Lammas

"Now he lies down on the fields,

See his life he freely yields,

Mark his blood upon the corn,

All that dies shall be reborn

All that dies shall be reborn

Today is Lughnasadh, the commemoration of the Celtic diety, "Lugh" whos name means, "shining one." Lugh was, according to the Irish Mythical History of Invasions, the leader of the "Tuatha De Daanan, a magical race that preceded the human celts. Lugh is the bright youth, full of vigor and at his height of his potentcy. As the consort of the Goddess of the waining year, his sacrifice is  neccessary to provide the harvest and so ensure new growth for the future. In essence, his seed is reserved  for the coming Spring, when he will be reborn, once more.

We are living in a time of altering awareness, and I think even those we know with a very scientific approach to the world, are noticing a "shift", an indescribable feeling of "otherness." For some it manifests in huge changes, marriage breakups, job losses, or an inexplicable urge to throw the towel in and do something totally inconceivable to them only a few months ago. That we need change in our lives is evident, without it we would stagnant, have no motivation or stimuli to grow and create a future. But it is a scary and often difficult thing to embrace....to leap empty handed into the abyss, or to accept a dreadful loss as an opportunity.

This was where I was at Lammas last year. After a 3 year battle with cancer, my beloved Ray left this world, and behind him a devastated field. The people who loved him were shocked and paralysed by his absence, unable to even consider at that point, that his sacrifice would facilitate amazing growth and realisations.So this is the cycle culminating in harvest, yet again, but the first for me and my tribe without our "corn king." In this year passed we have experienced terrible grief, and such "dark nights of the soul" as to wonder if oblivion was our destination, but as with all death, it is but the passage to rebirth, to another day undeniably different but holding its own unique promise and potential.

Often the nature of sacrifice is perceived as unneccessary and a waste, but in my experience the nourishment and knowledge we have gained from the past has grown the seeds for our future in the present, think of it if you will, as a meal you have lovingly cooked, with wonderful fresh ingredients, and have presented to your family/tribe, and they have eaten it with relish. The tribe is nourished and has imbibed the love and attention you put into that meal, but you can never eat it again. Does the thought of its transience stop you from creating another meal?

The harvest comes to us all in our lives, without the cycle of life death and rebirth there is no joy, no creativity and no soul in our lives. The present moment is where we are at any given time. I wish you all a very blessed and meaningful Lammas.

                    

Quest on Sunday

Greenwich Park, looking uphill towards the Observatory and Wolfe Monument

What awakes me at 5.30am, on a Sunday morning? Well, initially, Margot the cat, but I could just feed her, let her out and go back to bed for a well deserved snooze...well, it was what I had in mind... but, when I got back upstairs, tea in hand, my senses settling into place, that wasn't going to happen. This week has been full of synchronicities, and has altered, or perhaps re-tuned my perceptions. So today, I thought I might try and sift through, find the thread. I have always been aware and felt very connected to the ancestors. My ancestors, your ancestors, alot of my craft workings are concerned with re balancing their energies in the landscape, or at least connecting with them and hearing their song and story. Its what I'm here for I guess, because I've always been consumed by history, archaeology and feel more affinity for the past than the present a lot of the time, but not in an escapist nostalgic way, but as in reviving and uncovering the treasures that informs our lives today, in honouring our ancestors we are respecting ourselves and tribe...where would we be without them?
I received a copy of Jack Gales, "Goddesses Guardians and Groves" (Capell Bann publishing) A book about the sacred landscape and energies of Greenwich Park, essentially. It is an interesting book, written in a very personal style, which I liked very much. The more I read, the more I was connecting to Jacks experiences, and it opened a closed door on some of the encounters I had had in the area when I was a teenager. As a teen, I completely shut the world of spirit out, I wanted to rebel, be a punk, get pissed and take speed...there was no tomorrow and I wanted nothing nothing to do with it! That, however,( and very fortunately) didn't mean that spirit had given up with me, thank the Lord and Lady! My "committee" kept an eye on me, and every so often showed me things that I couldn't ignore, quite a few of these moments happened in Greenwich Park. Standing at the top of Wolfe Hill, on a crisp Autumn morning, just dawn, no doubt returning from an all night shindig in Blackheath Village, I stood awhile gazing at the lights and returning day. Its a wonderful view, ever changing even from my perspective. There was no Canary Wharf when I was a teen, no Millennium Dome, Nat West Tower etc... but for a few moments, there wasn't even a Royal Navel College, or any of the iconic vistas beloved of this spot, it was an uninterrupted scene of round houses, settlements and what looked to be terracing. Fires and smoke, just folk getting on with their daily lives, the river seemed further away, but it could have been the low tide. It was a tiny moment, and then I was standing, gob-smacked with the busy dawning of another 20th century day in front of me.

