Tag Archives: holyness

The Wheel of the Year – Valid or Not?

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Poplars_in_four_seasonsI sometimes watch with confusion the conversations that develop on social sites like Facebook and Twitter over some of the things we do as modern Pagans. One of the topics that seems to get regularly dissected is the Wheel of the Year and the way it is celebrated. There are those who love it, there are those who say that it is a modern invention so therefore we shouldn’t be following its pattern, there are those who see its value in the regular connection with the natural world, there are also those who express a form of superiority by turning their back on it in order to practice something more ‘authentic’.

I must be a little weird because in these situations I just think if you don’t like it, don’t work with it, simples.

Why is there the need to place one practice in a better light by denigrating the practice you don’t do? Why not live and let live and just do what is right for you? These are the things that occur to me when I see people laying into the Wheel of the Year.

But I also don’t mind being challenged to take a fresh look at why I do what I do. Sometimes this is a very valuable exercise, to challenge something I hold as sacred every now and then – to make sure that I’m not just blindly following something, but that it is still a practice that I find valuable and of importance. So I took the time to take another look at the Wheel of the Year, to see where I stood in relation to it as a practice.

I took three of the most common accusations I’ve read over the years against the practice of the Wheel, and then wrote my thoughts on each one in turn.

So here goes.

1. “The Wheel of the Year is not an authentic ancient Pagan practice.”

No, that’s right it isn’t. Although we know that Pagans have been marking each of the 8 festivals individually, the placing of them into the 8-fold Wheel of the Year was probably created by two men, Gerald Gardner (the father of modern Wicca) and Ross Nichols (the founder of the OBOD), sometime back in the 50s/60s. So as the pattern of a cycle of festivals this practice probably goes back 60 or so years. Does that matter? Not to me. I’m not seeking complete ‘authenticity’ of practice, I’m seeking meaningful ‘validity’ and connection.

See I think those two men tuned into something very powerful. We know that the ancients marked the Solstices and Equinoxes, and we know that our farming ancestors marked the agricultural festivals. When I stand in circle to mark the Winter Solstice I know that this is a moment that connects me not only with the turning of the planet, and its relationship with the Sun, but it also connects me with my ancestors who also marked this time at passage grave and stone circle. The same is true for each of the festivals. The pattern is the glue that brings each festival in relationship to the other, and it does it beautifully. If we were living during the time of Taliesin, and he had seen the connection between these festivals, I think we would have honoured that insight of Awen with respect. I honour the inspiration that has given us this mandala. I have no need for that aspect to be ancient. It works.

2. “People who practice the Wheel of the Year are not farmers anymore so it is no longer relevant.”

No, that’s right, many of us are not farmers. And that is an even more important reason for us in this modern time to make that regular connection with the turning seasons and with nature. Many of us are so busy, running from job to home, to kids, to work, to home, that we can be swept along by the demands of modern life. But every 6 weeks or so we consciously make the time to turn away from that and go outside so a place that has some kind of significance for us. To look around, to see the changes that have taken place in the landscape, to smell the difference in the air, to notice the touch of the air upon the nerve endings of our skin. To mark our place in time.

At the Anderida Gorsedd we have just entered our 14th year of continuous open ritual celebrations at the Long Man of Wilmington. 13 times through the Wheel of the Year with 104 rituals, rain, shine, or snow. The regular marking of the Wheel gives a connection to the seasons that is tangible, with memories of 13 Imbolc rituals going back to 2001 you get to know and understand where the cycle is and what to expect of each time of year. The wheel goes way beyond farming practice, and for us with our disconnected lives, where we sometimes get to spend little time with our eyes well and truly open to see the changes of the seasons, the festivals that make up the Wheel are probably more important now than they ever have been in the past.

3. “Celebrating Spring when there is still snow on the ground is stupid. Winter is still here.”

This is one for 2013′s Spring Equinox. We had our Spring Equinox ceremony at the Long Man and it was ice cold. It didn’t feel like Spring at all, that’s true. But I have two reasons to still mark that time. The first is that the Equinox is a celestial event – it’s happening regardless of the weather. It is the time of equal day and night and is the relationship between the sun and the earth’s axis, and regardless of the weather it is the bringer of Spring. It’s here and ready to burst. It just needs the wind direction to change and those leaves will explode. The other reason is hope, particularly this year. We know it’s cold. But we also know that the Green is ready, and some plants and trees are already opening their leaves.

