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The Blackface Sheep Speaks

14/9/2018

My oracle system includes both natural and man made entities in the landscape, and both wild and domestic animals. There is something special about the hardier, better adapted, upland breeds of livestock, such as blackface sheep. We can learn a lot from thinking about their ways.
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The knowledge and wisdom of so many generations. My mothers and grandmothers, and theirs before them. We were hefted* to Blackie Knowe and the glen where the Blackie Burn flows into the river. It was fine country. Rocks provided hiding places and markers when the snow came. We knew which side of the hill to graze on, depending on the wind and on whether the day was fine. Our mothers led us to the best things to eat in each separate and singular week of the year. We watched our mothers and aunts, and learned everything. The sorrel and the thistle, the joys of yarrow and wild thyme, the different grasses, and the tasty water mint. We learned not to fear the shepherd and his dogs too much, even though we didn't like them.

In my second year I was wild and fleet of foot and often caused trouble by breaking away from the flock when the men moved us about for one of their yearly rituals. I learned to be dipped and dosed and shorn. I learned the rollicking time of the tupping paddock, and the long, tiresome winter that followed.

In alarm I panted in the lambing pens, and endured the prodding of a human, while I longed to be out on the clean hill, hidden by a gorse bush, keeping my lambs safe, keeping them all to myself. I could see the patient acceptance of the others as they experienced these indignities. I could see that some ewes and lambs needed the help the shepherds gave them. I felt my milk run and followed the course of its stream back through my mother and grandmother, and outward and forward through myself, my daughters, and sisters, and I felt good.

Then suddenly every gate was opened and we were out! I was calling loudly to my lambs to stay close. Every other ewe was doing the same. Soon we were back under the sky and eating the grass. It tasted so sweet! It was hard at first, not to be anxious about my lambs. I stayed close to ewes I knew well, and for a few weeks we spent as much time calling our lambs as we did eating grass. Summer settled in and we ate our fill of every good thing. I was very proud of my two lambs, they were growing fat on my milk, and learned whatever I showed them with ease.

In late autumn, with new lambs just starting inside us, many of us were driven into a moving box and taken to a frightening place. We were herded into pens and could see and hear many strange sheep and people. We couldn't understand what was happening. My daughter was with me, and I followed my mother and the other friends I had always looked to for guidance, but they were also afraid and lost. Soon we were driven into another box that smelled very strange. In the evening we were put into an unfamiliar paddock with long, rank grass. We have not seen Glen Blackie since then.

We are confused and fearful in the new place. There are many fences. Some that you can run through, and some you can't. We don't know where to go and where not to go. Nothing makes sense. When we see this new shepherd and his dogs, he is usually fast and angry with us. There doesn't seem to be a way to get back to Glen Blackie. Winter has been mild; my lambs will be born soon. Here, in this new place, my milk will run for them.

What I understand from the Blackface Sheep is the value of native knowledge of one's environment. If you are a city dweller, you know how useful it is to be a bit streetwise. If you are a country person, it's helpful to understand the rhythms of the agricultural year, and the tasks that are going on around you, even though you might not be a farmer yourself. We need points of reference: where to find the things we need, how things work in our world and who our friends are. Some of us know our environment well, but many of us are struggling with new environments or unfamiliar cultures. Sometimes we need to pause and recognise that such changes may be unsettling us more that we think, and to look for sources of knowledge both within ourselves and without, that can help us to re-orient.

This animal also speaks to me of the importance of recognising and honouring intelligence, in ourselves and others. Intelligence isn't just formal education. It isn't as simple as an IQ test. It is also being able to read situations, knowing what is appropriate in the moment, knowing how the world works. Sometimes intelligence is knowing when to patiently put up with things because tomorrow will be another day.

Maybe you're surprised that I see all this in a sheep, but give it a try. Pick something that you understand and see what it has to show you. I'd love to hear about your revelations in the comments!

*Hefted flocks of sheep know the boundaries of the grazing rights of their owners without being fenced in.

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like The Garron's Musings.

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Bluebells

18/10/2013

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I can't remember exactly when I first saw a bluebell wood - but I remember where. It was in the woods near Bridgend on Islay, which remains one of my favourite woods anywhere. I was on holiday there, and I remember booking for the same time the following year, but the spring had come earlier that year, and the bluebells were finished when we visited.

photo:Islay Natural History Trust

Bluebells - Peace comes unexpectedly. Pleasure and delight. Enchantment surrounds you.

