Author Archives: Tara

Of Oak Ash and Thorn, with the focus on Thorn

As I mentioned earlier this year, I am spending much of the next year studying the Ogham and by default the lore and uses of the trees in the Ogham sets. As May has come around it became very obvious as the sultry scent of Mayflower assaulted my nostrils each time I went walking that my tree for this month had to be The Hawthorn. It’s latin name is Crataegeus Monogyna and It is a member of the Rose family. It normally flowers between May and June. However, there are several different varieties including ones that flower twice a year (Summer and Winter) and one with pink flowers. Other names include the following:

  • Whitethorn
  • Mayflower
  • May Tree
  • Thorn Apple

Fruits are known as ‘Haws’ and are edible and make a reasonable fruit ‘leather’ and a great chutney, however care must be taken to de-seed them as they are quite toxic.

Medicinally the Haws are also considered good for the heart. Although caution should be taken to consult a medical practitioner. Strung as beads on a red thread the berries are considered to be a powerful protection amulet. The bark can be used to make a black dye. 1

Associated with Beltane and all May Day celebrations. It is sacred to both Pagans and Christians. Folklore says that the Glastonbury Thorn sprang from the staff of Joseph of Arimathea and in Staffordshire an old folk rhyme claims that “Under a thorn, Our saviour was born” as well as it being believed that the Crown of thorns worn by Jesus on the way to the Cross was made from Hawthorn.

In Ireland even to this day it is believed to be Fairy tree if stood alone. However if part of a hedgerow it is thought to ward off malicious fairies. The connection with the Fae seems to be very important during Beltane, Summer Solstice and Samhain. It is considered very bad luck to interfere with a ‘Fairy Thorn’.

These trees are considered very liminal in nature. And the locations in which they grow are thought not only to be great places of power but also spaces where the veil between this world and the other is the thinnest. Therefore performing divination, energy healing, communing with the Genius Loci are all great activities to carry out under the watchful presence of a Hawthorn tree. 2

Finally Hawthorn trees that stand guardian at ‘Holy Wells” are often hung with Clooties, these are strips of cloth either charged with a prayer or dipped in the sacred water and used to bathe the sick person before being hung out upon the tree. In Appleton in Cheshire there is a tradition of bawming (decorating) the tree. The following song known as “The Bawming song” has some interesting tree attributions which reinforces the commonly held belief that lone Hawthorn trees are places where both the Fae and Humans meet for lovers trysts.

The Bawming Song


The Maypole in spring merry maidens adorn,
Our midsummer May-Day means Bawming the Thorn.
On her garlanded throne sits the May Queen alone,
Here each Appleton lad has a Queen of his own

Chorus:

Up with fresh garlands this Midsummer morn,
Up with red ribbons on Appleton Thorn.
Come lasses and lads to the Thorn Tree today
To Bawm it and shout as ye Bawm it, Hooray!

The oak in its strength is the pride of the wood,
The birch bears a twig that made naughty boys good,
But there grows not a tree which in splendour can vie
With our thorn tree when Bawmed in the month of July.

Chorus

Kissing under the rose is when nobody sees,
You may under the mistletoe kiss when you please;
But no kiss can be sweet as that stolen one be
Which is snatched from a sweetheart when Bawming the Tree.

Chorus

Ye Appleton Lads I can promise you this;
When her lips you have pressed with a true lover’s kiss,
Woo’ed her and won her and made her your bride
Thenceforth shall she ne’er be a thorn in your side.

Chorus

So long as this Thorn Tree o’ershadows the ground
May sweethearts to Bawm it in plenty be found.
And a thousand years hence when tis gone and is dead
May there stand here a Thorn to be Bawmed in its stead.

Chorus

Sung to the tune of “Bonnie Dundee” 3

 

  1. Discovering the Folklore of Plants by Margaret Baker
  2. Celtic Tree Magic by Danu Forest
  3.  http://www.appletonthorn.org.uk/

I think I could turn and live with animals

Today I wrote the following statement:

One of humanity’s biggest problems is that we believe ourselves to be better than animals and less than the Gods

This is not a new thought for me. Probably one of the earliest realisations I had that my world view did not fit with most of civilised society was the revelation that most people do not believe that animals have souls. That there is no after life (heaven if you will) for animals. I knew then and there I wanted no part of any religion that placed me in an afterlife without animals. Despite my apparently outgoing and gregarious nature my natural state of being is introverted. At parties and gatherings you will find me with the pets and the children (those wonderful humans who have as yet not forgotten how it is to be animal). I am quite animalistic in my nature I trust slowly, love fiercely and have unwavering loyalty. And because of this I truly struggle with many aspects of civilised society, the delicate nuances we are supposed to perceive, the intricate games we are supposed to play.  

