On a winter night

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The winter snows have finally arrived after a few brief flirtations, that which we have waited for and dreaded has arrived.

In the grove of dying pine behind our home I welcomed the gods of winter as familiar friends.  The sleet and freezing rain, the snow and the wind.  I bared myself to the elements as best I could in that place, feeling the slumbering spirits around me stir and others awaken with fresh intensity.  My hands were near to freezing as I listened to the story of my blood weakly circulating through my fingertips.  My head, released from it’s warm covering of wool felt slapped to numbness.  I felt the embrace of winter as the dark gathered in the forest around me, the distant sense of the cars going by on the thoroughfare, their passing muffled by snowfall on the pavement and in the air.  The sense that I was in a place out of time was palpable, remains palpable.  The stirring of the air could be warm or cold, it makes little difference in this context.  The spirits of this place are alive and in me, through me, around me and I reach for them with senses that too often go unused.  Winter’s teeth are barely weathered yet and ready to take my blood and heat.

I felt the heat on my skin, lingering as spirits

they fled me, slowed only by my Armour

I wandered on through the dying pine boughs,

Reaching like thirsty children to drink me

So I fell there

a freezing bite was taken from my scalp

my hands burned

my breath like smoke

I lifted up,

the tree tops

no longer my ladder

I flew over the frozen earth

On wings of fire

Creating the thermals

Melting snow to water

It ran like streams

Streams to rivers

Rivers to the sea

Sea up to clouds

clouds like good mead

and I was drunk upon it

so burned my fire,

My wings aflame like sacred bonfires

And my ancestors howled through the wind.

When I think about the story of the land where my feet touch the Earth I must also consider my own part in that story.  Not simply the last few weeks or days but the last few years and decades.  Our existence here is so impermanent that our limited senses can only tell us so much.  It does not seem enough to me that I simply observe, I am that agent of relationship and balance.  I am the words that the land uses to express itself as Awen moves through me.  I am knee deep in the earth of spring, talking with the voices of Earth worms and grubs.  I can look up at the roots of the plants and trees as they grow in over my head.  My toes wriggle for underground water while my hands spread out beneath the sky.

I descend into the bog and feel the cold moisture trapped there close in around me, embracing me, holding me as I remember what it was like to be there as the skunk or the raccoon or the deer, digging through the plants for something to eat and watching the stars like forgotten gods.

Winter rolls in like a giant and I think of my ancestors around sacred fires.  Each of them a flame, each flame a feather and each a feather upon a great bird of fire.

We are soaring together upon the winds.  Southward we fly, over waters and mountains.  When we land I will burst into flame and become an ancestor, become the many, another feather upon the wings of my descendants and again we will fly.

Winter holds no cold for me now and I sink into the darkness even as the brilliant flame of the sun awakens.

~Alban Artur

Alban Hefin

Fully blooming Lupines are part of a Maine summer in full magnificence.

Fully blooming Lupines are part of a Maine summer in full magnificence.

Among the current membership of the Order of Maine Druidry we don’t necessarily hold to the old language.  All of us were raised to speak English and while there are a few like myself who enjoy looking up a few words in the ancient language of my ancestors, for the most part it doesn’t necessarily dictate how I practice today.

One thing I do like is to use are the words for holidays like the traditional Druid festivals like the Solstices and the Equinoxes.  Respectively these are the Winter Solstice, Alban Arthuan (Light of Winter); The Spring Equinox, Alban Eiler (Light of the Earth),  The Summer Solstice, Alban Heffin (Light of Summer or Light of the Shore courtesy of Iolo Morganwg); and The Autumnal Equinox, Alban Elfed (The Light of the Water).

Most if not all of us celebrate the Eight stations on the Wheel of the Year.  As practitioners of Druidry, it is inherent that we celebrate the holidays that those of our tribe celebrate and I cannot think of one of us that looks to any of the traditional “Neo-Pagan” holidays as being insignificant or less important because it isn’t “Druid” based.  In general, I would say that the larger Druid Orders also feel similarly based upon information from their websites.

Of the Equinoxes and Solstices, one sticks out to me though, Alban Hefin.  While the other “Alban Gates” have more direct correspondences (Winter, Earth, Water)  Alban Hefin translates as “Light of the Shore” which I find appealing.

If there is anything that can be said about Druids, it is that they enjoy liminal spaces and there is no space that is more liminal than a place where the three traditional Druid elements meet (Earth, Sea and Sky).  I am far from a traditional Druid though.  I still invoke the four elements of Air, Fire, Water and Earth.  However, if one looks closely enough, Fire is present at the shore too as the energy that moves the tides and changes the face of the waters.  The shore though, is a wonderful place for edgwork, it is a place where easily recognizable relationships exist. While I won’t speak for all Druids, I can at least speak for myself when I say that the “shore” is a powerful place to watch those relationships unfold.