Holda

All week, references to Greenwich and its environs have been popping up, like relatives you'd forgotten you had, am I being asked back for some specific reason? I am intrigued, and understand enough about the mechanics of spirit to know that this isn't random, it is timely to my process. Jack Gale talks of the very Northern Tradition of some of the sites in the Park, Northern as in Saxon and Teutonic. There is a Saxon cemetery, and Saxon round barrows. He speaks of the "Snow Queen" a very forceful energy that holds sway in that area, he relates her to "Holda", the Saxon Goddess, and of all the "Winter" references in the Park, Snow Hill, the Snow well etc...interestingly, I adore this place in Autumn/Winter, and it is the time when I feel a keen opening up. We all have our seasons I suppose, and the close of the wheel is mine. Time for a quest perhaps? More questions than answers, and that is just as it ever should be, the journey being the most important part, rather than the destination.

Ground Force

Whenever possible, I walk the 3 miles to work, down a disused railway line. Often I'm wondering what the place would have looked like before the line was dug into its landscape. How many ancient, sacred and votive places were carved up and now perhaps shore up the bank of the very path that I now walk upon? The route itself is glorious at this time of year, lush and verdant, buzzing with bees and frantic flys, all sampling the riot of flavours in the hedgerows. Elder, with its florets of creamy white blossoms, and the pinky-tinged buddings of the Hawthorn, weaving with the Dog Rose and Rowan along either side. Swallows swoop and dive among the tops of the bushes and nesting birds shrill their alarm on my approach. The Line is situated amongst farmland and hills, a land that has supported man for thousands of years. The resting place of Carin, a bronze age chieftain, is but a stones throw from here, and in his citadel of "Kirk Carrion", he surveys his lands and his descendants from his Pine strewn grave.

Kirk Carrion

The presence of those ancestors is never far. Is that a natural outcrop, or is it fashioned by man in some way? Is that an erratic, or a dressed stone placed deliberately as a marker or perhaps to divert or attract energy? A sacred place. A place our predecessors knew held potent forces, or perhaps the  dwelling place of a guardian spirit?  I cannot travel anywhere without summing up the landscape, flora and fauna in this way. I may not be a qualified landscape archaeologist, but I'm plugged into the vibrating web of space time and place, as we all are if we but stood still and silent awhile. To my left I pass a particular combination of stones, and am drawn to it. Not only does it look as if it is contrived, but it resonates with a past time, with old bones and memories. Today I'm exploring, as today the cows are out of the field. The first thing to say about the arrangement of the site, is the "spine like" quality. It travels uphill for only a few yards, but protrudes from the incline like a backbone. It has 4 main stones, all large, and not the sort of stones used in dry-stone walling. The first, facing me down hill of the railway line is large rounded stone, and between this and the other 3 stones are many smaller stones, much destroyed. Standing guardian in the middle of the feature is a Hawthorn.

