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Wild Child?

21/8/2013

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Shetland ponies, water horses and oracle cards.

Preface
As some of my readers know, I have been experimenting with readings on relationships with animals. In one of the first readings I did, the Beach card came up. The Beach is one of several cards which describes a "thin place" or a liminal space where two entities converge. In Celtic spirituality, such places are particularly magical or prone to "supernatural" happenings. As I considered this reading I realised that there are points in human-animal relations that have this powerful, liminal quality, and that both animals and humans may experience this. I am talking about something different than simply sharing love or affection, companionship and mutual support. I think these experiences draw their power from the essential differences between the human and the animal involved. While the opportunity for such moments may always be there, many of us don't experience them, or only rarely, although part of our attraction to animals may be that we recognise the potential for them at a deep level.

I once did a reading for someone who was constantly plagued by feelings of both anger and anxiety. This card was central to her reading. It turned out that her husband was somewhat verbally abusive, but what she found most hurtful was that he never took her seriously. No matter what she did or said, he'd consider it childish or silly. The Shetland Pony is a card of the misunderstood, of the one not taken seriously. Frequently the response is to avoid eye contact and just put up with things, or to find an outlet in rebellion.
As I see the Shetland Pony card - someone is not treated with dignity. (Enough, in itself, to create some anger....) There are some things that certain people will probably never understand or be able to take seriously. If you are the pony you will probably find a way around this, enough to get by in the situation, without giving up everything! However, you may find that you are constantly nagged or teased by friends or family because of your interests or tastes. Writing this, I have a little twinge of guilt, as I know I've been on the "dishing out" end of this,  as well as the receiving. Sometimes these things are about scoring points, other times just a failure to take others seriously. Patronising is a word that comes to mind!
shetland pony, stanley howe
photo by Stanley Howe


This failure to understand, and to think we know best, carries over into impatience when we find that the other person has dug their heels in over "something silly". But we're all afraid of something silly! I know people who would rather jump out of a plane than give a speech in public and others who would prefer to have a tooth pulled than learn to use a computer. Just as we might see someone's refusal to do something as stubborn, when they are really afraid, so we may make the same misjudgement about ourselves. Then we come up with phrases like "It's just the way I am, " or "No way am I doing that, it's stupid!" because these positions feel less threatening than simply saying, "I'm scared. You'd have to be really patient with me for me to even try that."

This is the obvious and "top layer" meaning of the card. It's the one I would probably focus on when it comes up in someone's reading. However, I knew there was more to this card, and for days, I have caught glimpses of it and wrestled with it, but there were missing pieces. I hope that I have found, if not all the missing pieces, at least enough of them to show us the way...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Water horse, liminal horse.

nokken, njuggle, jonny andvik
Nøkken by Jonny Andvik

In the Shetland Islands, there is a creature called the njuggle (or njogle - there are lots of variations. This creature is part of folklore, and until recently part of folk belief. The njuggle (pronounces nyuggle) is essentially a supernatural Shetland pony, who is associated with bodies of water such as lochs and streams. It seems that many bodies of water in Shetland have one. One habit of njuggles is to prance and parade up and down the banks of their home water, often beautifully saddled and bridled, enticing some hapless human to mount them. As soon as this occurs, they plunge into the water with their rider and give them a good dooking, or in some sinister versions they drown and even devour their victim. Most Shetland njuggles are more the playful type, though.

Some readers will recognise the Scottish/Irish Kelpie, or "water horse", in this description. (Forget the whole 2007 movie of the same title - just forget it. We're talking about someone's traditional beliefs here, not about Hollywood.) There are certainly parallels all over Britain, Ireland and Scandinavia, where such creatures are sometimes called the nøk, or nyk, etc. Etymologists tell us that this may well be the origin of referring to the devil as "Auld Nick" as well as possibly relating to sea gods like the Celtic god Nechtan, and even Neptune (who created the horse, in some myths). Horses and water are frequently linked in both myth and folklore.  I've also noticed that if you remove the letter N from the names Nechtan and Neptune, it is possible to see the relationship of both words to early word roots denoting the horse including the Latin equos/equus, the Greek hippos, and the Gaulish epos. These roots gave us words like Epona, pony, and the Gaelic word for horse: each.