My best bluebell memory, though, is years later. I was riding Iona, my Fell Pony, on an estate near Edinburgh. I was doing some off-path exploring, and I'm sure we were not where we were supposed to be, according to the estate rules. We had followed a sketchy path through the grass and worked our way down a rather steep bank. The sight that unfolded was totally unexpected as we came into a stand of trees. There was a sort of dell, and the bluebells were so thick and bright that at first I thought the burn had flooded and that I was looking at standing water. Both Iona and I found the view mesmerising. I always wonder what is really going through a pony's mind at a time like this.

We stood and looked for awhile, then made our way down into the midst of it. That cliche, a carpet of bluebells, couldn't have been more true. In among them, they were still just as thick, and their light scent hung in the air. Both of us seemed to relax and let go of some tension we had unthinkingly been carrying. Iona gave a big sigh, and I knew she just wanted to stay there. We did, for a long time, and then explored the area, which was thick with blue in every direction. I noticed how the colour was almost indigo in deep shade, but a bright sky blue in the sun. We must have stayed there for hours before we finally tore ourselves away.

Hyacinthoides non-scripta, also known as the English Bluebell, is the plant I'm writing about here. It is also very common in Scotland.

English Bluebells, Hyacinthoides non-scripta

Hyacinthoides non-scripta photo: David Paull

Campanula rotundifolia, or Harebell, is sometimes known as the "Scottish Bluebell". It is a plant of open heath and grassland.

photo: Wasowski Collection

Bluebells have many associations with fairies in folklore. Tales vary, with some being harmless fun and others more sinister. When this card comes up in a reading, it refers to a feeling of peace and enchantment. This may be a restful and healing experience, or something with a slightly unhealthy edge to it - as in escapism or the feeling of being unable to return to everyday life and get back into the swing of things. We all need times of pleasant daydreaming and rest, but there are times when we have to be careful not to become lost in them.

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A Fruitful Collaboration

13/10/2013

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Barley is vitally important in the history of mankind, especially in Britain and Ireland, right up to the present. The familiar seasonal cycle of ploughing, planting and harvesting is deeply imbedded in our culture. It is truly a collaboration between gods (or God, or nature) and men. Humans first began to cultivate grain, and then to become dependent on it, at a time when they had little back-up. Tribes or villages were so scattered that the hope of rescue or charity in the case of a failed crop was unlikely, so it's no wonder that an elaborate folklore grew up around the rituals of cultivating grain.

When farm work was done largely by hand and at a slower pace, and harvesting grain involved whole communities, there were many traditions associated with things like ploughing the first furrow, cutting the last sheaf of grain, harvest celebrations, etc. Sun Gods, harvest queens, corn dollies and many others have all figured in man's relationship with Barley cultivation. These customs originated at a time when a poor harvest could result in hardship, or even starvation, for a community.

Barley
A fruitful collaboration between gods and men. The rewards of sacrifice.
A gift may be used for good or ill,
but the gift itself is good.

Whether we see "sacrifice" as describing a direct gift offered to these powers, or as the sacrifice of our efforts and good intentions, there is an innate human belief in cause and effect on a plane beyond the concrete and tangible. Hence, Barley is steeped in the most elemental folklore and mythology - representing birth/death, male/female, fertility and sacrifice. The Saxons even had a god called Beowa, who seems to have personified Barley. The old folksong called John Barleycorn describes the process of planting, harvesting and threshing grain as if the Barley were human. Most versions contain a reference to man's dependence on Barley either economically, or his dependence on drink. However, a further interpretation of the lyrics is that it describes ritual sacrifice, or the killing and resurrection of Christ/Osiris/Odin/Lugh.

With its many uses - food for man and beast, straw for bedding and thatch, brewing and distilling. Barley is a great gift to mankind. However, alcohol can be a mixed blessing, depending on whether it is simply enjoyed or misused or becomes addictive. Like almost everything that can have a dark side in addiction, the problem isn't the gift (or substance) but whether we continue to relate to it in a balanced way.

Sowing and harvesting can also be a metaphor for any kind of creative activity, particularly collaborative work. Even with today's farm machinery, it is unusual for one man to produce a Barley crop alone from start to finish. It requires teamwork. Possibly the many archetypes and superstitions surrounding growing grain, and luck and fertility in general are all based on a fear of failure - at a time in history when this could mean starvation and even death. However, the news has always been mostly good! Remember - the gift is good, the collaboration is a fruitful one. Just like life itself.

