Meeting the Gods

One of the many things that I need to mention in an update is that Jeff and I have been working through a book on ritual and magic together for the past couple weeks. We realized that we tended to want to just hang out and relax together in the evenings, but our primary way of doing that was watching television, which wasn't great. Since he and I are so similar in our hobbies, most of which are solitary pursuits like writing, we spent some time brainstorming what we might do together in the evenings when we just wanted to relax a bit. When we first began dating, we did regular meditative work together (following along with Emma Restall Orr's Living Druidry course), spending time hillwalking in the local park and then sitting in meditation on a particular theme, with discussion afterwards. I have fond memories of that work, and I've been feeling a revitalizing interest in more formal ritual practice now that my mundane life has calmed somewhat and we're fairly well grounded and established out here in Seattle. So we thought returning to that kind of work might be fruitful.

So we're working through Penczak's book, The Outer Temple of Witchcraft, which was one of the early books I bought years ago when I was first looking into ritual and magic in a Pagan context. I remembered this book as being a lot about the creative, aesthetic work of crafting personal rituals.... but it's definitely interesting revisiting it now that I have nearly a decade of Pagan practice under my belt (the tenth anniversary of my first Pagan ritual is coming up this summer solstice, if you can believe it!). For one thing, I don't remember the book being nearly as logically inconsistent as it actually is. Or, I should say, maybe just poorly articulated. Many of the theological ideas mentioned in the book are simplistic, but then it is meant to be a kind of "Pagan 101" type of book. On the other hand, it's been so long since I read this kind of book that it gives me a new appreciation of the hard polytheists' complaints about "soft polytheism." It also gives me new ire at being lumped in with so-called "soft polytheism," since the polytheism as it appears in Peczack's book isn't very different from my own theology. The biggest thing the book has going for it is that it includes lots of practical exercises. Maybe that's ironic, considering the usual defense of somewhat sloppy theology in modern Paganism is that it's more focused on praxis than doctrine. Many of the practices seem to be helpful and to at least have the potential to lead to real spiritual authenticity and insight. I suspect half the problem is that Chris might just not be very good at articulating some of the deeper complexities involved in a nuanced polytheistic view. It might be that on the whole, he's not even all that interested in the theological aspect, but holds lightly to just enough belief to explain why his practices are meaningful. I've always been the kind of person who needs more, who needs to engage intellectually with my practices and beliefs as well as emotionally and physically through ritual. On the other hand, I feel kind of laissez-faire about Penczak. He was obviously articulate enough to give me a viable way into a new religion back when I needed it (even though he is also probably a big reason why Wicca/Witchcraft never really resonated with me), and on the whole his sloppiness might be relatively harmless so long as it doesn't become dogmatic sloppiness used to abuse or manipulate or exploit.

After working through the introduction and doing a few basic exercises in meditation and visualization just to "get back to basics," Jeff and I moved onto the chapter on the gods (or, in the Wiccan approach, the God and Goddess and their many different manifestations). This chapter wasn't of much value in terms of its content, since Penczak spends a lot of time discussing how the various deities from different cultures fit into a broader scheme of archetypes. It might be of some interest if done carefully with a mind to comparative religion or mythology (I'm not ready to just throw my hands up and declare that there aren't any meaningful patterns among the deities of different cultures), but Penczak doesn't have the expertise to do that and in any case that would have been a book all its own. Instead, he gives a list-like run down of a bunch of different gods and goddesses, each with a paragraph or two explaining their associations within their respective culture. Much of this is perfectly fine, if a bit simplified; but there are also enough examples of him getting specifics wrong or applying his system of categorization in ways that obscure the particularities of a given deity in cultural context that, in general, it's not exactly a resource I would turn to for reliable information.

What it was valuable for, though, was prompting me to think more about how we get to know deities in general. As sloppy as Penczak's approach seems, there's something to be said for diving in and getting to know a deity personally before (or along with) doing the academic research. I realized that I tend to be a bit of a god-stalker. To use the metaphor of personal relationships with people, there's something to be said for first impressions, even if they're incomplete and maybe even false in some ways. Imagine if someone is intrigued by a new acquaintance, and so obsessively tries to memorize all of their personal and family history, scouring public records to find out their likes and dislikes and plumping the local community gossip for details.... And then tries to interact with that person in terms of all of this compiled information, as if that person were a collection of facts instead of an individual. That someone would probably be considered a creepy stalker. And one reason for that would be because they were trying to have complete control over the relationship and dictate its terms, instead of building a relationship as a mutual project with the other person. The point I'm getting at is that, if we take seriously the idea that gods are real (in whatever sense) and individual (again, not necessarily as hard polytheism defines that concept, but at least in a meaningful way) -- then we should trust that building a relationship with deity is a partnership, not a research project, and that it might proceed in an authentic and meaningful way even if we don't know "all" the facts. Knowledge and intimacy are built up between two people over years and years, and aren't necessarily things that can be gleaned from a book on ancient history. We might just have to respect that the gods are going to interact with us on their own terms, and that only aspects of their much deeper and broader realities will ever be shown to us.

This might sound obvious -- and in fact, it sounds very similar to what I've heard some hard polytheists themselves say -- and yet, I don't often see this attitude being upheld through actual behavior, especially when it comes to how people actually talk about and treat their relationships with the gods. This might be yet another place where the term "UPG" does a big disservice to the whole conversation, relegating personal relationship and personal meaning-making to the same category as "fluffy bunny" I-saw-it-in-a-dream kind of stuff and setting it in distinction to (or even in opposition with) scholarly research into "legitimate" primary sources. (The whole issue of what gets counted as legitimate and the fact that the academic world is in no way free of socio-political and personal biases is something I'm not even going to get into now.)

In any case, I'm pretty sure that I god-stalked Brigid, and this was one of the reasons our relationship got a bit stilted for a while. It'd be like getting hung up on whether your new boyfriend likes yams or not, and obsessing about the "deeper meaning" of these types of trivial details instead of focusing on aspects of your relationship that were directly relevant to both of you in the here and now. (Sure, maybe later you come to understand how that boyfriend grew up in the south as a nerdy Buddhist outsider and his dislike of yams maybe gives you some insight into that in some weird way... but without that kind of context, which is only built over time, you could totally ruin a relationship by obsessing over it and trying to "figure him out." Believe me, I know. I once dated an engineer.) I was so busy trying to make all the trivia I could find about her fit into some coherent picture, that I neglected nurturing a real relationship with her more directly.

The irony is that when Artemis showed up, it blew my desire for a Celtic-specific practice out of the water and forced me to deal with the issue of relating to a deity on her own terms. I disliked Ancient Greek culture so much for being misogynistic and patriarchal, that I refused to do the normal obsessive research that I might do otherwise. I didn't really want to totally rework my practice (and my life) in order to make my work with Artemis be culturally contextual. So what ended up happening was that over the last half a year plus, I've spent much more time connecting with her more directly (and supplementing my understanding of her and my relationship with her with research here and there when it's appropriate). And that approach has also influenced my relationship with Brigid, so that it too is getting stronger again. (Though, as I think I've mentioned, stress from the marriage and the move also probably had something to do with that.)

So now that I'm in relationship with not one, but two of the most stereotypically popular goddesses among modern Pagans... I guess the only thing left for me to do is start worshipping the Morrigan, or maybe Odin or Cernnunous, and we'll be all set to hit the fluff bunny trifecta.

~
So it was in that general spirit that I approached last night's ritual/meditative work, an exercise meant to help a new Pagan meet a couple of gods. The guided meditation involved traveling along the World Tree first to the underworld and then to the upperworld, where you would presumably meet a face of the Goddess and the God, respectively (though Penczak does say that you might encounter two goddesses or two gods, since there are deities of both genders associated with both realms). Since Jeff and I work more with the three realms of Land, Sea and Sky than with an underworld/upperworld dualism, we adapted the meditation somewhat to suit our own purposes. But I went into the ritual with the attitude of seeing whatever or whoever might show up, not trying to force any expectation or assume any definitive answers about the identity of the gods or guides or whoever if any did appear. I wanted to hold the work loosely. I also wanted to set aside my general unease with people who want to rush into relationships with as many gods as they can find, as though they were action figures to be collected. Since I tend to be somewhat introverted in my human relationships, I tend to lean towards henotheism in my spiritual life; but lately I've been noticing how I can tend to be a bit one-sided in my life at times, and so I wanted to see this as an opportunity to meet some guides or companions who would be willing to work with me towards a better balance and more "inner" diversity.