So for me the Wheel is still very much a part of my regular Pagan practice, and I can’t see that changing. It might not be for everyone, and that’s ok. But for those of us who do mark the turning seasons in this way, if you don’t, try not to make the judgement that it is meaningless. There is deep meaning here, laid out in the movements of the sun, the moon and stars, the changes of the landscape, and the honouring of the ancestors.

Ritual offerings – Sacred or debris?

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Clooties on a Beech tree – Avebury Stone Circle

A couple of months ago we took a group of visiting friends to Waylands Smithy, a neolithic long barrow on the ancient track known as The Ridgeway. By the time we arrived the Sun had set and we walked the ancient track in darkness. Walking through the gate to the barrow it appeared as a black shape in the night. Ancient, sacred, and doubtlessly haunted by countless ancestral spirits.

We walked to the doorway, crouched down and crawled inside the tomb. Utter darkness. Silence. I switched on my torch and the inside of the tomb was washed with light, illuminating, and casting deeper shadows inside. In the centre of the far end of the tomb an arrow had been pushed into the earth. It stood as if fired from far above. There were flowers.

For this week’s look at an area of my spiritual life I’m going to take a look at what is often an controversial topic.

Ritual offerings.

I remember being at a Pagan conference some years ago where one of the custodians of a stone circle was giving a talk about this topic. They had brought a carrier bag full of what they called ‘debris’ they had collected from the stones. They un-ceremonially upended the bag and tipped out the contents which they then picked through, holding bits and pieces up to show the audience. They said, “There are crystals, ribbons, lots of aluminium nightlight remains, and pieces of paper, including bad poetry for dead boyfriends”. They picked up a little scroll of paper, then tossed it back onto the pile of ‘debris’. I was shocked. Shocked that people would leave offerings that might damage the stones like candles, but also shocked at the callous way some of these offerings had been not only dismissed, but treated so horribly by a person who, as a Pagan, seemed to have no respect for the emotion behind some of the offerings. They might not have been sacred to her but to the partner of that dead boyfriend, who had written their heartfelt words onto a scroll, then left it in what they obviously considered a sacred place (as a Christian might light a candle in a Church) it was important. Some of this ‘debris’ was devotional.

All around me people were voicing their disgust at the litter on the table before the speaker. And although I could see their point, I also couldn’t help but think that we were all missing something incredibly important. I looked at Cerri and it was obvious that she was feeling it too. She put her hand up to ask a question. The voices died down and she said, “Why don’t you create a little space, just a table or some kind of altar, where people could leave their offerings? If people are going to leave votive offerings, isn’t that better than having nowhere, which is why they are left by the stones?”

A good and valid question I thought. But all around me, giggling. I was now even more confused. “Look,” the speaker said, ” we don’t even know what the stones were used for. They might just be a goat pen for all we know! If we put an offering table we would be suggesting that this was a ritual site, and we don’t know that is was. No we won’t do that.”

We don’t know that it was… Well, maybe that’s true. But it is now.

I went back to the stone circle this past Summer. Sat quietly among the stones. That potential ‘goat pen’. Looking around I saw a few flowers left here and there. The aluminium remains of a nightlight sat at the bottom of one of the stones. People still coming here and leaving their offerings. If they had placed a small table I think people might have used it. Instead the ‘debris’ still comes.

When I stepped into Waylands Smithy and saw the arrow and flowers I was torn, as I always am when finding ritual offerings of this kind. Part of me thinks why did you feel the need to leave something like this? Why not leave only footprints? Then another part of me thinks the Pagan religion is alive, this tomb built by our ancestors is still being used 5000 years on. It’s a hard one for me to balance. People have been leaving offerings at sacred sites since the dawn of humanity. It seems to be something in our very DNA. This is nothing new, in fact we can honestly say that this is an unbroken tradition.

When Cerri and I went to Cyprus some years back we went to Aphrodite’s Rock. We parked our car and walked under a roadway, through a dark passage and then out into the light of the beach, and the first thing we saw was a tree literally dripping with white ribbons. Did I look in disgust at this ‘debris’? No, I had tears in my eyes. Here on this beach the Great Goddess Aphrodite was still being remembered and honoured by hundreds of visitors. She was alive, and if this tree hadn’t been hung with clooties I would never have known that. Instead I would have seen a beach and a rock connected with an ancient myth on an island that had seemingly forgotten its ancient heritage. Seeing this tree made me happy.