By contrast, Alban Arthuan, the Light of Winter, has an equally deep connection to it even though simply addressed.  Winter is a time of sleep and rest.  It is a time when our human activities are limited and the lack of fruitful vegetation keeps us closer to home nibbling slowly at what stores our ancestors were capable of gathering from the previous season’s harvest..  The root word in the Gaelic languages for Bear is “Art”.  In fact, my own name “Alban Artur” (given me by one of my Mentors) means “Light of the Bear”.  What research I have done online and in the limited tomes I have at home has offered up little in the way of connecting “Art” and “Arthuan”.  However, we all know that Bears sleep over much of the winter and while the few Bears that live in the Celtic lands these days are probably in cages of some type, they did populate the area in the time when these ancient languages were being developed.  It is not a huge leap in logic to wonder or even posit that these two words share a common root and that “Winter” could just as easily mean something along the lines of “Slumber of the Bear”.  We do know that the Celts and Gauls fashioned much of their language around what they observed in the Wild earth around them.  If this can be said about Alban Arthuan, then certainly we can consider that the term “Shore” has a deeper connotation to it in relation to a celestial event.

Coming back to Alban Hefin:  When I looked up the word “Hefin” by itself, it is given the meaning “Summer”.  This makes obvious sense from a particular point of view since Alban Hefin is smack dab in the middle of Summer.  On the other hand, I became more interested to understand the difference between “Summer” and “Shore” in relation to one another and in relation to context.  Unfortunately, online research has done little to offer me any tangible options in that direction and so rather, I am going to summon the faces of my ancestors and attempt to bring the idea forward in that manner.

However, these are simple thoughts of a person who is mildly interested.  I have other things to think about and do that distract me from the simplicity of the spoken word.  There are languages that my soul has learned and must speak that are more important, the true language of our ancestors.

The question I have is essentially “Why ‘Shore’?”  What is it about Midsummer that makes it more “Shore-like” than Midwinter?  Envisioning this, I imagine Popham Beach, a place I took my family back to a couple of months after Beltane on the Beach, 2014.  I see my feet in the water, the sun dappling my skin as the tide washes over them.  I see the sand moving around my foot, over it and covering it as the water rolls back out away from the land.  Sunlight slides through the air and a breeze embraces me as people laugh and play and swim through the waters.  I am standing in a place where millions of relationships are happening all at once.  Millions of spirits interacting, communication and then going on, sometimes together, sometimes apart.  I am involved in my own relationships.  My wife, my son, my friends; buried in the shifting sand of a tidal beach is the land where my feet touch Earth and Sea and Sky while the energy of Fire moves all of us together, changing us in each moment.

May you all have a blessed and wonderful Alban Hefin be you by the shore, beneath the trees, sitting upon the green grass or wherever Wild Nature finds you with your arms open.  Blessings of Awen.

~The Order of Maine Druidry

Beltane on the Beach

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Picture by Michael Eric Bérubé; Beltane on the Beach, Popham Beach, ME., May 2014

On my way to Popham Beach I pass over a section of Route 209 where the road seems very narrow with a high concrete wall on one side and I know I am getting close.  I have been able to smell the salt air of the Ocean since I was outside of Bath but here it seems to take a spike as though I’ve been following the perfumed trail of a beautiful woman and now I am nearing the place where she waits for me.  My window is down and I am listening to the seabirds calling as they hang in the air over the mud flats near Parker Hill creek and the sun shines, sometimes when it is not supposed to.  The soon to be flowers along roadsides are green stalks ready to launch their firework display of seasonal color and the grasses are a dusky lime approaching green magnificence.

The cars are already lined up along the road, waiting for the time when the gates to Popham Beach will be opened and I see people in dark clothing, lots of zippers and black painted fingernails.  I see others in brightly colored clothes and I see parents stretching after a long trip, bending, flexing and looking around for people they recognize.  When they do see someone, they embrace and they smile.  The children run around away from the road and the Park Ranger eyes people warily as they go about the business of accepting visitors.  In the background like a silent hushing we can hear the waves rolling in, rolling in, rolling in.  Rolling out and away and away.

There is chit-chat and coffee.  There is the thunder of motorcycles getting closer along the main road and there are men wearing tough looking black leather vests and smiles so warm if you don’t know them, you should.  There are tents going up and people chatting energetically.  Long lost friends reunited, close knit circles opening for other circles until we are all there, together.