The Guardian Hawthorn

I sat and waited. I asked for permission to approach the spirit of the place, the guardian who has forever the duty to safeguard the sanctity of this place. It felt like ages, and I sensed a reticence to engage at all. Hardly surprising, as the railway line would have driven through the fabric of the structure and spun all the carefully constructed stones, memories and energies to the four directions. Sensing this, i tried to reassure this spirit, that I meant no harm, and that I was seeking to know more of the history and to give respect to the ancestors who's remains were honoured there, and that their labour had built. The Hawthorn shook as a breeze from nowhere rattled through his branches. I felt the atmosphere change, and the hairs go up on my forearms, I was in the presence of Spirit
"Blessed be the spirit of this place,
I come to you in peace,
to bring you honour and praise,
and to ask for your permission and protection,
I walk these, your denizens and domains.
In the name of our mother the Earth Goddess,
and our father, Lord of the Wild woods"
Blessed Be,

I was certainly in a space between the worlds, on the spine of a serpent that ribboned across the Teesdale hillsides, in a landscape once littered with stone circles, tumulus, megaliths and sacred sites. The vibrancy of that feeling was alarming, today although very beautiful, there is very little evidence of what must have been an important ritual landscape, just as in Cumbria, only across the Pennines. But there was blood, and tribal affiliations that were in dispute, and the "tale" I received was of a power struggle, and much death and sorrow attached. The grave I was experiencing was of the head of a family. His punishment was to be laid here, but his family banished, so as not to have the opportunity to honour him in death. A dreadful thing to his descendants, and a massive slight to his soul in the other world. It was like newsflash! Then i shuddered and realised, I hadn't taken a breath! The vision evaporated, the spirit had downloaded the memory, and was standing back, weighing me up, as I felt sick, and had a massive "head-rush" I started to breath again, coming to, swigged from my water bottle. Stood up slowly stamped my feet, shook my body from top to bottom, I tried to shout, to ground myself in this world, but I couldn't hear myself...was I deaf? No, birds were singing, cars were passing on the little lane beyond...more stomping, and more water, and all had slipped back into its place. I was back in this realm, in this body.
I thanked the spirit, and asked if I might be allowed to commune again with him, and that I might make this sacred space one of my liminal places, to come and collect sprowl and memories for my work. His, and indeed it was very male, response felt warm and encouraging. I left an offering of wild bird seed, and some sanctified drops of potion, blessed all my relations and walked onto work...late!

The Three Stone alignment

The Stones and their Guardian Hawthorn

Over the Moon.

Montol is a week passed. My blood imperceptably reacts to the incremental growth of the new born sun/son. The Blue Moon of 2009 haunts my wakeing world, as much as my dreamtime. How potent and swollen was she? Hoisting her mighty glowing face above the hill in the East. I listened. The scuffling of the fox in the hedge,stalking tiny mammals in the  powdery snow. The Moon mother illuminates the wide horizon like a phosphorescent globe, the countryside bathed in a fine blue shimmer. This is the landscape of the omen, the portent. All is symbol, for shapes are decernable, colour and context is not.

Sailing by the stars, yet out shining their sparks, she floats in the Maryblue heaven, her course true and finite, her purpose as the Queen of Tides, resolute and ageless. Snow flakes drift like ash from a paper fire, small spells landing upon the icy field walls, wishes and dreams sent through the veil at this portal in the turning year

Tracking the Sprowl of the ;Land

The Sun casts a cold single eye across the moors. It is early November, and in sharp contrast to the oddly balmy last days of October, there is a clean chill in the air, and a quality to the light that expresses the intention of impending Winter. A good day to wander the land and to partake of the life force that huddles in the liminal, magical places. Coiled like a beautiful serpent, sprowl gathers and collects in the "places in between" where the line 'twixt the earth and the other realms of existance is thin. To some this is "ley" energy, a matrix of lines of power running in alignment, and whilst Sprowl is an energy, its body is more amorphous, and its power more sublime; in order to use it, you must build a relationship with it, and like any sutble force, Sprowl must be treated with respect and deference.


The first frosty mists hang across the field on the Kings Walk like a departing ghost, and the glassy beads of dew quivver as if gently touched by an unseen finger. There above the field is my quarry, a style in a predominantly hawthorn hedge, planted hundreds of years ago and now home to a myriad of lifeforms, insect, mammal, bird and fey. The flustered clacking of a startled pheasant kick starts the adrenalin as I leave the stoney path, and up onto the slippy edges of the field. Im up on the style, perched like a novice gymnast in a move that needs more practice, but im comfortable enough and wrapped warmly enough,just to sit and gather my thoughts,, and breathe in the extraordinary beauty and otherworld quality of the land before me.

