In some ways, I felt this ritual was frustrating and dissatisfying. I was not able to get a clear "read" on this god of the sea (I think I have permission to call him Manannan for now, even if this isn't his true or only name), and the images during my meditation seemed murky and and uncertain. Perhaps this was because I had no formal invocation, but spent time simply asking for his presence in stumbling phrases. I'm not sure.
I sank into trance to the sense of my own breath and pulsing blood as the movement and sound of waves, ebb and flow, back and forth. It was almost as though I could feel my body swaying with the tides, as the waves lapped the shore of my body with every breath. I held the shell in my hand that had been a gift from the ocean when we were there in September. Cool and seemingly soft at first, it grew warm and hard in my hands as I breathe, feeling the push and pull within me, lulling me. Still, for a long time, I could not "see" anything the way I have when entering trances with Brigid Star Fire recently. Just the pulse and rhythm of the waves seemed to envelop me. After a time, it seemed to me that I was in a tiny wooden boat, rocking upon a huge, mighty ocean that stretched for miles in all directions so that I couldn't see the shore anywhere, only horizons of shimmering water on all sides. I sat for a while, feeling the tiny boat rocking beneath me, creaking, so small and fragile on that vast realm. I realized at one point that there were oars in the bottom of the boat, and I picked them up and made a few clumsy attempts to paddle, though I didn't know how and, in any case, did not know which way I should be moving.
An oar slipped out of my hand and, after floating for a moment, began to sink beneath the waves. Without thinking, I dove in after it, soon realizing that I, too, was now sinking and sinking, deeper and deeper, into the depths of the ocean. I felt the sensation of unthinkable depths stretching down below me into darkness, and the pressure of the water above me growing greater and greater as I sank. I remembered the experience of a vision from before, an encounter with the Lady of the Stars when she sent me plunging into the dark depths of the ocean, and like then, I tried to relax and allow my body to sink without fighting. I soon found that I was standing on the ocean's bottom in a midnight of water, no sun or starlight penetrating this deep. (All of this, though, came in only glimpses of trance that seemed murky and difficult to "hold onto.") Around me were bone-white coral reefs and silt kicked up by my walking. The enormous pressure of the ocean above me suddenly had me feeling flushed and overheated with exertion (even in the cool room of the study in my thin ritual dress). I bent down and saw, half buried in the sand of the ocean's floor, a shining object — when I bent down to pick it up, I discovered it was a perfectly circular, hand-held mirror. It reflected a silvery light that flashed and glinted. When I held it up to my eyes to peer into it, I caught a glimpse of my own face — I seemed to be made of blue fire, my hair drifting and dancing above me in dark blue-black curls and waves, my skin a deep, shimmering blue with hints and ripples of green — and as I looked in, I could sense somehow that the rest of me, too, looked this way, that I was clothed in the same shimmering, sheer-sparkling blue and green robes from the dream, and they swirled and turned about me in the currents of the water. Startled, I turned the mirror away from myself. It glimmered and caught light coming from somewhere.