We mill about talking with one another about what has been going on lately or in the last year or in the last month since we have seen one another.  We see each other’s children and remark on how much bigger they are even as they use parental buttocks as a shy station from which to hide.  We compare lists of those we may have lost, talk about our health and our jobs.

There are people in the parking lot pouring out libations for the Motorcycles; there are women quicker to enter a red tent than they are coming out.  There are men wearing the occasional sword or leaning on the occasional carved staff, standing in circles talking about adventures.  There are children running and playing in larger loops than they could make by the roadside and there are parents whose nervousness seems to dissipate with each moment.

Over it all we hear the crashing of waves rolling in, rolling in, rolling in.  Rolling out and away and away.  There is an island of the moon only a sandbar away at low tide where the gulls sit in a mock jury of guttural cries as we pour onto the beach, racing around tidal pools, lodging maypoles in the sand…we welcome the spring in a great big circle and then we dance.  Rhythmic drumbeats pound out percussive prescriptions until the sand itself dances with us.  The wind whips ribbons the myriad colors of soon to be flowers and they snap in the air like schooner sails as people revolve in silly circles beneath a sun that was not supposed to shine so brightly or warmly.

In and down, out and around the ribbons wind around one another, marching down the poles in colorful overlapping patterns until the last person dancing gives over their end like letting go of a  hand with a smile of longing and a huff of exhaustion.  The wind whips a lock of dark hair over one eye and they reach a hand up to move it away, still smiling, still longing, the movement is tired and satisfied.

Back up the near the entrance there are tables full of food where hungry people gorge themselves on homemade delicacies and store bought chips.  Fruit juices and water, lemonade and apple juice.  There are fruit bowls and pretzels, watermelon and cantaloupe.  People watch one another and talk, still smiling.  The kids are still playing, the parents are even less worried.  A circle forms and people tell their stories and poems and share their music.  A wiry man with dark curly hair is clasping his hands and his smile is bigger than he is.

The energy is winding down now.  There are windburned faces under sunburned faces.  The motorcycles are starting up and their deep, throaty roar begins to recede into the difference. The parking lot is emptying and some of us will not see one another until next year.  The children are starting to run out of steam and the parents are dragging coolers back to cars.  We are saying “see you later!” as the gulls inspect full trashcans for leftover lunch.

Over it all we hear the waves rolling in, rolling in, rolling in.  Rolling out and away and away.  the sound grows more silent yet no more less crisp as we recede into the distance and once again pass through the narrow concrete corridor and back into a world of workdays and incessant distraction, with only the slightest whiff of perfume in my nose but I will keep finding beach sand for weeks.

Beltane on the Beach (www.beltaneonthebeach.org) will be held on Sunday, May 3rd, 2015 at Popham Beach State Park in Phippsburg, Maine.  Please join us there!

Boundaries

Nature is full of natural boundaries that define the landscape.  Rivers, streams, shorelines, tree lines, drip lines, valleys and mountains ranges  to name a few.  Each of these liminal spaces are transitional places that change the definition of the space  below, above and around them in a way that causes us to take notice.

In early January 2014, a local discovered Four Bears hibernating on his friends property while out target shooting with his bow.  Fortunately for the bears, they weren’t harmed, he actually discovered them while trying to search for an arrow that went afield.  This occurred not too far from my home and I had seen sign of these bears more than once.  So when people ask me where I am from, I like to say that I am from the land of four bears.  This is a definition of space that makes sense to me and even though the definition is not absolute (after all, should we define this land by the range of the bears or by my own home’s proximity to the story?), it creates a visual context for where I am from even if many others don’t quite get it…they can always ask, I love the story.

Even in this simple, rather open ended definition, one understands immediately that if they come to my home, there are four bears in the area.  Despite the relative and unnecessary fear that might cause (Bears are naturally skittish animals), it is something that defines a characteristic of the land that gives the land some character.  Much like saying that I live above Caribou Bog, one might also immediately understand that I also live in the land where the mosquitoes can carry you away…

There are a lot of people who do not like the context of definitions, seeing them as too limiting but I tend to see it differently.  Nature has definition, even to itself.  The river valley, the bog, the canyon, the gully, the sea; all of these things are definitions we have created to explain what we are seeing and touching as we make our way across the landscape, we establish these definitions as a method defining our relationship with the place where our feet touch the land.  The bog has a different character to how we approach the land than the mountaintop does.