In a reading, this card often relates to a project of some kind, or to our work and creative endeavours. It points to the need for sharing the effort of this creation with others and with the gods or universal powers that can assist us. It calls on us to consider the concept of sacrifice, too. What can we offer in return for assistance with a successful outcome? It also reminds us to use the fruits of our labours wisely, and to avoid superficial and dualistic value judgements.

Get in touch here, if you'd like a reading.

If you found this subject fascinating and would like to read more, you might find the following two books to be of interest:

The Corn King and The Spring Queen is a novel by Naomi Mitchison. (Quite a big read.)
Amazon UK Amazon US

The Ballad and the Plough is a non-fiction work by David Kerr Cameron, which looks at mostly 19th century Scottish farming customs through the filter of songs sung and created by the farm workers of the day.
Amazon UK Amazon US

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Hedges and Edges

16/9/2013

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The history and mystery of hedgerows

Hedges have not always been a part of the landscape. The very earliest hedges were created by neolithic farmers when they cleared woodland for crop fields. Narrow strips were sometimes left to delineate territory, and these became the first hedges through a natural process. There are still remains of some of these strip hedges along parish boundaries in Britain, where they often harbour rare species of flora and fauna.

As the neolithic gave way to the bronze age, farming practices became more elaborate and settlements more permanent, and hedges began to be planted to contain livestock as well as to mark boundaries. By the 12th century the enclosure of land was becoming increasingly formal and legalistic, a process which expanded slowly for centuries, and then with much greater force and speed from the mid-18th until the mid-19th century. More and more, hedges were about keeping people and their livestock out, rather than just keeping animals in.

Many of the old hedges we see today are remnants of these periods of land enclosure. Many miles of hedges have since been removed to make way for agricultural changes and urban development,but happily, many miles remain, thanks to land owners who saw no reason to get rid of a good thing – and hedges are a very good thing. Where a post and wire fence may control livestock, it doesn't provide a windbreak for them to shelter behind – nor a habitat for birds and small animals, nor shade, berries, flowers and of course oxygen. While doing their work of separation for the common good, hedges truly support us all in many tangible ways.

Hedgerow
A separation of territory or ideas that works for the common good.
A shelter for those in need.

view of May Hill and hedgrows, Bromsash, Herefordshire by Jonathan Billinger

If this card occurs in a reading, it might be pointing to any number of things which limit us in some way, but also provide us with positives. One example might be the way a responsible and loving parent controls their offspring. The parent might say “You have to be home by midnight,” but they also provide both material comforts and other kinds of support. The card might also point to the importance of physical boundaries, such as property boundaries, and of finding the right balance with these, such as allowing rights of way or use on the one hand, and respecting someone's privacy or personal property on the other.

When I lived in Scotland I often enjoyed the bounty of the hedgerows, particularly at bramble picking time. It also gave me elder flowers and berries, hawthorn leaves, rose hips and a few raspberries if I was lucky. The lanes around East Lothian, where I rode my ponies, were lined with hedges, which offered the ponies a chance to select plants as they felt attracted to them. Animals can be very wise about what herbs they need to keep themselves in balance, if they are allowed access to a wide variety. Animals kept in hedged fields also have an increased choice of healthy nibbles.

Hedges that haven't been trimmed for awhile usually yield the best harvest of berries, and so as I picked brambles I was often facing a wall of greenery, fruit and thorns. As I became absorbed in my search, I could have been anywhere, or in any time. It was a meditative task, and one that easily slipped over into the liminal space of edges, for being so absorbed in the hedge/edge I could easily forget the lane at my back and the stubble field in front of me, as the hedge-world became all.

Hedges can serve as a sort of portal in time (at least of the imagination). Not only is the act of harvesting fruit or medicine plants a timeless act, but the hedge, with its history of increasingly enclosing and excluding us throughout history, perhaps represents a distantly remembered longing to go back to a greater freedom to roam, to be allowed in to remembered places now forbidden. Yet, at the same time, we reap this bounty because of its existence.

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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!

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...

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Water horse, liminal horse.

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
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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.

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.

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.

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.

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...

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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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 Beach, part 1 - Looking for Answers

21/4/2013

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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. Some may be sceptical of re-tellings as opposed to direct translations from old manuscripts, but I believe that Bardic inspiration runs through many authors of many periods and is one valid way of finding deep meaning in mythology.

