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.

Flamekeeping Shift: Intense Dreams

My flamekeeping shift started at sunset last night.

I've been having intense dreams for the past several nights, though most of them have been of a mundane nature. Last night I had two intense dreams.

The first, there was fire and a presence in the heavens, a great god whose laughter mingled with the long rumbling of thunder. Everyone was terrified. The sky was bright, too bright — the white, rolling clouds parted here and there to reveal impossible liquid-fire light beyond them, golden tongues licking the mist-curled sides of each billow of cloud. Lightning dropped like rain, jagged liquid fire, thick and slow, not the usual quick and thin streak of electricity but something else. Some people said it was Jesus. The mighty presence laughed. I recognized some Pagans among the panicked crowds, making offerings and kneeling in supplication to Zeus or Thor. The god laughed again, turning his attention to fall on them like liquid lightning. Squealing, they dodged out of the way as the fire fell, impacting the earth with a huge roar and a blaze springing up where they had stood. Terror ran through me, a fear welling almost to an ecstasy. The god drew spiraling lines in the earth, trailing fingers of lightning along the ground until the rocks trembled and buckled, scorched scars raised in long lines almost as though some burrowing animal were tunneling just beneath the topsoil, pushing up its trail. The liquid-fire lightning dragged along, raising spiraling welts on the earth as people dodged out of the path. The lightning turned and danced, and I found myself caught between converging lines with nowhere to go. I stood rooted in place, willing every part of me — from bone, blood and breath to soul itself — into complete stillness, waiting for the moment of convergence. Then there in front of me was a man, wild grin shining and a noise like thunder. It was — gods forgive me — the Tenth Doctor. (Not actually him, in the dream, but his look — my mind probably seeking for some visual representation of the mingled terror and adoration I was feeling.) I trembled, saying, "But... I know you." And the implication of recognizing this god with a kind of terrifying intimacy bordering on triumph. Somehow, I communicated to him, "You're scaring people, you have to go." He offered me the body of a serpent, bloody and skinned, its scaled hide sparkling with a myriad diamond jewels in the impossible light and the length of its body cut into chunks of wet, red flesh with the white, round center of its spine peeking through the mess. I breathed, and said, "No, I don't eat meat," to the horror of those around me, who were bowed down to the ground and weeping in fear, unable to imagine refusing the god anything. The god laughed again, uproariously, and then he was gone just as suddenly, the whole scene settling like dust into a quiet stillness. And I looked down to see that I was holding a plastic bag full of wet, juicy honeydew melon chunks (one carved in the shape of the serpent's head).

I woke up at this point in a lot of pain, with my legs twitching terribly, and it took a long while to fall back asleep again. Once I did, I had a second dream.

Not as detailed as the first. I was in a cart, somewhat like a cross between a roller coaster car and an open-topped railway train car, with rows of bench seats across it with seat belts. There were carts in front and behind mine, too, in a long chain and the train seemed to be underground in a long, dark tunnel with rough, earthy or rocky sides. The dream is only vague impressions for a while — there were many people in all these carts, loading and unloading as the train went back and forth along the line making stops, and many of the people seemed somewhat young, though not exactly children. I remained on the train the whole time, never getting off, and almost always sitting alone on the bench seat as people shuffled around me. Then, at one point, a man sat down next to me — I could best describe him as a stereotypical redneck hick — his hair was blond and short, cropped in a kind of bowl cut with bangs hanging down across his forehead, and he had large teeth and an overbite, barely a chin to speak of, and when he spoke he had an obnoxious stereotypically southern accent that seemed at once idiotic and overly cheerful. But his eyes seemed sharp and intelligent. He sat down next to me, and again there was a sense among everyone around me that this was somehow an honor bestowed on me. Everyone around treated him with a great deal of respect, almost reverence, and deferred to him as a kind of leader. I found, mingling with my distaste for him, a vague sense of familiarity, as though this were some kind of disguise that he was wearing. Again, the dream was only vague for a time, with the sense that we were about the embark on a much longer journey, not the same shuffling back and forth between the same few stops, and that this man next to me was somehow in charge of the journey or leading it. I noticed he wore a blue coat with a few metal pins and sewn-on patches and stripes here and then, almost like a military uniform though I didn't recognize it at all. It seemed too big for him, sticking out at the shoulders, so that he seemed like a child wearing his father's clothes, but there was still that intelligent look in his eye and a sense of authority that he carried about him. We were moving along on the journey now, people settled into their seats, and the tunnel beneath the earth seemed to stretch on in front of us forever with no light in sight except for the torch lights mounted every once in a while that passed us as we moved. The man acted towards me as though we knew each other and were good friends, and I had that vague sense of familiarity (though I was out of the dream enough that I couldn't place why I felt I recognized him). As we moved, the train sped up, faster and faster, and suddenly there was a great lurch as though we'd been struck from behind. The man next to me stood up in his seat, gazing back into the darkness past all the other carts, and his face changed briefly, the expression of soft, cheerful idiocy replaced by a hard, intelligent, penetrating look as though the disguise for an instant had fallen away and the full power of his presence came through. I felt, then, that we were good friends, that I did know him (though I still couldn't say how or from where) and that I trusted him completely. He dropped back down into his seat next to me and whispered that a great serpent was following us, quickly catching up to the train. If people realized what was happening, they would start to panic. He was able to call up or get in touch with the person at the very front of the train and instruct them to veer off the track as we passed an opening in the tunnel — because of his inexplicable authority, nobody argued with him. We veered and suddenly the train was plunged into an icy underground river, the carts now floating like boats or rafts all chained together in a long line. The wheels churning the water beneath the carts sped us onwards, faster and faster, taking twisting turns and bends in the rocky tunnel, now without any light but a kind of eerie very dim blue light that seemed to infuse the air and come from everywhere and nowhere. Behind us, the huge serpent was gaining on us and people were beginning to panic. Its eyes glinted like sharp blades in the darkness, its forked tongue flicking, its massive body writhing in the waters behind us.