Where definition tends to fail is in the preconceived notion.  If we were to live in Caribou Bog we might grow up thinking that we know everything we need to know about living in a Bog.  However, if we move to a different Bog, we would likely find that the character of that space is similar but different enough that our assumptions about that space make things harder for us unless we remain open to the likelihood of such differences.  This is where defining something reaches its own limit because defining a boundary can be limiting and it can objectify something to the point where we close ourselves off to building a unique relationship with the land in different places.

The spirits of these places may have similar experiences but their stories remain different.  Just like our own experiences may be similar to others and yet our perception of events is different and has deeper or lesser meaning depending upon the individual.  Thusly, we find that our definitions fail to pass muster as soon as we move beyond the boundaries that the Wild provides for itself because these are human definitions and not definitions of the Wild.

I remember a conversation with a close friend recently in which we were joking about the adage “Don’t like the weather in Maine?  Wait five minutes!”  Her immediate response was “How about drive Five miles?”  This is the land of Maine, full of microclimates and varied landscapes.  We have everything from Desert to bog and back again.  The Sea, the mountains, the forests both deep and dark to bright and green.  Here, there is a little of everything and a lot of a everything else.

We define these things as we move over them, through them, around them and they move over through and around us.  We do so in a manner that allows us to create relationship without being chained to a single definition or relationship as we encounter other spaces, other spirits and other stories of the land where our feet touch the Earth.  This is questing Awen.  Awen allows us to understand how these things define themselves in relation to us and thus the edgework can be done with respect and honor for each being and spirit we encounter.  As an animist, I accept that there are spirits all around us all of the time, in every tree, blade of grass, mountain, river…you name it, to me there is a spirit in there.  Even if the spirit in each of these examples is little more than the character of their appearance (which I don’t believe), there is something tangible there to my own spirit and that is where edgework begins, it is where Awen flows and nothing, not even the limited definition that my mind creates when interacting with that spirit can stem or block that flow of Awen.

We may come to dislike labels or definitions but our culture must successfully and collectively rise above the need for them for the necessity to go away.  Language and definition are not our enemy, nor will they set us free.  They simply allow us to speak with one another and share experience.  It is once we delve deeper into spirit that we find how limited our language is and Awen is the manner in which we share that depth with others.  The river is no longer just a river, nor is the mountain just a mountain.  They are wild and sacred places that tell us stories of the land where our feet touch the Earth either over a lifetime or in the moment we are there.  Understanding the relationships we see in the Wild are essential to establishing similar relationships with other people and spirits of place.  We create organizations because we are establishing that this is a group of people with similar goals and similar methods of achieving those goals.  In order to establish an organization, we must define it’s central purpose as something we can connect ourselves to as we connect to one another.  When human relationships begin to get confusing, something that everyone can agree upon is important to remembering our purpose.

So too, have we defined the Order of Maine Druidry, as people who, through questing Awen and learning these stories, serve our community by strengthening the connection between people and the land where our feet touch the Earth.

Greetings and blessings from the Land of Four Bears, on the hill above Caribou Bog.

Definitions of Druidry

Upon the path of Druidry, one could say I am fairly young.  Although I have been practicing Druidry for a long time, I did not know that is what I was doing and therefore could not call myself a “Druid”.  With the first year of Druid College behind me and years Two and Three waiting in the wings, I realize now that what I really lacked were two things:  The self confidence to believe in what I was doing and the vocabulary to clarify it.  Both of these things are more clear to me now and my self confidence, while it will likely always be the voice in the back of my mind trying to undermine me a bit, has grown out of the shadows.  In fact, I appreciate my self doubt now more than ever because when I sit down and talk to that shadow self, the conversation is often very revealing to me.

When I first started tossing the idea of a an Order of Druidry around in my head, the self doubt I experienced was palpable.  I spent a lot of time trying to explore why I wanted to do this and began discussing the idea with Magnus (a fellow classmate at the Druid College) and then later with Kevin Emmons (founder of the Druid College).  We all agreed that we needed to do a few things in order to make this work.  We had to set a purpose, we had to have a general standard for who would be welcome to join and we had to ensure that the Order was egalitarian rather than structured around a leadership.  This seemed pretty straightforward at first, after all, it would simply mean that we seek membership from people who are already leaders and make this a council of leaders rather than a council based upon hierarchy.  My only regret is that I should have set out what this was originally, letting people see the structure of it before inviting them to join.  Instead, I said “here are the pieces, let’s put this swing set together”.  There are no instructions for this kind of thing and so divisions began to form on how it should be put together.  Essentially, the horse is out of the gate now and we are peddling hard to keep up.  In this process, there are those who feel they cannot commit themselves to the Order because definitions on who should be a member and who shouldn’t seems too limiting.  Others don’t know whether they can truly define themselves as a practitioner of Druidry and don’t have the time to dedicate.  That was hard because ultimately, all of those people are people who I personally invited into the Order.  In essence, three of our members have resigned, not in frustration or anger, but because they don’t define themselves in a manner that is consistent with how the remainder of the Order does.  These are growing pains and all three of them are people who still fully support what we are doing.  It is also important to note that one of them is my wife, another is someone who warned me in the first place that Druidry is something they have explored but does not make up the bulk of their spiritual practice and the last dances beyond the lines of definition anyway.

