I have never been very good at keeping up with things, and this blog is proof of that. At the beginning of the academic year I had hoped that I could post an article a week. For a few weeks, as you can readily notice, this philosophy worked. However, life eventually caught up with me. As a full-time student who works a part-time job and who is involved in his local community, I have realized that writing well thought out articles—while I do enjoy it!—is just not always possible. That being said, I have decided that this blogging experiment needs to shift its focus a little. With the breaking of the New Year, then, I endeavor to reshape my plans for this piece cyberspace.
Going forward, I intend to use this blog as a religious and spiritual notebook, thereby widening its breadth to include topics on both Gaelic Polytheism (religion) and Witchcraft (spirituality). As a “notebook,” I will use this space to present my interpretations, insights, and even questions on the aforementioned themes. It is important to note that everything put forth in this blog will be drawn—unless noted otherwise—from my own subjective experiences. I do not claim that my way of doing things is the only way, nor that it is the most preferred way. It is simply a way, and the point of my posts is not to coerce people into believing what I believe. Rather the posts are designed to make people think—to make them ponder why and how they believe what they do.
While this blog will ultimately be a place for me to present my thoughts, I quite fancy the idea of others getting involved. I think it would be wonderful if this could serve as a place to bounce ideas back and forth. After all, more people and more viewpoints create more learning opportunities. In this sense, I would like to see this blog become part personal notebook and part community forum. Perhaps this is a bit idealistic. On the other hand, if I do not have goals for this project, what is the use of going through with it?
Also, having learned that keeping a rigid deadline often results in quick and sloppy posts, I will be posting infrequently and at leisure. In the end, quality matters much more than quantity in these areas.
For now, these are my thoughts. As I said at the beginning, “I have never been very good at keeping up with things,” but hopefully everything goes better in the New Year. After all, in a few hours, my procrastination and my semester from hell will be soooo 2010.
Sláinte,
Bryce
31 December 2010
11 September 2010
Prayer Beads - Cosmology
Life is a vast concept, and the variety of forms and energies that it takes on is truly mind-blowing. It is no wonder, then, that as people have sought to understand Existence, they have been prone to separate it into different realms. Even modern science has its basic states of matter. Of course, this classifying of Life is nowhere more prominent than in religion, wherein it is referred to as cosmology—the breaking up of the greater existence into functional regions. Thus in Christianity there is the dichotomy of Heaven and Hell; Vedic religion has the Kingdom of Indra and the Kingdom of Yama; and Greek myth holds the doctrines of Tartaros and Elysium. The list goes on and on, each religion having its own understanding of the universe. Gaelic Paganism is no different: it, too, has a notion of different realms and worlds.
The cosmos of the Gael differs quite radically from those of the “mainstream” religions. This is largely due to the underlying belief in reincarnation. While the afterlife is a whole discussion unto itself, to fully understand the Gaelic cosmos, it is important for the reader to at least have a basic knowledge of post-mortem beliefs. To the Gael, then, the soul is eternal. It comes into the physical world to learn and to grow. After death, it departs to the appropriate Otherworld realm, the nature of which is based on the person’s deeds in life. After spending a while amongst the Otherworld islands, the soul returns to the physical to continue its education. This is the basic pattern of life and death which underscores the Gaelic cosmos.
On account of this idea of reincarnation, there is no concept of a permanent life within any one realm. This is very much unlike Christianity, wherein one is either eternally damned or eternally rewarded. In the Gaelic view, the soul bounces back and forth between the realms of trial, punishment, and reward. However even the notion of “punishment” is different for the Gael. In contrast to the view that punishment is meant to inflict pain and despair, in the Gaelic view, punishment can be a very good thing. Yes, it is painful; yes, it is despairing; but it is not without purpose. Punishment is a learning experience. It is the forge for the soul—taking what is weak and making it stronger. However to achieve this strength, the soul, just as the sword, must pass through the fires that torment and burn.
With all of that being said, the Gael sees the universe as being divided into three parts. These are known by various names but usually correlate to the English Land, Sky, and Sea. For the purposes of this discussion, the Irish terms Talamh (Land), Neamh (Sky), and Muir (Sea) will be used (but bear in mind that there are other possible translations). While these words do denote worldly places, it is important to understand that they are really poetical allegories that describe something much larger.
Talamh (pronounced “TAH-luhv,” Land) is the realm in which we currently live. In some circles of thought, Talamh is alternatively known as Mide—meaning “middle,” as the land is in the middle between the sea and the sky. Under either term, Talamh is understood as the land of mortality, wherein everything is born and wherein everything ultimately dies. Here nothing escapes this cycle, and when the Tuatha Dé Danann (the Gods) came to Talamh, they, too, had to eventually shed their mortal forms.
Talamh can be seen as a type of school for the soul. Through the experiences of pleasure, pain, growth, and decay in Talamh, the soul comes to better grasp the nature of the Life force. By repeated returns to the mortal realm, the soul hopes to eventually know the mysteries and the inner-workings of Existence. After this has been achieved, it is no longer necessary for the soul to return to Talamh, but it may if it so wishes.
Neamh (pronounced “nyav,” Sky) is the place of the Divine. It is here that Danu stirs the Cauldron of Life, departing Existence to all things. This is the place of the Gods, and it is from Neamh that they issue their instructions and give their inspirations to humanity. As is told in Immram Brain (The Voyage of Bran Mac Febral), Neamh (here called Emain) is an absolute paradise:
9. 'Unknown is wailing or treachery
In the familiar cultivated land,
There is nothing rough or harsh,
But sweet music striking on the ear.