I feel as though something happened then in the dream, just before I woke up, but it's gone now, I can't remember it. I don't remember waking up frightened at all, though there was a lot of energy coursing through me. I wish I knew who the man was, or what happened at the end of that second dream. It's no coincidence, I think, that both dreams involved a serpent, as well as other people who were in danger and frightened. But I'm not sure I know what either of the dreams mean.

Diary - Anger, Grace and God

Sun: scorpio (fixed water), 7:39 am - 6:29 pm
Moon: waning crescent, virgo (mutable earth), VoC
Earth: beautiful, sunny autumn day, crisp and cool but not too chilly


The shit has hit the fan, so to speak. We caught E in a direct lie about Josh's health - when we asked her what the results were from the allergy test, her response was that he was "definitely allergic." Her phrasing was circuitous enough (e.g. avoiding directly saying that's what the doctor had told her) that Jeff called the doctor himself to speak to him directly to make sure he understood the whole situation, at which point we found out that all of the test results had come back negative and the only evidence that Josh had any kind of allergy at all was E's word that he showed symptoms obviously and consistently after eating corn. (Part of her evidence, in fact, was that he shows symptoms every Monday. Obviously we can't say whether or not this is true, but if it is, it actually suggests it's not a corn allergy, since he's been on a raw vegan diet with us for months now and most definitely never has corn when he's with us on weekends. But this is just one more example of her inconsistency in reporting what exactly are his symptoms and when they show up.)

On top of the corn allergy issue (and Jerilynn's newly invented gluten intolerance, which E says explains why Jerilynn eats too much (?!)), E has taken it upon herself to insist that Jeff quit his job in order to stay in Pittsburgh, and even started job hunting for him (despite not being able to find and keep even a part-time job for herself and being entirely ignorant except for the most general terms about Jeff's skills and job qualifications). Besides all of the obvious reasons (e.g. a struggling economy) why it would be idiotic for him to quit his job and leave a career he loves on the assumption he can just find a different one.... her assumption that it's her responsibility to order Jeff's life is pretty mind-boggling.

When confronted with all of this directly - especially after the blatant lying, which made Jeff the angriest I've ever seen him - she justified her behavior and even claimed that she hadn't lied. She emailed him earlier today saying that they were going to have a talk when he dropped off the kids and he better be prepared to "stay for a while." He wrote back saying that he was too angry to talk to her right now and that he would email her. Unfortunately, this weekend we'd happened to borrow the van so that all of us could attend a boy scout event of Josh's, so when we arrived to drop off the kids and the van and pick up Jeff's car - she was sitting on top of it in an attempt to ambush us and force us into talking. At first she tried to sweet-talk Jeff, saying (in a double lie) that she'd only wanted to say one quick thing, and that was that she thought the plan for the move (which she had vehemently objected to via email) was actually a great idea. Both of these things were direct contradictions to things she had said in emails earlier. When we repeated that we weren't interested in talking to her right now and we would be communicating through email, her mood suddenly swung in the opposite direction. (I thought our response was pretty restrained, since we didn't point out that she had ambushed us, knowing we were angry with her and still ignoring our explicitly stated wishes, and then lied to us right in front of the kids.) She said with angry sarcasm, "What a great example to set for the kids!" (who, if she hadn't decided to corner us right in front of them, would never have even known whether we were emailing or calling), and then turned on the kids are snapped at them to get inside. Speaking of great examples....

I am, admittedly, very angry and still a bit shaken up. Her audacity in lying to us continues to compound every time she gets caught in another one, and her manipulative behavior I could never imagined would have gotten to the point of literally trying to prevent us from physically being able to leave (though, after all, this was the woman who broke into our apartment and then used it as a reason that we might as well give her a key so she wouldn't have to next time, so.... I guess I shouldn't be surprised).

Jeff and I have decided to try a strategy recommended to us by some folks who also have experience with high-drama exes over child custody issues. It's called "low-contact," and there are ten basic rules. It mostly involves making sure that all communication is written and documents, brief and to the point with no room for vagueness or exploitation. There are some recommendations that we're not sure how to handle - for instance, always making exchanges of the kids in public places where the ex can't make a scene or ambush you - but we can work that out somehow.

Reading the list of recommended strategies, I could definitely see some areas where I've been responding or reacting in ways that weren't helpful and that just fed into E's need to create drama and conflict. I'm trying not to be too hard on myself about that, and just resolve to do better in the future and keep my own anger at her in check. I think I got sucked into seeing things from her perspective - not so much agreeing with her, but thinking of the kids as some sort of project that needed to be carefully watched and controlled and protected from negative influences. The other night on the phone, I found myself telling my mother how it was hard to just let things go - especially lies that E tells to the kids - because it wasn't about Jeff or me at all, but about what was best for the kids and that was our end goal: do what is best for the kids. But of course, that's exactly the story E tells herself - that she needs to lie or manipulate others in order to protect the kids and do what's best for them. But ends don't justify the means. Compromising on personal values is not helpful for the kids, no matter what the end result might be. And I don't want to be the kind of person who is always angry and on the defensive and obsessing over all the ways their other care-givers are "doing it wrong." That's just playing E's game. And it's not a game I want to play anymore.