When we think about defining something, we need to understand how and why we want to do so.  The English language is severely limited in scope, it is far too literal.  There were Native cultures in this land that had one word describing several things at once whereas English uses 8 words to describe the same thing.  This effects our thinking in how we perceive things.  It is limiting to say the least but it also means that understanding that limitation, understanding the need to define something allows us to establish something we can then fill and expand beyond.  In doing so, we reach for an understanding of these definitions.  Establishing what the language means allows us to establish a framework we can climb to reach greater understanding.  It is important that an Order of Maine Druidry be reserved for those who actively practice Druidry otherwise we are simply another Pagan organization, not an Order of Druidry.

It is just this type of reaching for understanding that bolsters my self-confidence and accept that I am a Druid.  To be upon the path of Druidry is to be a Druid.  While there are a good number of people out there that would suggest some level of formal education is necessary to accept that title, I would disagree from this point of view:  When one begins to travel, they are a traveler.  Each step along that path is a step away from where they once were.  Even when that person steps on a conveyance of some type, it is a new experience.  It may get them to their destination more quickly, but even that experience has its value to them.  There are some who will walk, others may ride but in the end, it is about opening oneself to the experience of traveling and not simply reaching their destination.  If one focuses solely upon the context of reaching the destination, then the experiences of the journey there are lost upon them.  Those experiences are guides along the way, enriching the experience.

The same holds true of those beginning the practice of Druidry and those who have practiced for 20 or more years.  The idea that this title, this term, may only be granted by those with authority, to me, is far from egalitarian.  My mentors, both of whom who have been practicing Druidry for far longer than I have even known the term outside an adolescent dabbling in fantasy games, have never come to me and said “You can’t call yourself a Druid, you haven’t been practicing long enough!”.  Ultimately, the practice of Druidry for me is about the intent.  I have struggled at times to define Druidry in a way that didn’t seem superfluous.  There is the dedication to the land, the animistic quality of egalitarianism of all beings, the practice of acknowledging the Earth as a sacred being itself and the dedication to service and community.  These are all functions of Druidry and yet, these functions do not serve to define it.  Defining Druidry means going deeper into an understanding of how Druids perform this service.

I’ve mentioned before that Druidry for me begins with relationship.  How do we, as Druids, establish and maintain that relationship?  What do we do when have done so?

A recent discussion with one of my mentors allowed me to more fully understand, again, because the vocabulary was made clear.  We put a lot of faith in words as a species.  It makes me consider the value of language in reference to almost anything.  When I stop to ponder it, language itself is really a method of defining things.  We call something like a sunset “pretty” and this remains a definition, albeit a subjective one.  Our language, no matter how deep or shallow the meaning of the words, is a manner of describing and defining the world around us.  The problem with definitions is often a problem of communication, again, because the value of definitions may vary by person, community and culture.  Any person may look at the sunset as a pretty view, but somewhere there may be someone who would view that sunset as an evil portent or even ugly, simply because their culture has taught them to do so.

Defining Druidry then, is something that is both simple and complicated depending upon your point of view.  There are untold numbers of Druids in the world and boiling down the disparate and fundamental practices of all of them may seem difficult.  On the contrary though, I tend to find that it comes down to this:  The quest for Awen.  Awen could be defined simply as “Divine inspiration” but it is much more than that.  The word “Awen” comes from an Indo-European root word meaning “to blow” or “Breeze”.  Emma Restall Orr, defines it as “Flowing spirit”.  John Michael Greer, the Grand Arch-Druid of the Ancient Order of Druids in America, discusses Awen and it’s symbol /|\ as being the three rays that represent spirit, inspiration and illumination.  In fact, one could write an entire book about Awen itself and all of the concepts and contexts under which it is applied which could quickly become a volume.

In the manner by which I choose to perceive things, there are three levels to reality:  The Spiritual, the mental and the physical (this is borrowed heavily from and glossed over just as heavily from author Steve Blamires).  Any magical working begins on the spiritual level where it is perceived on the mental level.  In this context, imagine that moment that a great idea pops into your head, something nebulous that inspires you and then you mull that idea over as you think about how you will apply it.  This is the transition of inspiration from the spiritual to the mental level.  Taking one’s idea and putting it into practice would be the transition of something from the mental to the physical level.  I have come to think of Awen as the sound and vibration of this movement.  Druidry, as a tradition, is a commonality of language…it is a method of speaking to the land where our feet touch the Earth.