10. 'Without grief, without sorrow, without death,
Without any sickness, without debility,
That is the sign of Emain--
Uncommon is an equal marvel.
11.'A beauty of a wondrous land,
Whose aspects are lovely,
Whose view is a fair country,
Incomparable is its haze. [1]
If a person leads a just and upright life, then after death his/her soul is taken to Neamh, where it is free to rejoice in the splendors of perfection. While in this realm of paradise, the soul meets with the Gods and the ancestors, who in turn advise and help the soul in its development. While some souls stay in Neamh performing God-like functions (a theme that shall be explored later in this series), most, in due course, return to Talamh. After all perfection, being perfect, eventually becomes rather boring.
The final realm of the Gaelic cosmos is Muir (pronounced “mweer,” Sea). This is the land of trail and refinement, and it is in the depths of this place that the Fomhoire live, tempting humans to go against the Gods. While this realm has many different levels, it is at its deepest a place of extreme pain, sorrow, and despair.
If a person dies unjust and unrighteous then his/her soul travels to Muir. Here the soul is cleansed of its vices. How this is done depends upon how severe the offenses were. One may be forced to cry, to laugh, or to be continually slaughtered in battle. The remedies are numerous. According to this variant nature of Muir, this realm is often depicted as being composed of many different islands, each one set aside to deal with a different vice. Of course, the soul is not kept here forever. Having learned its lesson, it eventually rises above its struggle and returns to Talamh.
Defining Existence by the realms of Talamh, Neamh, and Muir is a very convenient system. Talamh is the realm of mortals; Neamh is the realm of the Gods and of perfection; and Muir is the realm of ungodliness and discord. This is an easy way to split up the different anomalies of Life. However this tripartite view, while certainly useful, is a drastic simplification. When we classify Life into these three realms, we are often compelled to think that each realm is its own, autonomous entity. This is simply not true. Existence is fluid, and thus there are no boundaries: one realm freely flows into the next.
Talamh flows into Neamh, Neamh into Muir, and Muir into Talamh. There is no clear distinction where one begins and the other ends. Thus the Immrama (accounts of Otherworldly travels) tell both of islands of suffering and islands of great joy, describing both great torments and astounding bliss. Like the gradual transition of colors in a rainbow, one thing eventually blurs into the next.
Throughout this article, I have largely avoided mentioning the Otherworld. When thinking in terms of Talamh, Neamh, and Muir, the Otherworld becomes a very problematic concept. In the mycological accounts, all sorts of beings and activities figure under this one, broad category: Gods and demons, paradise and suffering are all said to be a part of the Otherworld. In this sense, then, the Otherworld does appear as a specific realm of Life.
Rather it is better to accept the term “Otherworld” as being just that: a world other than our own physical world. By this reckoning, the Otherworld implies all of Neamh, all of Muir, and certain non-human parts of Talamh (for remember Talamh is the mortal realm, not just the “earthly” realm of man). Therefore “Otherworld” is a separate distinction from Talamh, Neamh, and Muir, and it simply refers to a realm outside our normal, human existence.
Life is a very complex and diverse function. No matter how we classify or define it, there will always be gaps and conundrums. The trick is to put it in terms that we can understand and with which can interact. To the Gaelic Pagan, these are Talamh, Neamh, and Muir, the realms of mortality, divinity, and trial. Nevertheless, in the end it will all be only poetry—a mere spinning of words and images in hopes of illuminating that which is far too great even for the sun to brighten.
Sláinte,
Bryce
The triskelion symbol is often used to represent the Gaelic cosmology
__________________________________
[1] Kuno Meyer - The Voyage of Bran, (translation), London David Nutt,1895.
[*] Image: Pandorinha3. Triskele. Photograph. Pandorinha3's Profile. Photobucket. Web. 10 Sept. 2010..
The cosmos of the Gael differs quite radically from those of the “mainstream” religions. This is largely due to the underlying belief in reincarnation. While the afterlife is a whole discussion unto itself, to fully understand the Gaelic cosmos, it is important for the reader to at least have a basic knowledge of post-mortem beliefs. To the Gael, then, the soul is eternal. It comes into the physical world to learn and to grow. After death, it departs to the appropriate Otherworld realm, the nature of which is based on the person’s deeds in life. After spending a while amongst the Otherworld islands, the soul returns to the physical to continue its education. This is the basic pattern of life and death which underscores the Gaelic cosmos.
On account of this idea of reincarnation, there is no concept of a permanent life within any one realm. This is very much unlike Christianity, wherein one is either eternally damned or eternally rewarded. In the Gaelic view, the soul bounces back and forth between the realms of trial, punishment, and reward. However even the notion of “punishment” is different for the Gael. In contrast to the view that punishment is meant to inflict pain and despair, in the Gaelic view, punishment can be a very good thing. Yes, it is painful; yes, it is despairing; but it is not without purpose. Punishment is a learning experience. It is the forge for the soul—taking what is weak and making it stronger. However to achieve this strength, the soul, just as the sword, must pass through the fires that torment and burn.
With all of that being said, the Gael sees the universe as being divided into three parts. These are known by various names but usually correlate to the English Land, Sky, and Sea. For the purposes of this discussion, the Irish terms Talamh (Land), Neamh (Sky), and Muir (Sea) will be used (but bear in mind that there are other possible translations). While these words do denote worldly places, it is important to understand that they are really poetical allegories that describe something much larger.