The meditation was actually kind of amazing. By the end of it, I felt like I couldn't keep a stupid grin off my face.

To begin, Jeff and I did a simple centering meditation and verbally "cast the circle" as a way of establishing sacred space. Again, I don't agree with all of the theological aspects of Penczak's approach, but in my work I've found it very useful to establish sacred space through ritual and visualization, especially when working in what is normally a mundane space like the den. (I don't do this as thoroughly when we're doing our rituals outside in the woods, and I probably wouldn't feel like it was as necessary in an indoor space established for that purpose either. But I digress because I feel the need to justify why I don't agree with the ADF Core Ritual and I'm still solidly in the Revival Druidry tradition.) Then Jeff and I spent half an hour in silent meditation, with a gentle bell going off every ten minutes so give us some indication of when we should move on to the next of the Three Realms.

I should mention that I am out of practice with visualization during meditation, so even though I'm writing this out as a narrative, the experience was somewhat more jumbled, with images and sensations sometimes repeating themselves while at other times feeling like they were just outside my peripheral vision. I seemed to improve as the meditation went on, but in general I've never been fantastic at visualizing and so when I describe things that the gods said or showed me, it's more like these were things that I was sort of made to understand, and not an experience of actually hearing words or anything.

I began by standing in front of a massive western red cedar as the "World Tree" -- it's a tree I've been to in meditation before, so old that at its base there is a hollow that goes completely through the tree, creating a kind of archway or doorway, with a small space within. I placed my hands on the bark and spoke my intent of traveling to the Three Realms to meet a god or guide to help me in my spiritual work. Then I entered the tree through the archway. To the left was an opening in the inner heartwood of the tree that led down in a spiraling staircase. I traveled down and down until eventually I emerged on a beach.

The shore was rocky, covered with tumbled stones about the size of my fist and all different colors, and the waves were washing up and down the shore, the water trickling down through the rocks here and there. The wind was strong and smelled like the sea, and gulls wheeled in the air, crying out their piercing calls. For a while, there didn't seem to be anyone there at all and I wasn't sure I was going to meet anyone after all. But then, eventually, I seemed to see the figure of a woman out in the water, sort of forming and dissolving again out of the waves and sea foam. She seemed very far away, out on the water, and I wondered if maybe the tide was at an ebb and I would have to wait for it to rise again before she would come closer. But then I got the distinct impression that I was supposed to walk out to see her. So I walked out onto the water, walking across it until I was far out from shore, at which point I kind of sunk down beneath the waves to an underwater city. Even though I was beneath the water, the city itself did not appear to be under water (in other words, it was just a normal city, not like something you'd see in the Little Mermaid or something), and I walked and breathed normally as if I were still on land. I found myself wandering around a great palace full of large rooms, with the female figure always just out of sight but still present and keeping me company. In one room, I came across a hand mirror -- it's surface was silvery and liquid almost like water, and its rim was white and glistening like pearl. It seemed to me to be connected with the moon, especially with the full moon. I couldn't see the female figure, but she was there, and I tried to ask her who she was, which goddess she might be, but I could get no answer from her. Instead, she encouraged me to pay attention to my sensations while I was in that realm and to think about other times that it reminded me of. It felt as though everything was current and flow, and that my boundaries were porous -- as if, because my body was mostly water and my surroundings were mostly water, that my own edges were blurred and in flux. When there was movement in the distance, I felt that movement ripple towards me like a current within my own body, as if everything was connected. The goddess suggested to me that this was what the deep past and the realm of the ancestors and memory was like, all things fluid and moving together, influenced and shaped by that connection; and that it was also like the realm of death, when the body dissolves back into the earth and the sense of self expands to embrace and include within it all things.

At that point, the bell rang and it was time to move on to the next realm, so I thanked the goddess and asked her to show me the way to the next realm, the Sky. She showed me a spiraling staircase that I followed, up and up, climbing a long way. At first the stair case seemed to be made of rough stone and coral, then it turned to smooth stone, then eventually to crystal and then finally, in the upper reaches, to blazing light and air itself. I came to a doorway and stepped through to find myself in a beautiful, sunlit meadow.

The landscape was idyllic, a perfect blend of spring and summer -- flowers were blooming everywhere and the breeze was fresh, but it was warm (not like how it can be a bit chilly still sometimes in the spring) and the grass was lush and the trees, too, had put out young leaves. I noticed that the leaves, and in fact everything, seemed half translucent with light penetrating them like living stained glass. In the meadow were a myriad colorful butterflies and birds flitting everywhere, the birds filling the air with birdsong, and the sky seemed huge, bright blue with huge, puffy clouds drifting through it. High above, I saw the silhouette of a hawk circling and spiraling, and it grew closer and closer to where I was walking through the meadow. Then suddenly, before me was a man with wings -- looking very much like your typical angel -- great huge wings with white feathers sprouting from his shoulder blades behind him, his whole being radiant with sunlight. I was a bit confused, and asked him if he wasn't just an expression of my animus (also feeling a bit miffed at myself for my meditation conforming so neatly to the gender dualism that I'd been trying to avoid when adapting the meditation). He seemed to shake off the question, sort of ignoring it but in a way that seemed to almost suggest that, on the contrary, my animus was more like an expression of him. His wings seemed to fade or be there only intermittently, and the hawk -- a very large hawk with feathers that shimmered golden and bronze in the sunlight -- landed on his shoulder and from then on seemed inseparable from him, so that sometimes it seemed that just the hawk alone was there. Again, I kept trying to ask him who he was, what his name was, which deity he might be, but he seemed to shrug off the questions as somewhat unimportant or besides the point. He encouraged me, like the sea goddess had, to pay close attention to my sensations as I walked through the Sky realm. It seemed like, just as in the realm of the sea, everything were connected, but in a very different way. Instead of feeling submerged and porous in a fluid world of currents, I felt everything with a certain immediacy, as if these connections moved as fast as thought -- I could see a bird in the distance, and as quickly as I spotted it, my understanding was there with it, even within it experiencing the world as it experienced it. Instead of the world being thick with connection, it seemed like the world -- space and time -- were especially thin, sort of (though I don't think that's the best way to describe it). The sky god put it into words for me by making me to understand that, in the Realm of the Sea, all things penetrated you; whereas in the Realm of the Sky, you penetrated all things. Just as the blood in my body moves in currents that I can feel in every part of me, but when I breathe, the air penetrates me, a cool breath that goes deep into my lungs. As quickly as you could recognize your ignorance or your limitations, you could master them or navigate them with ease, so that he was associated with skill and mastery and the height of civilization, as well as insight and wisdom. This reminded me of Lugh of the Long Arm, and I asked him if that was who he was -- I did not get a straight answer from him, but he did present me with a long, bright spear that seemed to be a symbol in the same way that the mirror had. Just as I experienced the movement reflected in the mirror as my own movement, currents within myself and penetrating me, so I experienced the flight of the spear as my own flight, quick and piercing through the air.

Then, the bell rang again and it was time to visit the third realm, so I asked him to show me the way to the realm of the Land. He pointed me to a place that looked at first like a bit of underbrush on the edge of the meadow, but I saw then that it was a cliff and the underbrush was in fact the canopy of a great tree. I began to climb down the tree, branch by branch, until I was back at the base of the same cedar. I walked through the archway created by its trunk, this time passing straight through as if it were a threshold.