I have a current bugbear and that is when authors write ‘the Druid did this, the Pagans did that’ etc etc. I am very much looking forward to the time when we give our paths the credence and acceptance to be able to say ‘the Druids do this, the Pagans do that’. Here this tree was a living example of a spiritual practice. As are the ribbons and clooties on other trees in Britian.

Last year I went to the Rocky Valley Labyrinths, and Avebury, and at both I found offering trees. There were ribbons, hair, but also plastic bags, and other non-biodegrable stuff tied to the trees. Now that I don’t get. If people are going to leave offerings make them natural offerings. Small things that we know will rot away into nothing over the course of time. Not Tesco carrier bags..!

There is no easy answer to this debate. Simply saying “don’t leave stuff” is not going to change anything. There is a drive to leave physical objects in honour of our Gods and the Spirits of Place. This ‘debris’ can even add great atmosphere to a site – if you’ve ever been to St Nectan’s Glen waterfall in Cornwall you will know what I mean. But if we are going to leave offerings let’s make sure they are honourable offerings. Not nightlights, candles or plastic, but a simple hair (my personal favourite), small cotton or silk ribbon, flowers, honey, or milk. Something that is a part of you, something that has taken some thought, not only for the object of the offering, but with respect to the place and people who will visit the site after you.

The Druid Robe

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avardruidThe blog has had a facelift, and a new year has begun, and with it I’ll be updating the blog in a different way. On Mondays I’ll be writing about an aspect of my spiritual life, and on Friday the post will be of a musical/creative theme. There’ll be other posts in between but this is the pattern I’m going to aim at. So, it’s Monday – time to explore a part of my spiritual life.

Let’s start with robes.

I’ll start by saying I have a very positive relationship with ritual dress. I have a modern Druid robe. It’s off-white with Rowan embroidery to show my spiritual association with this tree. To me it is a sacred garment that I only ever wear during ritual, or some other spiritual or religious activity. I’ve been asked to wear it for media photographs but I always refuse – that is not what it’s about. It is not about dressing up to show off. It’s about intent and focus.

When I put on my Druid robe I know that magic is about to take place. Like an executive putting on their well groomed black suit, the act of putting on the robe can act as one of the many shifts in focus that take us out of the ordinary, and into that frame of mind where we engage the Magician. Do I need to wear it? No, of course not. But like the smell of incense, the lighting of a candle, the chanting of a sacred word, the walk into a twilight forest, it is one more thing that can help to deepen my relationship with the intent of the moment.

I believe that, over time, and with regular use, magical items can absorb the memories of ritual and magic. Like the magic wand they can become allies for the magician – friends and companions that almost take on personalities of their own. I am blessed that Cerri is an amazing seamstress, and she made my robe to my own requirements. Like any magical tool it is always best if you can make them yourself. The shop-bought wand might be a great companion, but better the personally hunted and cut wand from a tree you have known, and one you can return to again in the future. I think the same can be said for the robe. If it is made for you, or even better if you can make it yourself, there will always be a closer relationship.

I know there are some who say we shouldn’t wear robes, that they make us look daft, and bring embarrassment. I don’t agree. I think they bring colour, drama, and can help bring a shift of consciousness, but in the context of ritual and sacred acts. You will never see me robed on stage, but you might bump into me in the woods, robed and chanting, singing and playing music to the moon and stars, to the trees and to the Fae.

And they seem to turn their gaze toward me in familiarity, and recognise the white robe, in the greenwood grove.

Down in the Garden – The Making of Antlered Crown and Standing Stone

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Continuing the series of short ‘making of’ videos, this one tells the story behind the song Down in the Garden.

The new album, Antlered Crown and Standing Stone, is available here

Previous videos can be found here:

Antlered Crown and Standing Stone

Under a Beltane Sun

Brighid

Branwen’s Lament

Sons and Daughters (of Robin Hood)

The Dreaming

The January Man

Silent Moon

To me it isn’t all in the detail

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Take a look at this photo. I took it when I was in the Museum of Natural History in Vienna last week. It’s a very small sculpture that has come to be known as the Venus of Willendorf. It’s about 23,000 years old.