Talamh (pronounced “TAH-luhv,” Land) is the realm in which we currently live. In some circles of thought, Talamh is alternatively known as Mide—meaning “middle,” as the land is in the middle between the sea and the sky. Under either term, Talamh is understood as the land of mortality, wherein everything is born and wherein everything ultimately dies. Here nothing escapes this cycle, and when the Tuatha Dé Danann (the Gods) came to Talamh, they, too, had to eventually shed their mortal forms.
Talamh can be seen as a type of school for the soul. Through the experiences of pleasure, pain, growth, and decay in Talamh, the soul comes to better grasp the nature of the Life force. By repeated returns to the mortal realm, the soul hopes to eventually know the mysteries and the inner-workings of Existence. After this has been achieved, it is no longer necessary for the soul to return to Talamh, but it may if it so wishes.
Neamh (pronounced “nyav,” Sky) is the place of the Divine. It is here that Danu stirs the Cauldron of Life, departing Existence to all things. This is the place of the Gods, and it is from Neamh that they issue their instructions and give their inspirations to humanity. As is told in Immram Brain (The Voyage of Bran Mac Febral), Neamh (here called Emain) is an absolute paradise:
9. 'Unknown is wailing or treachery
In the familiar cultivated land,
There is nothing rough or harsh,
But sweet music striking on the ear.
10. 'Without grief, without sorrow, without death,
Without any sickness, without debility,
That is the sign of Emain--
Uncommon is an equal marvel.
11.'A beauty of a wondrous land,
Whose aspects are lovely,
Whose view is a fair country,
Incomparable is its haze. [1]
If a person leads a just and upright life, then after death his/her soul is taken to Neamh, where it is free to rejoice in the splendors of perfection. While in this realm of paradise, the soul meets with the Gods and the ancestors, who in turn advise and help the soul in its development. While some souls stay in Neamh performing God-like functions (a theme that shall be explored later in this series), most, in due course, return to Talamh. After all perfection, being perfect, eventually becomes rather boring.
The final realm of the Gaelic cosmos is Muir (pronounced “mweer,” Sea). This is the land of trail and refinement, and it is in the depths of this place that the Fomhoire live, tempting humans to go against the Gods. While this realm has many different levels, it is at its deepest a place of extreme pain, sorrow, and despair.
If a person dies unjust and unrighteous then his/her soul travels to Muir. Here the soul is cleansed of its vices. How this is done depends upon how severe the offenses were. One may be forced to cry, to laugh, or to be continually slaughtered in battle. The remedies are numerous. According to this variant nature of Muir, this realm is often depicted as being composed of many different islands, each one set aside to deal with a different vice. Of course, the soul is not kept here forever. Having learned its lesson, it eventually rises above its struggle and returns to Talamh.
Defining Existence by the realms of Talamh, Neamh, and Muir is a very convenient system. Talamh is the realm of mortals; Neamh is the realm of the Gods and of perfection; and Muir is the realm of ungodliness and discord. This is an easy way to split up the different anomalies of Life. However this tripartite view, while certainly useful, is a drastic simplification. When we classify Life into these three realms, we are often compelled to think that each realm is its own, autonomous entity. This is simply not true. Existence is fluid, and thus there are no boundaries: one realm freely flows into the next.
Talamh flows into Neamh, Neamh into Muir, and Muir into Talamh. There is no clear distinction where one begins and the other ends. Thus the Immrama (accounts of Otherworldly travels) tell both of islands of suffering and islands of great joy, describing both great torments and astounding bliss. Like the gradual transition of colors in a rainbow, one thing eventually blurs into the next.
Throughout this article, I have largely avoided mentioning the Otherworld. When thinking in terms of Talamh, Neamh, and Muir, the Otherworld becomes a very problematic concept. In the mycological accounts, all sorts of beings and activities figure under this one, broad category: Gods and demons, paradise and suffering are all said to be a part of the Otherworld. In this sense, then, the Otherworld does appear as a specific realm of Life.
Rather it is better to accept the term “Otherworld” as being just that: a world other than our own physical world. By this reckoning, the Otherworld implies all of Neamh, all of Muir, and certain non-human parts of Talamh (for remember Talamh is the mortal realm, not just the “earthly” realm of man). Therefore “Otherworld” is a separate distinction from Talamh, Neamh, and Muir, and it simply refers to a realm outside our normal, human existence.
Life is a very complex and diverse function. No matter how we classify or define it, there will always be gaps and conundrums. The trick is to put it in terms that we can understand and with which can interact. To the Gaelic Pagan, these are Talamh, Neamh, and Muir, the realms of mortality, divinity, and trial. Nevertheless, in the end it will all be only poetry—a mere spinning of words and images in hopes of illuminating that which is far too great even for the sun to brighten.
Sláinte,
Bryce
__________________________________
[1] Kuno Meyer - The Voyage of Bran, (translation), London David Nutt,1895.
[*] Image: Pandorinha3. Triskele. Photograph. Pandorinha3's Profile. Photobucket. Web. 10 Sept. 2010.
04 September 2010
Prayer Beads - Life
When we think of Life, we often limit our thoughts solely to animated life—birds, trees, bacteria, and other organisms that grow, change, and ultimately die. However the scope of Life is much larger than just those things which we classify as “living.” Instead of “the state of being alive,” a more accurate definition of Life is “the state of existing.” It is only when we accept the latter that we can even begin to fathom the true nature of Life.