I am loathe to use certain vocabulary as it has been abused by the new age community and the cultural misappropriation of  such paths as the indigenous American population and their belief in totem and power animals make it even more difficult to express myself adequately. But I truly believe that connecting with the animal natures with yourself can make for a richer life both in the magickal and mundane realms. It is something our old Gods knew all about. Our Gods and Goddesses were often zoomorphic. Ceridwen knew how to change into a greyhound, an otter, a hawk and a hen. Dylan son of Aranrhod became a seal and returned to the waters. Rhiannon is made to take the form of a horse (or is it her natural form) as part of her punishment for the alleged murder of her son Pryderi. It is such a common phenomena that it might be argued that to be divine you have to access the animals within. Isn’t that an interesting thought, to become Godlike we must understand our animals. But how?

We can of course pay a small fortune to be taken on some Shamanistic journey to find our inner beasts. And I’m not going to decry that. It can work. But often our  journeys to find our “divine animal nature” can be far more mundane and internal. For example after a week long retreat many years ago I was informed that my “totem” was a frog, a liminal creature capable of existing between the worlds of earth and water, a psychopomp and wise one. The Druid animal Oracle has a wonderful image of a frog, the like of which you could find in any garden pond. It states that the frog brings medicine and can help develop “sensitivity to others, to healing and to sound through your skin and your whole body and aura”. To be frank I pretty much snorted at this description, the only thing I had in common with a frog was that when I sang I croaked. And yet I couldn’t shake a certain feeling of kinship. 

When it happened it wasn’t some fabulous realisation of some wonderful aspect of my being that made the connection. It was a realisation of a darker aspect of my nature, an understanding and acceptance of my shadow shelf that finally allowed me to make that bond. The animal Oracle also says about the frog that “There is a hidden beauty and a hidden power in all of nature”. And there as I was quite a few years later, meditating on the idea that a frog had a “hidden power” when ‘pop’ sat on a rock in my interior landscape was a South American red eyed tree frog. Although not poisonous this frog is brightly coloured to shock it’s predators into thinking twice about whether or not it is a tasty snack. Giving it a superlative glamour. And although small it is a fearsome predator in its own right. In addition many of its cousins are poisonous, you squeeze one of them too tight, or hurt them in any way and there is at best a good chance you’ll have hallucinations, paralysis and seizures and worse case, if you try and eat one of these little fellows, well if they are going down they’ll take you with them in the most excruciating way possible. Now that I could relate to. 

You see connecting with any animal aspect isn’t always about the nice things, let’s face it nature just isn’t nice and neither are we. I am very distrusting of anybody who comes across as too nice, too smiley, too spiritual, they are the ones who normally have the most to hide and so far Ive never been proved wrong. My lovely friend Kath told me over a decade ago that I had an instinct second to none. Something I used to dismiss. But it is a divine animal trait in its own right, for after all why is it that a perfectly placid dog can suddenly take umbrage at a specific human being? We’ve all seen it. They sense something that apparently we can’t. Or maybe we can, if we learn to embrace our divine animals. 

Sometimes the animals we are drawn to on the mundane are also teachers for us. My friends know of my passion for Otters. I call them my favourite water borne terrorists. Liminal like the frog existing between earth and water they are often associated with shape shifting and their almost immoral behaviour makes them tricksters of the highest order. They are mustelids meaning they belong to the same family as badgers, weasels, minks and Pole-cats. They are often social and playful, knowing the joy of play for the sake of play, expecting nothing more in life than what they have. Yet they can often kill for fun, not for hunger. They can be vicious and nip and bite, they can fight to the death. But all tricksters pretty much without exception are catalysts for change even if that is by viscous means.

Tricksters are highly intelligent, often seeing a bigger picture or path unavailable to others because they are blinded by dogma and social conventions. Hermes invented lying, and nearly all tricksters have an ability to be economical with the truth, as such the Otter is very good at letting you know when someone is lying to you, because if you’ve embraced that inner divine animal, you know a big whopper when you see one because you’ve considered telling the odd one yourself. Loki, another of the zoomorphic Gods plays a pivotal role in Ragnarok resulting in the death of the Gods. Again, if you’ve embraced that destructive side of your nature then it’s really easy to see when the walls are about to come toppling down. And of course sometimes you realise it’s necessary that you bring the walls down yourself. Anansi, Coyote, Kitsune, Gwydion, Efnysien, Reynard and Puck are all tricksters worth investigating, more than a few of them have a connection to an animal or a zoomorphic aspect. They can be the hero, the bad guy, the fool and the wise man all wrapped up into one. Yet you cannot deny their divinity, their connection to the sacred.

