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Lost in time

9/11/2018

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I struggle with homesickness on a monumental scale, as I know so many of my ancestors must have done. I've written before about how I feel about my own shadowy lineage. Family trees and DNA are all very well, but for me, "my ancestors" are so much more. Genealogies may be linear, but I am not so sure that time is.

Figures I have looked up to as old men when I was in my thirties and forties are gone now. Poets and tradition bearers, musicians...  People close to me have gone, too, several before their time. This is the state of getting older. It's part of the preparation, I suppose.

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Poet's Pub - Alexander Moffat 1980
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The past has always had a grip on me. I'm sure it makes me difficult to be with at times . . . but, there! Do you never feel it? How time and place spiral together, holding . . . something, in a particular curve of the land, a particular street at sunset. There's many an Irish jig and reel named after the "humours" of a place. "The Humours of Tulla", "The Humours of Limerick" etc. I love this old word, which describes something like the mood of a place. The word comes, originally, from a Latin root describing dampness or fluids. (There is a whole medical system based on the humours, or fluids, of the body.) This in turn makes me think of the old saying for knowing something intuitively: "I feel it in my waters."

Time sits, I sometimes think, like a moving column of vapour, about any given place. The things that happened there, what was thought or felt, all spirals like some kind of blind spring. The past is immanent, if only imperfectly reachable. I have lived in places where I could sense what the land felt in its waters. Sometimes, it's almost an ecstatic practice. Occasionally, it is excruciating. But I digress.

This poem is echoes of times, places and people who have passed. Some well remembered, others only sensed. They now merge and don't merge, spiralling in those columns of vaporous memory above their places. Even the well-remembered past can only live partially in our memories. So much of it belongs to place.

Lost in Time

My elders are becoming my ancestors now.
It doesn't happen all at once, or on the day they die.
They first must be purified like silver in the fire
A process which is not painful, but necessary.

Slowly they move from the tumbled houses,
Determinedly they step from the photograph pages
To build anew that which was lost,
That which was gained, but could not be held.

Dreamily they drift from their country upbringings
And their suburban upbringings among the roses.
Drift toward halls of learning and drinking establishments,
Smoke filled back rooms of pubs where poets rant.

They drift toward the beaches to collect the seaweed
And toward the moors to cut the peats.
They crack shells and hunt deer
And journey by horseback or coracle.

They sing in folk clubs and work in banks,
Emigrate to Canada or move down south.
They drink too much and rest too little
And then they are gone.

And there's me, always late to the party,
The last to hear today's news.
Nosing around in the past I miss the big event,
But unearth some old treasure.

When I look up, I find my elders have all left.
I shake my head in wonder. Was it always thus?
One day you look around, they've left you the house.
You walk the corridors, you try the beds.


Lost in Time is from my collection of poems called Credne's Hand.
Credne's Hand

A collection of poetry in praise of Celtic deities. Mabon, Brigid, Manannán mac Lir and many more.

8.5" x 5.5"

15 pages

See product page for details.

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Aeons and aeons pass, I am becoming the elder,
I am becoming the child.
I drift toward my elders, I follow the stream of their poesy,
A strong stream, through the hills of memory.
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The late Hamish Henderson

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Halloween is Pagan, Trick-or-Treat is Traditional. Yes/No/Maybe

11/10/2018

4 Comments

 
"Among objections to Hallowe’en, as now constituted, are these: it is too commercialised; it is American; trick-or-treat encourages child gangsterism; trick-or-treat endangers children; the whole thing undermines Guy Fawkes day; it is Satanic. "  - Christopher Howse, The Telegraph, 2010
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The British press have had a new Halloween theme for the past eight or ten years, which involves lamenting the Americanisation of the holiday, and the loss of Guy Fawkes night traditions in its wake. Someone brought this up on a Pagan discussion group recently, and I was amused to see a stream of grumpy responses from US Pagans, stating that the Brit obviously didn't realise that Halloween was Celtic. American Pagans were surprisingly unwilling to accept that the Halloween that is being exported back to Britain has taken British traditions (which are a mixture of Pagan and Christian) and turned them into something tacky and alien.

Samhain (which means summer's end) was an important festival in the Celtic calendar. It marks the time when livestock were brought down from upland summer grazing to be cared for near people's dwellings. Driving cattle through the smoke of Samhain bonfires was a common act of purification or protection. Like Beltane, when the cattle were let out again, it was considered to be a liminal time when otherworldly beings were likely to be about. There are numerous references to meetings, feasting, divination and games at this time in Irish mythology and in history. There are also many customs in Ireland and Britain that may be survivals of pre-Christian Samhain traditions, but most of that is very difficult to prove. The idea that Samhain is "the Celtic new year" is really a neoPagan one, taken, like so many things from Sir James Frazer's writing.