As I have come to know it, Life is an impersonal force. It has no self-awareness and no consciousness. It is eternal, driving all existence into being. Life is also a fluid force. It changes constantly. We can see this in the evolution of our world; for example, the evolution of species, wherein one type of animal gradually becomes another. Life is constantly adapting and unfolding in new ways. Although such processes may be partially caused by outside influences (such as the Gods), they are nevertheless the natural by-products of the Life force itself.
Being an unconscious force, Life can be manipulated in various fashions. Like electricity, it can be wired, bent, and shaped to do different things. Of course, the degree to which anyone can manipulate the Life force depends upon how familiar he or she is with it. After all, you would not want your computer technician to wire your house!
As conscious, living beings, humans have somewhat of an ability to shape the Life force. In our modern age of technology, we see this all the time. Through using the laws of physics, scientists are able to create what may be called “synthetic” life in the forms of computers and other such machines. Though these are not the organic models of life that we are used to, they nevertheless are Life—Life that has, in fact, been developed and produced by humans.
Humans are also able to bend the Life force in extra-ordinary means. This is the process which we call magic. As Aleister Crowley so nicely put it, magic is “the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with the will.”[1] This change comes about through twisting the Life force so that it may be in accordance with what is ultimately desired. Thus humans are able to manipulate Life not only physically but also mentally.
Though humans are capable of using the force of Life to their own intents, they are by no means the experts on the subject. There are a host of other beings that are far more skilled and far more knowledgeable when it comes to Life. Chief among these are the Gods, those birthed and bred to impart knowledge of Life upon others, and there is no God more prominent in this area than Danu.
Danu, the Mother Goddess of the Gaels, stands at the Cauldron of Life, the great gold and amber colored waters that contain the very essence of existence. It is from here that she gives order to our world. It is from here that she created our people…
___________________________________
Once, Danu was striding about the rim of the pool that is all Life. Gazing deeply into the waters around her, she declared, “I am Danu! the River of Heaven! Let my waters flow forth from this place! Let them impress Truth upon the universe!”
The pool, the Cauldron of Life, roared beneath her eyes, churning in an endless spiral. With motions of impenetrable power, yet of unsurpassable grace, Danu directed the currents to and fro. And in this stirring and mixing of the Waters of Life, na hUiscí Beatha, Danu shaped primordial beings. Thus the first of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the Tribes of the Goddess Danu, were born out of the Waters of Heaven.
The Tuatha Dé Danann set themselves to study, and so went off into the four great cities of knowledge, namely Falias and Gorias, Murias and Findias. In these provinces of the northern world, they came to know every wisdom and every magic under their teacher-poets: Mór-Fesae in Falias and Esras in Gorias, Semias in Murias and Uscias in Findias. Then, having achieved the knowledge of the universe, they came to Mide—that is, the mortal realm.
They arrived out of a cloud of mist on the first of May, that which we now call Bealtaine, in the area of Corcu-Belgatan—Conmhaícne Mara or Connemara today. With them, they brought four great treasures. From Falias they brought the Lia Fáil, the great stone now atop the Hill of Tara, which would cry out beneath the rightful king. From Gorias they brought the spear of Lugh, against which no battle was ever won. From Murias came the cauldron of the Dagda, from which no company went away unsatisfied. And from Findias was brought the sword of Nuada, the wrath of which no one ever escaped.
Using these tools and weapons, the Tuatha Dé Danann created order in the realm of man. They uprooted the rule of the Fomhoire—a race of Titan-like creatures who live beneath the sea, creating troubles and mayhem. Having displaced their enemies, the Tuatha Dé Danann now ruled the land, giving it law, righteousness, and every kind of art and science. They spent their days creating new marvels and wonders, each more fabulous than the last.
Nevertheless it was only a matter of time before the evolution of man caused him to come into conflict with these ancient beings. Like a rebellious adolescent, humanity challenged the Tuatha Dé Danann, plotting to overthrown them. And so a great battle of wits and wills ensued, and in the end, the Tuatha Dé Danann, no longer wanted in this world, returned to the place in which they had begun. Mide was now man’s realm.
Yet man soon learned that he could not survive on his own. The elements were harsh and the emotional toils even more trying. Hoping for relief, men began to appeal to the Tuatha Dé Danann, who they now called Gods. Created to impress Truth onto the universe, these Gods guided mankind. They taught them the ways of justice and up-rightness. They taught them values and ethics. They taught them custom and culture. And thus, through this truce with their Gods, the culture of the Gaels was born…
___________________________________
This myth brings me to the last point that I wish to make about Life: when we honor Life, we honor the act of Creation. Creation is the process by which the Life force becomes shaped and solidified into new forms. The above myth is a poetical interpretation of this process. In it we move from an immemorial time to the present, from a world without form to one with a wide variety. It is a representation of the Creation process: taking an idea, refining that idea, and ultimately giving that idea a structure. It is in this manner that Danu creates the Gods and that the Gods create order and culture. It is in this manner that Life happens.
Every morning, the first bead that I touch on my string of prayer beads is dedicated to Life. On this bead, I pause to reflect on and to honor the three conditions of Life, conditions which I have here put forth in writing: Life is an impersonal force, immortal and fluid; to honor Life is to honor Creator—the ability to shape the Life force; and finally, to honor Creator is to honor Creation—the process by which Life takes form.