Ultimately, what differentiates Druidry from other spiritual paths is the dedication to Awen as the source/sound of inspiration that helps and allows us to establish sacred relationship.  Not only is the practice of Druidry about channeling Awen, it is equally as much about questing Awen…seeking it out.

There are a great many people out there who follow Earth based spiritual paths but the questing of Awen is what makes Druidry a distinct spiritual practice.  We now have nearly 250 years of Druid tradition since the revival movement beginning in the late 1700’s and what has kept it alive is the questing of Awen.  This is the concept around which Druidry gathers and around which the Order gathers as well.

Before I joined the Druid College, I didn’t really quest Awen so much as I was fed by Awen.  Now, I quest Awen every day.  I listen for that sound as it blows like a spirit wind through me and into the physical world.  I am a Druid.

St. Patrick’s Day

As March reaches it’s tipping point into April, St. Patrick’s day looms before us.  I have traditionally celebrated this particular holiday with friends the way most people do, imbibing a bit more than is medically necessary.

However, it is important to note that what St. Patrick’s day really celebrates is the ethnic cleansing of ancestral spirituality and Pagan tribes of Ireland.  Those who would not convert to St. Patrick’s Faith were not allowed to practice in the open because those who did were killed.  I am not going to suggest though that we fail to celebrate this day, I suggest that we co-opt the holiday and celebrate the fact that not only are these spiritual paths being rediscovered and explored but also because such Pagan spirituality has enjoyed a nearly unprecedented resurgence in the islands that make up the seat of ancient Druidry (Scotland, Ireland, England, Wales and the Isle of Mann).  While Druids or Paganism were certainly not specific to those lands alone, there is much archaeological evidence to support the context of that group of islands being the location of much of the training in Druidry that was inherent to the tribes of our European ancestors.

I’m not going to suggest that we should stop celebrating.  No doubt the cries of anger would hurt the ears of even the most wise person sitting upon a mountain top far from the noise of human beings.  Instead, I intend to celebrate this day as a day of victory for Paganism.  We remain, we are here and we are growing.  There are reports that Druidry and Celtic Paganism are the fastest growing “religions” in the nation of the United Kingdom.  I put “religions” in quotes, primarily because that is how the census reports reflect it.  To me, religion is something that is particularly dogmatic and I find Druidry and many other Pagan spiritual paths to be either free of or mostly free of such dogma.  I am certain that whatever the reasons people are rediscovering the spirituality of their ancestors, they are deeply personal and yet I cannot help but wonder where the commonalities are in these individual decisions across such a large swath of people.

Be that as it may, St. Patrick’s story of driving the “snakes” out of Ireland fails to pass the straight face test any longer.  If anything, Patrick’s attempt at ethnic cleansing failed in the incorporation of many pre-Christian Irish traditions folded into the new dogma, demonstrating a power of sustainable practice and a recognition of wild nature that resonates strongly with newer generations of people rediscovering the spirituality of their ancestral heritage.

The result is that legitimate traditions, like Druidry, re-emerge under new circumstances ready to adapt to new conditions.  To me, this is absolutely the opposite of what Patrick wanted to achieve by suppressing and destroying the ancestral spirituality of Ireland.  Sorry to say Patrick, but I will be drinking to your failure on March 17th, not your success…

Gorsedd

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It was a night…it was a very good night.  Nestled in a cordwood house in the woods of central Maine we sang, we listened, we told stories that brought us to tears of both profound emotion and laughter.

Storytelling is an art form that has all but disappeared from our culture in the manner it was shared in antiquity.  These days, our stories are broadcast on screen and television far more than they are shared in circle.  This is the Gorsedd, a meeting of Bards to share songs, stories and poetry.  This was the first “event” of the Order of Maine Druidry and divine forces were certainly present for our journey through the gathering darkness.

We held a short meeting beforehand to share news and discuss ideas.  One idea that was discussed was that of an Eistedfodd.  They still hold Eistedfodau in Wales and many other places in the world on a semi-regular basis and it is a tradition we wish to bring to the Order and to Maine.  We wish to foster this event and hopefully draw storytellers from all walks of life, all different traditions.

