Stories around the fire

A little while ago some of the newspapers ran stories about the kind of questions candidates for Oxford and Cambridge universities are asked at interview. One of the cited questions was, "Why is the sea salty?" It struck me that all the model answers, whilst true, were rather dry and practical. If I was sitting in a don's study in Oxford I think I may have answered like this.

"In the time before written history all the seas were pure and the waters sweet to drink. Men and women left offerings to the Goddesses of the seas and asked permission of the spirits of the sea entertaining them with dance before they set out to fish. When they returned with the sweet fruits of the sea the young women would dance wildly in thanksgiving. Then men began to covet the riches of the sea and called upon the one God of the sky to help them conquer all they beheld. Lords declared that it was wrong to leave offerings and ask permission. They asked the teachers to tell the children that the Goddesses of the sea were mere myth. That all worship and honour was due to the one God and the earthly Lords who worshipped him. And so the offerings and dances ended, the seas were raped of their bounty and the Goddesses of the sea forgotten. But in their homes beneath the sea the Goddesses began to cry for all that had been lost and lament the foolishness of men. They cried and they cried and their tears began to turn the once sweet sea salty so that today no man can drink of the sea's waters."

Would this get me a place at Oxford? I don't know but I do know that it is just as true as the model, dry practical answers given in the papers.

It is almost Samhain and we enter the dark time of the year when we sit by the fire, tell stories, enter our hearts, and touch ancient wisdom. May I wish you every blessing for the season and leave you with my own re-telling of the first part of the old Scottish story of Bride and the Cailleach Bheara. I promise to re-tell the second part of this story come Imbolc.

At the end of October the Cailleach Bheara took captive a beautiful young woman called Bride and locked her in a room in her palace deep below the Cairngorm Mountains. She was jealous of Bride’s beauty which brought warmth and joy to the earth. The Cailleach gave Bride old torn clothing to wear and put her to menial tasks like clearing the ashes from the palace fires. The Cailleach scolded Bride and found constant fault with everything she did. Poor Bride, her life was made wretched. As she wept the trees lost the last of their leaves, flowers died, and the sun lost heart and refused to climb to the heights of the sky.

One day the Cailleach brought a filthy brown fleece to Bride and ordered her to wash it until it was as white as the snow that now covered all the dying land. All day long Bride washed and washed, her hands becoming chapped and sore. But when night fell the Cailleach scolded the girl saying, “You are foolish and incompetent, look the fleece is as dirty and as brown as when I gave it to you. In the morning you will wash it again and you will go on washing it every day until it is white.”

This made Bride even more sorrowful for it seemed as if she would be washing until the Moon no longer had the strength to complete its monthly cycle. As she grew ever more sorrowful all light was ebbing away from the world above.

Then one morning whilst Bride was washing a grey-haired old woman came to her and said, “I am Grandmother Winter, if you give me the fleece I shall wash it whiter than the snow for you.” Bride gave Grandmother Winter the fleece and she shook it to the North, to the East, to the South and to the West calling upon all the ancient grandmothers. When she had finished the fleece was as white as newly fallen snow.

Bride was filled with joy and she gave thanks to Grandmother Winter and all the ancient grandmothers. At that moment Bride’s joy and thanksgiving shook the whole world above and the sun regained heart and began her slow climb back to the heights of the sky.

Grandmother Winter then told Bride that she would return towards the end of January with a special present for Bride. True to her word, several weeks later, she came to Bride whilst she was smooring the ashes and said, “Take what I hold in my hand.” Bride reached out and took a bunch of pure white flowers. Bride’s eyes lit with happiness as she beheld their beauty. Then Grandmother Winter spoke to Bride, “If the Cailleach scolds you show her these flowers.”

Sure enough at the close of that day the Cailleach scolded Bride saying, “Will you never learn how to smoor the ashes you stupid young woman.” Then Bride showed the snow white flowers to the Cailleach. The Cailleach’s face turned grey and in anger and frustration she asked, “Where did you get these flowers?” Bride replied, “The snowdrops are now growing in the woods and the adders are beginning to stir from their long sleep.” “Bad news!” the Cailleach shouted and stormed out of the kitchen. But a new profound joy had entered Bride’s heart.

