Post by wren on Nov 19, 2006 14:00:32 GMT -5
*What do you perceive the gods and goddesses to be?
*How might Dana energy and the spirits of place play a role in these beings?
*Considering the vast amounts of mythology and using the Second Battle of Magh Tuiread as your primary source, how do you reconcile the portrayal of these divine figures to them being functional abstract energies?
*How might Dana energy and the spirits of place play a role in these beings?
*Considering the vast amounts of mythology and using the Second Battle of Magh Tuiread as your primary source, how do you reconcile the portrayal of these divine figures to them being functional abstract energies?
It is a difficult thing to do, shift one’s mind from what one has always perceived to be the truth. Even as I rejected the idea of the vengeful or distant male God of the Bible, it was not a simple thing to put aside the images of the Celtic Gods and Goddesses so prevalent in the pagan books and websites. It is difficult to break free of the concept of anthropomorphic Deities. After all, Rhiannon looks rather nice on the back of her white horse, her long hair flowing about her.
Is it something in human nature that we make things seem close to our own idea of reality in order to understand them or is it our own arrogance? I have often said that it is arrogant to assume that, if there are beings living on other planets, they must look like us and have a desire to contact us. So, too, it may be a bit of arrogance to make our Gods in our own image. We attempt to explain, in human terms, that which is beyond mere words and reduce Them in the effort.
The ancient Celts did not feel the need to humanize the Deities, however, and so it is not simply human nature to do so after all. It is this very lack, freeing Them of their human bonds and images, that frees Them to be who They truly are. If Brigid is the Goddess of blacksmiths and poets and mothers, we put Her in a box and tie a neat bow about Her. But, what if She is truly the Spirit of healing, crafts, and inspiration? What if She represents Springtime, Dawn and all new beginnings? That is not such a neat and tidy package, as She crosses boundaries with other Spirits, while Her own gifts are much wider and broader in range.
If Lugh is associated with being a Jack-of-all-Trades and lightning and summer and joy, can He not be felt in a stray winter evening’s thunderstorm or the fire of the forge in which the blacksmith forms his work? Is yellow a color associated with Lugh in summer or reserved for Rhiannon and her fall harvest? Is a sword Brigid’s weapon because it is forged by that blacksmith or Lugh’s because he is a warrior? Bran is a God of Music but what if one attributes his musical inspiration to Brigid’s gift of ‘fire in the head’?
Instead of attempting to limit these Spirits to a set group of attributes and a lovely drawing or two, it makes much more sense to see in Them the Spirit of what those attributes represent. To let them be All that They are. I love the look of my dwarf sage plant in my garden, for example. It has graced my garden from the time I arrived at this house. I love to brush against it as I pass. But, is my sage only that savory scent?
Isn’t it also the traditional taste in my Thanksgiving stuffing, reminding me of all the bounty my garden has offered as we sit down to give thanks? Isn’t it also the soft downy leaves, so pale green compared to its neighbors? Isn’t it also the pale flowers at the end of summer? Sage is a plant which returns year after year, no matter the drought or heavy snows but it is also an herb which purifies the air in an incense. Isn’t it cousin toone of the sacred plants to the People who once inhabited the land upon which I live, which also has magical properties that overlap those of other herbs? So, which is the sage?
The answer is… it is all the sage. And, so, too, are the Spirits.
They are North, South, East or West. They are Land, Sea and Sky. They are Fire, Water, Earth and Air. They are Spring and Summer and Fall and Winter. They are wind and rain and snow. They are joy and sorrow. They are comfort and healing and battle. They are skill and music and poetry and the inspiration to create all works of art. They are silence and darkness and passion. They are birth and death and rebirth. They are all and everything. They are the individual facets of a precious jewel.
Added to these Gods and Godesses are the Spirits of nature and weather and seasons. Sometimes particular and unique to an individual location, the Ancestors of the Land are no less numerous and varied. The Spirits of my quiet oak trees are different from one another and different from the other trees in my yard. They offer shade, acorns and comfort to me as I touch them. They are the elders to my youth.