We sometimes seem to be very fond of detail in the Pagan community – initiatory lines, who initiated who, is this thing we do authentic, is that thing we do what the ancient Druids did, and if not…blah, blah blah. The latest thing I’ve been reading on the web is people discussing whether it is right to call the Autumn Equinox Mabon, and asking those who do to justify their use of the word for the festival. I can understand peoples’ passion about their spiritual path but this stuff has never really bothered me. If some Wiccans want to call the Autumn Equinox Mabon what does it really matter? To me life’s too short to worry about stuff like that.

Take another look at this photo. A figure carved by human hands around 23,000 years ago. When I stood before her I found I had tears in my eyes. I found myself imagining the hands carving her from the stone using flint tools. I imagined this person dedicating their time to creating her from the raw stone. To represent what? Fertility? Bounty? To me she is both of those things and more. And when I stood before her I found myself thinking only of my relationship to this Earth as a human animal – the same human animal that carved the Venus around 23,000 years ago. We live, we love, we laugh, we cry, we die. Just the same.

The detail we seem to sometimes love as modern Pagans, in that moment, just seemed so insignificant.

Once again.

 

A Story of Pagan

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Pagan loved the Sun. No one could doubt that. And she loved the Moon too, and each night she would lie on the grass in a field just outside her house and look up at the stars that shone like tiny pin-pricks in the black velvet of the universe. There she could see her children marked in patterns across the sky. Gods of a land that was caressed by a warm near land-locked sea, and others too, gently moving in the night. Pagan loved the Earth too. She could see the shapes of giants in the rocks, and the Goddess in the rolling chalk hills.

Everyday she would go for a walk across the countryside and into the woods and sometimes, if she was lucky, and in the right place at the right time, she would see a group of deer, or a fox. And sometimes if she was luckier still she would catch the eye of the great stag that lived in the forest nearby and, just for a moment, she would feel its Spirit. And as the stag returned her gaze she could feel that the animal knew and understood her inner being too. These connections reminded her everyday that she was a part of the web that connected all life.

Nobody knew how old Pagan was. She had certainly been here since the first humans painted images of animals and dancing horned figures on darkened cavern walls, creating colour from minerals found within the bones of Mother Earth. And here she was, still looking at the Sun, Moon and Stars, still understanding her connection to all of life. The only person who really knew where she had come from was Pagan, and she was keeping her secret. Sometimes she felt bad about this. She knew that people longed to understand her more. When she occasionally went into the town she could see all of the books that had been written about her. Hundreds of books. All telling the story of her life, what she’d done, and what she believed. And she could see the people reading these books and she felt bad for them too. She wasn’t sure when it had happened but people had begun to look into the mirror of life and believe that what they saw there was the truth. If she could only smash those mirrors! Then people might look at each other more, and see their own reflection in the faces of their kin, not the reflected and reversed image of their own face. Just a face. Just a face. So she watched as people read books to try to understand exactly what it was that she believed.

And some of them argued too – about the right way to do things. About grades, levels of experience, whether the Elements really existed and, if they did, what made them correspond to particular directions. Were the Gods real? That was the one that upset her the most. Were they real? She could still remember the first people who, when hearing the sound of thunder, began to make offerings. She could still remember the hunter whispering words to an unseen power. And as years went on she thought of those days, and watched as those same people, years later, raised mighty earth tombs in honour of their dead, and still those lips moved in prayer. To what? She would never say. She never had to. Ever. But that seemed to be the missing part of the mirror people. She shook her head. The first people had no books, yet they knew. They had eyes, and ears.

Pagan loved to play. She would dance and sing, laugh and run about. She loved her circles, her elements, her patterns in the sky, the Sun, the Moon, the tales she told of ancient gods and heroes. She loved peaceful ritual, and ecstatic trance. She loved the simplicity of prayer and meditation, and the complexity of ceremony. She loved being with groups of people, and with the solitary on the hill. She knew all of the Gods by name, and she knew they were inside, outside, and nowhere. She knew with all of her heart that there were no secrets, but there were mysteries. And she also knew that each revealed mystery would be different for every soul that ever lived. And that is why sometimes she cried when she heard voices that tried to dominate with only one truth.