So here is a thought, perhaps the way to fix the world is to start behaving as if we are better than Gods and less than animals and work towards integrating those two aspects of our nature.

The Last Wolf of Albion

I have to admit to feeling a little nervous about attending a Camp in Cumbria before March had even waved us goodbye. Reports of snow on higher ground by friends the previous week hadn’t helped that feeling. I may be a southerner by birth but my paternal family are all northerners and I’ll have lived under northern skies for fifteen years this September. I am a northerner at heart, and we are made of sterner stuff. So as Saturday dawned cool and clear I donned a thermal vest under my T-shirt and fleece and headed towards Grange-Over-Sands and the Humphrey Head Centre where The Druid Network were hosting a “Leap into Spring” event.

I love the Lakes with a deep abiding passion, many of my childhood holidays involved fishing at Arnside, woodland rambles near Kendal, minnow trapping at the Troutbeck, scrambling around at the feet of Shap. To name just a few activities. And it was during these holidays that my love of folklore and myth probably first took seed. Both my father and grandfather were excellent story tellers, and the raucous songs and tales they made up for my delight are memories that make me smile even on the greyest day. So it was great news to me that the location of my weekend adventures was purported to be the site where the last wolf was hunted down and killed and that a great story accompanied it. A story that has been brought to my attention, for no apparent reason a number of times over the last few months. So obviously it has some as yet unknown lesson to teach me. So as the start of my adventure through the landscape of the last wolf I thought I might share its sad tale.

The Last Wolf

Once upon a time, for after all it’s important for all good stories  to start like that don’t you think? There lived a very powerful family who resided in a beautiful tower near the village of  Allithwaite. In those days the landscape was different to the one we know now. It was a much wilder place. Inhabited by much wilder creatures. Possibly the most fearsome of which was a ferocious wolf. His howls could be heard all across Over-Sands and on moon lit nights the local peasants brought as many of their sheep inside as possible for the Wolf had a voracious appetite.

The beasts indiscriminate hunting went on for many years before the common folk could take no more and pleaded with their lord to help them. To rid them of this menace. Sir Edgar Harrington listened to his serfs and swore to rid them of the predator. He called to all the Lords and Knights across the region asking for aid. If they caught and killed the wolf then half his lands and the hand of his orphan niece Adela would be theirs as reward.

Now Adela was less than happy with this state of affairs, but as an Orphan ward there was little she could do. All she could hope for was that either that the wolf escaped to hunt another day, or that the man to which she would be wed was an honourable and decent man. She knew though that her heart would never belong to any other man than John. The son of Sir Edgar. As children they had played together and as they had grown so had their love. Once he came of age John had asked his father for her hand but had been refused for Sir Edgar saw great alliances that could be made with her marriage. John left in anger to travel to the Holy lands swearing never to return. Leaving a grieving Adela behind.

So as the appointed day arrived nobles across the land assembled. Forming the greatest hunt the land had seen since Arthur had valiantly pursued the elusive White Stag. Adela pleaded with her ward begging to accompany the men so that she may see the triumph of the man to whom she would be wed. Finally he agreed and as her horse was being saddled a mysterious knight arrived to join the hunt. Mounted upon the most magnificent glowing white Arabian stallion the knight refused to dismount or remove his visor whilst the final preparations were made. Instead he silently watched the fair maiden.

The horn sounded and the hunt began. The Wolf a wiley old beast led them a merry dance. The hunt zig zagged across the land, from Coniston to Windermere with many an erstwhile suitor falling by the wayside. Finally the chase led the remaining pack to Humphrey Head with the mysterious knight leading. He cornered the beast and speared him through his heart. Turning to Adela he lifted his visor to reveal to his prize that he was her long lost love. Sir Edgar seeing the truth of the situation summoned a learned Monk from Cartmel Priory who happened to be in the retinue. He instructed the Monk to marry the couple there and then. In front of the holy well that springs even to this day from the foot of the cliffs at Humphrey Head.

It is a truly wonderful tale, full of some very interesting motifs which could be remnants of long lost sovereignty stories. The maiden being married to a mysterious knight who is mounted upon an otherworldly white beast. But what is even more fascinating is that the myth has now become inextricably link to the geology of the land.

