Liminal Space

Liminality: that delicious state of being in-between, neither here nor there. It is an uncomfortable condition to be in. Leaving known and familiar structures can be exciting. We set off on our adventure full of enthusiasm, eager for what awaits us, and desirous to journey into a new situation or phase. This state of vigor may last weeks, even months if we are lucky. Yet, there is a span of time after which psychologically, perhaps even neurologically, we desire to re-establish routine and familiarity. Our being, confronted with extended dissolution of order, experiences discomfort.

We enter a threshold state.

These liminal spaces are powerful. In fact, many uncomfortable situations and experiences are: such as graduating college, getting married, childbirth, changing careers, moving away from home, etc. A well known Reclaiming chant reminds us, “Where there’s fear, there’s power.” and we do well to acknowledge this. Too often, instead of standing in our uneasiness and opening to our own power ,we attempt to escape the ordeal of the threshold. Occasionally, these transitional times extend well past our comfort zone and can take on a permanent quality, which can be dangerous. Reintegration is a vital component to any right of passage, or life journey. Yet…for the witch, as for many Hedge Walkers, liminality is intentionally extended, even though madness may ensue.

The Ring behind the house is taking on a decidedly personal flavor. Its earthen embankments, covered in Black Thorn and gorse, hide an interior dotted with bluebell in a maze of trees. A large Hawthorn on its slope is clothed in pure white. One low Black Thorn sprawls in the southeast, and yesterday I spent the afternoon in his arms. Limbs reclining to hold me, I stretched myself out on his mossy bough: suspended, in-between. The foxglove within the Ring are tall, their buds full, poised on the edge of bloom. The birds sang clear as they darted from perch to perch, tending nests of young ripe with expectancy.

Nature, here in Ireland, is in a transition phase: moving from Samhain into Bealtaine – from the dark to the light. And just as the Fianna roamed the liminal space between tribal lands during this time, performing their Great Deeds, so too is it our time to rouse ourselves. Summer is the time of movement., not of storytelling. Whether your movement is taking the cattle up the mountain for summer pasture or running with the hunt in the woods, the energy of the season is all about us. The liminal time of Bealtaine is here.

of day Bright and hour Dark: Bealtaine traditions

Bealtaine is here, and many wondrous occurrences  with it.  As most know, Bealtaine heralds in the light half of the Irish year (and I specify Irish because this word is Irish, and its use would be restricted to this specific geographic area and meteorological experience – it’s certainly the BRIGHT half long before May back in Texas!).  Many customs surround this ushering in.  Some are folkloric in nature and others historic, even mythic.

“May Day serves to divide our story-telling year in two equal halves (no stories after May Day until Samhain, when darkness comes to claim us back). It is considered direly unlucky to get into storytelling around Mayday — singing is a different matter, however.”

Marion Gunn, Folklorist / Linguist, University College Dublin

On the Hill of Uisneach, both historically and mythically, Bealtaine fires were lit and a sacred assembly held.  This practice is being rekindled with the modern Festival of the Fires.  There is not, as yet, legislative activity taking place but there is, without doubt, festivity, remembrance, and one kick-butt Fire!  Warriors on horse back patrol the perimeter, ensuring that the neighboring, and sometimes waring, tribes keep their peace.  Bards and musicians share their craft while families stroll the sacred hills.  A visit to the holy well may bring healing, if a votive offering has been made in LoughLugh.

This was a time of purification (the ancients seemed awfully concerned with purification, I’ve noticed).  Cattle and people were cleansed with the smoke of the rising fires.  The great fire at Uisneach was echoed by answering fires that were lit on neighboring summits. The resulting topographic web of fire stretching from the omphalos of Uisneach outward to the coast of Ireland, created a “fire-eye,” a divine oculus mundi, or eye of the world through which the goddess of Ireland, Aine…Eriu, could once again see and be seen.

Of monumental landforms, mythologist Joseph Campbell wrote, “to be seen in the eyes of the Goddess and to move upon [her] as she revealed herself in hill and vale was to be part of both time and timelessness, matter and spirit.”

From the lofty to the daily, we turn to the tiny Primrose.  This delicious yellow flower of early spring is to be collected on May Eve, before dusk, by children who make posies or small bouquets with them.  They are to be hung in the house or over the door, laid on doorsteps and windowsills, strewn in profusion, to protect against the Fair Ones…who traipse at this time of year!  As an added benefit, if you rub them on a cow’s udder her milk will increase!

Here in Cork, particularly the southern part, May Eve was known as “Nettlemas Night”.  Boys would parade the streets with large bunches of nettles, stinging their playmates and occasionally unfortunate passersby who got too close.  Girls joined in this as well, usually stinging their lovers or boys they especially liked!  In most parts of Ireland, it was believed that taking 3 meals of nettles in May guarded against illness for the rest of the year.  Other parts of the country dispensed with the stinging, instead nettles were gathered on May Eve, pressed into a juice, and everyone in the house drank a mouthful, … to keep a “good fire in them” for the rest of the year.