My various rose bushes are completely different from my lavender and from one another. Roses are rather proud by nature, persnickety in their needs and thrilled when a blossom is taken with gratitude. Lavender, on the other hand, is quiet and prefers its blooms left in place for the bees until they are spent. The large rocks that now rest in my serenity garden are pleased to be there, rather than tossed aside yet again. They welcomed the wind chimes I placed between them, the sound echoing off their solid sides, and now relax among the ferns and lady’s mantle in cool, damp shade.
The Spirits of the birds and the deer, the squirrels, the chipmunks, the mice and, yes, even the moles are ever-present around me. They play in the birdbaths of my yard, feed on the seeds I leave them, steal a berry or two now and then and dig tunnels under my plants. They tease my dogs, letting them think they might someday actually succeed in the hunt. I do not expel them or chase them away. I simply provide food and respite and safety, except for the thistles I place in the moles’ most damaging pathways and the holly leaves I bury with bulbs to protect them. The moles simply giggle and dig around them.
My neighbors are amazed at the lack of mole damage in our yards in general, as they sink into mole tunnels all over their lawns. I just smile at their dismay and shake my head at their efforts to eradicate the little fellows. After all, the nature spirits are as much my friends as my neighbors are. So, we discuss that mole poison is bad while it simply sends those little fellows scurrying to the next yard. Better to work with, I mention, than to destroy and so they are learning to appreciate the Spirits of moles… and thistles.
The fey and faeries are Spirits of this world and the Other, of nature and of magic, as They have been in all the tales. They love a good garden, with flowers and herbs to play in. We have foxglove for Them to use as caps and hollyhocks for Them to play with in the fairy bowls we leave filled with fresh water. We have a fairy ring with a special shell for gifts we leave Them. Parts of the yard are left a bit wild and wooly, as They appreciate a good patch of dark and feral space. They are different Spirits of nature and, yet, as ever-present as the Others.
There are Ancestors of place, I also believe. My own Ancestors would feel welcomed to my home and we keep a box of photos and keepsakes to remember and honor Them each day. I also bid welcome to Those who walked this land before me, though not my blood kin. I believe They wait to be welcomed, having been forced to leave so long ago, and are pleased to do so when invited back in. They are quiet and polite, ‘good guests’ in the best of traditions. I have no doubt there are Others I have yet to encounter but They will all be added to my own wonder tale.
There is a Source, I believe, from which all these Spirits and the Deities come. I imagine this is a bit like a river, flowing from the Source of All Things, from Dana. I know that is the Voice I “heard” when I heard Her voice in my garden. I thought that was the first time I’d heard Her. When I sat and mediated on Dana energy for my journal exercise, however, I realized I had felt Her before that night. I felt Her inside me the first time life had moved in my womb, like a butterfly’s tiny wing fluttering inside. ’It is an ancient feeling, one that connects every mother to the first Mother, every one of us to Danu’, I wrote in my first journal entry. Perhaps it is the very joy of that moment that closes our hearts and ears to Her whisper. I only now realize it was there, thirteen years later.
But, how would I describe this feeling to someone who has never experienced it? My butterfly analogy is my attempt to do just that, as anyone would know that there were not truly a caterpillar or butterfly in my womb. To describe the indescribable means to put it in terms others might only begin to understand. I am only able to draw back the curtain for you to take a peek at what I experienced, not to allow you to actually experience the sensation and joy for yourself.
So, too, the hero stories, the wonder tales, the tales of the Gods and Goddesses allow us to glimpse a mere fragment of these fabulous and unknowable Beings. We sit around the fire, in our minds, listening to the stories and ‘see’ the heroes do battle, the heroines heal, the mothers give birth, the injured obtain justice and retribution. We are inspired by the very Spirits of the tales to rise above our own situations, as They did, while asking for Their assistance as we do.