Firstly the Holy well which although somewhat sad and neglected still remains to this day. It is mineral rich and tastes a little like Alka Selzer with a slightly silky/slimey texture. And although the water is heavy with salts and minerals it is obviously unpolluted as small freshwater shrimps could be seen swimming in the small pools where the water collected as it trickled down to the marshes just a few meters below.

Secondly is the Haematite which can be gathered in the shingle at the foot of Humphrey Head. This is a black/reddish brown stone which is high in Ferric Oxide. It is sometimes known as Blood stone. A good way to identify the stone is to give it a quick lick and rub it against a rock, if it comes up red then you know you have the right rock. Of course if you have a magnet on your keyring you will also be able to test the stones as even if the Iron content is fairly low you will feel a slight draw to the stones. Might be a bit more sensible than licking them. But hey where is the fun in that! And if you do lick them, you can see how these stones have become linked to the story of the last wolf, their Magickal red stains are the drops of blood shed by the Wolf before he met his final demise on the cliffs above.

 

It is claimed that Haematite is great for protection, grounding and dispelling negativity. And I have used it for that purpose previously but the stones I gathered have now found themselves upon my Brigid altar, after all a Goddess of Smithcraft could definitely use some Iron ore.

It was a truly wonderful day full of myth and magick and a sense of sacred within the landscape. I cannot wait to go back to visit and explore more. Perhaps even discover other legends about the surrounding lands. The Woodspirit camp is being hosted there this year. That sounds like a promising adventure.

 

 

The Blessings of Brigid

For a couple of years now I have been trying to make more of a conscious effort to really connect with the festivals on the wheel of the year. So at the end of January I found myself accepting an invitation to attend an hour’s silent vigil in the woods dedicated to the Goddess Brigid. I’ll be frank, whilst I love dark nights, woodland walks and candle-lit vigils I was rather perplexed as to my subconscious motivations. Brigid is not a deity Ive had a lot of connection with and nor did I really want to. To explain, I think how you interact with deities is a bit like how you interact
with people. There has to be a certain something about the person or nothing will never develop. They will remain just somebody you know in passing, might say “hi” to as you walk past in the street because you recognise them. But you wouldn’t necessarily stop and talk. And to be frank my previous interaction with Brigid had left me pretty much as cold as the Imbolc snow that so often scatters the ground at that time of year. So I think it goes without saying that I was more than a bit shocked when during the vigil a quiet internal voice instructed me to continue to light candles until Equinox.

Publicly Ive been wearing my Druid hat almost as much as I’ve been wearing my Wiccan hat of late so it occurred to me that this sudden tentative spark of connection may be related to that, Brigid is a goddess of poetry and often a patron to Bards. It also occurred to me that it was an aspect of Brigid I was feeling as a soul calling rather than an actual connection. At that early point of connection during the vigil it was close to seven weeks since I had set foot on Anglesey, the longest I have gone in well over 18 months. The author Kristoffer Hughes suggests that the Goddess of the river Braint which bisects the Isle of Anglesey is a localised version of the Goddess Briganti, whom many believe to also be Brigid 1. Therefore although admittedly in a reluctant manner I started lighting a candle whenever I sat down in my study and when away, I made an effort, if only for a fleeting moment, to think of Brigid and her sacred flame. After all Imbolc to Equinox was not a long time, right?

Of course Spring is now most definitely upon us and Equinox is looming fast and I find that the whole catalog of synchronicity which has followed is such that I am now left without a shadow of a doubt that the relationship now has some form of chemistry going on. A spark of interest which wasn’t there before. What that interest is I have no idea, and whether there is a longevity to the interaction is equally mystifying. However, the more I read about her, the more I can see the similarities she shares with the two other Goddesses that have at one point or another shared my life. And there are a couple of aspects which have me positively entranced. For example, How can a fairy Princess, the wife of Angus the Ever young, a Tuatha de Dannan also be patron of smith craft, an occupation which even into history is an Iron rich activity?
I think sometimes, when connections are made you have to go with your gut and follow your nose, and just enjoy the journey, no motivations, no ulterior motive, no “What’s in it for me?”. So I find myself with a small shrine to Brigid on my window, and not unsurprisingly everything I needed for it to feel right was either made available to me or I had in my possession already. Including some beautiful glass crystals that reminded me of the “Guiding Star of Bride”

 “Over her heart gleamed a star like crystal, pure as her thoughts and bright as the joy that Angus brought her.”

And with that I thought I would finish with an enchanting poem I found telling of the search of Angus the Ever young for his Princess.