Now, something a bit more maleficent, and of interest to us Hedge Witches, is the May Eve Curse.  Vervain, Speedwell, Eyebright, Mallow, Yarrow, Self-Heal, St. Johns Wort:  if collected on May Eve under the enchanting words, these herbs do great harm and nothing natural or supernatural may dissuade.

For myself, on the gregorian day, I traipsed about stone circles with two friends.  Three times Three we visited them: water, earth, and sky. In the enclosure we raised our voices, along the way we shared laughter and, where appropriate, offerings of fruit…or gentle tears.  On the astronomical day, … pilgrimage to Uisneach to join the tribes, of course!

Let the Debaucheries of Summer begin!!

the Wild & Wooly plants of Ireland – magic and folklore

The history of herbalism in Ireland begins in the eighth-century myth of the Battle of Moytirra [Magh Turedh] (1).  The story relates how Dian Cecht , the “pagan Irish god” of medicine, became aware of his son Miach’s superior skill at healing, and so of course killed him in a jealous rage.  Out of Miach’s grave grew 365 herbs, one for each of his joints and sinews, and these were gathered up by his sister Airmed, who laid them out on her cloak.  She began to classify the herbs according to their different virtues, but Dian Cecht (this dude is beginning to annoy me) saw what she was doing and mixed up the herbs so that, even to this day, all their virtues are not known.  [The idea that there were 365 joints and members of the body was a common belief in early Ireland.(2)]  Later during the battle, (and we assume once he cooled down) Dian Cecht created the Tiopra Sláine or Great Healing Well by putting every herb known to grow in Ireland into a well located between Moytirra and Lough Arrow.  The bodies of all the fighting men killed in the battle were put into the well, and emerged the next day alive and stronger than ever.  Medicated or herbal baths are frequently mentioned in Irish tales and were apparently a major feature of healing in early Ireland.

Before I leave Dian Cecht behind, and though I dislike his treatment of Miach, he does offer what many believe is a native Irish chakra system.  Attributed to him is a medical tract (3) dating from the fifteenth century (though linguistically, the tract is much older). Aside from various judgments of payment for medical procedures based on social class, it has an interesting paragraph about what it calls “The Twelve Doors of the Soul” sometimes translated as “The Twelve Portals of Life”:

 There are twelve doors of the soul in the human body: (1) the top of the head, i.e. the crown or the suture, (2) the hollow of the occiput, (3) the hollow of the temple, (4) the apple of the throat, (5) the spoon of the breast, (6) the armpit, (7) the breast-bone, (8) the navel, (9) the side {?}, (10) the bend of the elbow, (11) the hollow of the ham, i.e. from behind, (12) the bulge of the groin, i.e. the bull sinew, (13) the sole of the foot.

And, if you notice…there are 13 not 12. A very auspicious number!  Now, back to the plants.

Traditionally, every Irish chieftain had his own hereditary physician to serve him, and all the Gaelic septs (or clans) had hereditary medical families linked to them (4). For instance, the O’Lees were the hereditary physicians to the O’Flahertys of west Connaught, the O’Hickeys were physicians to the O’Briens of Thomond, etc.  Many of the Gaelic physicians produced works in Irish and Latin that survive to this day (5).  The most famous of these works is the ‘Book of the O’Lees’ [or the Book of Hy-Brasil] which appeared in 1443 (6).  A striking feature of the manuscript is that the writing is formed into patterns resembling the astrological signs of the Zodiac (astrology being a major part of medieval herbalism).

With this history in mind, I will attempt to share what I have uncovered regarding native Irish plants, including their folkloric and magical uses.  I will include the herbal properties of plants, as recorded in folklore, but I make no claims as to the current medicinal value.  This will not be a modern herbal, as the focus will be almost entirely on magical uses.

So, stay tuned!

(1) D.O. hOgain, Myth, Legend and Romance – An Encyclopedia of the Irish Folk Tradition; Fleetwoord. J., The History of Medicine in Ireland; Lady A. Gregory, Complete Irish Mythology (London, 1994) pp. 49-50.
(2) Na Arrada of De Arress (8th century Irish religious tract: http://archive.org/details/medicineinancien00welluoft
(3) “The Judgements of Dian Cecht.” trans. D. A. Binchy. Eriu. Vol. XX. Dublin: Royal Irish Academy, 1966.
(4) M. Moloney, Luibh-sheanchus – Irish Ethno-botany; P. Beresford Ellis, Dictionary of Celtic Mythology.
(5) N. Mac Coitir; Irish Wild Plants, Myths, Legends & Folklore.
(6) http://www.ria.ie/library/special-collections/manuscripts/book-of-the-o-lees.aspx

Pagan Blog Project – the dance of the Hedgewitch

Pagan Blog Project – the dance of the Hedgewitch.

via Pagan Blog Project – the dance of the Hedgewitch.

I stumbled upon this crafty little article earlier today.  Much of what she says is both interesting and accurate.  I have other thoughts on this but will comment later.

