he had so many mentors. Not only was he fostered by Taillte and Echaid, as mentioned above, but he was also fostered by the god Manannan mac Lir, who gave him several magical gifts. Take time to note who you learned skills from. In some cases this may not be a person who taught you directly - you can also say "I taught myself" or mention the name of an influential role model or author, etc. Now, think about what skills you would like to pass on, or have passed on, to others. Make a note of these, and of who you taught (or will teach) them to. There may also be things that you would like to learn to do, and that you have an intention to learn to do. Write those down, too.

Here's part of my list:
- I could knit a jumper without seams. I could tame a horse. I could understand cats. I could teach people how to play music. I could play for a ceilidh dance all night and call the dances while I was playing. I could build a straight fence. I could drive a tractor. I could make a poem. I knew lots of ways to meditate.

I might then go on to remember the ladies at the knitting shop in Santa Cruz who patiently taught me to knit. How hard I studied horses, and some of the people I passed a bit of that knowledge on to. I remember my father pointing out to me what cats feel in different situations, and how they show it, I've continued to study them. I remember the many wonderful music teachers, mentors, and "inspirors" who made me the musician I am, and the many wonderful students I had the privilege of teaching - some even went on to play for dancing. I taught myself fencing and poetry writing. Mark taught me a lot about the ways of old tractors.

I hope that you will have a wonderful time thinking about your skills!

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Of Oracles, Wonder and Inspiration

24/7/2013

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With Lughnasadh nearly here, I thought I would share this piece which I originally published on facebook in March 2012.

Some thoughts on the coming of Lugh.

I've just been reading a wonderful retelling of the Irish story "The Coming of Lugh" by Ella Young. Myths often contain a passage of "wonder" which particularly moves me. This story has such a passage, but first, let me set the scene.

The Irish sea god Manannán mac Lir, whom you may remember from my post on The Voyage of Bran, takes the young god Lugh to Tir na nOg (The Land of Youth) for his upbringing. Here -

He raced the waves along the strand; he gathered apples sweeter than honey from trees with crimson blossoms: and wonderful birds came to play with him. Mananaun's daughter, Niav, took him, through woods where there were milk-white deer with horns of gold, and blackmaned lions and spotted panthers, and unicorns that shone like silver, and strange beasts that no one ever heard of; and all the animals were glad to see him, and he played with them and called them by their names.

Meanwhile, back in Ireland, the people of the land, the Tuatha De Danaan, were having a hard time of it. They were subjugated to the not-so-nice Fomorians, and Nuada, the king of the De Danaan, was unable to defeat the Fomorians in any decisive way. Things dragged on, with Ireland constantly at war. Manannán knew this because he'd been putting on his cloak of invisibility and checking up on things at night.

When Lugh came of age, Manannán gave him a magical sword, and Lugh decided to head back to Ireland and see what he could do to straighten things out. Of course, when he got there, nobody knew who he was, so he had a little trouble getting into Nuada's castle. Through a dialogue of boasts and challenges, he was finally admitted, and proceeded to best Nuada at chess and other games.

Seeing Lugh's many talents, Nuada then asked him to play the harp -

"I see a kingly harp within reach of your hand," said Lugh.

"That is the harp of the Dagda. No one can bring music from that harp but himself. When he plays on it, the four Seasons--Spring, Summer, Autumn, and Winter- pass over the earth."

"I will play on it," said Lugh.

The harp was given to him.

Lugh played the music of joy, and outside the dun the birds began to sing as though it were morning and wonderful crimson flowers sprang through the grass--flowers that trembled with delight and swayed and touched each other with a delicate faery ringing as of silver bells. Inside the dun a subtle sweetness of laughter filled the hearts of every one: it seemed to them that they had never known gladness till that night.

Lugh played the music of sorrow. The wind moaned outside, and where the grass and flowers had been there was a dark sea of moving waters. The De Danaans within the dun bowed their heads on their hands and wept, and they had never wept for any grief.

Lugh played the music of peace, and outside there fell silently a strange snow. Flake by flake it settled on the earth and changed to starry dew. Flake by flake the quiet of the Land of the Silver Fleece settled in the hearts and minds of Nuada and his people: they closed their eyes and slept, each in his seat.

Photo by Shelley Newton-Carter

Lugh put the harp from him and stole out of the dun. The snow was still falling outside. It settled on his dark cloak and shone like silver scales; it settled on the thick curls of his hair and shone like jewelled fire; it filled the night about him with white radiance. He went back to his companions.