Angus hath come — the young, the fair,
The blue-eyed god with golden hair,
The God who to the world doth bring
This morn the promise of the spring;
Who moves the bird to song ere yet
He hath awaked the violet,
Or the soft primrose on the steep
While buds are laid in lidded sleep,
And white snows wrap the hills serene,
Ere glows the larch’s vivid green
Through the brown woods bare. All Hail!
Angus, may thy will prevail
He comes, he goes, and far and wide
He searches for the Princess Bride2

  1. Hughes, K. The book of Celtic Magic, Llewellyn 2016
  2.  Mackenzie, D.A. Wonder Tales from Scottish Myth and Legend, Stokes 1917

Of Ash, Willow and Ivy

Trees, Ogham, musings
I had planned to start my new year with a study of the Ogham, I have a lovely journal that a friend gave me. Its hand made, quite literally of wood, so it seemed perfect for my needs. There was absolutely nothing stopping me. And yet January rolled past and Imbolc arrived and for reasons that completely escape me, nothing was written in my natty little journal. I couldn’t really put my fingers on why I couldn’t start.

The weeks passed by and I found myself getting increasingly irritated with my non action. Anybody who knows me well knows that whilst I have the propensity to be lazy my default mode of operation is busy, and doing more than most would deem possible. And I had free time because I had also decided that this year would be the year that I learnt how to say “no”. So I was only taking on projects that excited me. It isn’t even like I’m a complete towney who doesn’t know her chickweed from her cleavers, or oak from birch. This should have been easy, flowing, logical even.

The Ogham has been neatly compartmentalised into different aicme (groups), and in more modern times thanks to the ubiquitous Robert Graves they’ve been assigned months. So what could be easier. In January I would study The Rowan, February it would be The Ash, and so on. It was only when I was writing up some practical exercises that meant absolutely nothing to me that it hit me. I was so tied up with the book learning, the ordering, the sequences, that I was completely ignoring the experiential. The single most important thing. Without the experience then we are nothing more than armchair academics, not people fully here in the present, experiencing all that life has to offer. And then I froze, unable to progress.

I know I am not the only person to get this way. We spend our lives regimented, ordered, encouraged to fit into little boxes of explanation and routine. It allows us to make sense of the senseless and derive meaning from the meaningless (but more about that another day). But nature, it’s messy and higgledy piggledy. It happens when it wants, where it wants and pretty much how it wants. Yes there are structures and patterns within it, but it isn’t regimented. Ash Trees burst their buds when the weather has been sufficiently warm enough not because somebody once wrote that they had to sometime around Mid-March. So when we are presented with fuzzy boundaries we stop, try and make the patterns and connections, fit things into little boxes again before we move onwards. So there I was frozen. Then whilst preparing a lesson for a Tarot study group that I run, (which was also failing to fit into designated temporal and physical boxes) I read this lovely quote by the multi-talented Mark Ryan who co-created the original Greenwood Tarot, which has captured the hearts and minds of so many people.

The best advice I ever got about Tarot was: ‘Read the book, meditate with the cards, then put the book away and do your own thing’

I needed to do what I do best, get messy, get dirty, get loud, mix it up and work with what inspired me at the time it inspired me. Be wild, beautiful and unruly. Be that Midday or Midnight, March or May. Forget the tree calender, sure put it in my notes, its an interesting tidbit, forget documenting the trees according to some unfathomable pattern that only the mind of a 20th century genius poet could ever understand. Read the books, meditate on the tree and then put the books away and do my own thing.

Really sometimes moving forward can be as simple as that. Put the books away, sources are really important, but not to the point that you are frozen in academic analysis.

And of course the minute I let go, the inspiration began to flow. I realised that I’d been working with a number of Ogham woods for a very long time, it didn’t matter that they belonged to different aicme or that they might be studied out of order. And of course the irony the wood I chose as my first study was The Ash just as it’s calendar month came around, but you can rest assured the rest won’t fit into that construct. Continue reading

If the Goddess doesn’t love you

I actually thought I’d written about this before, but a search of the site suggests otherwise. I know Ive joked about it online in recent years and my close friends have heard this story at least once. And the synchroncities keep getting such that for at least 2 years I’ve been meaning to make this blog post.  But something happened tonight that I feel its time to put my thoughts out to a wider audience. A few years ago now I had the pleasure of meeting Marian Greene, the author of A Witch Alone. Being a bolshy and decidedly arrogant young thing I didn’t hesitate to give her the benefit of my opinion regarding the quality of her work. Specifically what I thought of a particular chapter in her book The Path through the Labyrinth. It’s actually an excellent book, but somewhat dated, and is difficult to get hold of which is why I don’t recommend it very often. However, it has some interesting concepts and ideals that would leave some spitting feathers. I know I did.

