Category: Readings

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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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.

Size 8.5" x 5.5"

21 pages

Please see product page for more information.

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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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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.

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Salmon in the Weir

8/7/2013

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How can we hold the knowledge we gain?

I will not dream another's sweet musings
when the truth is only partly known
the fruit is so sweet but of another knowledge

but face my own full on
naked in the darkness
and recognise that which has never been shown before
and dream it as my own

I will not share you with another
I cannot
for their knowledge would lack the spice of experience

I am the silver salmon driving out of the peat black water into the
daylight
Rising rising
Timeless and heavy
Falling backwards into the darkness

~ from the poem Leaping Salmon by Anthony Dalby

A salmon weir

I recently had a dream about a salmon weir. At least I think that's what it was. In the dream, it looked like a weir, but in the dream I also believed that it was there to help the salmon swim upstream. That would be a salmon ladder. A weir is a trap. When I awoke, I believed that the dream was a message about holding on to wisdom, and specifically that it was telling me to write down the details of my dreams and the journeys I take in meditation.

You may know that in Celtic myth the salmon is a symbol of knowledge, or sometimes said to be a symbol of wisdom. Obviously, there is a distinction between knowledge and wisdom that you can make for yourself. For some time, I have been considering the problem of what we (and specifically what I) do with the knowledge I gain in spiritual pursuits such as readings, meditation, encounters with nature, etc. Often, with a little effort from us, the universe is generous with information. With a little effort we take the time to meditate or walk in nature with deep awareness, or we delve into divination or learn to remember our dreams, etc. We take a class, we go on a retreat. We gain knowledge, and it is very precious. When we receive "good advice" from a friend or mentor, this is also precious knowledge.

There is also a lot of useful knowledge available to us. If you are reading this, then you are probably bombarded with inspirational quotes and great articles (with links to yet more potentially mind-opening information). You are probably the kind of person who goes out of their way to find this stuff, to study this stuff, and possibly to absolutely wallow in this stuff. What I've been noticing, though, is how I sometimes fail to hold on to it. Of course, I have to trust that all those inspirational quotes on my facebook wall, and many other things that I read or hear, are more like part of the river. Each one cannot be a salmon with my name and address on it. I trust that if they help make my river a good place to be, they're doing their job. Hopefully, some of their nutrients are leaching out of the river and into me. However, there is a good chance that what is delivered to me in a dream, a personal reading, or something similar does have my name on it. It is worth holding on to, and worth acting upon. The first step, I see, is actually trapping that salmon. Writing things down might be a good first step - although I can think of other ways I might make the information memorable. One trouble I find with writing things in a journal is that I may connect writing it down with actually letting go of it, rather than holding on. (File and forget.) So perhaps I need to make a provision to go back and read what I wrote as part of some daily or weekly practice. Or maybe something like a picture or a post-it note in a strategic place, would be more helpful.

Actually, I like the idea of doing or making something to seal the memory of an important revelation. I think that this is one of the most useful things I can do to commemorate receiving an important piece of knowledge. Having trapped the salmon, and received the knowledge, the magic lies in moving that information upstream where it can grow into wisdom. I need to build a weir, and I need to place it where I interact with it. Some pieces of knowledge are easier to act on than others, but even one action that keeps the knowledge in view is a step in the right direction because it will affect my thinking on a regular basis. I think my house is about to have a few more interesting things on the walls!!

This is part one of a two-part piece which I originally published as facebook notes in April of 2012. To the right, you can see one of the "prayer posters" I put on my bedroom wall at the time. Right next to a mirror by the door, where I couldn't miss it! It worked really well for me -- so much so that it became the inspiration for the meditation and prayer cards I now sell in my webshop. (They are quite a bit nicer than this poster, but I still hate to take it down.) Part two coming soon!

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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.

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Mythology

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Frost

16/3/2013

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You've probably experienced the startling beauty of a really hard frost. The world is transformed into a frozen fairyland of sparkling toys, and sometimes treacherous roads and footpaths. One of my most abiding memories of frost is of a moonlit drive I took across central Scotland one Hogmanay after playing a gig in Stirlingshire. I had just started my own band, and had borrowed a PA from a colleague in Fife. The only thing was, he needed it for a gig the next day. The shortest route from door to door was down an assortment of winding B roads over rolling farmland and through villages. It just happened to be a full moon, and a very hard frost had been lingering for a couple of days.

