It probably comes as no surprise to anyone who knows me that I do a lot of reading - mostly on magical topics. Generally I prefer more scholarly works, because as the wider occult community has been discovering for the past however many years they've gone in this direction, magic is best when understood from within its historical context. For too long though, we've had this strange kind of dichotomy between the bookish types and those who are more experiential in basis. I consider this to be a completely false dichotomy in practice. There is a perception there that the book-readers do not experience (and in some cases are prevented from having experiences by their bookishness), and an equally insulting practice that those who do experience do not read. It's all ridiculous. While there are undoubtedly those who do just read and are, to quote Diana Paxson, 'cement heads', those who do just experience and do not read, in my experience this is not the whole picture. There are a whole lot of people in between.
Of course, your mileage may vary, but for those of us who straddle this false dichotomy in the most extreme way (being both very bookish, and very experiential), our process is a game of two halves.
First comes the research, the hours upon hours of reading obscure texts and endless analysis of those texts. As individuals with a magical worldview, we probably don't take the same from those texts as the purely bookish do. Because there's a certain way that things 'work' when it comes to magic. A certain 'feel' that magic has in its working and turning that helps you to 'smell' it when you come across it and get a feel for how it works. This perspective and feel for magic is the basis of translating what is on the page into practice. It's what allows us to deconstruct a 1000+ year old account in terms of the magical tech used to make whatever occurred, occur.
At first glance, this process can look somewhat static, but it's really not as static as it may seem. Perhaps the best way of looking at this is to think of the pursuit for older methods as a way of looking for a way to get one's foot in the door with whichever spirit, god, or wight you're hoping to initiation a reciprocal relationship.You learn to make contact in the old way, you look to the myths for those ways because those are the ways the gods themselves set down in illo tempore. We do best to imitate them, to create that connection and begin that relationship. Because once you've done it, and you're under no illusions that you *have* made contact, it's generally easier to do so again.
However, once that contact has been made, the field opens up somewhat as the relationship between human and wight progresses. Omens are taken, divination performed, and dreams monitored for direction. Over time, everything from how you conduct ritual while working with that being, to the kind of incense preferred may become subject to change in accordance with the preference of the being with whom you are working. From this point on, it's best described as being spirit-led, and not in the BS way that term is often used nowadays.
So at this point, you may be wondering why even bother with the more formal introduction phase if there is the potential for things to open up somewhat after that point?
In my opinion, there are a few good reasons for this.
The first and biggest reason is that it's polite and demonstrates respect for the spirit in question. We all have points of etiquette that we observe in society. Imagine you were to be called to someone's house to help them out with something and they didn't do anything to accommodate you or look to your needs. Imagine if they didn't even greet you at the door, using the formulaic greetings we all subconsciously observe. Imagine if their house smelled terrible, or in a way that set your allergies off (and they knew about those allergies). Imagine if they didn't even offer you hospitality, or the kind of foods or drinks you're known to like. This is basic *ghosti, and yes, sure it's different from what we would give to another human, but that's the point here. These are non-human intelligences, but the scenario of the bad host works here. In some of the grimoires, some spirits are noted as being really finicky about those details. They care. By observing that ritual etiquette, you are are starting the relationship off right.
The second reason is one of identification and making sure you have made contact with the actual spirit you were looking to contact. The methodologies and formulas are there for a reason - and that's largely because they worked as they were supposed to for people back in the day. They ensure that you deal with what you're supposed to be dealing with and remove the unknown quantity of encroachment by a random spirit from the equation. This is a protective measure for you and one you should observe.
Lastly, I believe that by carrying out a ritual as intended, you're adding to the weight of tradition in that ritual and helping to increase the chances of its efficacy. If there's one thing I've learned from working with old charms and rituals, it's that the formulae, the methodology, and the nomina magica have a weightiness about them that you just don't get with more modern creations.
There are other reasons, but those are the main ones for me.
So as you might imagine, when it comes to coming up with liturgy for high rites (or indeed anything else really), including aspects of older magical tech and invocations is something that I consider important.
Recently, I've been reading Jake Stratton-Kent's Geosophia, and in it, he writes about how the Goens of old would use dirges as invocations to the dead. The entirety of Stratton-Kent's 'Encyclopedia Goetica', an extremely wide-ranging work spanning five books (including volumes I &II of Geosophia) is focused on proving that Goetic magic has its origins in the pre-Classical ritual specialists known as the Goens. These were practitioners who concerned themselves predominantly with an older, more chthonic form of religion - a form of religion that was very much concerned with the Dead and the underworld.
As someone who grew up with a spiritualist parent, the Dead have always played a part in my rites and beliefs, and so unsurprisingly this work on Goetia is very appealing to me. But where as my devotion has never been lacking, I never really got along with the ways of interacting with them that I learned as a younger person (largely from my dad, during countless sessions of one on one teaching and exercises). His path is not mine. However, short of actual mound sitting, I never found the more Pagan and Heathen ways of interacting to be particularly effective either. At least not in the way I wanted - it's kind of hard to be satisfied with getting the feeling that they're there and listening (maybe) after having things like physical-feeling touches, shoves, poltergeist phenomena, and other more visceral effects happen to you. It seems to be like there's making contact and there's making contact.