The thing is - last night I prayed to God. I was restless and angry and couldn't sleep, and I just kept arguing with E in my head repeating the same tirades over and over..... Finally, I just closed my eyes and prayed to God - not a god, but God, the god I knew in my childhood, the god I'd grown up knowing as the Christian god, the one who was in some way I never quite understood related to Jesus and his love and sacrifice. And I asked God to help me to find clarity and peace, and most of all to discover in myself the place where I could trust in Love and surrender to that trust and be the better person that I so much wanted to be. And almost immediately, I felt a wave of relaxation sweep over me and soon fell right asleep. And today... well, it's been stressful, yes, especially the confrontation with E. But I do still feel a certain among of clarity, even despite the stress. And that clarity is mostly about myself, and the things that I could be doing better and the ways that I can reclaim that center of myself that's sustained me for so long. That's why I trust it. It wasn't suddenly some clarity about how awful everyone else was or how they could be doing better - it was a way through to my own core, my own center. It wasn't judgement. It was grace.

And that sounds very Christian, I guess. But I still believe in all the things I've always believed in as a Pagan, I still believe that there are many gods and that the world is alive and thriving with beings of all kinds. It's just.... I'm thinking maybe I was too hasty to try to abandon the god of my childhood just because he got slapped with a Christian label before I knew any better. I no longer think of him as the only god, but.... I don't know. Maybe he's still my god, if that makes any sense. Or, at least, one of them. In the somewhat lackadaisical liberal Christianity I grew up with, there was a real relationship there that grew not out of dogma but out of my own self, my own center. And it nourished me and nurtured me and guided me well. Then I learned more about Christianity and understood I could not be Christian in good conscience.... but maybe I assumed that meant I couldn't have that relationship anymore because I'd always assumed it was a Christian one. Maybe it wasn't. Maybe that doesn't matter. It feels sort of like... coming home, the prodigal son.

Or maybe it was a coincidence. I don't know. But I think I want to see where it leads. To allow myself to pray to "God" as I knew him, and see where it takes me. I guess we'll see.

Diary Tarot Card

What insight can you give me tonight to help me find the clarity I seek?

At first, it seems that Temperance (XIV) is a block to the energy flow in the spread. Both the Page of Cups and the Two of Wands face towards the right, towards the future and the realm of activity in the external world; yet Temperance faces towards the right, towards the inner world and the past, where memory and intuition alike reside. After this first impression, though, the spread seems to suggest another interpretation - Temperance as a balance point between two opposites, the watery realm of Cups and the fiery realm of Wands. Even in the card itself, fire and water mingle in a spiraling yin-yang, dancing outward as dragon and phoenix as the angel of Temperance looks on.

So what, then, does Temperance balance? On the left, the Page of Cups is a card of intuition and innocent dreams, a connection to the deep waters of the unconscious where imagination and wisdom are born. The figure (as the artist describes) seeks out a place of quiet solitude where she might contemplate the golden shining reflections in her cup - listening to the still small voice of her intuition and giving free rein to her dreams and inspiration. On the right, the Two of Wands is a card of eager action, looking with attention and energy towards the future. The female figure sits upon her companion, a lion of strength and courage, perched on a high rock outcropping, over-looking the lands of her ancestors and (as the artist describes) imagining what great deeds she might accomplish now that those lands have passed on to her. She looks forward to all the great things she might manifest in the world with the resources available to her, and in her solitary stillness she makes plans and imagines possibilities. Both of these cards are concerned with the future, but those futures concern different realms - the inner and the outer. While the Two of Wands is a figure of strength and courage who is willing to act on her dreams in order to accomplish great things, the Page of Cups is a figure of receptivity and mystery who is willing to quiet her own thoughts in order to explore the realms of the unseen and the only-half-imagined.

Temperance in the center is a card of balance, but not only that. It is a card of dynamic and harmonious balance - in which opposites are brought into a dance with one another, rather than being restricted or arrested in a binding compromise. Temperance is a card of process, and the process is one of balance and harmonious relationship. Both the Page of Cups and the Two of Wands have their vulnerabilities. The Page of Cups is still a young woman, not yet risen to the wisdom of a queen, and her withdrawal into herself to seek her intuition and the inspiration of her dreams can too easily become an excuse for idle fantasy and naive, wishful thinking. On the other hand, the Two of Wands is a card of action and eagerness, at just the start of the journey, but the power of the will can become too outwardly-focused, resulting in rigid willfulness and stagnation which is isolated from the intuitive wisdom that could give it direction and focus. In both cases, a dynamic balance between the two are necessary to give each card's energies limits and boundaries in which to work most effectively.

Yet Temperance faces towards the Page of Cups on the left. In the end, I think this reading indicates that I have moved too much to the right, towards the energies of will and action of the Two of Wands, and that to find that healthy dynamic balance I would do best to look "to the past" and allow myself more of the solitude and stillness I once had, in which to find the time and space to listen more deeply to my own intuition and explore my own dreams. Perhaps this choice might put me at the risk of appearing foolish or naive, too much of a day-dreamer, to those who are eager to judge me as immature, just a silly page. Maybe this is where the courage and strength of the Two of Wands can serve me well - in being willing to be vulnerable in that way, and to more courageously seek out the solitude and quiet that I know my own soul truly needs at times.

Diary - Dream & Manannan

Sun: taurus (fixed earth), 6:03am - 8:30pm
Moon: *full moon, scorpio (fixed water)
Earth: gray, drizzly, rainy and cool all day

I woke up this morning (around 5 AM) from a very intense dream once again involving a sea god or man deeply connected with the sea, who I'm almost sure is Manannan.