Pagan sometimes wondered why she was still a child.

Stillness and the Born Survivor

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When we moved into our home back in February 2001 there was a massive shed in a pretty small back garden and trapped behind the shed was a very sad and misshapen Willow. The deconstruction of the shed brought more space, but when it had gone we saw that the fence that had been behind the shed was rotten, so that had to be replaced. When it came to taking away the old fence it became apparent that the roots of the small Willow had grown through the concrete of the original fence post. It all had to come out, and subsequently even the roots of this poor tree took a beating. When it was finally out of the ground it looked like a couple of branches with a ball of root. Both me and Cerri were really sad as there seemed to be something about this poor tree that held the Spirit of Place. The new fence was put in, and we re-planted the Willow, giving it pride of place in our newly developing garden. Although at the time neither of us new if it would survive, or wither and die.

I’m sitting on our sofa now, and as I type this I can see the Willow. Bird feeders hang from its branches, and blue tits, starlings, sparrows, blackbirds, doves, and even the occasional peregrine falcon and sparrowhawk, have hopped around in its branches. The bare branches have now been covered in big seed pods that attract bumble bees in the early Spring. And soon, as I sit in our garden, the wind will blow through a canopy of leaves that give off the sound of the forest in our little suburban patch of Tir na Nog. And although we have 12 Ogham trees in our little garden, to me it is the Willow that stands as sentinel, as Guardian of our home.

As Druids we know we can learn much from the example of trees. The Willow is a born survivor. Yet it remains still, allows the birds to run through its branches, is caressed by the wind, and is kissed by the Sun. And as I stand outside each morning during my daily meditation, it is this lesson I take from my friend. That some of the greatest lessons come from stillness, from observation and inner contemplation.

Let the rest of the world move around us. For a while each day be a Human Being, not always a Human Doing.

The Holly King

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I shall be as the Dark Holly King,

Darkness and cold in my cloak I will bring,

And on Winter’s nights to me you will sing,

Til the air around me starts changing,

And on the Noon of the Solsice I’ll give up my crown,

To the Light, and the mighty Oak King!

- Noon of the Solstice from Spirit of Albion

The Dark Lord, the Holly King, Arawn, Lord of Winter, a deity known by many names, one whose Zenith was marked at the Winter Solstice on the Longest night of the year, yet whose power and strength only seems to get stronger throughout these first few months of the Waxing Year. I have a deep and personal connection with the Oak King, Lord of Summer, but I have sadly not always felt that same connection with his darker brother. This is something I am addressing this year.

I remember playing a talk given by Professor Ronald Hutton on DruidCast where he said something like, “Pagan Gods are great, and full of hoof and horn, and sweat, and the men’s locker room, but which Pagan God would a parent take their sick child to for healing, or to offer love and comfort if that child had passed away?” Our Pagan Gods are wild, as is Paganism itself, but sometimes I feel that reflection, peace, calm, prayer, silence and love are too quickly labelled as ‘fluffy’. The irony is that, although Winter can be a harsh time of year, it’s also a time where the Earth appears to be hibernating, is calm, peaceful, and often silent. Of course there are storms, but there is also a stillness that is tangible. Walking through a woodland in late Autumn/Winter I can see deeper into it, I find the leaves underfoot comforting, and the oasis of the green of Holly and Yew remind me that although the God I know well is resting, or growing as a small child, I am still not alone, as the eyes of the Green Man’s face of evergreen is still watching me.

Whereas the Spring and Summer are times of bursting activity, it is the Autumn and Winter that give me these times of reflection. So although the Holly King’s face is thorny and tough, I feel it is to him I can go to in times of pain and hurt, for healing, for comfort. Less hoof and horn, and more a reminder that I am never truly alone, even in the darkest of times.

The Blessings of the Wheel

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I love the way our Pagan Wheel of the Year works its magic. It lies at the very heart of my spiritual life and I’m sure, like many other Pagans, the more I have worked with it, the more my own life has changed to reflect the turning of the seasons. So now, as the nights have drawn in, and the leaves have fallen once more to the ground to nourish next year’s growth, I too can feel the busy-ness of my own life changing. But just as the birds and animals are still busy searching for food, so I am searching for the Awen to inspire new songs, and to bless me with the insight for the arrangements of the songs I’ve already written.