Our Gorsedd (which is a bit simpler than an Eistedfodd) began with a short ritual outside to recognize the gods of winter, the spirits of place, the land, the ancestors and to set our intentions for the evening.  We then adjourned inside for some storytelling while a mead horn was passed and we all shared with one another things we have been working on, older stories, poems and memories.  It was a night to be cherished and I cannot think of a single person who is not looking forward to the next one.

In that vein, we are planning to set a date for our Eistedfodd a bit further out than was originally planned and instead sponsor a series of Gorseddau over the next several months, something that will be more public and open to as many people as possible.  We will announce the date of the Eistedfodd one year and one day prior to the date it will be held allowing people from all walks of life to plan and prepare for the event.  This plan is currently under discussion within the Order and may change depending on a variety of factors.  Rest assured though, we are all very excited to be planning and coordinating such an epic and wonderful event!

Relationship in every moment

I feel like writing but I am not certain what to write.  I feel like dancing and the song plays melodically underneath each moment.  My feet touch the land, the land touches the Earth and the vibration and sound hum up my legs, move through my arms, they reach out to the air and a fire blooms behind my brow.

I wave, I sway and I burrow.  A knee rises and falls to a beat I can hear and my ancestors laugh around the fire in my head while telling stories in strange tongues I do not recognize and completely understand.

Jumping over a fallen tree I go to a crouch and suddenly I am hunting the wild game of an untamed forest, spear in hand I lope silently over leaves that are past caring about my passage but crunch softly beneath my bare feet anyway.  A breeze stirs the pine needles and rotted corpses of Oak grandfathers still trace palsied fingers in the air.  Squirrels chatter from the trees and fight over acorns as the leaves begin to fade from green to yellow, yellow to orange, orange to brown and then fall beneath a blanket of white.  The sun rises more and more slowly, then rises more and more quickly.  The snowy blankets peel back, receding under the growing sun and the trees explode in green fire, the flowers spark towards the sky.  Clouds slide across the blue like goslings on a pond whose ice has not yet receded into water and birds crowd the branches of a birch tree, defecating seeds that will become berry bushes in another cycle.

They sit around the fire in my head telling stories in strange tongues I do not recognize yet understand without question…we laugh together, we cry together and together we feed the fire.

“Busy week=Busy Year?” or “Wisdom from the interplay of light”

This week has been harrowing for one of any number of reasons and lack of sleep is drowning my thoughts in chaotic misadventure.

As much as I wish to write, write, write, I haven’t the time this week to dedicate to it, so I am going to take a shortcut.  I wanted to share something beautiful with you, written by a fellow member of the Order of Maine Druidry, Mary Kay.  She wrote this just prior to the Solstice but it is too lovely and poignant to remain there as the sole outlet of it’s brilliance and creativity (not to mention it’s intrinsic truthful value)

Today is the longest night of the year in the northern hemisphere, the Winter Solstice. The sun will sit for a moment at the tip of its southern most point and then rise again to begin its annual journey northward. This cyclical path of the earth and sun is also a spiritual event that has been celebrated through time and cultures.

This threshold between dark and light holds profound meaning.

The darkness is meant to hold us, in a time of silence, rest and introspection. Our western culture doesn’t necessary allow for this. And yet even if we don’t have time for rest we long for the warmth and light to return. Is it that we are just tired of the snow and cold or do we truly experience this ancient dance between dark and light in our bones? I am sure it is a little of both. On a primal level we know this cycle of moving from dark and light as it reflects the process of birth and death. And we cannot have this new light without the death of the darkness. Winter Solstice offers a spiritually potent opportunity for this transition and the new birth of light to occur in our landscape and in us.

Each Winter Solstice I take the time to reflect on the struggles and places of growth that have brought me closer to experiencing the essence of me. Holding truth to the darkness and light in that journey.

For me the guidance of my dreams has been the path to shaping how I hold my darkness and light. They do this by providing stories that reflect my struggles and my potency. My dreams offer the environment of the seasons the changes of the sun or moon as elements to the story that hold space and guidance. Dreams know who I am and give me direction in understanding my life story. They can be gentle like a tiger cub or ferocious like a grizzly bear. And these dream stories can be weaved together to provide a practice in my waking life for healing.

If I open to the dance of light and dark, birth and death I will unlock what is possible to be seen in me. If I bring to life the gifts of Winter Solstice as a gateway to experiencing the birth of light in me I will discover the brilliance and beauty of who I am. My dreams continue to remind me that like the sun, the light of our essence can overcome the darkness. This is the cycle of nature and life.

May you experience the birth of the light in you.

Today is the longest night of the year in the northern hemisphere, the Winter Solstice. The sun will sit for a moment at the tip of its southern most point and then rise again to begin its annual journey northward. This cyclical path of the earth and sun is also a spiritual event that has been celebrated through time and cultures.
This threshold between dark and light holds profound meaning. 