This dream started out as similar to a dream I had a few weeks ago focused on anxiety about the upcoming wedding. In this dream, like the first wedding dream, I was stressed out about the wedding happening "too soon" and thus our wedding guests not taking it seriously — but "too soon" in the dream meant not our set wedding date in September, but right now, this instant. In the dream, I was not engaged to Jeff but to some other man. I don't think I ever saw him in the dream, but I had an impression of him being shorter and stockier than Jeff, darker in hair and complexion and rather rough and harsh. I was set to marry him "in May" (in other words, within the next few weeks), and I was somewhere resembling something like a beach house with my parents and a number of other people, some of whom were my family members and some not.

While there, I met a man and fell passionately in love with him, in the kind of deep-longing-to-be-together-but-never-really-consummating kind of way. The magnetism or connection between us was palpable, as it was in my previous dream about being mistaken for a priestess of the sea god. I felt like my heart was breaking open, but not exactly in sadness. We spent time together on the beach, and during the course of our conversations it became clear that if I tried to enter into some kind of friendship or relationship with him — even if it could not be a romantic one — this would fundamentally change my relationship with my fiancé. I wanted desperately to delay the wedding until the appropriate time (in September) so that I could spend the next months exploring my connection with this man of the sea, and I knew that if I did that, then the man I eventually married would be changed — I would not marry the dark, short, stocky man that I might marry "in May," but would instead end up marrying Jeff as I actually know him — but this was not because the person I was marrying would literally change and I would marry someone else… it was as though the darker man would somehow transform into Jeff through my relationship with the sea god.

This was all very confusing, but I knew that I wanted to explore the relationship with the mysterious man that I felt such a connection to. Still, I couldn't bring myself to let my family know or tell anyone, so I just tried to think of reasons to delay the wedding. I would meet him covertly, among other friends, as though he just happened to be a mutual acquaintance. Once, when out swimming in the ocean, he caught up to me in the deep waters where we could be alone. He said he had a gift for me, then dove down into the depths, not resurfacing for a long time. When he did finally resurface, he was pulling up from beneath the waters a huge ship, its wood creaking and spilling water from it. Friends from shore saw the boat and came out to see, so that soon everyone was clambering on board to explore (while I still stayed treading water next to him in the ocean). On one part of the deck of the ship was a hole in the boards which was covered over and seemed almost to be surrounded by dirt mounded up with bits of grass growing around it. It looked very much like a well of some kind, like you might find on land. Someone asked about it, and the sea-god-man warned them not to open it — they thought it was just a hatch down below deck, but he said (or made me to understand, at least) that it wasn't. Actually, it was a well, a kind of portal that dropped straight down into the depths of the ocean/underworld. He made me to understand that I could stay and live with him on the ship out on the ocean, but even there, I couldn't always be with him. Everyone once in a while, he would have to open the cover of the well and drop down into the very depths, where I could not follow him, and we would be parted. The notion of being parted from him was painful, but in a way that seemed like a noble sacrifice that was well worth it.

Soon after understanding the purpose of the well on the ship, I woke up.

So a great deal to mull over and contemplate in this latest dream (including the question of why I seem to be able to connect with Manannan so much better in dreams than during my ritual times with hi — or, I guess, why he chooses to show up at one time instead of another).

Part of what fed into this dream, I think, was my emotional state last night, spurred on by (yes, I'm a nerd) finally watching the Doctor Who specials from the year between the end of the fourth season and the beginning of the fifth with the 11th Doctor (that obnoxious actor guy who isn't David Tennant). David Tennant as the Doctor saw me through some pretty brutal, lonely times during those years of solitude and poverty — as well as the first few months of my budding romance with Jeff when we finally met in person for the first time (we spent several nights curled up on the futon watching Doctor Who, and then lapsing into make-out sessions while the TARDIS churned on the DVD menu screen ;). For the two or so years since then, I couldn't bring myself to watch the final episodes of Season Four (when the Doctor definitively loses both Rose and Donna, his best friend) for a second time… until just a few weeks ago when Jeff and I decided to go ahead and do it because we were going to start watching them over again with a friend of ours during a weekly "Night of Doctor Who" get together. Just last night, we watched the Special when the 10th Doctor dies. I cried like a baby. Like, we're talking sobs.

Several hours later, when we were settling into bed, I started crying again in a kind of odd mixture of sobs and laughter…. I can't describe exactly why I was crying, but it wasn't just about some silly TV show. I was remembering who I was during those years of deep, wrenching loneliness, and in some ways, I felt like I was mourning that Alison who had to live through those years. I rarely think about that time of my life these days, and my life now seems full of lots of little stresses and anxieties… and yet, now I am so amazingly happy and grateful that it's almost like I can't really allow myself to fully feel that joy, or I'd just be wandering around like a grinning idiot all the time. So there was this weird, sublime tension between my deep grief for that Alison of memory who is, in some ways, always going to be there, in that past, alone and weeping… and at the same time realizing how utterly ridiculous I was for not opening more fully to the joy of my present life. The only way I coped with those years of heartache was to embrace that loneliness and learn to grieve openly and cleanly, so that grieving became a process of healing and an affirmation of life. Now, I have so much to be grateful and joyful about… and yet I'm busy pushing myself, always striving, and beating myself up for not accomplishing more, not moving my career forward as quickly as I want to, not being as good a stepmom as I want to be, etc. All these stresses that, really, aren't that big a deal. Last night, it was as if I was again that sorrowing Alison of memory, only now I was looking forward at my life today… and laughing at how silly I can be, never cutting myself any slack or letting myself enjoy a rest. The whole metaphor of "regeneration" in the Doctor Who series, and this idea that the new Doctor is not really the same even if he has all the same memories… that's kind of what I felt like. Except, I don't want to forget the sadness and grief and loneliness of who I was before. I want to honor the lessons that sorrow and solitude taught me, and be more present to the very real joy in my life right now.