In the “Tale of the Second Battle of Magh Tuiredh”, much more is communicated than a simple battle. The spirit and qualities of each character are detailed in numerous ways. Hospitality was a Celtic virtue all would have understood. The King was expected, above all others, to be generous and offer hospitality to anyone who sought it. In describing Bres, he is not simply said to be miserly. His true character is revealed by the effects it has on The Dagda and Oghma and the chieftains. The details are given in terms all would understand, for who likes to haul firewood?
Counter to Bres is Nuada, who returns with his silver hand to serve only until Lugh arrives. He abdicates willingly to the fitter and younger King, when Lugh’s abilities are proven. One can not only see a true King in his action, one can begin to see the old season giving way to the new. Heroes are clear, villains are vanquished but all done with more than simple meanings given to each action. Even at the end, Bres fails to see that his offers of restitution would have dire consequences; for a land with only milk and harvest would never have rest and renewal.
So, are Bres and Nuada, Lugh and the Dagda merely the spirit of godly attributes? Are they individuals who walked this Earth before us, now the ancestors to those who have come after them, and now merely imbued with Godly attributes by the storytellers? Are they actual Deities, embodying all the powers and energies of creativity, passion, and more? Are these just stories, told for the benefit of a tribe in need of life lessons? Why can they not be all of these things? Larger than life beings who walked before us and walk among us still, They are the Spirits of these attributes in the world and in us. Their tales and lessons become our own, for the magic is ever alive and flowing. As nothing is made from nothing and nothing is ever completely destroyed, these Deities are the Spirits of the Gods and Goddesses and are always with us. They are here and now, as They were there and then. They are the scent and texture and taste and magic of everything.
How do we tell someone of the life of Taliesin the Bard, then, and communicate all the meaning and depth of experience in that tale? He was born and he lived as a bard but is that the extent of his story? In the telling of Taliesin’s life and experiences, we can offer much, much more to those who listen to us. These stories are simply a bit of words or they are each an onion, peeled away layer by layer by the storyteller, revealing magic and inspiration and the gifts of the Gods and Goddesses in everyone and everything.
In the wonder tales of the Scottish Highlands, the seasons have their own tales. There is not simply Winter and Spring, Summer and Fall. Beira is the old woman who holds the beautiful Bride hostage. She is also Winter, keeping Spring from arriving. There are names for the distinct types of winds she sends to keep Angus-Ever-Young, Bride’s suitor, at bay, which the highlanders still used in the late 19th century in the remote areas to describe the last winds of winter. The battles between Beira and Angus are the last throes of Winter clinging tenaciously to the world, even as Spring’s shoots push through the snow and ice. They are the battle of youth taking over from age. They are the story of love triumphant. These tales are onions, with many, many layers. Beira is no less real than Taliesin or Bres or Lugh and Brigid but They are larger than life, just as They should be.
Just as the Gods, Goddesses and other Spirits are difficult to put in a box, Dana is not something that is easily put into words. I have not felt a separate ‘energy’ from the Voice I heard and the life inside me. She and the energy, to me, are one and the same. She is the Mother of Everything. She is the Wellspring from which all the Spirits issued and flow still. She is the energy that creates, renews and binds together. She is in the Gods and Goddesses and all the Spirits that inhabit, nurture and sustain a particular place and the world.
She is the Milky Way, the Pleides and the fiery core of our planet. She is in every mother’s womb and every father’s seed. She is the scent of my sage, the blush on my roses, the dew on my lavender and the echo in my stones. She is the pollen, the bee and the apple. She is in those who have come before, are here now and will come after us. She is a shining, golden, unbreakable thread, strong and invisible, binding every single soul together, through the past, present and future all at once. She is the Deities, the Spirits of nature, of place, of the ancestors and of us. We all flow from Her and will always do so.