The roads were slick and my car was laden with heavy gear, so I tootled along at a measured pace, passing the occasional little group of Hogmanay foot soldiers. (Scotland's drink driving laws are not to be trifled with.) It was an experience I can only describe as enchanting, as the moonlight turned every tree, bridge, rooftop and stubble field into an otherworldly vision. Tired as I was, I wished the drive would never end.

Dramatic changes are often less appealing than my moonlit drive. However, Frost is quite an ephemeral thing. If it lasts for a day or two, that's pretty unusual, and while it's real enough, very little has actually changed under the white coating. Likewise, this card tends to refer to changes that, while they seem dramatic and sweeping, turn out to be no big deal. Tomorrow may be sunny or it may rain, but the Frost will quickly be forgotten.

Sometimes, these changes are really only happening in our heads, though. That feeling of waking up and suddenly feeling old, or dissatisfied. Nothing is really different than yesterday, but something made you notice, and it's easy to get stuck in these feelings that everything has changed. If this card comes up in a reading, it might be there to remind you that the dramatic change you perceived doesn't run very deep. Don't stay stuck in this perception. This card might also be helping you to understand that a loved one is going through something like this, and help to explain their recent coldness.

Frost - Something changes dramatically overnight. A cold beauty may conceal a warm heart.

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The Heron

11/3/2013

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Here's a look at Herons, and how their story ties in with the Heron card in my oracle deck.

Herons are skilled and patient fishermen. It's not unusual to see them standing motionless in shallow water for long periods, as they wait for the fleeting moment of opportunity when they will strike a fish with great accuracy. However, they are also more widely skilled and able to hunt on land when the opportunity presents itself, or dive for fish in deeper water. As a result, neither they nor their young will go hungry for long.

Heron - Patience and skill brings a reward. Family ties are lasting. Guilt by association.

European Grey Herons (Ardea cineria) have elaborate courtship rituals, and strong pair bonds. The couples live in high trees, in nest colonies called heronries. Some other species of Heron, like the North American Great Blue Heron, have similar lifestyles. Although they mostly hunt alone, both parents care for their young, and all share in the mutual benefits of the extended family of the heronry at breeding time. In a reading, I'd say that "family ties" can refer to long, close relationships, particularly marriage, as well as blood ties, and that it doesn't mean that we have no autonomy within the relationships.

One saying associated with Herons is

"With evil people neither stay nor go;
The Heron died for being with the crow"

There is something about crows and herons. In nature, they rarely get along, with crows tending to mob herons - possibly because herons will eat other birds' nestlings. Perhaps that's why the two birds are so often associated in mythology, as their battles have drawn the attention of humans who then needed to explain them with stories. In most stories, the Heron is the good guy, but not always. The Chinese even suggest that the two birds can represent the yin yang concept.

Here is one folktale which, with only minor variations, is known from India to western England. It goes like this -

A crow and a heron were both perched in a large tree one day, when along came a traveller (or hunter, depending on the version of the story). The day was hot, so the man decided to have a nap in the shade of the tree. He fell into a very deep sleep, and after some time, as the sun moved across the sky, the shadow of the tree no longer protected him. The kindly Heron spread his wings out to shade the man's face for awhile longer as he slept on. So deep was his sleep that his mouth began to gape open as he snored. Soon the crow could stand this no longer, so he took aim and dropped something into the poor man's mouth! (It might have been an acorn, it might have been something else that birds sometimes drop - depends on who is telling the story.) Naturally the man awoke and he was angry. He looked up, saw the Heron, took out his gun (or bow) and shot him dead.

This traditional tale is a pretty extreme example of guilt by association, and when considering this aspect of the card in a reading, I would look for subtle variations on this theme as well as the more dramatic form of outright false accusation. For example, in one reading I did, it seemed that the client's spouse could not get past expecting her to hurt him in the same way that his ex had! He didn't actually suspect her of any bad behaviour, but he couldn't help expecting that it would happen eventually. (And those strong family ties made it difficult for her to give up on the relationship.) This card can also refer to things like prejudice and discrimination, as well as the dangers of "running with a bad crowd". In other cases, we might be looking at a situation where someone feels torn between loving loyalty to their family and some negative perception that society has about their family or social group.