So before going to bed, I had resolved to develop some meditative/ritual practice to help me cultivate my joy and offer it as a gift, as I once did with my loneliness, to my gods and to Spirit and the Song of the World. I didn't know exactly what kind of practice this would be, but I wanted to pursue it. So it's not that much of a surprise to me that this kind of intense emotional turmoil and catharsis last night brought on dreams once again of Manannan. He always seems connected, for me, to that liminal state between sorrow and joy, grief and gratitude. The longing to be with him — and the wrenching awareness that I can't ever be, not really, not permanently — is a theme in so many relationships in my life (and one reason I think I found the Doctor so resonant and moving as a character). That I'm in a good, happy, stable relationship now doesn't really change that. In some ways, Manannan is reminding me, I think, that even with those we love, there are dark places we cannot touch and depths to which we cannot follow, and that as close as I feel to Jeff, I cannot take our relationship for granted. If I do, then the person I am marrying won't really be Jeff, but some shallower version of him more prone to my projections, more of a stranger than the man I love. But if I work to cultivate my joy and my gratitude and my love, especially in the depths where all becomes liminal and the autumn mists rise, then in the coming months my relationship with Jeff will deepen and blossom even more, and our marriage will truly be one of souls in love. I remember in the dream, understanding that it was important to wait until September, and spend time with this Man of the Sea, so that when the time came for me to marry, my marriage would blessed by the cool mists of autumn.

~

Ellen on the LotS SIG asked what I do during a "Seakeeping" shift with Manannan, so I thought I would share my response to her here.

Honestly, at this point, my practice with Manannan is still in its infancy, taking many stumbling baby-steps. My basic pattern for ritual work is the same I use for Brigid during my Cauldron Cill Flamekeeping shift. I begin my shift at sundown of the appropriate day, opening with a small, simple ritual of welcome.

For Brigid, I have prayers that I use to more fully invite her presence into my life and to charge/consecrate anew the flame pendant that I wear during my Flamekeeping shift. I light a physical candle during this ritual, even if I'll only be able to keep an LED one "burning" during the shift itself, and I pass the pendant above the flames while chanting, "Fire and Water in the Earth of my body, I keep your Sacred Flame." I don't really have a similar thing to do for Manannan, though I've been thinking for a while of finding either a shell pendant to wear, or a ring made of shell (like those hokey ones you can get at beach tourist gift shops). Instead of lighting a candle, I have a blue pitcher that I fill with water which I'll hold between my hands to charge, then pouring libation into my offering bowl (and taking a sip to honor the Spirit/god within). I do have a large whelk shell that was a gift from the sea when I was down at the beach last fall that I also bless. Afterwards, for both Flamekeeping and Seakeeping, I spend some time in meditation and prayer, maybe doing some trance work if I have the stamina for it, and usually concluding the ritual with a divination. During the next 24ish hours, I keep/carry/wear the symbol of my shift with me (and for Brigid, keep either a real or LED flame burning) as a reminder and object of focus for my shift. The next night at sundown, I do a closing ritual where I thank the god/dess for the gifts they've brought into my life, and basically do a kind of "unwinding" (for Brigid, this kind of takes the form of a metaphorical "smooring the fire" for safekeeping until my next shift).

This works very well for Brigid… but I'm finding that for Manannan, it's not jiving as well. For one thing, the metaphor of the flame or fire as something that requires tending (and then can be "smoored") means that the activity of the Flamekeeping shift is actually, well, active, even if only in a metaphorical sense. I feel like I'm actually doing something during my Flamekeeping shift, and usually my creativity feels a bit heightened. During my Seakeeping shifts, though, I've more often felt at a loss for what I was supposed to be doing… There was kind of a sense of the ocean not really being something that needs tending or "keeping," and lighting a candle just feels more active then filling a bowl with water (which will slowly evaporate over the next month, whether I pay attention to it or not). I think this may be one area where I need to rethink the Seakeeping shift and how I approach it. I'm exploring the idea of incorporating some ritual practice that's more about opening myself up to receptivity and relaxing into the presence of Manannan, and not so much about the active engagement and honoring that I do with Brigid during my Flamekeeping… if that makes sense. Some kind of ritual bath would probably be good in this case, but not always possible depending on where I am and what my schedule is.

Like I mentioned already, what I'd really like is to be able to develop some unique rituals for each of the Flamekeeping and Seakeeping shifts, particular to the energies of those deities, but then have one or two practices that I do during both that kind of connect or help to integrate them in some way. (I'm thinking, for instance, of the "Running the Iron/Pearl Pentagrams" in Feri, though I know very little about that other than their names, or the Turning the Three Cauldrons meditation that I've heard about here and there.) So that's where I'm at right now. Trying to find some kind of ritual that is simple enough and practical enough that I can actually commit to doing it regularly… but is also effective and ritually/symbolically meaningful and fitting…. So, lots to think about and experiment with.

Lady of Star Fire, Son of the Sea

A post to the Lady of the Stars SIG on TC, that I thought would be relevant to my "seakeeping" shift today.