Though I could not see the sun or moon coming through the waters, some light from above reflected in the mirror in one long beam of silvery light that shot up through the depths back towards the surface. As I turned the mirror, the beam of silvery light tilted and swerved, changed direction until I was holding the mirror before me, reflecting its beam as though it were a flashlight illuminating a path along the ocean floor. I began to follow where this beam of light led (as I walked, the pressure and heat seemed to ease, so that I again felt light and cool), and soon came across a deep underwater cave of tumbled, jumbled dark black rocks. I entered into the cave, and within it was a massive figure of a king, who reminded me more than a little of King Triton from the Disney movie, The Little Mermaid: friendly and old, white-haired and wise. I asked him if he was Manannan, the sea god who came to me in dreams. And the figure began to laugh, a great booming laugh that was more a thundering of the water than a sound itself, and it went on and on, a bass note pulsing through the ocean in all directions. After a moment, it started to seem almost mechanical, like the giant, frightening head in the Wizard of Oz. On an impulse, I lifted the silver moon-mirror again and, over my shoulder, caught sight of a smiling, mischievous younger face behind me. I swirled around in a quick turn, and there was the sea god I was more familiar with — a smaller, younger figure, not thin but healthy and muscular with not an ounce of fat on him, sleek but thick like a dolphin, hair waving with kelp and seaweed. The figure of the king behind me seemed now, quite obviously as though it'd always been, covered with lichen and coral and other bits of crumbling, eerie sea anemones, so that even the crown itself was some bits of coral and fronds. I felt as though I could scrape away the layers with my fingernail. I felt confused and unable to focus well. I held out the shell that I had been carrying, the gift I had received from the ocean, as though showing my ticket or invitation to a party, my explanation for being there. Manannan took the shell from me and blew into its narrow end as though it were an instrument, and sure enough, out of its bell-shaped, wider opened end there unfurled a bouquet of lavish underwater fronds and floral-looking plants blossoming in reds and purples. It was ridiculous and silly — yet, when he handed it back to me, it seemed utterly precious and the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
I could not ask him questions, I felt incapable of either articulating any or being able to hear or listen for any answers. I was not able to hold any image for long. Yet when I tried to ask Manannan if he would help me with my Saturn Return work, I got the sense that this king in the underwater cave was, in some ways, connected to that work and to my perception of authority — some laughing, mechanical fake or fraud, in some way, unresponsive, perhaps antiquated and crusted over, and certainly not what it seems. I also seemed to get the sense that this type of meditation was not going to work as well with Manannan as it has seemed to with Brigid — that my way to connect with and communicate with him was going to be much more visceral and embodied, less cerebral (and it wasn't until this that I realized just how "in the head" much of my connection with Brigid has been in my rituals, very visual and auditory). My relationship with Manannan, if there was going to be one, if I decided I wanted one, was going to be much more about experiencing the Divine within myself, the feelings and sensations that weave together my body and my emotions as sometimes strange, impenetrable mysteries. I got the strong sense — though not in words — that this work would be about energy and sensuality, about spending time in ritual simply sitting with the feeling of the ocean and its presence in my very blood and body and breath. As these impressions arose in me, I found it impossible to stay "in" the trance, but at the same time felt again that pulsing of my breath and blood and the rhythm and sound of the waves washing up the shore, as I had at the beginning. I spent some time simply sitting with and experiencing this sensation in my body, and as I did, I found my heartbeat increasing, growing excited, and a kind of sensual longing rising within me similar to what I had felt in my dream.
I am not at all sure this will help me with my Saturn Return work, or if this will be an appropriate relationship to pursue while also trying to cultivate my relationship with Brigid Star Fire. I felt, despite the experiential connection with the sea as I breathed in trance, that afterwards I had very few answers or indications about what I should or could be doing, what direction to go in.
I drew three cards in divination as part of the ritual: one for the shore (right), one for the horizon (left), and one for the deep (center). The cards I drew were:
I am not sure what to make of this reading (and want to borrow Jeff's newest book on the tarot to explore some more intuitive ways of reading the cards, as well as perhaps begin to branch out into alternative forms of divination, like the ogham). It seems to me that the Eight of Wands on the shore represents the beginning of adventure, the activity and energy of a new endeavor (perhaps as a previous one comes to an end), casting chance to the winds to see where things might lead. Ace of Cups on the horizon seems to represent a kind of ideal, where water meets sky, and the gift and promise of the sea as that place of reflection and connection, source and renewal. The Ten of Wands is a card of pressure and responsibility, even one that could indicate taking on too much, more than you can handle, and facing the possibility of choosing to lay down some of those burdens (or realize that the world does not depend on you). Yet in the position of the deep, it seems to also indicate the sense of just how great a pressure there is upon the oceans, which truly are responsible for all life on the planet, and the burden that is held lightly, but seriously and loyally. That the majority of the cards in this drawing should be wands, a suit of fire, seems somehow out of sync and not what I would expect from a connection with Manannan. (But Manannan is also a magician and a trickster figure... perhaps the wand as magician's tool has a place here?)
All in all, the ritual leaves me feeling just as uncertain and confused as I was before, and feeling no closer to being able to handle the coming Saturn Return with any special help or insight. Still, maybe a commitment to regular "sensual" practice is exactly what I need to help balance out the over-analytical side of me and ground me in my emotions and intuitions. I'm just not sure....
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