The biggest gripe I had. In fact the primary reason the book hit the deck and the wall more than a few times related to the following paragraph

The Cup or the Chalice, Goblet or Cauldron should always be a gift of love, received by you unasked. If no one loves you enough to give you some symbolic token which can stand in for your magical cup, then the Goddess won’t love you either!

It took me a long time to get past that statement, how ridiculous and condescending. So much so that until recently the rest of the paragraph was lost in a haze of irritation and frustration. I think I even made several comments both at the time and in the intervening years that if “the gods” demanded such things as a criteria for their love then I neither needed them nor wanted them. How rude and presumptuous. And with those thoughts in my mind I went barrelling through my life. And life is hard and requires a lot of barrelling. It was easy to not worry about the rest of the paragrapgh. To forget it even….except I couldn’t.

To be worthy and respected, loved and wanted is the only way to thread the maze of relationships between the human and magical levels. Love yourself, become worthy of loving, love others honestly and you too will be loved and rewarded.

And why couldn’t i forget it you ask, well this is why I cant.

 


Let’s go through this little tale of joy. So the universe apparently likes to take the mick just a bit. My first chalice came fairly shortly after my first big public rant about how people in the closet would be crushed by such off hand statements about the Goddess’ love. A lovely lady named Jay and I were in the charity shops after doing a few days of intensive elemental and tantric  work, there were two Agate cups the same, she grinned and so did I. It was a bond, and more so she wouldn’t let me pay but gave me one of the pair. A permanent and wonderful memory of our magick.

The second two are gifts from my mother, the first she commissioned when I became HPS of my own Coven and I bemoaned the inadequacy of Chalices in large rituals, so she had made a chalice in English elm that would hold a half bottle of wine and then some. Shortly after was my birthday so she also had a one person sized Chalice made. Then came a gift from my then best friend who wrote one of the most important rituals of my life. Followed swiftly by a birthday gift by my current High Priest and High Priestess. I am sure by now you are all laughing. But none more so than me, because when I was feeling very low today as the result of a few friendship transitions, I got given two stunning Olive wood cups by a wonderful friend.

Apparently the universe likes to remind me, that people do love me, when i hit down on the emotional elevator, somebody is there, when I have a major landmark, then apparently the goddess loves me enough that someone else channels it. And reminds me I am worthy and respected enough that the Goddess gives me cups*

*NB Please don’t ever stop giving me cups, it seems i need them and i certainly want them because if nothing else when i am feeling low i can look at them and remember when the Goddess loved me haha!

When is a Fairy not a Fairy

The Lampades are underworld nymphs in Greek mythology. They are nocturnal and are recorded as accompanying Hekate in her night time travels. They are also closely linked to the rites of Demeter at Eleusis and so play a part in the initiatory process. It was probably this early connection with nature spirits that eventually led Hekate to be named as a leader of the fairies hoards in Shakespeares play.

And we fairies that do run, by the triple Hekate’s team, from the presence of the sun, following darkness like a dream.

– A Midsummmer-night’s Dream Act 5 Scene II

And it is probably Hekate’s guiding hand that first had me wandering through nocturnal landscapes in search of “the other”. Although in truth, all night time shenanigans and tom foolery is now entirely of my own fault, no deity blaming required. And in the last 6 months or so I’ve been doing quite a lot. Anyway, I’ve been out 3 of the last 4 nights either on my own or with friends and on each occasion there have been energies present to sense. And it would be very easy to always say that what we were experiencing was “Faeries”. But its not always the case and I figured that my insights and those of my friends were worth sharing.

Sunday saw me out with my friend Mark on an interesting guided walk facilitated by Northern Earth Walks. We heard about some of the more strange and unusual occurrences in Todmorden’s recent history including a lucky dog, UFO’s, a grizzly murder that could have been the inspiration for the game of Cluedo and to our delight the story of Old Scraper, a supernatural being who wandered a certain track upon on the ridge above the town. He was said to appear to any who raised a tool aloft. There was nothing for it. It was going to have to be investigated. So despite lacking tools bigger than penknives we headed up an increasingly steep and muddy track in hot pursuit of our quarry.