Understanding the nature of Life is the ultimate quest of humanity. Everything we do, and everything we experience brings us one step closer to grasping this ultimate mystery. I do not claim to know all of the answers, and, save the Gods, I do not believe that anyone can. However, as you have just witnessed, I have my fair share of opinions on the matter. Yet even these are not truly mine. They lie somewhere off beyond the ninth wave, somewhere between the ocean mist and the setting sun. And while it was never my idea to convert you to my understanding, it has always been my plan to inspire knowledge. So answer me this, my dear reader, what is Life?
Sláinte,
Bryce
[1] Crowley, Magick, Book 4 p.127
*Image source not stated*
As I have come to know it, Life is an impersonal force. It has no self-awareness and no consciousness. It is eternal, driving all existence into being. Life is also a fluid force. It changes constantly. We can see this in the evolution of our world; for example, the evolution of species, wherein one type of animal gradually becomes another. Life is constantly adapting and unfolding in new ways. Although such processes may be partially caused by outside influences (such as the Gods), they are nevertheless the natural by-products of the Life force itself.
Being an unconscious force, Life can be manipulated in various fashions. Like electricity, it can be wired, bent, and shaped to do different things. Of course, the degree to which anyone can manipulate the Life force depends upon how familiar he or she is with it. After all, you would not want your computer technician to wire your house!
As conscious, living beings, humans have somewhat of an ability to shape the Life force. In our modern age of technology, we see this all the time. Through using the laws of physics, scientists are able to create what may be called “synthetic” life in the forms of computers and other such machines. Though these are not the organic models of life that we are used to, they nevertheless are Life—Life that has, in fact, been developed and produced by humans.
Humans are also able to bend the Life force in extra-ordinary means. This is the process which we call magic. As Aleister Crowley so nicely put it, magic is “the science and art of causing change to occur in conformity with the will.”[1] This change comes about through twisting the Life force so that it may be in accordance with what is ultimately desired. Thus humans are able to manipulate Life not only physically but also mentally.
Though humans are capable of using the force of Life to their own intents, they are by no means the experts on the subject. There are a host of other beings that are far more skilled and far more knowledgeable when it comes to Life. Chief among these are the Gods, those birthed and bred to impart knowledge of Life upon others, and there is no God more prominent in this area than Danu.
Danu, the Mother Goddess of the Gaels, stands at the Cauldron of Life, the great gold and amber colored waters that contain the very essence of existence. It is from here that she gives order to our world. It is from here that she created our people…
___________________________________
Once, Danu was striding about the rim of the pool that is all Life. Gazing deeply into the waters around her, she declared, “I am Danu! the River of Heaven! Let my waters flow forth from this place! Let them impress Truth upon the universe!”
The pool, the Cauldron of Life, roared beneath her eyes, churning in an endless spiral. With motions of impenetrable power, yet of unsurpassable grace, Danu directed the currents to and fro. And in this stirring and mixing of the Waters of Life, na hUiscí Beatha, Danu shaped primordial beings. Thus the first of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the Tribes of the Goddess Danu, were born out of the Waters of Heaven.
The Tuatha Dé Danann set themselves to study, and so went off into the four great cities of knowledge, namely Falias and Gorias, Murias and Findias. In these provinces of the northern world, they came to know every wisdom and every magic under their teacher-poets: Mór-Fesae in Falias and Esras in Gorias, Semias in Murias and Uscias in Findias. Then, having achieved the knowledge of the universe, they came to Mide—that is, the mortal realm.
They arrived out of a cloud of mist on the first of May, that which we now call Bealtaine, in the area of Corcu-Belgatan—Conmhaícne Mara or Connemara today. With them, they brought four great treasures. From Falias they brought the Lia Fáil, the great stone now atop the Hill of Tara, which would cry out beneath the rightful king. From Gorias they brought the spear of Lugh, against which no battle was ever won. From Murias came the cauldron of the Dagda, from which no company went away unsatisfied. And from Findias was brought the sword of Nuada, the wrath of which no one ever escaped.
Using these tools and weapons, the Tuatha Dé Danann created order in the realm of man. They uprooted the rule of the Fomhoire—a race of Titan-like creatures who live beneath the sea, creating troubles and mayhem. Having displaced their enemies, the Tuatha Dé Danann now ruled the land, giving it law, righteousness, and every kind of art and science. They spent their days creating new marvels and wonders, each more fabulous than the last.
Nevertheless it was only a matter of time before the evolution of man caused him to come into conflict with these ancient beings. Like a rebellious adolescent, humanity challenged the Tuatha Dé Danann, plotting to overthrown them. And so a great battle of wits and wills ensued, and in the end, the Tuatha Dé Danann, no longer wanted in this world, returned to the place in which they had begun. Mide was now man’s realm.
Yet man soon learned that he could not survive on his own. The elements were harsh and the emotional toils even more trying. Hoping for relief, men began to appeal to the Tuatha Dé Danann, who they now called Gods. Created to impress Truth onto the universe, these Gods guided mankind. They taught them the ways of justice and up-rightness. They taught them values and ethics. They taught them custom and culture. And thus, through this truce with their Gods, the culture of the Gaels was born…
___________________________________
This myth brings me to the last point that I wish to make about Life: when we honor Life, we honor the act of Creation. Creation is the process by which the Life force becomes shaped and solidified into new forms. The above myth is a poetical interpretation of this process. In it we move from an immemorial time to the present, from a world without form to one with a wide variety. It is a representation of the Creation process: taking an idea, refining that idea, and ultimately giving that idea a structure. It is in this manner that Danu creates the Gods and that the Gods create order and culture. It is in this manner that Life happens.