So this is something I've been mulling over for quite a while, since a ways back when I had that intense dream about a "sea god" and began to explore and expand my relationship with Manannan. My work with Brigid seemed to be put "on hold" for a period, and she's only recently started to reassert herself. Now I'm working to try to integrate and understand how these two deities might somehow work together or relate to one another in a shared practice.

I think there are several of you in the LotS SIG who also work with Manannan as well as Brigid. A lot of our responses in the "Who is the Lady?" thread evoke some pretty significant connections between fire and water, and I'm feeling a similar push/pull from Manannan, though from a bit of a different perspective.

The Lady of Star Fire seems to me very much like a spark in the darkness. Sometimes, her "spark" is what feels emphasized, her fire and light, her warmth and activity and creativity and passion (and these feel very much like Brigid's more traditional "solar" aspect to me). Other times, it is her "dark" aspect that seems to come to the fore, the primal, primordial nature, the black seas of the universe stretching between the stars.

Manannan feels equally paradoxical in nature. If the Lady is the fire-in-the-water, Manannan sometimes feels to me like the water-in-the-fire… The overwhelming energy of intense emotion, the inspiration of the past, the palpable tingling of mist against skin, the lightning in the storm...

[snipped for relevance]

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.

Divination: The Relationship between Manannan and Brigid

I just finished Robert M. Place's The Tarot: History, Symbolism and Divination (one of the books I got Jeff for Solstice this year), and so I thought it might be worthwhile to experiment with his three-card story technique. One of the spreads he recommends is a nine-card "relationship spread," so I used that spread to explore the potential relationship between Manannan and Brigid Star Fire. My clarity in the question ("What is the relationship between Manannan and Brigid?") may be somewhat lacking, since I didn't exactly ask what their relationship was in regards to me, and I'm not sure my interpretation of the cards will be all that accurate since I've only experimented in a kind of intuitive way with three-card story readings before (jumping to a full nine-card spread may have been ambitious, now that I'm looking at the cards all laid out in front of me). But here goes:

(g) (h) (i)
(a) (b) (c) . . . (d) (e) (f)

Manannan

© Stephanie Pui-Mun Law, The Shadowscape Tarot

(a) The Star (XII) - A card above all of hope, renewal and inspiration, the guidance of starlight emerging from darkness and difficulty. There is respite, rebirth and peace in this card, the optimism that resides in stillness and quiet, in which the first stirrings of joy begin. The image of the card is dominated by the soft blues and purples of water in ripples and swirls around the figure of the Star stepping delicately over the surface of the water. Around her swim golden carp, and above her shines a seven-pointed star in silvery-white reflected in the rippling curls of her hair. All is still and quiet, shimmering. The figure of the Star walks forward, but looks to her right (my left) with a hand upraised in blessing.

(b) Ace of Wands - A card of energetic beginnings and passion taking root, the wand of fire planted firmly in the ground alights with inspiration and creativity. This card seems to reflect the classic meaning of new beginnings and fresh starts in the realm of activity, yet the image depicts an autumn landscape at sunset, golden-colored fallen leaves swirling and rustling around the feet of the foxes, while small red mushrooms push their way up from the soil nearby. This spark or seed of creativity illuminates and draws out the creatures and spirits of the woods that otherwise may not be seen — just as in autumn, with the baring of the trees can reveal new aspects of the landscape usually hidden by the thick green of foliage. Of the three foxes, one faces right, one left, and the third forward — this last has a sun-spiral tattoo on his flank, spiraling outward. The seed of fiery energy and passion can take root even in a waning season, and germinate and grow throughout the spiraling year.

(c) Page of Pentacles - The Page perches upon a mounded rock around which an ancient dragon, green and verdant, curls asleep and dreaming of prosperity, fecundity and opportunity. She holds forward glowing in her left outstretched hand a small golden orb, the spark of opportunity and initiative, the key and invitation to plunge in and enjoy the sensuality and physicality of the world. She faces forward on her perch, as does her owl companion, though the sleeping dragon faces off to the left (my right), towards the center of the spread.

Story: The general flow of energy in these three cards seems to be from the central card (the Ace of Wands) outward in two directions, towards The Star and the Page of Pentacles on either side. One fox each faces left, right and straight on — my interpretation of this is what Place calls the "central teacher" pattern, in which a central figure is pointing out or commenting on two options or alternatives. The spark of creativity and passion symbolized in the Ace of Wands takes on two different forms. In The Star, that spark becomes a silvery seven-rayed point of light, far distant yet able to give guidance and hope in the midst of darkness. The figure of the Star reaches towards the utmost left of the spread, in fact almost directly pointing towards the placement of Manannan's candle and shell on my altar. In the other card, the Page of Pentacles, the spark of energy in the Ace of Wands becomes an invitation or offered gift to take the plunge into a sensual, pleasurable engagement with the physical world and encouragement to seize the opportunities presented. Though this card, too, is mostly a forward-facing one, there is some movement of energy to the right, towards the center of the spread. The Ace of Wands, as a central teacher, seems to be suggesting that these two approaches to an initial spark of inspiration need to be balanced and brought together — the intertwining bodies of the foxes, the spiral tattoo that draws both together, and the spiraling double-twist of the staff on the wand itself seem to suggest bringing these two approaches together to inform one another.

Brigid Star Fire

(d) The Hanged Man (XII) - A card of willing surrender and self-sacrifice, especially a time of reversals, transformed expectations and a new perspective on the world that can bring further insight and breakthroughs. The figure of the Hanged Man is one of release, but also of tenacity and strength, the inner courage and commitment to see through a period of difficulty and sacrifice, a suspension of the ego on the World Tree. Upside down, hanging from the branches of the huge oak, he faces off to the right, but his head tilts back so that he almost seems to be craning to gaze left from his inverted position. Above his hands, protected by the fold of his legs, he cradles a small, glowing golden orb similar to the one the Page of Pentacles offers.