On the other side was a lush, wild forest, thick with undergrowth, huge trees, everything teeming with life and covered with a carpet of green in mosses and ferns and mushrooms and the like. I had the sudden, overwhelming sense of movement, and I was running through the forest, bounding past trees, jumping over rocks and fallen logs, with my heart pounding in my chest. I realized at one point that I was running with a pack of hounds, like hunting dogs, though they didn't appear to be hunting but just running in a pack. I thought that maybe here I would meet Artemis, and just as I was wondering this, up ahead, there she was. She wore antlers on her head, though only small ones with one or two prongs, and she was clad in a short leather tunic. She was amazingly slender and quick, and in every way seemed to embody the energy of a deer as she bounded through the forest, her dark hair flying out behind her. For a while, I just ran with her and the dogs, but eventually I felt like if we kept up this running I wouldn't have a chance to really talk to her at all, so I called out to ask if maybe we might pause for a rest for a little while. She stopped so abruptly that I was caught up short, and her whole body was tense and listening, very much like a deer that has heard a sound and freezes, waiting to hear it again. Eventually, she relaxed and turned towards a clearing, where a pool of fresh spring water bubbled up from the earth and babbled away off into the woods as a small stream. She sat by the pool, leaning to sip some of the fresh water, and I swear it was like a Disney movie, with a bunch of animals coming out of the forest to join her. Birds flitted about in the trees, and the hounds lazed about, with a couple of deer only a few yards away leaning down their slender necks to drink. I also saw a bear, like a dark shadow moving among the trees, and this made me think of Artemis' connection with the bear and how, just then, she seemed so different from that aspect, much more like a deer. As if in response to this thought, she got up from where she was sitting, and now instead of the small antlers, she was wearing a kind of cloak made of bearskin, with the head of the bear like a hood pulled up over her hair. She began to dance in the clearing -- at first, putting her hands up like claws and doing a move that looked like it was right out of Michael Jackson's music video for "The Thriller." When I scoffed in surprise and incredulity, she got down on all fours and started dancing and scampering around -- not on hands and knees, but with her hands and feet, so that her backside stuck up ridiculously in the air as she trundled around. The joy and silliness seemed to radiate off of her and she seemed very much to embody a kind of child-like state of wonder and excitement (but in a way that was deeply wise and knowing at the same time). Then I thought of her possible connection with the moon, as well, and I asked her about that, since the sea goddess I had met seemed to be connected more directly to the moon through the silver-and-pearl mirror. Suddenly, I saw the image of the new crescent moon, just past a sliver, when you can just barely see the still-dark sphere of the rest of the moon outlined against the evening sky and the sliver of light seems less like the moon itself than like a crack between two worlds. She snatched up her bow and pulled it taut with an arrow notched, and the bow seemed to be illuminated in the same way -- which, she made me to understand, was why sometimes her bow and arrows were described as silver and sometimes as gold. She said that the realm of the sacred land was a place of liminality and edges, much more so than the other two realms. She said that we tended to think of the physical, material world as the most mundane and easy to comprehend, but it was in fact the most liminal and enchanted of all. She said that the physical world was a world of surfaces -- that we could only know the surface of things in this way, and never the inside of anything, since if we tried to break it open to get at the "inside," what was internal would withdraw and we would find ourself with nothing but just another surface. To demonstrate, she picked up a rock, and then broke it open so that instead of being a smooth, rounded stone, it was now a kind of rough geode along the broken side -- but this, too, was just a new surface now newly exposed to the world and it was still impossible to see the "inner-ness" of the thing. I understood that she was not just talking about the strange mystery of the physical, material world of nature, but also my sense of her playfulness (and pop culture references to Disney and Michael Jackson) as threatening to be somehow shallow or superficial. She was challenging me on this view, intentionally provoking me to see this realm not as superficial, but as liminal and mysterious, interconnected through those very surfaces and the way they rubbed up against all the other surfaces (and yet also withheld something far more intimate than what penetrated or was penetrating in the other two realms).

By the time the final bell rang, her joy and playfulness had become somewhat infectious, and when I thanked her and returned to the World Tree to end my meditation, I found that I couldn't wipe a somewhat goofy grin off my face.

So that experience went very well, and I am intrigued by these two new deities that I seem to have met. I'm looking forward to continuing this work and exploring these new relationships to see where they lead.

Saturn Return: Weekly Meditation (Crossing Ascendent)

Days of Note: Saturn crosses Ascendent

Sun: sagittarius (mutable fire), 7:26 AM - 4:54 PM
Moon: *waxing gibbous, aries (cardinal fire)
Earth: cold, in the mid-to-low 40s most of the day, starting out quite sunny but then fading to gray, cloudy weather; not that I would know, as I spent pretty much all day inside working on various things, but mostly writing


Last night I had a dream that my aunt Tricia, who works from home as a baker of wonderful homemade cakes, cookies and pies, etc., had decided that she wanted to quit baking and go into taxidermy. (Apparently, this dream was probably inspired by a scene from an episode of X-Files that Jeff and I watched together last night, which I was only half paying attention to at the time and must have gotten into my subconscious.) Anyway, in the dream, my aunt decided she really wanted to be a taxidermist, she was fascinated by it. But the only tools she knew how to use were things like blenders and egg beaters. I have some vague visual impression in my mind of some poor animal carcass being tamped down into the thin, tapering container of a blender, the lid fitted on nicely and the switch flipped, resulting in that lovely whirring and the spinning of blood and bone and fur and bits all into a uniform pinkish paste.

This might not have anything to do with anything, but I thought I would jot it down.

I started writing this journal entry at 11:11 PM, though I doubt I'll be finished with it until what is technically Sunday morning. I'm wide awake and not feeling the least bit tired - which is indicative of my sleep schedule these days, where sometimes I feel so lethargic I can't pull myself out of bed before 10 AM, and other days I'm awake before dawn (which, as dark as the days are, isn't really that hard anyway) with plenty of energy to spare. This morning, I woke up at around 5 AM and tossed and turned a bit before finally giving up and getting up entirely at about 6:30 AM. Jeff had to leave to get the kids, and I fell back asleep for another few hours, so I suppose it all evened out. We'll see how I am tomorrow morning. (Jeff, who slept downstairs on the futon because he'd been snoring a lot lately, hardly slept at all last night because of various worries about this weekend, so now he's excused and sound asleep despite me still being awake.)

I hadn't planned to do much work today - or rather, I'd planned to at least try to clean and organize the basement some in preparation for our up-coming move. But two of the four kids were sick with some kind of stomach bug (which had them on a bland diet of food, though neither of them really acted all that sick - it was a nice excuse for everyone to stay quiet and relaxed in bed reading or drawing for much of the day), so thoughts of trying to organize some kind of cleaning extravaganza were out. At one point I sat down to check out John's recent post on No Unsacred Place, which was excellent as usual, and that was the kick in the ass I needed to sit down and work on the piece I'd wanted to do for this coming week about the recent news coming out of the science journals about LUCA, the Last Universal Common Ancestor, being a single, planet-sized mega-organism very similar to a "living ocean" of genetic soup. A pretty cool concept. So I spent all day researching various creation myths from different cultures and drawing comparisons between these and the scientific evidence they have for LUCA, pointing out some of the common themes of primordial chaotic waters, a moment when separation and individuation begins to occur, and the idea of a god being dismembered and the parts of his (or her) corpse being used to actually make the world.

So even though I didn't have any time really to do some formal Saturn Return meditation as I'd planned, I ended up doing quite a bit of contemplation on some of those primordial ancient themes about dissolution, death, separation, limitation and the power of form. Some of the Greek myths actually involve Kronos/Saturn himself, so... there's that.

I find myself really connecting to this idea of a common genetic ancestor in the ancient primordial oceans as a living being that is both an ancestor and a god(dess). This just really jives for me. It works well with my more animistic sensibilities which can sometimes shy away from being overly metaphorical or psychological about the gods and would rather rejoice in and celebrate the Actual Sun Right There See There It Is than in some idea of a sun deity in the abstract. On the other hand, though, it also gives some context to Manannan as a "son of the sea" without having to bear the burden of being the literal sea itself. Manannan mac LUCA, perhaps. Manannan has continued to be an important god to me, and I think I've reconciled myself to just him and Brighid for the time being as a working pair who play nicely together. Manannan is a god of the threshold, the liminal space of the mists, the psychopomp who leads the dead into the other realm, the trickster who will turn things upside-down just for the sake of teasing and challenging. I think there are definitely some parallels here between Manannan (and Manawydan from Welsh mythology) and the figure of Saturn. And strangely enough, while I think of Saturn primarily as a planet and, after that, as some kind of psychological archetype and energetic influence, I find it a lot easier to think of Manannan as an actual god, personified, and able to help me with the Saturn Return. I have no sense that he is Kronos/Saturn, any more than Jeff is, say, Commander Samuel Vimes. But the "real" god Manannan has some understanding of the character/nature/influence of the psychological archetype of Saturn and can give me some insight - like we can have a discussion about it and share our perspectives, in the same way Jeff and I can talk about the characters in Pratchett's books and he can give me insight into what it's like to be a father, something I wouldn't know as much about.

One thing that I was reflecting on just now while I was reading and trying to fall asleep was the nature of Saturn's recent transit through my twelfth house in Libra, the sign and house of my natal moon. I think it was Arroyo who said that Saturn can have a lasting influence when passing through the sign and house of the moon, even when it's not in exact or close aspect to the moon itself. I don't remember precisely when transiting Saturn was exactly conjunct my natal moon, but I do know that the moon is associated with a lot of "mommy issues" - coming to terms with the mother's influence in the family and the inner archetype of the mother in the psyche, as well as grappling with ancestral influences of all kinds that have been "inherited" on the psychic or psychological level. With my moon in Libra, I wonder if I have a particular sensitivity to concepts of fairness, justice, balance and beauty being manifested in the role of the mother - whether by myself or by other "mothers" in my life.