Back in Shetland, another common prank of the njuggle was to inhabit the space under mill wheels and stop the wheel when it took their fancy. Maybe they were jealous, as the tails of some njuggles were said to be like wheels, which they used to propel themselves through the water. Or maybe they simply wanted to halt the wheels of "progress" which would eventually drive them into a kind of extinction. In these cases, they could be scared away with fire, like so many of the things we once feared.

At the liminal point between land and water there is a field of energy which at once repels and attracts - where we fear and yet desire to enter the wildness of the water, to give up control of the wildness in us to a greater wildness. The Irish mystic writer,John Moriarty, talked in an interview, about this need for wildness ~

"We shape the earth to suit ourselves. We plough it and we knock it and we shape it and we re-shape it. Dolphins were land animals once, and they went down into the sea. They said to the ocean, "Well, shape me to suit you." And now -- the Lord save us, I was in a house in Connemara sometime recently, and I saw a dolphin bone. The curve of it was as beautiful as any couple of bars of Mozart's music. It was so beautiful! I've no bone in my body that is shaped to the earth like that.

"So they said, "Shape us to suit you". We went the opposite way, We shape the earth to suit us - and that's going to fail. Unless there's wildness around you, something terrible happens to the wildness inside of you. And if the wildness inside of you dies. I think you're finished."

For some reason horses offer us a way to make this connection, but not by harnessing and forcing them into our control. Not by "knocking and shaping and re-shaping" them. It is only when we find a way to merge our wildness with theirs, or have the merger thrust upon us, that it actually does us any good. Still, this involves some danger. Swimming or putting a small boat out into wild water, riding a horse galloping out of control, both must be similar on the scale of dangerous things to do. There is always vulnerability in liminal experiences. The danger of getting stuck "in limbo", of not finding our way back...of somehow falling through the cracks of our own experience.

Modern people, I think, lack the liminal experiences which were once achieved through ritual, through feeling themselves a part of nature, through rites of passage and though belief in the supernatural. Yet these are things we long for. How and whether modern people manage to recover this part of life may just be the defining questions of our survival, and whether, if we survive, we thrive or we languish. Yet simply having a liminal experience may not be enough if we don't have points of reference for it. In "traditional" cultures, points of reference were marked by the rituals and prescriptions surrounding various life events, both the pivotal and the routine. They gave an assurance of success to the experience, if not a guarantee. Many folk beliefs, and their associated tales, offer advice as to how to avoid unwanted outcomes within liminal experiences or how to deal with them if they overtake us, and many heroic myths have grown up around dealing with such things.

Much has been written in the past twenty years about our spiritual connections with horses. Throughout human history they have been repeatedly raised as icons of something wild, free, powerful and supernatural. Perhaps only the sea, itself, shares a similar place in our deepest ideas of power and mystery. In northwest Europe, early peoples tended to gravitate to the coastline. Much of the land was boggy, steep or heavily wooded, making travel by sea much easier than by land, and the sea shore provided a bounty. The little primitive horses were probably only interesting as an occasional source of red meat. The sea was everything.

As populations grew and moved slowly inland, and farming and land travel became more important, so did the horse and its many uses. Yet most horses remained essentially wild animals, with many more being "owned" than were ever tamed, and this is still the case today with most of the mountain and moorland breeds of the British Isles, where many are still allowed to breed in semi-wild conditions and only some are tamed. As this shift was made, and men turned more toward the land and less toward the sea, perhaps the horse both replaced, and became mixed with the sea as the ultimate symbol of unknowable power and wildness. Spiritually, the horse led us back toward the water, and toward our wildness.

The small ponies of Shetland, a land hovering in its own liminal position between Scotland and Scandinavia, are the closest horses we have to the first horses to walk the earth. They are shaped to the earth, and not so much by the hand of man, as most animals we call domestic. As such, I think they are truly an ideal symbol of our longing  toward our own inner wildness and a guide into the waters of liminal experience.