The light of the hidden world

The last two mornings I have awoken to see early morning mist veiling the land. As the sun declines in the sky and the summer heat dissipates it is as if the earth becomes coy and shy. She cloaks herself in mystery and becomes all the more beautiful. In response the trees put on a glorious display - before they are revealed in all their winter beauty before the darkening sky.

Is it just me or is the light of the hidden world brightening earlier than usual? Maybe it is because I am getting older, or that we are now under a new moon, or maybe it is true. Every evening this week I have been welcomed home from work by a lone crow on the drive who has eyed me with intelligent curiosity before flying onto the garage roof, her eyes following me as I enter the house; utter magic. 

As people regret the passing of summer it is good to rejoice in the turning of the year. To look forward to Samhain, to the thinning of the veil. As winter approaches and the robins and wrens busy themselves in the garden I look forward to a time of candles, open fires and story telling by the hearth. But above all a time to enter the silence of the dark and be touched by the beautiful light of the hidden world.

Where the fae are tangible

I have always enjoyed Neil Gaiman's writing. I took American Gods with me to read in the USA and thoroughly enjoyed Stardust. Last night was the first opportunity to see the film of Stardust in my local cinema and I must admit to going to the very first showing. Films of books are often disappointing if you have let your imagination run riot over the books but I really enjoyed the film and the two hours of screenplay was over all too soon.

There is definitely something deep in the human spirit that hears the call of wild places where the fae are tangible, magic palpable and a Goddess dwells in every spring and grove. I loved the wild landscapes of Stormhold in the film as I love the landscapes of the liminal places of Brighid's Isles. The open grandeur of the North East of England and Highland Scotland; the seascapes of the outer isles are places I visit whenever I can. They bring beauty and magic and wildness to the spirit and we cannot live without such things. Indeed a true teacher is one who opens a child to the beauty and mystery and magic in books, landscape and the human spirit.

It is such wild places that the imagination creates as internal places to enter and explore whenever there is the need to hearken to the Goddess or find healing or sanctuary from the pressures of life. Such landscapes of the heart are a true gift and blessing of the Goddess.

Maybe the rise in the popularity of Halloween has more to do with this than with its obvious commercialism. In the midst of our cities and suburbs, in the midst of our controlled human lives in safe environments, we still need to sense the presence of wild things, to feel magic in the air, to dare to knock on the stranger's door and meet the unknown.

Laa Souney

The Isle of Man is a small island that stands at the very centre of the British Isles. It has its own Celtic culture and language which is seeing something of a revival. With Samhain approaching I thought it would be interesting to look at the tradition of this small community. On the Isle of Man the Celtic New year is called Sauin, or Laa Souney, in Manx and Hollantide in English. Laa Souney literally means November Day.

The House of Manannan museum's presentation on Celtic life includes an interesting piece about the Goddess Breeshey (Bride) passing by all the houses of Man on Laa Souney to bless them for the coming winter. To catch a glimpse of Her passing was seen as a special blessing.

Sauin's association with the death of the old year, ancestors and hopes for the new year can be seen in two customs recorded on the island.

The ashes of the fire were carefully swept to the hearth and evenly spread by the women just before they retired to bed. In the morning they looked for marks in the ashes. If these marks pointed to the threshold there would be a death in the family but if they pointed away from the threshold there would be a marriage.

Young women would listen at a neighbour's door with salt in their hands and water in their mouth. It is said that the first name they heard would be that of their future husband.

In recent times Laa Souney has given way to Hop-tu-naa (Halloween) but a traditional rhyme still tells of the moon, visits to the well, feasting on a heifer and the possibility of meeting a witch.

This is old Hollantide night;
The moon shines bright;
Cock of the hens;
Supper of the heifer;
Which heifer shall we kill?
The little speckled heifer.
The fore-quarter,
We'll put in the pot for you.
The little hind quarter,
Give to us, give to us.
I tasted the broth,
I scalded my tongue,
I ran to the well,
And drank my fill;
On my way back,
I met a witch cat;
The cat began to grin,
And I ran away.
Where did you run to?
I ran to Scotland.
What were they doing there?
Baking bannocks and roasting collops.