Saturn has been transiting my twelfth house for about two years now, I think. It's soon to cross my ascendent and enter my first house. In fact, looking up my chart just now (at 11:48 PM on Saturday, December 3) I see that transiting Saturn is within 13 minutes of my ascendent and the cusp of my first house. So... maybe that's why I'm suddenly feeling a certain amount of energy and clarity around these issues.

Anyway, as I was lying in bed I suddenly saw all the various ways in which the energy and influence of the mother had been manifesting in my life in ways that provoked my anger or frustration over a sense of violated fairness or justice - in particular in my relationship with Jeff's ex-wife and biological mother to my stepchildren, who has consistently attempted to act in the role of controlling "Mama Bear" figure to both me and Jeff as well as the kids. It hit me that I had been grappling with two issues that were often put at odds with one another.

On the one hand, I wanted things to be Fair - both in the sense of being just and balanced, and also beautiful and harmonious. This led me to a lot of conflict on Jeff's behalf when I felt that his rights as a father were being trampled on or ignored, when he didn't get "his fair share" of time with the kids (even when him having more time with them, and the struggle to get and keep that time that was often involved, left both of us feeling worn out, exhausted and stressed). I also made a lot of judgements - emotionally and ethically - about Emily choosing to stay home and be a "mom," even going on to have another child with her new husband, instead of stepping up to be an "equal partner" in both the divorce (by pulling her weight with joint debt from the previous marriage) and in her own new marriage (which, I will be the first to admit, is none of my business, though I sure do have opinions about it). This judgement - and I won't say it was judgmental necessarily, but it was a judgement, certainly - often had me worrying about the kind of example she was setting for the kids, and my own response was to push back - to balance out her example by becoming even more ambitious (Saturn!) in my own role not as a stepmom but as a "career woman" and female adult role model to the kids. This was me pushing back against the figure of the mother - both in external form and my own potential role - and seeking instead another kind of authority. That has Saturn's influence written all over it.

On the other hand, I also had already learned the lesson - which Saturn had helped teach me before - that to find a harmonious balance it is often important to let go, to release certain emotional blockages or stubborn opinions and to give up being the kind of person who has to control every little thing to make sure it all comes out alright. This was a lesson that I actually learned from my own mother, by bad example. Seeking too much control in a world that is by its very nature so much bigger and more complex than you could ever possibly understand is the very recipe for out of control stress and paranoia. This is what happened to my mother to some extent (though I have to admit that in recent years, perhaps because of the change in her career and my brother and I no longer living at home, she does seem to be improving on this in small ways). The whole thing was, in fact, a lesson all about boundaries and limits (hello again, Saturn old friend!), learning to understand the extent of your own control and when not to push beyond them but instead accept them and trust in the greater harmonies of the universe (there's Saturn, straddling that liminal space between the concrete manifestations of the inner planets and the influences of fate and cosmic force of the outer planets). This was a lesson I knew very well, and something that I continued to affirm to myself consciously. But I was completely piss-poor at actually following through and listening to my own better judgement.

So here were two urges that were definitely working at odds to one another. The urge on the one hand to make sure things were fair and just and balanced - and the desire on the other hand not to become like my own mother and like Jeff's ex-wife, both of whom were excellent examples of the immaturity and stress that characterizes a "control freak" who uses their good intentions to justify their paranoid manipulations and micro-management of everyone around them (essentially being a "mother" to everyone and not being able to trust others to do what's fair or harmonious on their own). Confronted with the glaring evidence that Jeff's ex-wife had no interest in being fair - I think mainly simply because she was incapable of stepping outside of her own perspective in order to see how what she wanted was unfair - it was an incredible challenge for me not to respond by trying to control her.

My response, and something I had to work on with Jeff a lot, was a process of affirming our personal boundaries. It took a lot of push-back and a great deal of stress and hard work every time we were confronted with Emily's tendency to act entitled to private information about our lives that were none of her business or to bombard Jeff with unsolicited emails full of advice about issues of which she had little to no actual knowledge. We worked hard, as a couple and equal partners in the matter, to help each cope with that stress and reaffirm our right to establish clear, healthy boundaries. But mostly, it sucked. I've been getting down on myself a lot over the past couple years about my feelings of having failed at this work, or at least of having responded in ways that were not helpful or healthy. And definitely there were times when our attempts to establish strong boundaries crossed the line into an attempt to control or compensate for Emily's disrespectful or manipulative behavior. But looking back now, I actually feel like we did an okay job. One recent change came about when I broke down and asked some folks on an internet forum if they had any resources that might help. One person responded and pointed me to the "Ten Commandments for Low-Contact Parallel Parenting with High-Drama Ex's." (The idea of having a short, authoritative list of simple rules to follow.... yeah, Saturn, you bet.) Jeff and I read this over, saw a lot of ways that we were already following the techniques suggested and a lot of other places where we could improve. So we started following the rules, and we sent a copy of them to Emily asking her to abide by them as well. (This was after we caught her in a bald-faced lie about one of the kids' health issues, which for us was the final straw and, in some ways, a relief that her manipulation could no longer be denied or explained away.... though of course, that didn't stop her from trying.)

That was about two months ago now, I think. Today, Jeremy confronted Jeff when he went to pick up the kids to let him know that two of them weren't feeling well - and for good measure threw in his own two cents about how "this silent treatment isn't having the effect we [Jeff and I] were hoping it would have." The comment had Jeff fuming when he got home, but he and I talked about it and were able to laugh off the continued arrogance and immaturity. I pointed out to him that our stress has definitely gone down and we don't waste nearly as much time in pointless conflict with Emily; meanwhile, we have more energy when we do have the kids and less anxiety over every little issue that might somehow make its way back to us, so our time with them is more enjoyable than it was before. Whatever Jeremy and Emily think, the technique is most definitely doing what we'd hoped it would do on our end. Jeremy simply declaring that it wasn't working - without asking Jeff's feelings on the matter - was just one more example of why the Low-Contact Parenting techniques were a good idea after all.

One of the things that I think was most helpful about the Low-Contact Parenting was that it helped us to recognize when we were crossing the line from "affirming healthy boundaries" to "pushing back and trying to control others." With rules that restrict our email use to only short messages pertaining specifically to the kids themselves and that avoid intentionally provocative language, for instance, we're forced to catch ourselves before we shoot off that obnoxious letter that we secretly hope will smack Emily back into her place and divest her of any delusions she has about our opinion. The rules work because they ask us to turn a critical eye back onto our own behavior and to recognize when we're demanding something that we should probably just not expect given what is and is not within our reasonable ability to control. These rules give us a structure whereby we can learn how to find a balance between our sense of fairness and our need to appreciate our limits. (And I'm using "we" a lot here because it's something Jeff and I have mostly worked on together, but in many ways this is a lot about my own issues.) But all of this only came after we had done the difficult work of establishing boundaries that could safely secure at least a minimum amount of real fairness and equality between Jeff and his ex when it came to the kids - including giving us the legal ground to stand on in order to negotiate for a fair and workable schedule for child custody after our move. If we hadn't done that necessary work of pushing back and establishing boundaries first - especially in Jeff's case, I think - we would have been in a position where an attitude of "it's out of our control" would have left us open to manipulation, exploitation and a certain amount of guilt.

So here I was being hard on myself about how we handled it when, looking back, maybe we did pretty much the best we could given the circumstances. We weren't perfect, but I think we've found some long-term sustainable ways to find that necessary balance and we were able to bring our more unseemly responses into check before they got out of hand and went too far. At least, right now I'm feeling hopeful and optimistic and so that's my present understanding of the situation. I'd love to hear what Jeff thinks of all of this. (He's asleep now - maybe I'll have a chance to talk to him tomorrow about it at some point.) I'm sure his perspective will be a bit different, considering the influences going on in his own chart right now. And maybe I'm completely wrong about this - I'm kind of making it up as I go, really, and he knows more about astrology than I do.