Enjoy!

the Host on the West Wind

A fierce westerly storm roared last night.  The rain lashed our stone house and the West Wind sang strong in the treetops.  I am a child of the Wind.  My body came into the world on the Gulf Coastal Plains, home to hurricane, tornado, strong southerly winds, and great blue northers.  I feel most at home standing in the power of the winds, arms outstretched and hair wild.

I went out into the beauty of it today.  I walked down the lane to the crossroads I am cultivating.  Who are the winds here?  I know their relatives, the winds of Texas and the Gulf Coast, but who are these mighty winds of the Atlantic and Europe.  I open myself to their song, to their touch, to the power of their Being.  As I walk, I recite Yeats…

the Winds awaken, the leaves whirl round

our cheeks are pale, our hair unbound

our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam

our arms are waving, our lips are apart.

I run and skip and twirl on the lane.  My hair billows in the wild wind.  I see small rabbits hop into hedgerow, a pair of pheasant stealthily scurry in tall grass, and fresh spring rains fall, dancing, on my face.  At the crossroads I stand, looking northeast to the undulating fertility of Sléibhte Chnoc Mhaoldomhnaigh (the Knockmealdown Mountain range), with its voluptuous peaks:  Cnoc Seanchuillinn (hill of the old holly), Cnoc na Loiche (hill of the lake), Cnoc na gCloch (hill of the stones), and the Sléibhte na gCoillte (Galty range – Mountains of the Forests), with its ripening peaks: Ladhar an Chapaill (fork of the horse), Cnoc an Tairbh Beag (little hill of the bull), Cnoicín na Teanga (little hill of the tongue-shaped land).

The West Wind feels masculine, carrying messages from the Great Ocean Mother to Her Sisters, who recline in their pregnant state, birthing spring onto the Green Land.  “Caress me, oh Wind.  Kiss my Lips, dear lover.  Wrap me in your embrace.”

The Host is rushing ‘twixt night and day, and where is there hope or deed as fair?

 

 

Pagan Music – Kellianna

A friend mentioned this singer recently and since I am enjoying it so much (apart from a few tracks), I thought I would share.

Enjoy!

Kellianna – The Ancient Ones

 

Guardians; of women and angels

Within one of my traditions are a group of Old Ones that have agreed to work with human animals for specific purposes, as we like to say: they guard, witness, and join.  Who these Beings are is debatable and there are several juicy origin myths for them.  One story identifies them with the Nephilim of Genesis (when the sons of God mated with the daughters of men), while another story I’ve heard identifies them with the Fomoire of Irish mythology.  They are viewed as Celestial by some, Animal by others, and powerful Old Ones by all.  Certainly, they are not to be trifled with.  The saying, “when you look into the abyss the abyss looks back”, applies here.

It is often said then when one is called to this path it is the Guardians who instruct them.  This notion of Guardian as teacher, as mentor, and as protector is on my mind as regards women.  :screech: (that is the sound of the vehicle changing directions)

In women’s psychology there is a developmental stage between the ages of 42-49 when we are moving into midlife transition.  Dr. Joan Borysenko has dubbed a key component of this transition, the “birth of the Guardian”.  She is referring to the beginning stages of what sociologist Paul Ray termed the Cultural Creative.  Midlife is a time when many women who have accomplished personal healing work and have reached a level of emotional maturity enter their second pubescence full of new energy.  The midlife woman’s intuition is increasing, she tolerates less BS, keenly perceives injustice and is willing to speak truth to power, calling people and institutions to their higher and best expressions.  As she continues to develop a larger social, political, and spiritual perspective throughout her forties and fifties, she is prepared to become a visionary with the heart and GUTS to create change.

Ray identified three major worldviews within American society: Traditionalist, Modernists, and Cultural Creatives.  The emergent CC social group identifies feminine values as core, and are “seriously concerned” with psychology, spiritual life, self-actualization, self-expression; are socially concerned; advocate “women’s issues”; are strong advocates of sustainability.  Women who have moved into and through midlife transition by stepping into the Guardian role often find themselves in their fifties and sixties in the company of Cultural Creatives. 

These powerful Old Ones are mentors to young women, a strong voice for the feminine values of relationality, and are inspiring forces for change.  It is with the emergence of the CC worldview that women’s values are gradually beginning to shift the zeitgeist in the US.  Of course, there is a backlash occurring and many of those values are under heavy assault.  This is a time when we truly need our Guardians, both human and celestial, to stand, guard, and join.

It is yet another time in the history of women that we must call on our Mothers and Grandmothers, our Guardians and our Guides, our Beloved and our Mighty.  It is time for each of us to step fully into our own Power, learn our unique Voice, and Use It.  The world needs the gifts we all have to offer, the skills we have learned as witches, and those etched into our bone from before Time.  It’s past dallying…. no more talking, it’s time for action.

(she exits her soap box gracefully)

 

 

 

 

Ray, P.H. (1996). “The Rise of Integral Culture,” Noetic Sciences Review (Spring 1996): pp. 4-15.

Borysenko, J. (1996).  A Woman’s Book of Life; The Biology, Psychology, and Spirituality of the Feminine Life Cycle. New York, Riverhead Books.