Every morning, the first bead that I touch on my string of prayer beads is dedicated to Life. On this bead, I pause to reflect on and to honor the three conditions of Life, conditions which I have here put forth in writing: Life is an impersonal force, immortal and fluid; to honor Life is to honor Creator—the ability to shape the Life force; and finally, to honor Creator is to honor Creation—the process by which Life takes form.
Understanding the nature of Life is the ultimate quest of humanity. Everything we do, and everything we experience brings us one step closer to grasping this ultimate mystery. I do not claim to know all of the answers, and, save the Gods, I do not believe that anyone can. However, as you have just witnessed, I have my fair share of opinions on the matter. Yet even these are not truly mine. They lie somewhere off beyond the ninth wave, somewhere between the ocean mist and the setting sun. And while it was never my idea to convert you to my understanding, it has always been my plan to inspire knowledge. So answer me this, my dear reader, what is Life?
Sláinte,
Bryce
Danu at the Cauldron of Life
_____________[1] Crowley, Magick, Book 4 p.127
*Image source not stated*
28 August 2010
Prayer Beads - An Introduciton
I have always loved prayer beads. Growing up Roman Catholic, I could never wait to get my hands on a rosary. There was just something about the beads that absolutely entranced me. It gave the prayers a physical form—I could touch them, see them, and actually interact with them. Though a lot of Catholic school children complained about having to engage in this Marian devotion, I was always happy to meditate with these sacred beads. In fact, I was so happy that from time to time I would pray a monastic rosary—comprised of over 150 prayers! I was zealous, and perhaps a bit too zealous, about my relationship with my rosary. Nevertheless, even when I began to turn away from Roman Catholicism, my rosary gave me a sense of comfort. Yet, as I grew older and more aware of my spiritual needs, I eventually abandoned this last vestige of Catholic practice in hopes of embracing a new path: Paganism.
As any Pagan convert can tell you, upon first entering Pagandom you are bombarded with new ideas, new ways of thinking, and new experiences. It was no different for me. Amidst the shiny objects, the pomp-and-circumstance of fresh rituals, and the promise of something radically different, I quickly forgot my rosary-love. There was far too much fun in the future for me to be concerned with the past. It was not until I got off my initial this-is-awesome-because-it-is-new high and found my niche within the Pagan religious spectrum that I actually began to miss my rosary.
By this time, I was in my last years at a Catholic high school. As always the rosary was a regular part of our school-wide devotions, and I found myself growing envious of my fellow classmates. I wanted to pray the rosary. I was jealous that they could touch, that they could somehow interact with these abstract ideas that were so central to their religion. I wanted that experience again. The fact that the rosary was portable did not help either. If I wanted a physical reminder of my beliefs I had to trudge up to my home altar and take inventory. Whereas my classmates could take their spiritual reminder with them, I had to go to mine. I longed for something as powerful and as portable as my estranged rosary. But where does a Gaelic Pagan turn in a situation like this? Since there was no mention of prayer beads in the lore, I decided that I had to be innovated.
I had seen mala (also called japa and japa mala) beads a few times, and they looked pretty cool. So I set out and bought myself a set of sandalwood mala beads, hoping that they would cure my craving. They were beautifully simple, without design or embellishment, and they smelt absolutely amazing. I played around with them for a few months—reciting mantra again and again. While the beads definitely helped me reach a new spiritual depth, they just did not fill the void left by the rosary. There was something not right, something missing. Yet they were all I had, and I clung to them for what it was worth.
It was not until I moved to Madison and joined up with a new Pagan community that I got a dose of insight. A local Pagan temple with which I had become involved actually had prayer beads! I was overjoyed! Besides being great to look at, they were also specifically designed for Pagans! However, while this was closer to fulfilling my desire, it was not quite a perfect fit. The beads were designed for the “pop-Pagan” community. There were beads for the Elements, for the Goddess, etc. Having settled as a Gaelic Polytheist, these prayers did not resonate with me. Still, it was a step in the right direction. After all, if a Pagan temple could create its own strand of prayer beads, then dammit, so could I!
I got to work almost immediately. What did I want to represent in these beads? Obviously I wanted to hit the essential aspects of my path, but what exactly were these? How would the beads function together? What kind of pattern would they form? These and hundreds of other questions flooded my mind as I endeavored to crank out a design. Then, years after leaving behind my beloved rosary and trying to fill the void, I had the blueprint for my very own Pagan “rosary.” Finally I would have a tangible and portable expression of my religious beliefs. Finally my vicious envy could subside. In a few months and after couple trips to the bead store, I had my prayer beads.
I went with a simple, yet meaningful design. It begins by honoring Life, the force of creation. Then its prayers spiral outward, giving honor to the external elements of my path: the realms, the tribe, the land, the Gods, the ancestors. Having achieved a climax with Sovereignty, the prayers spiral inward, reminding me of the internal elements: my values, my virtues, myself and its components. And, as it began honoring Life, the beads end by honoring Death and destruction. Yet both Life and Death are honored on the same bead, forever reminding that Life and Death, creation and destruction are one-and-the-same.