In any case, what began as a day spent contemplating the "primordial mother ocean" has ended up with some pretty startling thoughts about the energies of the moon-as-mother in relation to my Saturn Return. Perhaps leaving the twelfth house and crossing the ascendent means that these issues are be resolved, maybe "coming to light" in a more conscious way now that I'm moving out of the house of mystery and mysticism. I don't know. I hope so. I think it must be a good sign that I just happen to be awake and thinking about this during the time when transiting Saturn is coming into exact aspect with my ascendent. That has to mean something, right? Like my willingness to be awake to this and open to it, to face it instead of just wanting to "go back to sleep" and ignore the lessons. I hope Manannan can help me stay open to the lessons I need to learn, and in the meantime help me to maybe not be quite so hard on myself if things seem like a struggle or I have to work hard. I think it's a really important insight, that coming to terms with our boundaries and limitations (Saturn) is also about learning how to trust in the greater universe. I just read an old tale about Manannan that someone randomly posted online the other day, about a shepherd who is on his way home with his sheep one evening when he runs into Manannan, who teases him about his certainty of the way and pulls down a confusing mist that shrouds his eyes and makes him lose his sheep. After bumbling about in the dark mists all night, Manannan finally relents and lifts the mist, for the shepherd to find that he was only a few yards from home with all his sheep safe and accounted for by his side - and Manannan joking that sometimes he just likes to play a prank for the joy of it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm in a similar position - stumbling around in the mist all night only to finally realize once the veil lifts away that I've been close to home all along and in no real danger. But I also have to wonder if maybe, if I didn't bumbled around quite so much and fret quite so loudly (and maybe sometimes comically), if Manannan wouldn't consider me quite so worth his attention. ;)

So with that thought, I'll call it a night.

Pilgrimage to the Angel Oak (and Folly Beach)

I didn't have my camera out very much during this trip (except for this first one, a photograph of the Angel Oak I took before we left), but there were a few occasions when Jeff snuck a few quick shots of me.



The Angel Oak







Me in meditation beneath the Angel Oak, performing the DOTR Three Realms Working (my version, with the Tree as bridge).







At the beach on Jeff's birthday — a few pictures of me enjoying a rare chance to swim in the ocean. (I couldn't see anything because I couldn't wear my glasses!) Apparently, I was out in the water for more than an hour.

Diary - Pilgrimage

Days of Note: Flamekeeping, Pilgrimage to the Angel Oak

Sun: gemini (mutable air), 6:15am - 8:19pm (Summerville, SC)
Moon: waning crescent, pisces (mutable water), VOC (through tomorrow evening)
Earth: another hot, sunny day down in South Carolina, with the air thick and muggy and a possible thunderstorm this afternoon (we can only hope); even when the sun is high, the sunlight is not the clear, bright sunlight of farther north, but a damper, heavier, somehow darker kind of light through which everything seems hazy - or perhaps it's only that even in the shade the heat dominates, so that nowhere is safe from the sunlight


Brigid always has a trick up her sleeve for me, it seems. I now have a Brigid's Cross burned between my breasts… or to be more precise, a pale uneven-cross of skin surrounded by the red-pink of sunburn. Last night at sundown when I began my Flamekeeping shift, I asked her to accept the gold Brigid's Cross pendant I always wear as a symbol of her flame because I could not keep a physical flame for her during this shift (even lighting a candle at all in our B&B room was technically not allowed, though I risked it for half an hour for my opening rite). The handmade flame pendant I usually wear is back home, embedded in wax where my usual Flamekeeping candle spilled over into the offering dish without my noticing. I'm not sure if I'll be able to get it out again without ruining it, since it didn't have any kind of protective finish on it, but in any case it was too late to try to salvage it just then when I was packing. I'm not sure if the sunburn is a sign of acceptance or a light slap on the wrist for not being better prepared to travel-while-Keeping. In any case, it wasn't entirely unexpected, considering we were out on the beach without sunscreen during the most intense part of the day….

I'm feeling slightly scatter-brained at the moment, which I expect is mostly from the heat and general late-afternoon fatigue. Both mornings we've been here now, we've been up at dawn to do some yoga and then gone running in the surrounding neighborhood, coming back to the B&B to shower and have a delicious breakfast downstairs. We're the only people in the house right now, though there's a man in the cottage apartment out in the backyard (we haven't seen him yet, but we've seen his car in the drive). We basically have this entire gorgeous French-style southern mansion to ourselves, and it's absolutely lovely. Getting out early in the morning to go running while it's still relatively cool (in the 70s) has me feeling so completely energized and fantastic, I'm hoping I can hold on to that habit when we get back home. Yesterday morning after a shower and breakfast, I spent some time in the lush, steamy garden in the back of the house while Jeff got some work done on the computer inside. I spent time in meditation sitting on a stone bench by one of the small fountains (guarded by a small moss-covered frog and a statue of the Amitabha Buddha).

This morning, though I was technically on Flamekeeping shift, I held off on my morning meditation because right after breakfast we made the hour-long drive to John's Island to see the Angel Oak tree. Last year we visited the tree on Earth Day in April, in the early evening just as the sun was in its golden hour (and the trip also happened to be during a Flamekeeping shift!). This year, we made it to the oak by mid-morning and again the sunlight was all golden and soft through the branches. There was hardly anyone around, and so Jeff and I split up and found spots to sit near the tree to do some meditation. The same feeling I had last year — of immensity and power and life-force emanating from the tree enough to make my heart quicken — was there again this morning. I noticed that the other tourists who wandered up to see the tree during our time there all had a tendency to lower their voices to a whisper, as if out of respect, and there was a natural hush about the place. Even though it's a tourist attraction now, it's hard for me to believe that it's not also a sacred place of power in spite of that. Even the way people arrived, a couple at a time but in a steady stream so that there was almost always at least one person around, a new person arriving just as the other was leaving, though you couldn't ever say the place was busy, and always it had that same hush and quiet and presence to it…. it almost seemed as though the tree were drawing people to it, few by few, like pilgrims attending to it, murmuring appreciative prayers of awe and praise. To sit under the tree for any length of time and watch this process was amazing, and just as it did last year, it left me with this strange sense that the tree was a sacred center or power or axis mundi around which the rest of the world turned, with us little humans coming to stand tiny at its feet and arrange our lives like love-worn dolls….

When we first arrived, a couple with a young toddler were just leaving and for a time we had the place all to ourselves. I sat at the base of the tree while Jeff wandered off somewhere else, and I sat in meditation for twenty minutes or so. First just breathing my awens and allowing myself to relax into the energy and presence of the place, then reaching out to perform (my version of) the DOTR Three Realms workings. The Tree as center and bridge between the watery depths of soul and the celestial heights of spirit was especially effective when I could feel the vast trunk of the Angel Oak behind me, lending support to my spine. During this meditation, my sense of grounding was so powerful, I felt as though I could sit there forever, still and unmoving, so solidly was I rooted in the earth. It's one of the most effective grounding experiences I've had in recent memory. I also experimented with Erynn Rowan Laurie's take on the Three Cauldrons meditation - though I used different hand gestures adapted from the "peace sign" meditation I'd been working on (with both hands placed on the ground to either side, then raised to the center in a namaste/prayer position, then raised up again — in this way, the gestures not only mimic a transformation of the peace sign from despair to rejoicing, but they also echo the Awen symbol in both invoking and evoking form).

A side note: part of me feels bad that I feel such an urge to adapt and change the practices I learn from others. Often the people teaching these techniques will say that they can be adapted or changed to suit personal approaches… but I often feel like this is more an attempt to be tolerant of diversity, and not really a whole-hearted encouragement to actually go about changing things. I do want to trust that certain ritual techniques have stood the test of time and have something to teach me… but it was easier to trust this way in Catholic rituals which really were hundreds, even thousands of years old. Druidry (and Paganism generally) is still so new, and there's a lot of variation in technique. I see similarities between different types of meditations and energy work that I can't overlook, and so these end up blending together in my practice to create rites and gestures that make sense to me. The way I perform a Three Realm Working is derived in part from Orion Foxwood's exercising in connecting to the local land (I forget its name at the moment), in which the "streams" from below and above are joined in the heart. It seems the Three Realms working is also similar to the ADF Two Powers meditation…. except in the Three Realms (both in the DOTR version and my adaptation) there is a blending of the two energies to create or express a third. I never quite understood why a tradition like ADF, with such emphasis on the three realms, the three hallows and other triads, would have a fundamentally dualistic meditative practice as a core technique…. connecting Earth and Sky, but where is Sea in this? This is the same trouble I had with the three Druidic elements in their relation to the four classical elements. If you can arbitrarily drop or add an aspect to a system, then it wasn't a stable or complete system to begin with. In the Three Realms, Land, Sea and Sky seem all to be of equal importance and significance…. and simply dropping Sea and connecting only to the other two doesn't make much sense to me. Similarly, dropping (or combining) Fire and Air from the four classical elements to get the three Druidic elements — as though they were nearly interchangeable otherwise — is deeply dissatisfying to me. So I have to figure out a way to make that change.