Due to the lengthy quotes, this article turned out to be too long for a single blog post, so I will present it in three parts over the next few days.

There are more worlds than one, and in many ways they are unlike each other. But joy and sorrow, or, in other words, good and evil, are not absent in their degree from any of the worlds, for wherever there is life there is action, and action is but the expression of one or other of these qualities.

After this Earth there is the world of the Shi'. Beyond it again lies the Many-Coloured Land. Next comes the Land of Wonder, and after that the Land of Promise awaits us. You will cross clay to get into the Shi'; you will cross water to attain the Many-Coloured Land; fire must be passed ere the Land of Wonder is attained, but we do not know what will be crossed for the fourth world.

This adventure of Conn the Hundred Fighter and his son Art was by the way of water...

A council has been called in the Many coloured Land to decide the fate of Becuma, who has been unfaithful to her husband, and it was decided that she should be banished to the world of men.

She stepped into a coracle, it was pushed on the enchanted waters, and it went forward, world within world, until land appeared, and her boat swung in low tide against a rock at the foot of Ben Edair.

Meanwhile, Conn of the Hundred Battles, high king of Ireland, was mourning the loss of his beloved wife, Eithne. He was a great king, and Ireland had prospered mightily during his reign, however his grief was now putting a damper on all that.

He grew more and more despondent, and less and less fitted to cope with affairs of state, and one day he instructed his son Art to take the rule during his absence, and he set out for Ben Edair.

For a great wish had come upon him to walk beside the sea; to listen to the roll and boom of long, grey breakers; to gaze on an unfruitful, desolate wilderness of waters; and to forget in those sights all that he could forget, and if he could not forget then to remember all that he should remember.

He was thus gazing and brooding when one day he observed a coracle drawing to the shore. A young girl stepped from it and walked to him among black boulders and patches of yellow sand.

So they talked and Conn was easily bewitched by her beauty. She spun him a yarn about being in love with his son Art (based on his reputation alone) and told him that her name was Delvcaem. Conn was jealous, wanting her for himself. The upshot of all this was that she consented to marry Conn, but made him agree to banish Art from the kingdom for one year, to give her time to get over her infatuation. This was done, but during the year Ireland suffered from poor harvests and starvation, where once there had been plenty. The bards and druids told Conn that the only solution to this problem (caused by Becuma's presence) was the blood sacrifice of "the son of a sinless couple". So when the year was up and Art returned, Conn left the kingdom in his hands and set out on a quest to look for such a person.

He went to Ben Edair. He stepped into a coracle and pushed out to the deep, and he permitted the coracle to go as the winds and the waves directed it.

Conn's sea journey was long and dangerous. However, eventually he came to an island

fragrant with apple trees, sweet with wells of wine; and, hearkening towards the shore, his ears, dulled yet with the unending rhythms of the sea, distinguished and were filled with song; for the isle was, as it were, a nest of birds, and they sang joyously, sweetly, triumphantly.

He landed on that lovely island, and went forward under the darting birds, under the apple boughs, skirting fragrant lakes about which were woods of the sacred hazel and into which the nuts of knowledge fell and swam; and he blessed the gods of his people because of the ground that did not shiver and because of the deeply rooted trees that could not gad or budge.

Here he found the lad he sought, called Segda. Conn asked Segda's parents for "a loan of their son" to which they reluctantly agreed, with many provisions for his protection. So they sailed back to Ireland, Conn being aware that he'd put himself in an awkward position.

When they got back, Segda understood why he was there, and at first refused to be killed, then seeing the plight of the starving people, agreed. However, he was rescued by his mother, who tricked Conn's druids and prophesied that the real cause of the problem was Becuma. She took her son, and left, leaving them to think things over.

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."

And so we will leave them there, for today. In my next post, I will share the rest of the story and then we can begin looking at what I think it means, and how we can use the information.

Continue to part 2 - Art's Quest

Mythology

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Wild Child?

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Water horse, liminal horse.

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Dancing on Bridges

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Mother Nepesta

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

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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The Beach, part 1 - Looking for Answers

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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!

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!

The history and mystery of hedgerows

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.

Shetland ponies, water horses and oracle cards.

Water horse, liminal horse.

Subscribe to my monthly newsletter and never miss a blog post. In return, I promise never to share your details!

Subscribe to my monthly newsletter, and never miss a blog post again. Newsletters are infrequent, and I promise never to share your details!

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

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!

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!

About me

Archives

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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.