Today, the njuggle is often thought of as a story for children. Which may be to say "Something thought to be childish is entirely misunderstood..."


More on the ideas in this post -
Liminality
- This article contains more than you ever wanted to know about the concept of liminaltiy, which I didn't explain very thoroughly.

The John Moriarty interview link

Radio Essay on Britain's wild ponies
_________________________________________________

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like The Beach, a series of posts exploring liminal space through myth, or Rambles with the Mari Lwyd, about horse traditions in British culture.

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My ears are keen, my breath is warm
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A chapbook collection containing the short story The Wild Mare, plus four poems which share the theme of horses.

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Dancing on Bridges

14/8/2013

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"My mother comes from a place called Masshill [County Sligo, Ireland] in the Ox Mountains, but, unfortunately, her immediate family had all moved away, mostly to England, by the time I was about three or four years old. However, I do remember several of the stories of the house dances that used to be held there and also of the summer's evening dances on the flat bridge over the Black River, just below the house. In later years I got to know some of the musicians who would have been playing at those dances... "
        - Kevin Burke, November 2000

It was this chance description, in a booklet which accompanies his CD Sweeney's Dream, which originally informed my thinking about the Bridge card in my oracle deck. Not so long ago, bridges were popular meeting places, particularly on summer evenings - for trysts, for games, and because they were usually nice and flat, for dancing. It's easy to take bridges for granted, but they are important landmarks, making life much easier and linking communities.

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Bridge - Merrymaking, flirtation and easy-going connections between individuals or communities.
This song from by Jack Dodd, from Newfoundland, describes similar memories.
On the Big River bridge on an evening in June
To enjoy the village dancing by the light of the moon
For the happy sound of laughter and the old time quadrille
Sure is among my happy memories of old Flatrock Hills

Now time it will change but the old bridge will stand
It's the same as when we stood there hand in hand
It's old stone foundation supporting itself
And the river still flows o'er the old Flatrock Hills

In a reading, this card might be there to remind us of the importance of connections, and not only for the more practical uses of commerce or travel, but also for the fun of coming together. Individuals easily become sour and stale without a bit of socialising, and communities falter without the influx of new blood from their neighbours.


One of my favourite examples of communities using a bridge is the annual meeting  on the Wye bridge, which links Chepstow, in Wales, with the communities of Tutshill and Sedbury, in England around New Year. Wassailers from the English side and a Mari Lwyd party from the Welsh side meet mid-bridge for an exchange of cultural celebrations and partying. This link will take you to a video of the event. I've set it to begin at the meeting on the bridge, but the whole video is enjoyable, if you have time.
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Wassail and Mari Lwyd on the Wye Bridge, Chepstow.

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Mother Nepesta

8/8/2013

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The importance of rivers in our lives, and of the Arkansas River in mine.

arkansas river
The Arkansas River near it's source, in the foothills, and near my home in the lower Arkansas valley, SE Colorado.

Leadville, Salida, Cañon City, now we are at Pueblo. Little Fountain Creek, The St Charles, Chico Creek, The Huerfano, the Apishapa, now we are at Manzanola. Bob Creek, Horse Creek, Timpas Creek, now we are at La Junta. The Purgatoire . . .  

Like a poem, these names describe the journey of my mother river, the Arkansas (which we pronounce "arkansaw" around here) from her source to my homelands. It is a dry land, and water is important to us. I can recite those tributaries from west to east without effort, like a genealogy. They say the Pawnee called her the Kicka - but the Pawnee never lived in this area. The Cheyenne call her Mó'soonêó'he'e, and the Spanish once called her Rio Napestle. The old settlement of Nepesta isn't far from here. There was still a store there when I was small.

Nepestle/Nepesta may have come from a Comanche word for wife or it could be related to an Algonquin root, ni, which refers to water. I've always liked the sound of the word Nepesta, and I like the associations of water and feminity, whether that is its origin or not. Perhaps I will think of the river's spirit in this area as Nepesta. Now there's something to meditate on!