On the other hand, Erynn Rowan Laurie's Three Cauldron's meditation makes a lot of sense to me, with the Cauldron of Warming (being associated with the realm of land/earth and the Druidic element/principle of calas) the lowest of the three, the Cauldron of Motion (sea/gwyar) near the heart, and the Cauldron of Wisdom (sky/nwyfre) near the head/crown/third eye. This makes intuitive sense to me, and aligns pretty well with both T. Thorn Coyle's "three souls" meditation and with my Peace of the Three Realms meditation that I developed a few years ago (in which each of the… let's call them "cauldrons," though I originally called them simply "centers," are infused specifically with energies from the Three Realms in a kind of rippling out/up of energy). I don't have any struggle in figuring out why, during the Three Realms working, gwyar/sea is "below" and calas/land/tree in the center, while in the Three Cauldrons working this is reversed. It just… makes sense to me that way. Perhaps because the Three Realms working is a kind of orientation, connecting us with the Tree as axis mundi and bridge of soul and spirit… while the Three Cauldrons/Peace of the Realms practices are more about activating our own ("internal") energy centers. With this inner work, we naturally start from a "base line" of calas, the realm of land that we're so used to and probably most immediately connected to through our physical senses. From there, we kind of "drop" into the gwyar/emotional center of movement and exchange — that is, our experience of form and limit naturally gives rise to an urge to connect, and this is a kind of deepening at the same time that it's a rising up…. almost as though our heart calls our attention to it precisely at that moment when it is spilling over — we are called inward at the same time that we feel the ache of going outward. The final center of nwyfre/wisdom is an ascent to pure force and initiative, as well as breath. Both boundaries and the interweaving or connection of those boundaries are overcome or swept up in the unity of "oneness," to some extent.

I'm not at all convinced this makes much sense… I'll have to keep playing with these ideas. In any case, I'd like to find a way to integrate the Peace Prayer practice with the Three Realms working (and the Three Cauldrons practice as well, perhaps) in a way that leads naturally from one into the other without having to drastically altar the energies I'm working with for each one. ADF describes the Two Powers practice as like to "grounding and centering." I'm not sure which one people traditionally do first among other Wiccan/Pagan groups… but I always understood that centering was the first step (a kind of inward turning and cultivation of stillness and attention that was the prerequisite for any meditative work) and grounding was the second step, a moving outward again from that established center to "ground" that center in the living earth, as though planting a seed, or the moment when that seed germinates and sends out roots. In any case, it always seemed to me an inward/outward movement of focus, rather than an up/down focus the way the Earth/Sky approach suggests. In my own practice, I've gotten so used to centering and grounding that I hardly notice it as an initial step before my other meditation work. I center through some meditative breathing, cultivating a stillness between breaths (which the awen breath can be particularly helpful for), and then reach out to ground myself in the earth and further open myself to the living presences around me. In this sense, then, centering/grounding is a first step, and the natural next step after grounding (reaching out to the earth surrounding me — for we do not only live "on" the earth, but more precisely we live in it, surrounded by its landscapes and climates) is to begin (my version of) the DOTR Three Realms working. When we ground, like a tree putting down roots and sending up shoots, we are not seeking merely earth beneath us… we are seeking the water and the exchange of nutrients below, and the sunlight and air that fuels us from above. These we transform into the living matter of our bodies. So the Three Realms working is a natural follow-up to the centering/grounding opening work.

In that case, then, the Peace of the Realms and the Three Cauldrons meditations are not so much about who we are or where we locate/orient ourselves in the currents of the world… but more about what we do in the world, how we approach our activity. Once we center and ground ourselves in our enspirited-bodies, then what is it we do with those bodies? Finding our foundation, cultivating our work and releasing our love-guided efforts into the world (or warming, motion and wisdom) are the three processes or activities we undertake. They may have affinities with the Three Realms… but they are not merely equivalent. Which is why the Peace of the Three Realms actually "activates" each of the three realms or their currents/elements/principles in each of the three activity centers. So if this is the case.. then a natural order to the practices would be: starting with centering and grounding, then the Three Realms working to orient and establish our selves within the three realms of the world, then the Three Cauldrons meditation to "activate" or energize the three "centers" or cauldrons within the self, then the Peace of the Three Realms prayer to articulate and express the purpose towards which those three center of activity might be directed.

I'll have to experiment with this order to see how it works in practice as well as in theory… but I'm actually quite pleased with this approach. It makes some gut-level sense to me, and incorporates at least some sources of legitimate ancient Celtic culture. I would want to read more about the Cauldron of Poesy text that Erynn Rowan Laurie mentions, if only to seek out some confirmation of this approach.

It seems to be almost 8 PM now and I've been writing for at least two hours…. I had more to talk about, but my shift is coming to an end, so I should probably wrap things up. I'm feeling especially tired and I should probably be sure to drink some more water and apply some more aloe gel to my burn so I'm not regretting my silliness in the morning.

It occurs to me that I forget to explain how I got the sunburn! After staying by the Angel Oak for an hour or two, we thought we would try to find the nearest public beach access, which ended up being Folly Beach. We spent about an hour strolling along the shore, feet in the warmest ocean water lapping up around our calves. Before finally returning to the car, I waded out deeper until I was standing in waters mid-thigh and waves were getting the hem of my sundress damp. By that point, though, I'd already been out long enough to get a burn on my shoulders and chest. We're thinking of going back to the beach tomorrow, after spending a morning in Charleston looking at all the ancient homes built right up on the shoreline by slave labor (Jeff's love of this beautiful human tragedy reminds me of that Doctor Who episode, Blink: "Sad is like happy for deep people.")

We'll see. Tomorrow we're taking a day off from running, though we're hoping to still do some sun salutations to great the new day. It's Jeff's birthday, so we'll have an official day off to do whatever we want before heading back to Pittsburgh on Friday. I may or may not have a chance to write again before we get back home. We'll see.

Diary

Days of Note: Seakeeping, Moon Conjunct Saturn

Sun: taurus (fixed earth), 6:05am - 8:28pm
Moon: waxing gibbous, libra (cardinal air)
Earth: gray and rainy, milk temperatures, the garden is just beginning to green with the sprouts of onions, carrots, lettuce and peas (and weeds weeds weeds)

Wave and water,
mist and storm,
I seek Manannan.

That was the invocation I used last night during my meditation to begin my "seakeeping" shift. I am still experimenting with this idea of keeping a shift (staggered with my Flamekeeping shift for Brigid with the TC Cill) in honor of Manannan as a way to connect more deeply with him. One thing I've noticed — and which probably should've been obvious to me from the start — is that I'm finding that a candle is not the most appropriate ritual object to use in this respect. For Brigid, it works well (the blue bowl with the floating golden candle, and the white pillar in the orange-and-red hurricane glass holder both work exceptionally well). For Manannan, I got a large pillar candle of rippling shades of blue (and that smells, supposedly, like the ocean)… but for obvious reasons, it's not serving as a very strong connection to him. I also included on my working altar my blue pitcher full of water, the photograph of an ocean wave in the blue glass and silver wire frame, and the blue-green whelk shell that washed up at my feet on the beach down in North Carolina when we were there last September. I also had my usual incense blend burning.

I admit, I'm not a big ritual tools person. I like having a fairly simple, basic set-up for ritual that I can just rely on each time. Thinking up clever, complex ritual symbolism for each ritual wears me out, especially for fairly simple rituals that I do on a daily or at least fairly regular basis. I tend to be a minimalist in this regard. So having a basic set-up of candle, incense, water and bit of earth is how I usually approach the issue, exchanging out certain objects for others where appropriate. So for instance, I exchange my Brigid candle for my Manannan candle, and the green and purple fluorite sphere for the whelk shell. Incense is the same — just some generic, all-purpose frankincense — and either the blue pitched of water, or the blue bowl full of glitter. Maybe this is lazy of me. When I was in my old apartment, it was easier to do more complex, purpose-specific altar spaces that incorporated various objects. Now, between the cat and the kids, I find it very hard to set up any kind of altar space with any permanence that won't get knocked or handled or treated (by kid and cat alike) as a plaything. It's easier to keep supplies stored away and bring them out whenever I want to do ritual.