The sun had risen in the sky when the De Danaans awoke in Nuada's dun. They were light-hearted and joyous and it seemed to them that they had dreamed overnight a strange, beautiful dream.

"The Fomorians have not taken the sun out of the sky," said Nuada. "Let us go to the Hill of Usna and send to our scattered comrades that we may make a stand against our enemies."

aturally, Lugh and Nuada were able to defeat the Fomorians in short order after this. So what changed everything so suddenly? I think it was the inspiration of beauty. The "strange beautiful dream" that Lugh's playing had induced, the inspiration of the beauty of nature hadn't just intoxicated Nuada and his men, it had inspired them. They hadn't so much fallen into a dream as been awakened. Joy, sorrow, and ultimately peace, inspired them. The snow, here a symbol of peace, which physically settles upon Lugh's hair and cloak, that fills the night with radiance. Pure inspiration.

Music, art, symbolism and nature are potent magic. When we are asleep, sometimes it is the dream that truly wakes us. Particularly when the sleep feels like being stuck, as Nuada was. An oracle reading is just one way to dream yourself awake. You might prefer to read a myth, go into nature or experience music or art. All are potent.

At this point in the story, Lugh was Nuada's oracle. Yet he never said "Go, fight the Fomorians, and this time you will win!" Instead he sang of joy, and sorrow and peace. When each man awoke the next day, he knew what to do. And so they all showed up for the battle. The battle they could not win before. Of course, Lugh and the army of Tir na nOg showed up, too. How could they not? They were the embodiment of the inspiration the De Danaan awoke with that morning. For there are three parts to inspiration - there is the dream, then the awakening, and finally the doing. The inspiration of the oracle is in all three.

To arrange a reading, or ask a question, you can send me a message via the form at the bottom of this page.

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Accepting the Salmon's Gift

11/7/2013

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Recently, in Salmon in the Weir, I referred to a dream I had, where I felt that I was being told to capture the salmon, which is a symbol of knowledge, by writing down my dreams, and other possible revelations, from things like card readings or meditation journeys. Many of us love the written word, me included, but I also recognise that it can create limitations for us. When we write something down we risk setting it in stone, and somehow "killing" what we were trying to preserve. The written word takes on more import than the thing we tried to describe. This does not have to be so, of course, but we need to allow our insights to have a life, not stick them in a museum. Also, writing something down, filing it away, putting it on speed dial, is a great way to abdicate responsibility for remembering it at all. Could you remember a friend's phone number for a week without writing it down or storing it on some device? I'm sure you could, whether you think so or not, but I'm sure most of us don't bother anymore, because we think the information is "safe" for the time when we need it. How would you gaze differently on a beautiful scene while on a rare holiday, if you hadn't just snapped a couple of digital images of it? Would you let it fill your eye and your soul, making it part of your deepest memory - rather than hurrying on to the next item on your itinerary?

You might also remember that in my dream, there was some confusion in my mind between a weir (a device to trap fish) and a salmon ladder (which facilitates their journey upstream). Now I think I understand this. Trapping the fish, via a reading or a dream, etc. is only the first step. You need to get the essence of the knowledge it contains upstream within you. Let it climb the ladder up into your consciousness and into your everyday thinking.

A Salmon weir and ladder on the River Wenning, North Yorkshire.
photo: Ian Lane

In Celtic myth, there are many tales of magical Salmon. The Irish story of Fionn Mac Cumhaill tells how the young hero accidentally, and innocently, tastes a salmon of knowledge which is supposedly intended for his master. His true identity as a great person is then revealed and he is transformed both in status and ability, after his master tells him to go ahead and eat the whole fish. I think that this is an important part of the story. Fionn's act of accidentally licking some juice from his thumb seems merely to confirm him as the person for whom the salmon is meant, but it is the eating of the entire salmon that brings about his transformation. I like this picture. A salmon of any size - and this was said to be a very large one - takes some eating! Think of the repetitive act of this eating. Slice after slice, bite after bite. Did each mouthful taste the same? Did each chewing noticeably add a new layer of knowledge? Was there a time when Fionn felt full, and thought that surely it would make no difference if he left some portion uneaten, after all? We'll never know, of course, but I'm sure we've all been there.