The darkness is meant to hold us, in a time of silence, rest and introspection. Our western culture doesn’t necessary allow for this. And yet even if we don’t have time for rest we long for the warmth and light to return. Is it that we are just tired of the snow and cold or do we truly experience this ancient dance between dark and light in our bones? I am sure it is a little of both. On a primal level we know this cycle of moving from dark and light as it reflects the process of birth and death.  And we cannot have this new light without the death of the darkness.  Winter Solstice offers a spiritually potent opportunity for this transition and the new birth of light to occur in our landscape and in us.

Each Winter Solstice I take the time to reflect on the struggles and places of growth that have brought me closer to experiencing the essence of me. Holding truth to the darkness and light in that journey. 

For me the guidance of my dreams has been the path to shaping how I hold my darkness and light. They do this by providing stories that reflect my struggles and my potency. My dreams offer the environment of the seasons the changes of the sun or moon as elements to the story that hold space and guidance. Dreams know who I am and give me direction in understanding my life story. They can be gentle like a tiger cub or ferocious like a grizzly bear.  And these dream stories can be weaved together to provide a practice in my waking life for healing. 

If I open to the dance of light and dark, birth and death I will unlock what is possible to be seen in me. If I bring to life the gifts of Winter Solstice as a gateway to experiencing the birth of light in me I will discover the brilliance and beauty of who I am. My dreams continue to remind me that like the sun, the light of our essence can overcome the darkness.  This is the cycle of nature.

May you experience the birth of the light in you.

2015

Let me be the hundred thousandth person to wish you all a happy new year.  If you are active on social media, add another 500,000 to that, give or take 34,356.

Try as I might to think about years and cycles in the manner of my ancestors, it is hard for me to divorce myself from the simple power of the collective belief in this calendar as being the source for our marking the passage of one year into another.  Ultimately, I would much rather think of the past 365 days or so as “The cycle of [Insert important cultural achievement or event here please]” than as “2014” but since so few people do that and I’ll actually have to think out what was important culturally about our last year among all of the things that happened, 2014 will have to suffice for now.

We’ve all heard people making “New Year’s resolutions” and to those that do, perhaps that is of significant value.  I tend to see each moment as a new beginning, every second is a chance to start over, to change ourselves, to make a resolution to change and learn.  Of course, this is relatively common wisdom insofar as that type of things goes.  There is a value to girding yourself for changes though.  Knowing that the new year is about to begin (or in this case, has begun) gives us a chance to think upon the things we wish to change and gives us a target date to prepare us for those changes.

So, in keeping with age old tradition, I want to share with you all some of the resolutions I have set for myself for the coming calendar year because, well, I already feel guilty about not writing a post for last Saturday.

1.)  Writing here once a week.  I’m a writer.  I’m a decent talker too but writing is my passion even in the times I wonder whether I am actually as good at it as I would like to be; something that can only improve with practice.

2.)  Devote more time to Nature.  I could do more.  I sometimes let comfort dictate my movement (Nature is a blood rite and Mosquitoes make certain of it!) so I need to just let go of some of those expectations of comfort and just be.  I need to meditate in the cold, I need to burrow into the mud more.  I need to get my clothes dirty and in need of heavy laundering.

3.)  Devote more time to my wife.  We have schedules that sometimes prevent us from being with each other as much as we want.  Holding space for this relationship is very important to both of us.  Even just making the effort to sit down for 30 minutes and talk can sometimes be difficult but she is my best friend, my most trusted confidant.  No matter how much I do, she still deserves more time.

4.)  Spend more time showing my son the world around him and the wonder in it.  We live in a world that is increasingly pessimistic but our future leaders need to be optimistic if we are going to really create change.  I don’t want him to be a whiner like so many other people out there in the context of “If I yell loudly enough about this, somebody else will do the work for me” that I see so consistently on social media.

5.)  Commit myself every day to honorable conduct.  It’s not that I sluff off on Honor but reminding myself about honor makes it easier to make decisions…when I get confused about what to do, it is usually because I am not asking myself “What does honor require here?”

6.)  Learn to play a musical instrument.  I have a bunch…I want to learn guitar…after I am done typing I think I will go pick it up and begin playing with it…even learning a single song would be cool.

7.)  Sing for people.  I’ve been told I have a lovely voice, time to use it.

8.)  Stop letting caustic people steal my energy.  Seriously, there are some people out there that love when you waste your anger on them…

9.)  Honor and serve the land where my feet touch the Earth and all who dwell there.