But for Manannan's seakeeping shift, I'm finding this approach is just not working well. What I would ideally like to have is some kind of small fountain of running water or at the very least a libation bowl of some kind. During last night's ritual, I held the whelk shell in my hands, attempting to connect with its watery origins. This has worked in the past, but last night fell flat. The shell felt very much a hard, clunky object, not the fluidly crystalline "gateway" it's been before. And all of this might also be due to my lack of disciplined meditation recently, or a whole host of other issues I've been dealing with. I'd like to see if I could arrange a bath this evening — but when the kids are over, they dominate the entire house and its energy shifts decidedly in their restless, noisy direction. I'm not sure deep ritual of any kind is likely while they're around, unless I go out into the woods or somewhere equally solitary.

Do I sound cranky? (Is it because they've been in and out of the house, slamming the door each time, for the last twenty minutes or so?) This weekend is also supposed to be dedicated to some Saturn Return work, with the moon conjunct Saturn at the moment. In general, I'm feeling a bit cranky and distracted. Sinking into meditation feels impossible — like trying to fall asleep despite intermittent noise. That's the thing about intermittent distractions. Constant noise or movement can become part of the background — but distraction that is only intermittent dominates the subconscious, which remains on constant alert for when the next disruption will be. This is why folks who live too close to wind farms say it's a nightmare to try to sleep at night. Not just because the changing atmospheric conditions at night can amplify the noise of the windmills (which it does), but also because the noise is not constant white noise, but comes and goes with the breeze. Some small part of their mind remains in a mode of continued vigilance, in subconscious anticipation of the next unpleasant experience. And as a result, it feels impossible to concentrate — part of the mind's resources are permanently dedicated to that subconscious process. That's often how it feels here on weekends. I never know what to anticipate from the kids, and with four of them, it's almost guaranteed that one of them is going to need something every few minutes. Fiona can be the worst — she'll come to me instead of Jeff thinking that I'll be more lenient or give her permission that her father denied (or, more often these days, try to punish the other kids for not doing what she wants). Just now, in fact, she came in to tell me that Savanah was doing stuff she didn't like, specifically, she was off exploring the garden instead of playing with Fiona.

~

Excellent example. Jeff returned home with Jerilynn, one thing led to another, and it's now three hours or so later, after lunch, that I'm finally able to get back to this (now that the kids are downstairs with Jeff playing Settlers of Catan).

In any case, the day is warm and muggy, and even the walls inside feel somewhat damp to the touch. I'm feeling a little better having eaten, though not fantastic all the same. I'm going to just go ahead and post this because my train of thought was lost. I'd wanted to write a bit more about various projects Jeff and I are working on, but that can wait. Perhaps this evening or tomorrow I'll have another chance to write, as well as do a bit of divination with the cards.

Flamekeeping Meditation and Divination

Days of Note: Flamekeeping (begins at sundown), New Wind Tossed Moon

Sun: pisces (water/mutable), 6:48am - 6:16pm
Moon: new moon, pisces (water/mutable)
Earth: warmer and raining all day, with some winds rustling the trees

Meditation

For a while, I sat quietly in darkness, eyes closed, waiting. For a while, nothing came. I felt my body relax as deeper trance took me and, after wandering in obscurity for a time, I found myself back on the cliffs of my inner landscape, looking east out over the long, silent waters of blue ocean. To my left, along the cliffs edge, the rocks raised to a peak where the huge, ancient Shrine of the Ashless Flame burns, stone bowl carved of the rock of the land, covered with lichen, filled with dew and rain water, over which the ashless flame flickers, a mirror to the sun, a fiery arrow pointing ever upwards.

This was where I first met Brigid in my meditations, here on the edge of the forest that led into my grove, on the highest point, a pinnacle over the sea and woods, reaching towards the sky. I laid offerings and poured libations and sat before the impersonal, eternal flame as it danced in the wind. It was months before I made the connection to Brigid as a goddess — she was, first and always, a primal force, surging upwards from the earth, rising like wellspring and steam and the scent of stone and soil as it rises with the midday sun's heat as the twilight settles in.

All at once, I was hearing her voice again, unprompted, speaking in low, steady, vibrating tones. She spoke of that power, that I have forgotten perhaps too often recently in imagining her as a goddess with body and human shape, a human face. She is, above all, the exaltation, the rising energy and force. She is not a human, but a Person of glory and light and brightness, and also of underground water and sacred sources of healing working in the dark and the mystery.

I felt a resistance to my left, the west, where the edge of the forest seemed to loom dark and thick in my peripheral vision. I turned towards the woods, saw the shadows lurking beneath the tangled branches despite the bright sun overhead. That was the place I must turn to and enter, what had been dwelling on my mind — she seemed to say, and yet, the forest was thick and dark with growth, that green sprawling and spreading and climbing over itself to reach the light that poured out upon them, each leaf finding its place. The darkness was not apart from the light, but an aspect of it, a response to it; the shadows of the forest existed because of it, not in spite of it. It was not Brigid who gifted me the Sword of Light, though she may have had a hand in forging it, nor was it in the light of day that the Sword of Light is used, but in the darkness and the night, in the mysteries and the depths. I know now whose gift the Sword of Light is to give, she told me, and turning I saw again the ocean stretching wide beneath me. Though the sun was intimate and close in its self-giving, impersonal in its distance and brilliance and illumination, the oceans wrap the earth in a surrounding embrace, so very close, dark and deep and intimate and passionate.

What, then, should I do about these flamekeeping shifts? I thought I was meant to know her more personally, but it seemed that she would always be, to some extent, the great fiery arrow, the blaze and glory, the guide and inspiration but also the drive and power — not tame, not ever so intimate or quiet as I had hoped. Should I turn my attention and energy, then, to cultivating that personal relationship with Manannan? Should I stop my flamekeeping shifts and leave the Cill? No, for the perspective and illumination of these moments of seeking her to honor her in her power and impersonal wholeness are also important. Hold these flamekeeping shifts still, but do not expect too much of them. Hold them because you honor that Light, that Flame, not because you expect personal attention or intimacy in return. It is important to remember that not all gods are tame.

Flamekeeping Divination

What does Brigid ask of me for this Flamekeeping shift?


© Stephanie Pui-Mun Law, The Shadowscape Tarot

(a) Page of Cups - She holds the golden chalice up to gaze within at the stray sunbeams and lost treasures that have sunk into the deep, shining even deep beneath these waters with the warmth and radiance from a far off sun. She is the true romantic, the dreamer of dreams, listening to her intuition and her depth of feeling with all the enraptured attention of a child. Here, there is peace and simplicity, and dreams of sunlight kissing the rocking surface of the waves.

(b) Page of Pentacles - Perched high upon the molded stone, above the curling, sleeping figure of the dragon green and verdant, powers of the earth, its lush fecundity — she holds in her hand the glimmer of invitation and initiative, of opportunities for prosperity and, more importantly, for growth. It is her gift, with her practical nature and her concerns for earthly, earthy matters lightened by her joy in the physical bounty around her. Diligence and rootedness, giving rise to the blossom, the fruit and the seed.

(c) King of Cups - Calm, patient, guardian of the deeps, strength of the sea in both its storm and the slow erosion of its caress, breaking open the rocky shores, opening and smoothing, gently claiming them over eons of murmuring and the dance of the tides. He is a protector and guide, and the quiet strength of mystery and compassion well up from within him like the waters of the ocean from the unimaginable depths, yet as close and intimate as the blood, that private sea, we carry within our own bodies and hearts.

The Story: Each card of Cups faces in towards the center, the Page of Pentacles, which gazes ahead, reaching out her gift before her in offering. This is the Central Destination story, and suggest the ways in which these energies, patterns or people may converge and meet, and what that meeting might lead to. It seems, perhaps, that I am represented by the Page of Cups, who holds a sacred chalice close, gazing deeply into the shining golden light within. I seek to know that sunlight and that warmth — and, as with the Page of Cups, perhaps this gazing and dreaming is an aspect of a romantic longing, a listening to the lessons of my intuition and subconscious. Yet, the Page faces towards the King of Cups, who faces her in return. He, too, holds a chalice, though it seems to be made of silver and does not glow with golden light — it is as if he is offering up the very essence of himself, the depths that are the seas and their dark waters. In some ways, then, it seems this story is one of mutual offering and exchange between myself and the God of the Sea, Manannan, a marriage of patience and strength of ancient seas with the liveliness and voyage-dreams of sun-gilded surface of waves. As a result of this meeting or relationship, the Page of Pentacles offers a gift of initiative and opportunity for growth, a place in which both practicality and levity have their place, or perhaps a chance to bring these gifts to manifestation beyond the realm of emotion and intuition and into the physical world as part of the earth's fertility and creativity.