This is interesting, though. Fionn didn't just write "Today, I tasted a drop from the Salmon of knowledge," in his daily journal and then somehow magically he became great. He sat down and engaged deeply with his gift. He gave it respect, he gave it attention. Those of you who have had a reading from me will know that I place a lot of emphasis on working with the material in that reading, of spending time with the information in meditation, contemplation and study. Believe me, I know that this isn't always easy to do. I have had some very profound experiences - with my cards, in dreams, in readings from others, and in meditation. These can be humbling and awe inspiring, and yet in a few hours I am caught up in whatever life puts in my path, and if I'm not careful - nothing comes of it. Well, I am trying to do better. I'm trying to learn to "clean my plate". To follow through with ideas until I understand what action to take, and then to take that action. It's a tall order, but I feel more honourable when I do it, and I think my life goes a little more smoothly, too.

What I know is impossible, however, is to implement all the things I find immediately - just as Fionn did not go out and do a lifetime's worth of heroic deeds the next morning. However, he did acknowledge the transformation and he did begin the journey. I know that my journey is nowhere near completed. It's uneven, sometimes it gets stalled, but I am on it. I do my best to follow the signposts, check the map and make progress - and I try not to forget to enjoy the experiences along the way.

In Salmon in the Weir, I mentioned that I was going to put some things on my walls. At the time, I had recently had what felt like a very important session and reading with someone. He had given me some homework. Things to do and say in order to be more at peace. I liked the ideas, but was uncomfortable with some of the details, so I let it slide for a few weeks. The day I wrote that piece, however, I adjusted the wording and printed some things out, nicely, on my computer, glued them to some beautiful photos saved from a scenic calender, and put them up in my bedroom. The change for me has been positive, and I feel pleased that I took the trouble. This is just one of many ways to make an adjustment. What I liked was the concreteness of it. I still have a backlog of actions I would like to take based on readings, etc. but I hope to hold myself to account. I intend to do it with patience and compassion, but I will be honouring each bite of the salmon, if I can.

You can read a little more about how the posters I made for my bedroom developed into prayer cards in Latest Projects, and you can buy my set of Four Celtic Prayers on beautiful cards.

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A Song, a Story, the Sea

3/7/2013

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Growing up, as I did, in landlocked Colorado, the sea was not so much a mystery to me, as an object of no meaning whatsoever. I never even saw it until I was in my twenties and moved to California. However, when I was about twelve years old a musician called Donovan Leitch came across my radar and his music moved me intensely, and still does so today. In 1968 I bought his double album A Gift From a Flower to a Garden. One LP was acoustic and one electric. The acoustic one spoke deeply to me, and most of the songs on it were about the sea - or more precisely the seaside. Starfish, crabs, gulls and assorted wandering humans inhabited the lyrics in a way that made this environment real and interesting to me for the first time.

Donovan Leitch

I awoke this morning with a song from that LP in my head. What struck me was how like Manannán, as he appears in his trickster guise, the tinker character is. Manannán who can be recognised by the water sloshing from his shoes as he walks on dry land. I knew he was familiar from somewhere. Maybe I first met him in this song!

You can read about some of Manannán's fun and games in Lady Gregory's "God's and Fighting Men" Part I Book IV: Manannan at Play or listen to an adaptation of it by the folks at The Celtic Myth Podshow in The Raggedy Man

If you enjoyed this post, you might like The Beach

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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The Beach, part 3 - Liminal Space

24/4/2013

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The first and second parts of this piece have simply been a brief re-telling of the story of Becuma of the White Skin. There I have followed and quoted James Stephens' version of the story, which is considerably longer than my synopsis, but a very entertaining read. I believe that the oldest written source for this story is the fourteenth century "Book of Fermoy". Here is a link to a Gaelic transcription and English translation of the story.

Unravelling the strands of the tale

I have written a bit in the past about liminal places, and "Wild Child?" in particular, explores the meeting of land and water. There is also quite a good article on liminality in good old Wikipedia, if you don't feel that you are up to speed. Liminal times and places occur where two things meet. Land and water, day and night, two seasons, and so on. These points can act as thresholds to other worlds, and a beach is a classic place of liminal space. If we look at the behaviour of the three main characters in this story: Conn, Becuma and Art - each of them is in trouble, and each of them seem, instinctively, to seek out this liminal space in the hope of finding a solution, and of effecting change.

Conn goes to Ben Edair seeking to get a grip on himself. He meets Becuma, gets distracted and makes a seemingly poor choice. While Conn has come from the land to the beach, Becuma comes from the sea, but why is she there? What does liminal space have to offer her, other than somewhere to land? Why does she call herself Delvcaem, of all the names she might choose?

Howth Inlet, by Dan Butler
Howth Head, which is known in Gaelic as Ben Edair, is part of Dublin harbour.