Perhaps these considerations relate back to the heron's tendency to work (hunt) alone, yet also returning to their own kind for the safety of numbers. In a way, this is how the Heron balances the tendency to be misjudged, and avoids the risk of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He just gets on with his hunting, and goes home to those who understand him - if he's wise.

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like Rooks (It's a tribal thing)

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Wild Cat!

3/3/2013

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Looking at the Wild Cat card in my oracle deck.

photo by Peter Cairns - Wild Media Foundation

I wrote this piece many years ago, but it seems particularly apt in 2021. Many people are struggling with too much aloneness, while others revel in it - but either way, I believe balance is everything. Everyone's perfect balance point for solitude is a little different, though.

Wild Cat - Rejection of society and relationships. Mistrust, fear and defensiveness coupled with great personal resourcefulness. Loss of identity through dilution. That's the definition I have given to this card. Self sufficiency is a lonely place, and while survival skills are great to have, I believe that so much more can be achieved through community effort, and having others to share the load usually makes for more fun, too!

The Wild Cat is about rejecting society or the company of others. Taking this position in life may be a great teacher for awhile, but over the long haul, it can bring problems, too. In nature, the Wild Cat is shy and fearful of strangers, and this is not a quality I would wish on anyone, but the other side of the coin, self sufficiency, is definitely an asset. In case you are not familiar with the animal I am talking about, this is a small cat (Felis silvestris grampia) now only found in the Scottish Highlands. It is about the same size as a domestic cat, but don't confuse it with feral domestic cats who have reverted to living as wild. This is a distinct animal which has been in it's habitat for a very long time. A real native.

When this card comes up in a reading I might be wondering whether the person has short-term lessons to learn from the Wild Cat, or whether they habitually take up a position that is described by it. Whether our Wild Cat tendencies are temporary or deeply ingrained, when this card occurs, I believe that it's worth looking at whether things are out of balance. Is the card calling our attention to an irrational need to be alone and fiercely independent? Is it asking us whether we really need to be like a Wild Cat when we might be happier living in closer community with others? Or is it merely pointing out that we need to be aware of our tendencies in this direction?

One of the greatest threats to the Wild Cat as a species is its ability to interbreed with domestic cats, and so there may be a lesson here as far as giving up one's identity too readily, whether for the sake of a mate or for some similar reason. In a reading, the card might be pointing out real potential for something like this to happen, or calling your attention to a situation which already exists. It might also be pointing to an unfounded or habitual concern about this sort of thing.

I drew this card in a reading I did for myself awhile back, in which I was asking a question about how to make more money. In my case, I'm not really a loner, but I do feel okay about spending a lot of time alone if that is what life throws at me, and at the moment it has. I'm living in a very rural situation and don't have a lot of direct contact with people. I had just slipped into that lifestyle without giving it much thought. However, I knew the card was reminding me that I needed to get into circulation a bit more, if I wanted to earn more, which proved to be correct. So in my case, this card highlighted how my ability to manage on my own, while it's really a positive thing, wasn't working in my favour with regard to the question I asked in the reading.

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The Blackface Sheep Speaks

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Hedges and Edges

The history and mystery of hedgerows

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Wild Child?

Shetland ponies, water horses and oracle cards.

Water horse, liminal horse.

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Mother Nepesta

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

Of Oracles, Wonder and Inspiration

Some thoughts on the coming of Lugh.

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Salmon in the Weir

How can we hold the knowledge we gain?

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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Frost

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The Heron

Here's a look at Herons, and how their story ties in with the Heron card in my oracle deck.

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Wild Cat!

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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!

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!

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

Some thoughts on the coming of Lugh.

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!

How can we hold the knowledge we gain?

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. In return, I promise to keep newsletters short and limit them to one per month, and of course, never to share your details!

Here's a look at Herons, and how their story ties in with the Heron card in my oracle deck.

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

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

About me

Archives

Categories

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.