It seems, then, that Brigid's advice is clear: to give myself over to this relationship with Manannan, to embrace that new meeting, and to carry my own light into that relationship, a light I have received from and learned from her. Doing this will lead not only to a relationship of mutual exchange, but fruitful, concrete results of productivity and initiative as well.

Saturn Return: A Ritual for Manannan

A mostly impromptu ritual based loosely on the design I've been using with the Lady of the Stars group, very loosely, with improvised invocation and blessing. I asked for the presence of the god of the sea who came to me in dreams, asking to know him better, to explore our relationship.

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:

Ace of Cups (h) <- Ten of Wands (d) Eight of Wands (s) ->

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....

Diary - Dream

Sun: pisces (water/mutable), 7:07am - 6:01pm
Moon: waning gibbous, libra (air/cardinal)
Earth: early in the morning, still, but the weather forecast is calling for a chill, gray day with chances of a rain-snow mix later this evening


Last night, I had several intense dreams about the ocean, one after another as I woke and then fell back into sleep again. The first were more mundane — images of being at the beach, waves rolling, strolling along the sands, sun shining down — I suspect because high winds recently have sounded very much like waves during the night, and we're also reading a book at the moment that takes place by the ocean, though it's a rocky coast in Cornwall. A bit later, the dreams became more erotic in nature, with Jeff and I racing along the sands, chasing one another, catching one another up in passionate embraces and rolling, tumbling along in our lovemaking. (You can tell these were dreams, because the sand wasn't a bit irritating!) During this dream, there was at least one scene that took place in a kind of hotel room or small apartment furnished with lush décor and rich colors. Out one window, a scene stretched away far below (as though I was looking from the tenth story of a building) of rolling dunes and hills tumbling up over themselves into mountains — yet, facing the other direction, the room opened up onto the beach itself, right at sea level, the walls and floor slowly fading, giving way to sand and horizon, the ceiling stretching out and out like an awning that eventually became a drape of cloth that could be pulled away. The apartment had a sense of being cozy and enclosed within, and yet there was no discernible break between inside and outside where it met the waters running up the shore.

After waking up from this dream in very early morning, about two hours before sunrise, I fell back asleep to have another dream about the ocean, even more intense than the last. In this, the ocean's size seemed magnified, the waves huge and deep, harboring enormous sea creatures like whales incredibly close to shore, their slick, dark backs arching up out of the blue waters as they leapt and splashed. Above the ocean on the horizon, it seemed there was a god — the god of the sea himself — who would pull away and withdraw like an outgoing tide, and when he did, there seemed to be this great, overwhelming noise of... gathering, gathering in, not a sucking exactly, but a rumbling, gathering cacophony among the clouds, and in the sky there appeared a kind of expanding sphere of inward-collapsing cloud and light that pinched in, almost the way an hour glass might, or a funnel, as sand slowly drains from the top — the faster it falls away, the larger the sinking hole around it becomes. This sphere of pinched, withdrawing sky seemed to undergo a color shift, along with the terrible, tremendous noise, that shaded it the colors of sunset — reds and oranges and rose into deeper blushed-purples.

I witnessed this happening twice, standing within the lushly-furnished room from the dream before, and after the second time, once the sphere collapsed and the great noise was replaced by sudden silence, it seemed the sky turned into paper confetti, bits of cloud shredded up and falling, drifting down in bits of white curls of thin paper, and other pieces of sky in huge, flat papery circles that were on one side the colors of sunset and on the other side the bright blues of a sunny day, these circles that drifted and fluttered down past the windows, some of them five or six feet across. Of course, the sky itself was still there, it wasn't as though the paper confetti was the sky itself — only, bits of the sky that fluttered down after the noise and change in the sky had ended.

After this second time, the sea god returned to the room, which seemed to be his room or temple in some way, and he was in human form, or at least, that was the impression I had, or that he left. I had been with someone else, an older woman, in the room, but she was gone now and there was only me. I remember the vague sense of intrigue and accident, as though I were not supposed to be there and it seemed the sea god mistook me for someone else in how he greeted me with familiarity and intimacy (though at another level, it seemed to me that he must know who I really was and that there was no mistake, for he was a god, after all, and had to know these things). I was wearing garments of shimmering, sheer, sparkling blue and green in the flowing robes of a priestess, and he came to me as his priestess and drew me down beneath him and we began with an embrace, touching and caressing each other, our mouths searching each others' out. His body felt as heavy and wide as the ocean.

Through this intimacy, I could feel a sense of mystery flooding me, overwhelming me, the mysteries of the ocean that were only known and kept by his true priestesses. And because I was not a true priestess of his, I felt that rush of power and revelation and eager excitement, but also a kind of growing, intense fear as though I might drown. He could sense it, too, and seemed suddenly to realize that I was not his priestess (though, again, it seemed he had known this in some way all along) — and he pulled away, and we parted. He disappeared, went off again somewhere I did not know, and I was alone for a while in the room, thinking on the experience and the mysteries I had barely glimpsed. Watching out over the sea from the room where I sat, I could see the deep waters roiling, the winds above them pacing back and forth and churning up whitecaps — the sea seemed restless and an expression of his restlessness and reckless energy stirred up by our embrace. There was about the whole scene a kind of uncertainty about how to proceed, and a sense that I had "gone too deep" already to turn back now, and that once having glimpsed the mysteries I had to commit myself to pushing forward, moving on to become a priestess myself. As though a seed of mystery had been planted in me that I would have to honor and nurture, or it would one day rise up suddenly to drown me nonetheless.

I forget exactly how the dream ended, but I think he came to me one last time. I had walked out of the room and onto the open beach beneath the sun, bare feet teasing along the edges of the waves lapping up the shore. There he returned, found me again, and walked with me for a while. I don't remember what we spoke of, or if we spoke. The dream just faded away, with no real ending or conclusion, only a strong sense of his presence there by the ocean, and an intense longing almost more powerful than I could bare to touch him again, to be with him — a longing I felt echoed and returned from him.



Honestly, I'm not sure what to make of this dream. I have always had intense dreams about the sea, and maybe that's all this is: a combination of memories of the ocean stirred up by the book we're reading, and some sexual desire, and some other emotional tides. On the other hand, I have also felt drawn to the Celtic sea god Manannan (or, in Welsh, Manawyddan) for quite a time, now, and that draw has always held a sense of the erotic in it in some way, as he has seemed to me in meditations not as an old man, but as younger, wilder, both more playful and more dangerous. I wonder if this dream is a call from him to take seriously the invitation to become his priestess.

Yet at the same time, I find myself resisting that call, if that's what it is. I am so far away from the ocean here, it seems impossible to be a priestess of a sea god landlocked surrounded by hills and mountains! Not to mention, I'm not sure how I would handle that relationship and my relationship with Brigid Star Fire — after years of practice being monotheistic, I feel at most comfortable with the idea of henotheism: belief in many gods, but devotion to just one. I'm not sure how I could possible be a priestess of two gods, when both could make such a claim on me. I feel as though, to go deeply into the mysteries, I would have to be devoted primarily, if not exclusively, to one alone. How would I handle my daily devotional work to balance a relationship with more than one god? How would I work with each in ritual — would they work together in a single ritual, is there any basis in the lore for such a thing, would they be compatible, would they expect rituals devoted solely to them for each of the holy days, or more?

In my astrology, Neptune is opposite my sun, and forms a great triangle along with Saturn and Pluto conjunct. The watery connection of the moon, too, plays a part, and I had already been talking to Jeff about setting up a schedule of regular meditation and journaling in preparation for my upcoming Saturn Return. I was even planning on doing another journal entry today or tomorrow to explain the details of this work, since my first meditation is scheduled for tomorrow (and then approximately once a month when the moon is conjunct Saturn both in the sky and in my natal chart). Perhaps I am meant to work with Manannan as a guide to my Saturn Return in some way. He is considered by some to be a kind of psychopomp figure, a guider of souls back and forth between the mists of the world, across the sea into the west and the Otherworld.

As my first Saturn meditation is scheduled for tomorrow, I'll look into it then, I think. For now, I wanted to record this dream, since it was so very strange and intense.