(e) The Moon (XVIII) - A card of dreams and things half-seen in the pale moonlight which sometimes seems to only create more shadows and uncertainties in amongst the dark trees of the woods. The figure of the Moon stands within a ring of mushrooms, an enchanted faery circle glistening with tiny fireflies and dew. She holds up her left hand pointing upwards, a tiny red heart in her palm, and in her other hand she holds a strange, white mask with elongated nose and red ribbons trailing from it, which she turns her head (to her right, my left) to contemplate. Above her, a gray-white bird, possibly a doe, flies off to the left above her head. She is a figure deeply involved with masks, questions of identity and honesty — she holds at once the bright heart of true emotion revealed to all, and the mask that one might use to conceal it. She stands within a sacred circle, danced around by faery beings, yet she appears solitary and singular in the center, not exactly participating in the gathering. The world around her seems very much like a dream world, both obscure and revealing.

(f) Nine of Cups - The mermaid-figure in this card marvels at the swirling beauty around him, so rich and luxurious — the school of golden fish turn and move, circling almost as one being, sparkling and shining in the dark waters, and the mermaid seems to bow in reverence and gratitude in amongst them. This card symbolizes wealth and luxury, especially in terms of emotional contentment and gratitude, and suggests a feeling of exquisite harmony and fluidity in how everything seems to be coming together. The mermaid faces left, towards the center of the spread, but although the fish swirl around him, many seem to face to the right, towards the placement of the candle of Brigid Star Fire on my altar.

Story: It seems as though these three cards might be illustrating what Place calls a "central problem" pattern, in which there is no clear energy flow and the central card is blocking or dispersing the energy. The center card, The Moon, faces forward, but her face is turned towards the left (her right), with both hands raised. This might also be a "central teacher" pattern or even a linear pattern from right to left, where the final card (the Hanged Man) is turned to meet the action. The figures in these cards seem much more ambiguous than in the Waite-Smith deck Place works with, so I'm not exactly sure how to interpret the energy flow in this story. Assuming a linear pattern to the energy flow, the story moves from the Nine of Cups towards the right — suggesting a beginning in harmony and emotional contentment that then leads through a period of confusion and uncertainty as the Moon contemplates an open, revealed heart on the one hand (literally) while contemplating the mask in her other and what role it might play. This uncertainty and exploration into the dreamworld leads to the final card, the Hanged Man, who is turned to face the on-coming action but holds behind him (to the left, nearest the center of the spread) the glowing ember of possibility and, perhaps, renewal. This interpretation might suggest that a period of confusion will lead to a revolutionary change in perspective, turning the world upside-down and revealing new insights. In some ways, a central teacher or central problem interpretation sees very similar meaning in these three cards, with the Moon acting as a turning point in the process that can either block or give aid during a transition from the emotional contentment of the Nine of Cups to the wisdom-gifting self-surrender of the Hanged Man.

The Bridge Between

(g) Two of Swords - A card of blockage and impasse, the hooded figure stands in the center of the path, blocking the way with drawn swords crossed. A dark and immovable figure in the midst of the forest, his eyes are hidden by his hood so that he cannot see the offerings of the two swans by his side — the small, red heart of love and receptivity and the red-orange flower, possibly a poppy, symbol of sleep and death which open up the way for dreams of respite and renewal. He is frozen like ice, his back towards the right, the center of the three-card spread.

(h) Justice (XI) - A card of balance and harmony, a clear and even mind capable of weighing all things carefully and perceiving clearly and with piercing insight their true character and quality. A card concerned with truth, even when such truth is as subtle and light as the lightness of a feather or a butterfly's wing — in many ways, Justice is also a figure that turns inward to consider the inner tensions within the soul itself, seeking a balance that will help to ease these tensions and allow a return to center and equilibrium from which to take just and appropriate action in the world. The figure of Justice holds the light father-like sword of insight and discriminating mind close to her breast, turning her insight inwards, while holding out the balanced scales to influence and respond to the world around her. She faces forward, balanced and symmetrical in her stance.

(i) Eight of Wands - A card of energy and activity, beginnings and initiatives that move forward with the momentum of what has come before but that leave behind established projects to seek new ground in which to plant new seeds. The figure in the Eight of Wands sets loose her seeds drifting in the wind, carried to new fertile ground where they may germinate and take root, growing into new saplings and eventually great trees. But this process seems to happen largely without personal effort or involvement, carried along simply by the force and energy of the activities themselves and the wish that set them spinning out into the world on their gossamer filaments. The figure faces away from the center, towards the right, watching as her wishes are carried off by the wind.

Story: The flow of energy in these three cards very clearly fall into the pattern Place calls the "central origin" — a central card facing forward, with cards on each side facing away from the center in opposite directions. In this case, the center card of Justice may indicate a current pattern in the relationship and the two results that may arise from such a pattern. Clear insight and discernment, with a focus on finding a careful balance and weighing truth against truth, gives rise, on the one hand, to the Eight of Wands, a card of momentum and energy (especially one that will lead to new beginnings) that are largely impersonal in nature and somewhat "left up to" the forces and whims of nature. This might mean that the stillness and inward-turning nature of Justice is likely to give rise to activity of a dispassionate and impersonal nature, instead of a more personal involvement and engagement. In the other direction, another result that may arise from the pattern embodied in Justice is the Two of Swords, an impasse in which the swords of analytical thought are held at cross-purposes, barring the way and preventing a deeper receptivity to the gifts being offered. Given that the Two of Swords appears to the left, closer to Manannan's side, and the Eight of Wands appears to the right, closer to Brigid Star Fire, this suggests to me that too great a focus on discernment and balance may lead to an impersonal but potentially fruitful relationship with Brigid, but will only serve to block or prevent a deeper relationship with Manannan, whose fluidity and receptivity might be stymied by over-analysis.