I’m heading back into the studio to record a new album – the first album of my own songs since The Cauldron Born released in late 2008. I have a couple more concerts this year, and a couple early in 2012, but I have consciously created a space for that Awen to enter. And as I look outside at the late Autumn day I can see and feel that the energy is right.

The origin of some people’s inspiration is action, from friction and intense activity. Some people find their spiritual connections also come from that space, from drumming and dancing, screaming and chanting. I love that too, but I also know that the foundation of my inspiration comes from stillness, from peace. And that is another reason why I love the Wheel of the Year. The Spring and Summer are times of activity, when I am out playing at festivals, dancing around a burning Wickerman, running through a labyrinth, losing myself to the fire and power of the Pagan drummers. So when Autumn and Winter arrive I am ready to welcome their energy too – energies of reflection, and peace. I know that my spiritual life is enhanced by these changes. If all I knew was hot, how could I fully understand and appreciate it if I never felt cold? If all I knew was light, how could I fully understand and appreciate it if I never knew darkness? So if all I knew was wildness, how would I fully understand and appreciate it if I didn’t know stillness and peace? 

The Ancestor is standing at the Threshold. The woodland is still, and filled with the aroma of decaying leaves. And I am now ready to approach the Ancestor, to seek entry into the Grove of Reflection, to sit in stillness with eyes open, and to allow the woodland to accept my presence. Only then will the Faerie come out once more to dance, to show themselves to me, and allow me to hear their music.

The Heart of Samhain

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I was asked very recently why Druids celebrate such a dark festival as Samhain. What is it about this shadowy and occult time, where the land is overrun with ghosts and ghouls, that makes us want to associate ourselves with it. I found it a really odd question, but I think it’s a topic that, unless you are involved with Paganism, can be confusing. To the mass populous Samhain is Hallowe’en. A time when children knock on the doors of strangers asking for sweets, when demons and ghosts run riot, where we carve pumpkins into scary Jack o’ Lanterns. So in a way it’s not surprising that some wonder why we would celebrate this as a spiritual festival. So I replied that it isn’t dark. That the darkness some people perceive comes from a fear and distance from death.

The feast of Samhain comes from a time when people didn’t have world trade. They couldn’t just pop to the supermarket to buy their food. They had to grow it all themselves. Samhain as Summer’s End marks the obvious slip into the darkness and cold of the Winter. There would be the slaughtering of cattle and salting of meat to preserve it, the bringing in of crops, and some would look at the older members of their community and wonder if these frail people would live to see another Spring. The Sun’s arc is in decline, bringing shorter and shorter days, and with these thoughts of darkness and death comes our memories of those that have past on before. The Otherworld lies close at this time of year, and sometimes it feels so close you can almost touch it. So, being so distant from those tribal peoples what relevance does Samhain have today?

Today most of us are so distant from even the idea of death that we find it dark and scary. Dead bodies are taken away, hidden from view, filled with chemicals, then put straight into a box, then into the ground or cremated. Death is such a part of life that this distance is, in my opinion, unhealthy. Many of us British people take that another stage further with the idea of having to keep our chin up, or that emotional-baggage inducing stiff upper lip. So many of us either will not allow ourselves to mourn, or are not allowed to by our peers. The act of crying is such an important part of letting go that in the end this pent up emotion has to come out in some way, and sometimes this is in illness or misplaced anger. So during our Samhain ritual we say that all the time the names of our loved ones are spoken into the air, they will know they haven’t been forgotten, and sometimes that very simple act of saying their name out loud, of bringing their faces into our memories, is enough to break that barrier of held grief, and allow people to begin to let go. A powerful and truly human thing.

A part of any spiritual path deals with what happens after we die. In the end none of us will truly know what will happen until we take that journey, but while we are here these spiritual teachings can bring us comfort and peace. As a Druid I believe in reincarnation. That when I die my spirit will travel to the Blessed Isles of the West, to rest, reflect on my life, and then to return to the Cauldron to be reborn again. I don’t know this, but I feel that it’s what will happen. I wonder if our journey after death reflects our beliefs in life. We shall all find out in the end, and maybe that is the real essence of Samhain that people find frightening and dark. That death is life’s one inevitable, and every day we are making our way on a journey towards that moment. Let’s spend the majority of our lives living, but once a year it’s good to ponder our mortality.