After years of waiting, I have my prayer beads, and I cannot believe that I waited so long for them. I treasure them dearly, and at the start of every day, I pray them—remembering my path and myself. Through the beads I am able to grasp the breadth and the mystery of my path; I am able to touch something so abstract but so dear to me. In many ways, my prayer beads are not just a tool but a friend, a projection of my purest self. In many ways, they are just like the rosary that I left behind long ago.
_____________________________________________
What is the point of me telling all of this to you, my dear reader? Not hard to say. This blog is about Gaelic Paganism, specifically Gaelic Paganism from my understanding of it. My prayer beads embody my most important religious concepts. To accurately understand my path of Gaelic Polytheism, then, I feel that you must understand the most fundamental concepts represented in these beads.
Consider this an introduction into my path: Over the next few weeks, I will be posting articles that go into greater depth as to what each of my prayer beads signifies. It is my hope that this lends you not only a greater understanding of my path but also a greater understanding of Gaelic Paganism in general. While I certainly do not claim that my views are the only “correct,” nor even the “most correct” ones, I know that they have their counterparts amongst other Gaelic Pagans.
And what do you know? Perhaps, just perhaps, this excursion will get you to question and to better appreciate some of your own beliefs.
Sláinte,
Bryce
As any Pagan convert can tell you, upon first entering Pagandom you are bombarded with new ideas, new ways of thinking, and new experiences. It was no different for me. Amidst the shiny objects, the pomp-and-circumstance of fresh rituals, and the promise of something radically different, I quickly forgot my rosary-love. There was far too much fun in the future for me to be concerned with the past. It was not until I got off my initial this-is-awesome-because-it-is-new high and found my niche within the Pagan religious spectrum that I actually began to miss my rosary.
By this time, I was in my last years at a Catholic high school. As always the rosary was a regular part of our school-wide devotions, and I found myself growing envious of my fellow classmates. I wanted to pray the rosary. I was jealous that they could touch, that they could somehow interact with these abstract ideas that were so central to their religion. I wanted that experience again. The fact that the rosary was portable did not help either. If I wanted a physical reminder of my beliefs I had to trudge up to my home altar and take inventory. Whereas my classmates could take their spiritual reminder with them, I had to go to mine. I longed for something as powerful and as portable as my estranged rosary. But where does a Gaelic Pagan turn in a situation like this? Since there was no mention of prayer beads in the lore, I decided that I had to be innovated.
I had seen mala (also called japa and japa mala) beads a few times, and they looked pretty cool. So I set out and bought myself a set of sandalwood mala beads, hoping that they would cure my craving. They were beautifully simple, without design or embellishment, and they smelt absolutely amazing. I played around with them for a few months—reciting mantra again and again. While the beads definitely helped me reach a new spiritual depth, they just did not fill the void left by the rosary. There was something not right, something missing. Yet they were all I had, and I clung to them for what it was worth.
It was not until I moved to Madison and joined up with a new Pagan community that I got a dose of insight. A local Pagan temple with which I had become involved actually had prayer beads! I was overjoyed! Besides being great to look at, they were also specifically designed for Pagans! However, while this was closer to fulfilling my desire, it was not quite a perfect fit. The beads were designed for the “pop-Pagan” community. There were beads for the Elements, for the Goddess, etc. Having settled as a Gaelic Polytheist, these prayers did not resonate with me. Still, it was a step in the right direction. After all, if a Pagan temple could create its own strand of prayer beads, then dammit, so could I!
I got to work almost immediately. What did I want to represent in these beads? Obviously I wanted to hit the essential aspects of my path, but what exactly were these? How would the beads function together? What kind of pattern would they form? These and hundreds of other questions flooded my mind as I endeavored to crank out a design. Then, years after leaving behind my beloved rosary and trying to fill the void, I had the blueprint for my very own Pagan “rosary.” Finally I would have a tangible and portable expression of my religious beliefs. Finally my vicious envy could subside. In a few months and after couple trips to the bead store, I had my prayer beads.
I went with a simple, yet meaningful design. It begins by honoring Life, the force of creation. Then its prayers spiral outward, giving honor to the external elements of my path: the realms, the tribe, the land, the Gods, the ancestors. Having achieved a climax with Sovereignty, the prayers spiral inward, reminding me of the internal elements: my values, my virtues, myself and its components. And, as it began honoring Life, the beads end by honoring Death and destruction. Yet both Life and Death are honored on the same bead, forever reminding that Life and Death, creation and destruction are one-and-the-same.
After years of waiting, I have my prayer beads, and I cannot believe that I waited so long for them. I treasure them dearly, and at the start of every day, I pray them—remembering my path and myself. Through the beads I am able to grasp the breadth and the mystery of my path; I am able to touch something so abstract but so dear to me. In many ways, my prayer beads are not just a tool but a friend, a projection of my purest self. In many ways, they are just like the rosary that I left behind long ago.
_____________________________________________
What is the point of me telling all of this to you, my dear reader? Not hard to say. This blog is about Gaelic Paganism, specifically Gaelic Paganism from my understanding of it. My prayer beads embody my most important religious concepts. To accurately understand my path of Gaelic Polytheism, then, I feel that you must understand the most fundamental concepts represented in these beads.
Consider this an introduction into my path: Over the next few weeks, I will be posting articles that go into greater depth as to what each of my prayer beads signifies. It is my hope that this lends you not only a greater understanding of my path but also a greater understanding of Gaelic Paganism in general. While I certainly do not claim that my views are the only “correct,” nor even the “most correct” ones, I know that they have their counterparts amongst other Gaelic Pagans.