Overall Interpretation: I find this reading difficult and rather ambiguous in its meaning, and I suspect one of the biggest reasons why is because I did not clarify enough in my own mind exactly what I was asking before beginning. Am I treating Manannan and Brigid as two distinct entities and asking for insight into how they relate to each other, as though they were two mutual friends of mine and I was looking for insight into their relationship? Or am I asking for insight into how each of these deities fits into my spiritual life in an integrated way that brings them into relationship? In other words: where am I, as querent, in this spread? I think the second version of the question is probably the closest to the one I was intending (though having a clearer question in mind may help in the future). If that is the case, then it seems likely that the three cards for each deity suggest how that deity is in relationship to me and how that relationship shifts or changes with the involvement of the other deity; while the "bridge" between the deities seems to be about my own attitudes in how to consciously connect them or bring them into relationship in my practice and approach. What's interesting is that, for each deity, the card closest to that deity and farthest from the center seems to reflect or echo the "core" of the other deity: the card closest to the heart of Manannan is The Star, a symbol that I have been connecting deeply with Brigid (Star Fire); the card closest to the heart of Brigid is the Nine of Cups, an intensely watery card depicting an underwater ocean scene. In both of these cards, water and fire, darkness and light share an intimate relationship with one another, suggesting that it is unwise, if not impossible, to try to separate them out into distinct entities without running the risk of diminishing one or both. As the relationships in each of the three cards moves towards the center, ambiguity and uncertainty seems to enter the picture (especially in regards to Brigid), but the card closest to the center in each three-card grouping holds that seed of light that is offered as a potential new beginning, new opportunity or new insight into the world. In this case, the "bridge" with a fulcrum as Justice, concerned with separating out and discerning between opposites, might represent my intellectual attempts to reconcile these changing relationships and clearly delineate each deity, though it seems such an attempt may be wrong-headed and unhelpful right from the start. This seems especially ironic considering that at the beginning of my reading, I spent a minute in meditation reaching out to the energies of water/sea below and fire/sky above, joining them together in the earth/tree of my body (as per the DOTR three realms working from Lesson 2) and asking for clarity of insight in my reading.

With that, I'm going to do a final three-card reading asking for advice to see if this interpretation may be even remotely on the right track.

Final Advice

(c) Ace of Cups - A gift and beginning, the first drop of water that unites with the ocean, merging with the source of all water and life, sending ripples out in all directions. This card is one of utter unity and wholeness, the emotional and intuitive core from which all else springs and ripples outward — mystical in its connection the the sacred grail or chalice, source of life. The first stirrings of gladness and joy, an initial surge of connection and attraction, as the tides are pulled by the moon, it is also a card of imagination and receptivity.

(b) Queen of Wands - A fiery queen of passion, initiative and energy, she stands at her harp, her living wands, drawing the delicate strains of music from its strings as the creatures of the forest still to listen, entranced by her energy and enthusiasm. As queen, she has the maturity and composure to balance her fiery energies with receptivity and love, and these weave through each other to lend beauty and depth to her activities. She is self-confident, playful and at ease with herself, whether she is the center of attention or retired into the background.

(a) King of Cups - A king of intuition, emotion and receptivity, he governs with endless patience and calm, deeply in touch with the emotional and spiritual needs of his subjects. He is a protector and provider, offering healing and cleansing from his sacred chalice. Balancing out the receptivity and fluidity of his natural element with his maturity and authority as king, bringing structure and order to his realm. Yet his authority arises not from imposition or control, but from being deeply attuned to the patterns and currents of intuition and emotion that flow through the world.

Story: The pattern in this final three-card reading is obviously, almost overwhelmingly linear, moving from right to left, from the Ace of Cups through the Queen of Wands to the King of Cups. All of the figures in these three cards face to the left (even in the Ace of Cups which might be expected to be forward-facing, the golden fish that arise from and swim around the chalice face to the left). In this story, then, it seems that the Ace of Cups represents a beginning, an initial gift of connection and intuition that then led to a relationship with the Queen of Wands, a queen of fire, energy, passion and creativity. This seems to clearly indicate a relationship with Brigid (Celtic fire goddess). Through this relationship with the Queen of Wands, there is then movement towards the King of Cups, a powerful king of the depths of intuition and emotion. Again, this seems to so obviously indicate Manannan, not only in imagery and symbolism, but in the suggestion of intense emotional engagement that I feel with him. The three cards, moving from right to left, actually move across my altar from my Brigid candle to my Manannan candle, again seeming to indicate a linear movement from one to the other. Yet, the fact that Brigid is represented by a Queen and Manannan by a King (each of which themselves have a balance of energies within them — fiery feminine, watery masculine) seems to be a strong suggestion that, even within this linear progress, Brigid and Manannan are paired as a couple and are intimately related to each other. Overall, the advice of this final reading seems to be to accept the unfolding progress of events at face value — a linear movement through/away from Brigid and towards Manannan — and to allow myself to explore this relationship with Manannan more deeply, but without worrying that to do so will somehow weaken my relationship to Brigid. As a fiery Queen of Wands used to being the center of attention and showing up in the center of the spread, it's unlikely she will be going anywhere any time soon.

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....