A View of Todmorden from Old Scraper’s Lair

The view at the top was pretty spectacular and as we walked we certainly sensed a number of things, but not all the same. In fact it appeared that two distinct sensations were present. And after some thought and discussion it was surmised that Old Scraper was probably neither entirely ghost nor fae, but something older belonging to the land, a guardian of a barrow or other sacred space long lost and forgotten. Left for potentially millennia he had taken on aspects of the elementals around him. Fed off the energy of the folklore surrounding him. Becoming part thought-form, part landscape, a hybrid, and as a result he had survived. I suppose the clue that he wasn’t entirely fae was in the manner in which he was to be summoned. With tools! It’s a pretty well known fact that most of the Fae aren’t so keen on iron, So you can be pretty sure that your average common or garden fairy wouldn’t have come within a million miles of somebody brandishing a ferrous object.

This blending is not an uncommon occurrence, particularly when the realms of mankind and faerie meet and is something I discuss in some detail in my upcoming book, Spirits in a Broken Land. But it isn’t the only time that a feeling or sensation is something other than unadulterated fair folk making you feel a little uncomfortable. Much has been written of late regarding the theory that the trees can, and do communicate with each other. As a result I am now starting to suspect that it goes much further than that. A mere 24 hours after my escapades in the woods, I found myself on the glorious Formby beach with my friend Brian. The evening was almost balmy for a January night and being the little creature of water that I am, I threw caution to the non existent wind and went wading far deeper than was probably wise. After a lovely warming cuppa to recover from my little splash about, we decided to take a wander into the woodland that borders the spectacular sand dunes.

As we walked into the woods the scent of fox was fairly overwhelming and at least one dog fox could be heard barking somewhere in the darkness in front of us. A three way crossroad lay before us. Which way to go, how would we decide? Left, we would go left. And the smell of fox grew stronger. Its that time of year, they are finding their mates and doing what all good foxes do to ensure that little fox cubs are brought into this world.  But as we progressed a feel of unease fell upon us. Brian asked if I had noticed it. And indeed I had, a feeling like we weren’t wanted there. Which was strange as the woods had felt so calm and serene as we had walked down to the beach only and hour earlier. We debated what might have happened to change the feeling so drastically. We had seen two cars come streaking down the track towards the squirrel reserve only to turn round quickly when they saw us. Up to no good I suspect. But then it hit me, we would disturb the foxes, we were being warned away by the very place itself so as to protect the privacy of the woodland inhabitants. This was no malevolent fae, but a living breathing woodland caring for its inhabitants. How wonderful!

So it got me thinking. How often when we walk, we have these sensations and we always just give it the title of fairy or spirit of place. How inadequate these titles are, when sometimes its both more and less. Sometimes its so phenomenally mind blowing that you cannot help but believe that there is sentience and divinity in every atom of the world around us. So next time you go out walking. It doesn’t have to be in the dark, any time of day will do, just take a moment when that sense of otherness over comes you. Really sense it. Look at the landscape you are in, ask aloud for it’s story. Ask, is it really a fairy?

 

 

 

And So the Wheel of Hekate slowly turns

LoI think it’s fair to say that this years Perseid celebrations were quiet for me. I celebrated a small rite with a group of friends and used the ritual to clear out some baggage that I’ve been carrying around this past year which was phenomenally cathartic. This year has seen some massive changes both personally and professionally. What with resigning from the Covenant of Hekate and starting my own business.

Despite it being low key I have been blown away by the energy of the last few weeks. I can only attribute that to the sheer quantity of Hekate devotees who now celebrate either the Perseids, the new Hekatesia on the 13th, or Nemoralia (The festival of torches) on the full moon just past. I sat in the dark late yesterday evening watching a golden glowing orb rise into the night sky. A fire burnt at my feet, I listened to the sound of the waves gently breaking just a couple of metres away. And I was quite literally filled with bliss, a sense of rightness and calm. A completion of a cycle. The wheel of Hekate has once again turned.

This completion couldn’t have been made more clear when I woke this morning, our glorious summer weather has turned. It’s still fairly warm, but now it’s blustery and rainy. We still have hope for more spells of warm; but it’s now that season where with every squall the returning fair weather will be each time just that little bit cooler. Then before we know it Autumn will be upon us. Listening to the wind blowing in the trees outside my bedroom window made me think about Hekate and the weather. She must have had some control over it, for she was purported to help sailors to bring in a good catch and that can be very weather dependent. But for the life of me I cannot bring to mind any specific references. Or even a grasp of how the ancient Greeks understood *weather*.

I have a grasp of their calendar systems, their seasons, even their notion of the winds. But they are quite a tract concepts aren’t they? I think I feel a project coming on.

Hekate: A Devotional

Hekate Devotional Buy Now!I have had this little gem on my desk for a while now, and as I have five minutes on this smashing Friday afternoon I thought I would take some time to tell you about it.