And what do you know? Perhaps, just perhaps, this excursion will get you to question and to better appreciate some of your own beliefs.
Sláinte,
Bryce
A picture of my prayer beads
10 January 2010
A Reflection On Service
Last night I hosted a going away party for one of my very close friends. He will be leaving in two days for basic training, and before the year is up, he will most likely be deployed to Iraq. Throwing this party made me reflect a lot on what it means to serve others. Yes, it was great to spend the night with some of my friends, but with all the cleaning, setup, baking, and take-down, it was also a lot of work. By the end of the night my head hurt, my feet ached, and I had to hold my eyes open with toothpicks. Amazingly, though, I went to bed feeling better than I had in a long time; although you never would have been able to guess it by looking at me. In my opinion, this was an act of real service--I did something draining and uncomfortable for the benefit of someone else.
Real service does not make us feel great. In fact, it usually leaves us feeling (and looking) like crap. It puts all of our abilities to the test, and it slowly weans us into reality. Yet, no matter how much it hurts, there is a certain satisfaction in helping others. Something deep inside you warms and crawls to life--your hearth fires are stoked. It all sounds so fluffy, but there is a certain fluffiness about it. It is that deep sense of hope. You stop and wonder, "Wow. I just did that, and if I can, anyone can."
We have to share this world. Why not make it easier and better for everyone? All it takes is one person, one more snowflake to start the avalanche. What have you done today? What can you still do?
Real service does not make us feel great. In fact, it usually leaves us feeling (and looking) like crap. It puts all of our abilities to the test, and it slowly weans us into reality. Yet, no matter how much it hurts, there is a certain satisfaction in helping others. Something deep inside you warms and crawls to life--your hearth fires are stoked. It all sounds so fluffy, but there is a certain fluffiness about it. It is that deep sense of hope. You stop and wonder, "Wow. I just did that, and if I can, anyone can."
We have to share this world. Why not make it easier and better for everyone? All it takes is one person, one more snowflake to start the avalanche. What have you done today? What can you still do?
07 January 2010
Why I Like The Pentacle
I have often described myself as a Celtic Reconstructionist, or more accurately, an Irish Recreationist. I find great pleasure and satisfaction in connecting with the Divine through the pre-Christian spirituality of
One of the most common explanations of the pentacle that I have come across is that it represents the five Elements: Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Aether. However, since they are of Greek origin, I do not employ these elements in my practice. Even when I used to work with these elements, I did so superficially and never felt any real kinship with them. It would seem that using the pentacle in this respect, then, would be meaningless for me. Indeed, that is what I thought, but I have found the truth to be quite the opposite.
Though on the surface this explanation of the pentacle links it with the five classical elements, there is a deeper meaning in this explanation—a meaning that stretches far beyond the individual facets of the Elements. In much metaphysical thought, as well as in classical scientific and philosophic thought, the five Elements combine to make everything in the universe. It is by means of the infinite combinations of Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Aether that all things take on form and thus life. So what does it mean to describe the pentacle in terms of the Elements? I would argue that to do so is not to describe the pentacle as a representation of the Elements but rather to explain it as a symbol of the whole. This is what I found to be one of the deeper meanings of the pentacle, and this symbolism is in no way opposed to the Irish system.
In Irish and other Celtic mythologies, the whole is often represented by the number five. Therefore, in
Another way I tend to view the pentacle is as the combination of two symbols: the sword and the cauldron. The sword is made up of the two lower points and the upper point, so that the resulting image looks like a blade. The cauldron is made of the two side points and the lower middle point. This understanding of the pentacle strikes me in many ways. First off it reminds me of the great Undry of the Dagda, a sign which suggests that I will be provided with whatever I truly need in life. On top of this, the sword rises from the cauldron, reminding me that, while I will have what I need, this does not mean that I will not have to struggle and fight for it—it is the age-old rule that the Gods will only help those who help themselves.
A second interpretation of this sword-cauldron symbolism that I sometimes employ is the transcendence-cum-immanence of the Divine. The cauldron, as the provider of earthly needs, represents the immanence of the Gods. They work with us here in this world, and they are evidenced by various aspects of Creation. For example, Bóann is evidenced by the
The sword, on the other hand, governs the laws of life and death, laws which are not chosen in this plane of existence. In this way it points (quite literally) to the transcendence of the Divine. Though the Gods may manifest themselves (or allow themselves to be manifested) in the physical this is only a part of them. The Divine is so much more than what we come to know and interact with while alive. Though infiltrating the physical, it ultimately reaches beyond mundane confines.
In this sword transcendence-cum-immanence understanding of the pentacle, the symbol again stands for the whole. Immanent and transcendent, the Divine pervades all.
So those are some of my thoughts on the symbolism of the pentacle. Although it is not a native Irish symbol, I still believe that, under the right context, it is completely compatible with Irish spirituality. As a representation of the whole, I have adopted it as a symbol of the Sovereign Goddess, the Great Spirit which permeates Creation. She is the All, and I cannot imagine a better illustration of her power than the pentacle. And though I once tried to discard the symbol of the pentacle from my practice, I now feel that its message is so intertwined into who I am that to do away with it would be to give up a piece of myself.
[1] Rees, Alwyn, and Brinley Rees. Celtic Heritage: Ancient Tradition in
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