My theory is that Delvcaem is Becuma's other self, her true, or best self. A self trapped by forces she hasn't been able to overcome. Becuma has been unfaithful to her husband - something which might not be taken so seriously in a world other than The Many Coloured Land. Stephens tells us: "In the Shi' the crime of Becuma would have been lightly considered, and would have received none or but a nominal punishment, but in the second world a horrid gravity attaches to such a lapse, and the retribution meted is implacable and grim." So, while in one sense she may have little choice, her coracle takes her exactly to the place she most needs to go. For, in some ways, this is really Becuma/Delvcaem's story. By seeking the liminal space of Ben Edair, Becuma sets in motion the events needed to reclaim herself as Delvcaem, and to find her destiny as Art's queen, an intention she actually states on her arrival. Let's not forget that Conn's troubles exist because of the loss of a queen, after all.

Both Conn and Art depart and arrive through this same liminal space repeatedly in the story. Perhaps the change they are really effecting is a transfer of power. Having lost Eithne, it seems that Conn's life force is on the wane, and no matter what he tries, things seem to get steadily worse in Ireland. In fact, when describing the fight between Art and Morgan, toward the end of the story, Stephens says, "But when the wife's time has come the husband is doomed. He is required elsewhere by his beloved." Perhaps the time has come when the best solution to Conn's trouble and grief is to hand power to his son. However, it is really Becuma's arrival which set the wheels in motion to make this possible. The quest provided by Becuma/Delvcaem transforms Art from an untried youth to a hero who has proved both his mettle and his committment to the kingdon of Ireland.

The replacement of Becuma/Delvcaem with "the real Delvcaem" who is beautiful, virtuous and powerful, and who is willingly joined to Art, fills the final requirement for Art's successful kingship. The thing that Conn is now lacking. A suitable queen.

from an Illustration by Arthur Rackham

Becuma arriving on Ben Edair - Arthur Rackham

A further word on the Beach card, and liminal space.

Beach - The meeting of two entities. The need for constant change. Departure on a quest. The arrival of something beautiful yet problematic.

To seek out the beach, or liminal space, is also to seek out the involvement of the gods. We do this because we seek change. Often, we complain that the gods don't speak to us, or that we can't hear them. Yet, when the communication is clear, very often we don't like the answers we are given. The truth is that we rarely end up at the beach looking for answers unless things need to change, unless we need to change, and change is rarely comfortable or convenient. We come looking for a "beautiful" answer, and before we know it, we're dealing with sea monsters and toads, and although they are largely an illusion, they are still scary.

Stories like this one are here to show us the way, and most of all to give us courage. I believe that the best readings are also stories which should have this effect. That is certainly what I try to achieve when I do a reading. The Beach card in my oracle deck describes this process, this moment, to help us see what is happening. We are at a turning point, we are about to get some help, even though it may not feel like help at the time. We need change, even though we may fear it, or may feel resistent to the form it takes. We are being invited to put our foot in the coracle.

You can now buy this three part series of posts (The Beach) in a newly edited version, along with my allegorical short story The Story Shawl, and a new poem about the goddess Macha. All in this beautifully illustrated chapbook entitled Mythology.

See product page for more information.

Mythology

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The Beach, part 2 - Art's Quest

22/4/2013

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The beach card in my oracle deck has always been connected in my mind to the story of Delvcaem, from the Book of Fermoy. I love the re-telling of this story by James Stephens, entitled Becuma of the White Skin. This is part 2 of my synopsis of this story. Unless you are familiar with the story, you may want to read part 1, because we are joining the action in the middle ...

Things dragged on in a bad state in Ireland, and a great enmity grew up between Becuma and Art. One day Becuma challenged Art to a game of chess, and having won the game she gave him the following forfeit:

"I bind you," said Becuma, "to eat no food in Ireland until you have found Delvcaem, the daughter of Morgan."

"Where do I look for her?" said Art in despair.

"She is in one of the islands of the sea," Becuma replied, "that is all I will tell you."

Art, as his father had done before him, set out for the Many-Coloured Land, but it was from Inver Colpa he embarked and not from Ben Edair.

At a certain time he passed from the rough green ridges of the sea to enchanted waters, and he roamed from island to island asking all people how he might come to Delvcaem, the daughter of Morgan. But he got no news from any one, until he reached an island that was fragrant with wild apples, gay with flowers, and joyous with the song of birds and the deep mellow drumming of the bees. In this island he was met by a lady, Crede', the Truly Beautiful, and when they had exchanged kisses, he told her who he was and on what errand he was bent.

"We have been expecting you," said Crede', "but alas, poor soul, it is a hard, and a long, bad way that you must go; for there is sea and land, danger and difficulty between you and the daughter of Morgan."