When the River card comes up in a reading, I usually write something like this to my client:

The River is an important entity. Unless you are at the top of a mountain, then you must live in the valley of some river or stream which mothers the land around it with its waters. A good place to start might be to ask yourself what river you feel most connected to. Perhaps it is associated with an important place in your childhood, or you may have your own reasons for feeling more strongly about some other river. Sit for a moment with the feelings you have for this river and its surroundings. Spend some time just feeling that River. Such an amazing entity, a River. Can you imagine sitting on a little island, in the middle of a beautiful river, really feeling its power and depth as it flows past, constantly changing, yet never changing? Then allow the insights to come...

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River - Birth, motherhood and nurturing. Letting go. Cleansing.
Motherhood and birth may represent much more than the literal meanings, of course. Creativity, nurturing, etc. The other aspect is partly about "going with the flow", but more particularly letting everything else go with the flow. If you've ever meditated, you've probably heard advice like letting a river take unwanted thoughts away -"just let them go" we're told. Our metaphorical River can take away other things we don't need, too. It can clean away what we no longer need, making room for the new things we want to welcome. There is another little meaning to the word "cleansing" which is connected to motherhood, and is also worth looking at. Have you ever heard afterbirth called "cleansing" by country people? The first time I heard this, a light bulb went on in my head. Of course, we all know the dire medical effects of retained placenta, but what an interesting way of thinking of it! It's a reminder that hanging onto things that were once vital, but have now done their job, is not always in our best interests.

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This morning, on Lughnasadh

1/8/2013

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I went to bed last night not really knowing how I would celebrate Lughnasadh, but I awoke this morning before sunrise with a feeling of urgency and a sense of what I would do. Looking at the clock I could see that I only had a few minutes until sun up, so I hopped out of bed and pulled on my work clothes, since they were handy. Instead of lighting my candle and filling my quaich as usual, I put them in my bag along with matches, and spring water. On my way through the house I picked up the notebook which contains the "What I Could Do" exercise I had written a few days ago, which tells of some of my skills, where I got them and who I've passed them on to. I cut a slice of the bread I baked yesterday evening, and stepped into the garden to pick a lovely red tomato. (And I forgot the incense, darn!)

I walked across the pastures toward my grove of cottonwood trees. We've recently had quite a bit of rain (after a very long drought) so I was noting the progress of different stands of grass, calculating how many months of grazing I think we'll get, relieved and thankful that things are finally green and growing! I had snatches of the traditional song "The Keeper" in my mind as I walked. "Sing ye well? Very well! Hey down, ho down derry-derry down! Among the leaves so green-o!" Except I sang "Among the grass so green-o".  Meanwhile a small bank of clouds in the northeast delayed the visible sunrise a little.
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My grove of old cottonwoods, seen in autumn.

At the trees I unpacked my things. These cottonwoods are huge and old and twisted, with bark covered roots above the level of the soil. There is ample evidence that cattle spend a month or two here each year, and an irrigation ditch runs along behind the trees. There's no water in it most of the time - certainly not this year. I unpacked my things and struggled a bit to get the candle lit (it was firmly encased in glass, I'm careful with fire outdoors). I took my boots off and enjoyed the feeling of the cool, damp, sandy soil. Not having really prepared anything I went ahead and said my usual morning devotional prayer, with just a few additions, then blethered on for a bit, thanking the gods, ancestors and spirits of nature for various things. I opened my notebook and read out my "skills list" and gave thanks for them and those who taught me.

I offered a bit of the bread to the four directions, and then went around the grove offering a bit to each tree. I noted that across the ditch there is a little sapling in the neighbour's field. It looked like he had ploughed and planted around it. Nice! I finished by offering my tomato, and singing a few verses of John Barleycorn that I could remember. Then it was boots on, pack up my things and walk back to the house.

Sometimes, rituals like this feel very good. I would enjoy more community ritual, but keeping it personal and making it up as you go along also has its charms.

Blessed Lughnasadh!

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