I’m not always keen on devotional works, but this book is head and shoulders above most books of that ilk. It’s been an absolute delight to read. Well edited. Well formatted and most importantly well written.

Seriously I’ve read a few book recently that would make your hair curl so this was REALLY refreshing.

The book is arranged into eight chapters covering such subjects as Household shrines, Crossroads, Death and Transformation. Vivienne has a fluid and gentle “voice” that smacks of someone that has done the work. Her writing in passionate and intensely personal. I couldn’t help but smile at the following statement:-

The writing of this book is an offering to Hekate. The sacrifice is knowing that not everyone will agree or like what I say within these pages. Some, I’m sure, will not understand the way I see and feel Hekate. I may get negative feedbacks, or worse, none at all. Maybe some will laugh or be offended with what I have written. That is the chance I am willing to take. For Hekate – for myself. Even if just one person is touched by this devotional then it will be worth it.

I could feel that statement deep in my soul, having been there myself it is a deep knowing you cannot shake. Well I am not laughing, I am applauding. I think this is a wonderful book and if people havent bought it I want to know why not. Because Its NOT been put out there to cash in on what is currently a very popular market. Its a work of magick in the truest sense of the word. Well done Moon Books for publishing it and well done Vivenne for writing it. I hope we get to meet someday I think we might have a lot in common.

 

And in the absence of facts…..Modern Festivals to Hekate

If there is one subject that is guaranteed to get some folks hot under the collar it has to be the trend of celebrating thoroughly modern and historically inaccurate festivals. It is a practise that until just a few years ago I disagreed with quite vehemently. Looking back now it is fair to say that in the early days of writing Temple of Hekate I felt that it was very important that people understood how the ancient Attic calendar really worked and wrote upon it at some length. Although those pages didn’t make the editorial cuts I felt strongly enough about it that at a later date I posted a blog entry so the details were available for all to see. This opinion hasn’t been a passing fad either, but as I stated when I discussed the Deipnon way back in 2009 and is worthy of repeating, I am not a reconstructionist, far from it. But I was and still am very heavily invested in debunking some of the more common “myths” that I had stumbled over myself in my early days of research and practise, so I tended to shy away from the modern, the unverified, and the inaccurate.

I’ve done some perspective changing since that time, quite surprisingly so. I think the first inkling of the change was when we realised that Her Sacred Fires was here to stay. Now hurtling towards its 7th anniversary and showing no signs of slowing down we appear to have created a thoroughly modern festival enjoyed by thousands. And this isn’t the only one. August the 13th is another, a modern date fixed as the result of a mis-understanding of how the Attic calendar worked, but it has grown and swollen and truly become a thing, a world-wide thing. A thing that people can get behind, work together with, create and share and laugh and love. How can this thing be bad?

Furthermore we have literally just celebrated Hekate’s Day on the 16th of November in The Sanctuary of Hekate Enodia. When Mima, my friend and CoH Torchbearer who co-runs the Sanctuary with me suggested we do something to mark the date I nearly fell off my chair. This festival doesn’t even have the dubious honour of being a festival that once existed and got dumped into a modern calendar. This festival has, as far as I am aware, no historical precedence whatsoever. In fact it is the epitome of everything I hate about modern practise, a new thing pretending to be something old. And then it hit me, it’s not the celebration that I hate, in fact I love a good excuse for our Sanctuary to come together and do work. It is the belief that it dates back to some long ago historical practise that fills me with dread.

So we put up some information regarding the provenance of the festival and ahead we went. And all I can say was that the connection between some of the group was quite startling. We were all working remotely but the imagery shared was so similar. So similar that I had to feel that we were getting nothing less than a resounding stamp of approval for our actions and the work and effort we have all been putting in recently. We certainly shall be celebrating this date again, along with Her Sacred Fires and August 13th (which traditionally is the Roman festival Nemoralia and the ill dated Festival of Kourotrophos, Artemis and Hekate – which should actually be celebrated on 16 Metageitnion but let’s not split hairs). At the end of the day the religion of the Greeks and Romans and many others was fluid, it grew and changed and was subject to regional variations. Somethings were adopted, others allowed to pass into memory only, some lost to the ages. If we fail to recognise that then we fall into dogma and fundamentalism. An ethos I decided I did not agree with a long long time ago.

So we shall celebrate these rites, knowing their true nature we shall perform them anyway. We shall lift our heads proudly and say, we created this in honour of the Goddess Hekate, we honour you just as our ancestors did but in times and climes appropriate to us.

En Erebos Phos!