In the 11th century, All Souls' Day began to be celebrated on November 2nd, tacked onto All Saints' Day (or All Hallows, which gives Halloween its name) on November 1st. All Souls' had originally been celebrated in the early spring, and may have been moved to its current date because people were venerating their ancestors at Samhain, but that's another thing that we have no historical evidence for. What is likely, though, is that much of the stuff about ghosts and ghouls is linked to the Christian holiday, which was deeply concerned with the question of purgatory and aiding lost souls. Bonfires, which were already popular at this time of year, became connected in people's minds with lighting the way for the departed, and perhaps warding off unwelcome wandering spirits.
All this continued without complaint from the church until the Protestant reformation really took hold in Elizabethan times. After that, practices became more localised and focused more in the country than the towns. Catholic areas, were less affected by the reformation, so their customs changed less. The feasting and fires continued in some of these areas, while more generally, what remained was a sense of danger and fear, directed toward the supernatural realm -- a fear of ghosts, witches, and the evil eye, or whatever local folklore had to offer in the way of nighttime monsters.
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Banshee by Jana Heidersdorf
There is another complications to the story of Halloween and Samhain, which is Guy Fawkes. On November 5th, 1605 a group of Catholic dissidents tried to blow up the houses of parliament in order to replace the Protestant monarchy with a Catholic one. The plot was foiled and national celebrations were called for. By 1607 cities and towns throughout Britain were sponsoring public bonfires with drinking, fireworks, and entertainment for the masses to celebrate this new national holiday. Since the date was so close to Samhain/Halloween, and also involved a bonfire and a party, this holiday, which had strong patriotic and Protestant overtones, largely overshadowed and replaced what came before, especially where earlier traditions had died out. The party was back on, and had been re-branded.

Entertainments of The Dark Time
If Samhain is summer's end, then it must be winter's beginning. For those on farms, as most of our ancestors were a century or two ago, this meant a complete change. Livestock brought in-by for feeding and safekeeping required many chores be done during the increasing hours of darkness. Anyone who has had to make the trip from house to outbuildings on cold dark nights knows it can be a bit creepy.  At the same time, people used to spending most of their waking hours out of doors, suddenly found themselves facing long, boring evenings inside. It's no wonder that a rich and varied set of entertainments grew up to fill the long winter evenings. Some of these customs feel like they could be pre-Christian survivals, but, as usual, this can't be proved or disproved. Many of these traditions are now quite localised, and others probably died out unrecorded.

Master Jack

Not-quite-folk-horror is how I tend to describe this story spanning generations across two families - all linked by the skull of a horse. Make of this what you will, dear reader!

8.5" x 5.5"

29 pages

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These customs include mumming plays, which might include a hobby horse, and other animal disguises like a bull or a tup (ram) perhaps with a short play or a song. In Kent the 'Ooden 'Oss (Hooden Horse) appears around Midwinter, and in parts of Wales the Mari Lwyd (a white hobby horse) makes an appearance, usually between Christmas and Twelfth Night. In the English counties bordering Wales, Wassailing takes place. In Ireland, the Lair Bhan, a white horse similar to the Mari Lwyd, came out at Halloween, and on December 26th the tradition of wren boys was widespread. Shortly after Twelfth Night came Plough Monday, when groups of agricultural workers would carry a plough from place to place, threatening to plough up farmyards or the entrances to stately homes, if they weren't given what they asked. Plough Monday also involved men dressing as women, and dancing.
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Souling Players
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Mari Lwyd
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Hoodeners
All of these traditions have a common theme of disguise and going from house to house, (or public house) offering entertainment in return for food, drink or money. In most cases these traditions were carried out mostly by adult working-class men, perhaps accompanied by boys. Sometimes children imitated the adult entertainments with their own versions.

Although many of these traditions have a fixed date near Midwinter, it wasn't unusual to see some of them making a sort of practice appearance around Samhain. Some customs may have originally belonged to Samhain/Halloween and later shifted to the Christmas and New Year period because people were more inclined to be generous then. To say that any one of these traditions is the origin of trick-or-treating is to miss the point of how widespread it was.