Crede described to Art in horrifying detail the journey he must undertake. It was going to be fraught with dangers of every kind and terrible monsters that would likely be impossible to overcome. In fact she advised him, in no uncertain terms, to give up his plan and stay with her. She promised him that he would forget Ireland and be happy there, but Art refused to stay and refused to forget Ireland, and so Crede gave him what advice she could and Art set out once again. He stepped into his coracle, even as Crede continued to describe the dangers and horrors that lay ahead.

"There is yet a danger," she called. "Beware of Delvcaem's mother, Dog Head, daughter of the King of the Dog Heads. Beware of her."

"Indeed," said Art to himself, "there is so much to beware of that I will beware of nothing. I will go about my business," he said to the waves, "and I will let those beings and monsters and the people of the Dog Heads go about their business."

In the way of adventuring heroes, Art won his way through monster filled seas, hag infested woods, over slippery mountains of ice filled with venomnous toads -- there were giants, there were lions... and all these things were, in fact, illusions brewed up by Dog Head, mother of Delvcaem. Finally, he arrived at the beautiful fortress of Dog Head and Morgan, where the lovely Delvcaem was kept imprisoned atop a high pillar. Then, Art had to fight Dog Head. It was a hard fight, but he won it and freed the lady. They were about to leave when Morgan showed up, so Art had to fight him, too. That fight was equally hard. Finally, Art and Delvcaem (now affianced) were able to leave this place. And so, James Stephens ends the story this way:

He did not tarry in the Many-Coloured Land, for he had nothing further to seek there. He gathered the things which pleased him best from among the treasures of its grisly king, and with Delvcaem by his side they stepped into the coracle.

Then, setting their minds on Ireland, they went there as it were in a flash.

The waves of all the world seemed to whirl past them in one huge, green cataract. The sound of all these oceans boomed in their ears for one eternal instant. Nothing was for that moment but a vast roar and pour of waters. Thence they swung into a silence equally vast, and so sudden that it was as thunderous in the comparison as was the elemental rage they quitted. For a time they sat panting, staring at each other, holding each other, lest not only their lives but their very souls should be swirled away in the gusty passage of world within world; and then, looking abroad, they saw the small bright waves creaming by the rocks of Ben Edair, and they blessed the power that had guided and protected them, and they blessed the comely land of Ir.

arthur rackham, becuma or the white skin

On reaching Tara, Delvcaem, who was more powerful in art and magic than Becuma, ordered the latter to go away, and she did so.

She left the king's side. She came from the midst of the counsellors and magicians. She did not bid farewell to any one. She did not say good-bye to the king as she set out for Ben Edair.

Where she could go to no man knew, for she had been banished from the Many-Coloured Land and could not return there. She was forbidden entry to the Shi' by Angus Og, and she could not remain in Ireland. She went to Sasana and she became a queen in that country, and it was she who fostered the rage against the Holy Land which has not ceased to this day.

But hang on a minute. Let's back up. Delvcaem? Wasn't that the name Becuma used as her own? What really happened here?

In the final installment, we'll be looking at one possible interpretation of this story, and what we might learn from it. Why not take the time to think about your own interpretation in the meantime?

Continue to part 3 - Liminal Space

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The Evil That Efnisien Did

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Contemplating Lughnasadh

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Getting started with Celtic Myth

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That Mabon Thing Again!

What I Could Do

Remembering our skills at Lughnasadh

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Of Oracles, Wonder and Inspiration

Some thoughts on the coming of Lugh.

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Accepting the Salmon's Gift

A Song, a Story, the Sea

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The Beach, part 3 - Liminal Space

Unravelling the strands of the tale

A further word on the Beach card, and liminal space.

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The Beach, part 2 - Art's Quest

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Remembering our skills at Lughnasadh

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Some thoughts on the coming of Lugh.

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Subscribe to my monthly newsletter and never miss a blog post. In return, I promise to keep newsletters short and limit them to one per month, and of course, never to share your details!Subscribers also get access to special offers in the shop.

Unravelling the strands of the tale

A further word on the Beach card, and liminal space.

Subscribe to my monthly newsletter, and never miss a blog post again. In return, I promise to keep newsletters short and limit them to one per month, and of course, never to share your details!

Subscribe to my monthly newsletter, and never miss a blog post again. In return, I promise to keep newsletters short and limit them to one per month, and of course, never to share your details!

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Subscribe to my monthly newsletter and never miss a blog post. In return, I promise to keep newsletters short and limit them to one per month, and of course, never to share your details!
Subscribers also get access to special offers in the shop.