The coming week will be amazing!
The Eadhadh/Poplar (Aspen) Ogham few
Considering the Yule season and that the winter solstice (known in the Druidic tradition as Alban Arthan) occurs this week, Eadhadh is a most fitting and auspicious few to have drawn…
As the first of what I will attempt to make a weekly post, I drew for the first time from the new set of ogham staves that I have been working on. The wood for these hand-carved oak staves was naturally harvested in the grove where we celebrate the summer solstice ritual. It seems fitting to use them for the first time in the week in which the winter solstice will be celebrated; the process of harvesting and creating these staves was a long process that is now emerging within the movement of the earth as a dialogue between the solstices.
In the tension between these two opposites…
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To be human, when being human is a habit we have broken, that is a wonder.
In the Irish myth The Voyage of Bran, there is a silver branch that sings to Bran, and by doing so, upends his world dramatically. As Moriarty explains in his book Invoking Ireland, this is a breaking of the habit of being human which leads to silver branch perception – a way of seeing the entire Ecology of the world, natural and spiritual. No easy thing, it requires the breaking of societal and personal habits of being human that are based on a myriad of conditioned and usually unconscious presuppositions. The most dangerous of these presuppositions is that there is a separation between the mundane and the sacred, between human and nature, between nature and the sacred.
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A druid stood on the shore of Ireland, and recited a poem.
The Celts had recently arrived in Ireland, and were preparing to battle the mythic race of the Tuatha de Danaan for the island. After calming a sea storm sent by the sorcery of the Tuatha De, Amhairgin, druid of the Celts, came ashore and recited a poem known as the Song of Amhairgin. This “poets boast” is a series of I am statements, such as: I am Wind on Sea, I am Hawk on Cliff, I am Roar of Sea, and more. This was followed by an incantation which invoked the land to provide an abundance of resources, what he called a “fishful sea.”
His verse could be a battle cry, a blessing, statements of oneness or domination, or the raving of a druidic ego gone wild. Considering the cultural worldview from which the story sprang, the meaning and symbolism of myth, the context of the poem, and the environmental crisis in which we find ourselves, it is ultimately a mythic celebration of a possible evolution in our relationship with nature. Continue reading
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I grew up in Nebraska, where the horizon is almost always visible. Within the huge space offered by horizons there are unending possibilities, known yet unknown, which call forth a spirit of creative energy. The inherent danger of a horizon is that it inevitably becomes unreal – once it is reached, it disappears, and is gone forever; it never existed. The redeeming grace of this disappearing act is that a new horizon will always appear, spurring new ideas, new possibilities, new creativity; new relationships to self and the world. When I first moved to Germany, I sorely missed the presence of the horizon. In the rolling hills and built up areas of central Europe, the horizon is elusive at best, either disguising itself in the undulations of overlapping hills, or completely hiding behind urban sprawl. For me, the loss of the horizon was the worst part of culture shock, but I was unable to articulate it at the time. After several years in the new landscape, the pain of this loss passed, and I eventually no longer noticed anything was missing. I had become a part of a new landscape that I had grown to truly love. Continue reading