Guy Fawkes, meanwhile, developed its own set of traditions over the years, built on the general love of disguise, fire and mayhem during the dark time. Eventually the patriotic and anti-Catholic overtones were mostly lost. Children often did much of the collecting of fuel for the bonfire, and when I lived in working-class neighbourhoods in Edinburgh, this  included pallets and broken household furniture like chairs and wardrobes. Towering stacks were built in the week or so leading up to Bonfire Night, and guarded so that rival fire builders didn't steal what had been collected. A few children still made a Guy out of old clothes stuffed with straw or paper, maybe put on masks or old sheets, and went 'round collecting "a penny for the Guy", for which they were expected to sing a song or something. The Guy was ritually thrown onto the fire and burned. The money might be spent on fireworks or treats.
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Trick-or-Treat?
Some of the traditions I've just talked about definitely had an element of threat about them. Mari Lwyd parties were sometimes feared, as much as welcomed, because they would cause havoc once admitted to the house. Equally, once men and boys were disguised, out after dark, and possibly full of ale, they might see an opportunity to frighten people or get their own back on an unpopular employer or teacher.
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In Catholic Britain and Ireland, and parts of the Hebrides, people continued to celebrate All Hallows with fires, feasting, and divination, and children or labourers went from house to house collecting food or money, often in disguise, through the 20th century.  In other areas, Halloween was considered a very minor day on the calendar, associated with a bit of spookiness. Turnip lanterns also became popular late in the nineteenth century, probably introduced from Ireland.

The Irish, if fact, seem to have been the main source of modern Halloween traditions. The massive influx of Irish immigrants to the US in the mid nineteenth century, brought traditions like disguise in elaborate costumes, turnip/pumpkin lanterns, and going door to door to the US, where it slowly spread to the rest of the population and became associated increasingly with children, until by the 1930s it became more like what we know today. By the time of my own childhood in the early 1960s, American Halloween had become the festival of plastic tat, nylon costumes and cheap chocolate overload that we see today - although I'm sure parents probably invested less time and money in it than they are expected to do now.

In the past twenty years, American Halloween has been relentlessly exported back to Britain. The massive Guy Fawkes bonfires are still popular, but the kids going 'round asking for "a penny for the Guy" and doing their wee songs, and giving you black looks if you don't hand over at least a couple of quid, has almost disappeared. All that has been overshadowed by store-bought costumes and trick or treating for sweets. (The corporations win again!) I'm sorry to see it go because, in its way, I think it was a much more "Pagan" holiday than American Halloween will ever be. It belonged to real, working class people. The ones whose ancestors got called pagans by the sneering Romans and the disapproving Christian clergy in earlier times. It was home made. Made from a random mixture of ancient customs, poorly understood politics and stuff kids scrounged up to make it happen, usually without their parents' help. It was an indigenous custom people did, not one they purchased.

So am I proud to celebrate the biggest holiday in the Pagan calendar? Meh! I stopped celebrating Christmas before I even figured out I was a Pagan, because I couldn't stand the commercialism, and the general orgy of stress and spending. My feelings about modern Halloween are much the same. I'm puzzled at how people belonging to a set of beliefs which supposedly values Mother Nature so highly, can buy so much plastic junk, disposible party ware and other things that have no hope of being recycled, and say they are celebrating Paganism. And if that doesn't describe you, then I'm not talking about you, so don't get offended.  


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Please make it stop.
I am indebted to Pagan historian Ronald Hutton for providing a detailed and factual account of how Samhain traditions evolved over the centuries, and for separating fact from fiction, in his book The Stations of the Sun: A History of the Ritual Year in Britain. I relied heavily on pages 360-407 to fact-check this post.

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like Oss Oss!

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Sending Love Down the Years

4/11/2012

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As the Samhain energies wane with the moon, I'd like to invite anyone who has not taken a moment to honour their ancestors to do so.

You don't have to be Pagan, Wiccan, or any other kind of religious to do this. It isn't about calling up the dead or anything spooky, really! Perhaps you'd like to take a walk somewhere nice near your home. If you'd rather not, indoors is fine, too.

Try to give a little thought to the following three things -
Ancestors of place - those who lived before you in this area. This could go right back to antiquity, and equally could include previous generations who lived in your house or village, etc.

Ancestors of kin - That would include your blood relations but might also include those who go back in your family history via ties of marriage, adoption, fostering and very close friendships.