I feel a tingle, a friction of static in the air. I welcome the coming of the spirit of this place, I give praise and thanks for being here, I ask for permission and protection to the guardian, and thus prepared and the way opened, I settle into the reverie that is the embrace of the Serpent energy of Albion, and the genus loci of the hedge and boundary. I have with me several objects and tools for the collection of Sprowl; sacred and trusty friends that by their continued use and constancy will serve me well and know my methods. For an animist, such as myself, all that lives, and ever has lived has life force, and is treated with due honour and courtesy, as befits any of natures creations. I chant my charm of reaping and gathering, letting the energy flow to me and rest within these holy familiars. Coming out of the dreamstate and into this world again, I give thanks and praise for the great honour afforded me, and offer bread, seeds and wine in the spirit of reciprocation which is central to my path.

Im feeling chilly, although the Sun has risen and the mist has long since disapated, I have been sat on a fence, in the same position for about..well I dont know how long. Time has no relavence in these matters. Stamping my feet, to make sure and solid connection with this realm, I walk, a tad more biskly, back along the boney path of tree roots. Birds are singing, although ore muted than in the feeding frenzy of the breeding season, Crows are calling and carousing above the newly mucked fields, and so I wend my way home, thankful for the beauty of the day,and the precious gifts given by the serpent mother.

Frost insinuates the iron hard earth, and the stoney outrops like cabouchon jewels, glint in the lowering sun. Boney as long-ago skinned knuckles, the worn tread of the Ancient pass, offers up its snaking spine before me. Beneath my feet are the imprints of a millenia of journeying, a layered time cake of footfalls and wanderings, occasionaly glimpsed in a moment at twilight, or whispered on the wind when she barrels down the hillsides. In the wilderness of the heart, the Pass is a naked and vulnerable route. As darkness seeps across the raw and jagged outcrops, Shadows of travellers past call their dogs to heel, and gather the herd. A fragment of voices, a spark of torch and candle, as the procession of ages keeps vigil beside the horse and cart bearing the body of a loved one, the final walking of the pass, the artery that crosses the high body of the fells, becomes the silver thread, that when the destination is reached, is severed.

MARCH #1

March is here and I am aware that many of us are feeling quite unsettled at the moment.Alot of my pagan friends are experiencing a certain "out of phase" effect. I wondered if it could be something to do with the earthquake we had a few days ago? The one that I slept through, although Im not sure I know anyone who felt it here! But then, there does seem to be a marked sense of confusion about, the issue of climate change can be one culprit, as the fauna and flora are breeding and budding when they should under "normal" circumstances be sleeping and resting. The last time I remember a similar vibe was in the lead up to 9/11, which affected me very profoundly. So disturbed was I by my increasing feeling of despair and dread, I thought I was going bonkers. I was talking on the phone to a sister in London, telling her I had a terrible feeling that something catastrophic was about to happen. When we watched the planes hitting the towers, it became obvious. At the time most of us felt life would never quite be the same again; the order and predictability of life had been shaken. It is either a testament to our powers of recovery or a damning indictment of our arrogance, how quickly we seem to have recovered. I dont think it has left such a impression as many at the time said it would, with the very obvious exception of those who lost their loved ones and were directly affected. As a species, we dont seem to learn from our mistakes, and our delays are costly.
Spring is an itchy feet time anyway, with the urge to shake out of the winter slumber, and hoover out your brain cells and your domicile! Longer days and more light make us all feel more upbeat and energised, so Im going to take this apparent shift in awareness as a wake up call to bring into being all the plans and ideas I've had gestating since last Samhain (halloween) sift them through, and apply myself to some creativity! There will always be disasters and vile things happening in the world, and some of us have a heightened awareness when the "web" is vibrating. Our task is to remain focused and use this energy in a positive way, and try to stay sane!