Ancestors of your heritage or culture - this could be ethnic, cultural, religious... Those with whom you perhaps still align yourself, or to whom you owe a debt in this area of life.
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image by Ashley Dace http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/1882815
If you like, you might light a candle of remembrance, or set an extra place at the table (or not) - just whatever feels right and easy. Think about your gratitude to these groups of people, think of sending them loving and appreciative thoughts down the years, and know that they send you the same. And if you don't believe in life after death - the gratitude will still do you good!
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Looking for Deer

3/11/2012

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An experience with ancestors of place.

Monday night being the Hunter's Moon, I had plans to spend some time outdoors enjoying nature, honouring my ancestors and communing with any spirits who came my way. However, in a quiet moment on Monday afternoon, while I was thinking about my plans, some very strong impressions came to me. They unfolded almost like a story in my mind, as if someone was telling me this. I found it quite odd, and to be honest, wondered whether my writer's imagination was filling in the details a little, although I did my best to avoid that.

This is the story -

I was hardly more than a boy. I was walking up the hill from the river. The moon was as it is now and the sun had set in silver and coral. As I walked, the grass tops, before my eyes on the horizon, were like many small crescent moons. Deer had been seen. My older sister was to be married and I wanted a soft skin for her. She had always been kind to me.


looking through the grama grass
The land was not as it is in your time. The land was whole and beautiful, like the skin of a fine animal, shaggy with autumn grass. Now it is a confusion of trees and the false rivers and streams that white men make. They sicken the land with water and salt and big machines. I know you do not like this. I think you can see a little into the old time.

I could find no deer. Not even a rabbit or badger moved about. I never saw the bear before she ended my life. I travelled to the world of spirits and it was a good world. I asked to be an eagle, and I think they laughed quietly at me. I became a sandhill crane, and lived a good life until I was old and sick, when I froze to death. After that I lived many lives and saw many wonderful lands. I have not walked the earth in a breathing body for a long time. There is other work to do. But you reached out to me, so near to the place where I was looking for deer.

sandhill cranes
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A Soul Cake!

31/10/2012

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A wonderful Samhuinn folk tradition.

Halloween is a funny old holiday. So commercialised now, and in Britain, so Americanised. The media, the clergy, the folklorist and the Pagan all try to interpret the meaning, dragging the Druids and witches into it, but often with little idea what a Druid or witch is or might have been.

This souling play is a pretty typical piece of English mumming, and a very entertaining one, I think! In times past, these plays were performed outside private homes, along with souling songs. The idea was that the people of the house then gave food and money to the performers. One of the most common gifts were soul cakes, spicy cakes a little like hot cross buns, which in some regions were shaped like a doughnut and in others had a cross on them. At one time it was believed that for each cake given and eaten a soul was helped through purgatory.

There is obviously a big Christian influence in the content of these songs, plays and customs, and yet a strong feel of something older underlying it all. Life, death and rebirth are pretty universal human preoccupations, and it's no wonder that the Christian and pre-Christian traditions got well mixed over the centuries. As an optimist, I can't help but believe that whatever set of beliefs we align with, traditions like this can affect us in very positive ways and are worth preserving, reviving and bringing forward with us through the generations. 
making soul cakes
It is a stretch to say that this tradition, alone, is the origin of trick or treating. Britain, Ireland and many other parts of Europe have a rich tradition of mumming and guising from house to house, which runs especially through the cold and dark part of the year. Wren boys, wassailing, the Mari Lwyd ... if you are really interested, start by Googling those - you will be amazed.

Last weekend I was reading cards at a local holistic fair. On the second day I arrived with little time to spare before the hall opened, to find a number of the readers and vendors standing around outside while one kind soul generously smudged all who were so inclined with sage smoke. It was a nice moment of spontaneous community. As I stood waiting my turn there was a little laughing and joking, and before I could stop myself, I had burst into a chorus of a soul cake song from Cheshire.


A soul cake, a soul cake!
Please, good missus a soul cake!
An apple, a pear, a plum or a cherry.
Any old thing to make us all merry.


And I added in a verse that felt good to me:

One for the maiden, one for the mum,
One for the crone and then we're done!


Then I sang the verse about Peter and Paul, too.

If you'd like to hear a really nice version of a Cheshire souling song sung by Kate and Corwen of Ancient Music, click on the picture above. And may all your souls and soul cakes rise!


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Hunter's Moon

29/10/2012

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Tonight is the full Hunter's Moon. With it's close proximity to Samhuinn this year I would say it is a perfect time to make use of the thinning veil between the worlds. Send your ancestors some extra love and gratitude!

Hunter's Moon
The Hunters Moon by Clyde Aspevig

In my work with ancestors I am aware of three groups, which are not really separated, but by thinking of each group, the work feels more rounded and inclusive. There are ancestors of place. We may not be related to these ancestors by blood or by culture, but they walked the same patch of earth we now walk, maybe even lived in the same houses and had the same sacred places, depending on how far back we go. Often they understood better than we do how to live in harmony with the environment they found themselves in. They have much wisdom to offer us about how we fit into our immediate ecosystems and about how to live in harmony with the land spiritually and physically, if we will listen.

I use the word kin, rather than blood, to describe family ancestors. Adoptions, fosterings, marriages and remarriages create important kinship ties - and this isn't a new phenomenon, it has always been so. If we have a deep sense of someone being in the family, then they are our kin. Conversely, it is also entirely possible that blood ancestors we never knew in this world may take an interest in us. So be open when working with this group - where so much love is shared.
 
Ancestors of our heritage or culture is more difficult to define. Increasingly in the modern world people may feel that they have lost track of their cultural heritage, or may feel drawn to align themselves with a particular culture and exclude others.  We each have to find our own way with this, and strike a balance between honouring the past and present cultures of our region, or our bloodlines or those to which we feel drawn, while remaining true to who we are. The first two groups of ancestors can offer us much wisdom on these things, if we listen.

I am offering readings on ancestral wisdom over the coming week, so message me if this interests you. However, there is much you can do, yourself, to honour these groups and be open to their messages.


- Kris


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Walking Away 

23/10/2012

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I did a lot of thinking and preparation in trying to understand whether offering special readings for Samhuinn was the right thing. Dealing with my most recent ancestors was just part of it.

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As Samhuinn approaches (that's the Scottish Gaelic spelling) we are encouraged to think about our departed loved ones, and our ancestors - and I do. I think about them often, anyway. However, I've never been a visitor of graves. My strong belief is that this is probably the last place I am going to find my departed loved ones. I've lived about five miles from my parents graves for the past few years, but I never went there - until yesterday.

I suddenly took a notion. I showered and put on clean clothes. I gathered up some bread I'd baked, some spring water, some fruit juice and a poem I'd written, got in the truck and went.  Finding the cemetery was easy but I had no idea where to find the grave. I remembered my father saying more than once that he didn't want to be buried on this dry, lonely and desolate hill. My cousin said there was a "simple stone, nothing fancy". Fortunately, it's a small place. I thought I would find it by instinct, but that didn't work, so I started methodically up and down the rows. I grew up in this tiny town. There were a lot of names I knew, quite a lot of people I knew as a child, too. I'd stop and try to picture them in my mind. The place was a bit overgrown and I was a little anxious about missing the stone. My socks got full of prickly tumbleweed thorns. I walked and walked, up and down the rows of the dead. Not another living soul was about, which suited me fine.

Some of the graves were well tended, some less so. A few were quirky. Some were overgrown and others were absolute shrines to what seemed like a prideful grief. I pondered on the question of whether a well-tended grave honoured the dead or merely served as a statement of propriety by the living. If the dead live on, I believe it is in telling their stories to future generations or in making use of the legacy of wisdom, love and material possessions they leave us.

Finally, I turned a corner and there it was. Now what? I had planned a simple ritual in my mind. I said an informal hello and chatted briefly. I read my poem. There was no applause. I took out the bread, broke some off and put it near the stone - which turned out to be fairly substantial and "fancy" by my standards. I poured some juice into the quaich I'd brought with me, splashed some out, drank some, and again with the water. I ate some bread, too, and cast some to the four directions. I asked to be given more wisdom. I tried to think suitable thoughts. One stone, one grave, for the two of them. How did I feel about that? They didn't really get along too well, but they stayed together - so why not?

I hung around for awhile. The view was magnificent, in spite of my father's remarks. I knew that he would have preferred to have been buried next to his kin, back in the green, rolling hills of eastern Kansas. Would it have mattered? I had a little twinge of longing to go to that place and see it. I imagined the road trip that would be! Well, time to go. To be honest, I hadn't felt much. Maybe a little pompous at my own ritual. My family. It was what it was, and I've learned to appreciate it for the good and understand the not-so-good as best I can.

It was only as I was getting back near my car that I felt a bit emotional. Walking away was hard. Then I realised - walking away from a grave is nothing, when the person lives on in your thoughts.

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