And I'm not saying that I've got it down yet - I don't think I do. But I think I have at least one more piece of the puzzle.
When we were planning our Samhain rite, as we're based in Gettysburg - a place inextricably linked with the Dead - we wanted it to be something extra special. We wanted to give the wandering Dead of the place a chance to find peace if they wished it.
So, as the Goens of old, we adapted the A Lyke Wake dirge into an invocation for the Dead, replacing the more Christian aspects of afterlife cosmology contained in the song with ones that were more reflective of Pagan ideas. The dirge in its original form, is guiding the recently departed to the Underworld, and could very easily be used in psychopomp work. Because of our location, I also changed the dialect the song was written in. While it is close to my own native dialect (and I originally learned the song that way), it's maybe not so appropriate for the Dead of this place.
We also included a few period-specific aspects in our rite too, because when it comes to the Dead, I've found it's often best to meet them at least half-way. As a part of this, we included funerary cookies - a tradition from the Victorian period - with a two minute period of remembrance. We also baked a bread man to serve as a stand-in for a sin eater.
The sin eater was was a despised figure back in the day despite providing an important service to his community and surrounding area. As the name suggests, it was his task to 'eat' the sin from the deceased thus allowing them to pass into heaven unhindered. By ingesting the sin though, he became hateful to the community, and so his treatment at their hands reflected this. We obviously didn't want to subject anyone to becoming that, and so we created a bread sin eater to introduce to the dead during the rite. The sin eater would be passed from attendee to attendee, named as the sin eater, then spat on or insulted before being offered up to the Dead for their use should they wish to move on but don't feel as though they can. My husband was a soldier, I've met soldiers who've come back from war convinced that their god was angry at them for the things they had to do. I wanted to give the Dead that felt like that a chance for some peace using a method they would hopefully recognize.
We found the use of the dirge a very effective way of calling the Dead to the rite. One of the participants began a low, slow drumbeat on his drum that was just perfect for the mood of the darkening skies and blazing fire. The air became expectant and charged.
We'd set a seat, a table, some clothes, paper shoe representations (burning actual shoes would have been pretty noxious), and food out for the Dead as offerings. The silence was poignant.
By the time we announced the sin eater, and had passed him around, I began to feel a cold column moving past me as though in single file, around the circle, and moving towards where we'd set the sin eater by the fire. It felt as though it was working but that there were just so many.
Unfortunately, for all these pluses to the rite, there were also some minuses too.
We discovered the necessity of having a Y/N system for asking if the offerings were accepted as we received an omen which (I believe) had more to do with the results of the then-upcoming US election. Because of this, we then went into making more offerings of praise and goods, which wasn't a bad thing, until one first time attendee who was there got down on his knees and gave this long improvised prayer to Jesus.
On the one hand, I can understand why he did it. Jesus was the god of most of the Dead with whom we were dealing. I believe that in his heart he was trying to do a good thing and coming from a good place.
However, when he did that, it felt to me as though all the energy went out of the rite. Not in a peaceful way, but in the same kind of a way as when you go to places that are just 'dead'. Like the wights have fled and there's nothing left but a yawning emptiness not unlike Ginnungagap. My stomach churned, I felt angry despite understanding on an intellectual level why. This land was where my kindred also met - what of the wights with whom we have ties? Had those ties been fouled up by that invocation of the carpenter? What of the Dead who'd been filing to the sin eater? Will they find peace?
I sat there in a mixture of shock and horror. The priest stood up and promptly sacrificed the rest of our offerings to the fires in honor of the Kindreds. Other people did the same.
When I left the rite, I felt dead and drained. Although all the energy I'd put in during the gifting phase of the ritual had just been ripped out. I didn't feel a return flow.
That was disappointing, and I'm ashamed to say that I avoided that individual afterwards because I could not trust myself to stay silent around him. The priest had words with him and explained that we do not invoke Jesus in ADF rites. I think I would like to have words with him if he attends the next rite to apologize for that and find some common ground.
Those troubles aside though, I found the ritual methodology was effective, and really like the use of adapted dirges as invocations/psychopomp chants (because it's only polite to guide the Dead back if you're going to wake them). It felt as though yet another puzzle piece had fallen in place, and for that, I am extremely thankful.
Friday, January 6, 2017
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Opening the Gates - A Reflection on Experimentation
I
held the oak staves up crossed before me and spun around the fire. I
moved to the drums, I moved to the sound of my friends as they
chanted 'Open the gates!', over and over again. I danced on the
energy as it rose.
“LET THE UNDERWORLD OF THE DEAD!”
I circled the fire sunwise, as the spear-carrying brothers of Sunna would.
“LET THE ABOVE WORLD OF THE GODS!”
The world moved around me as I continued to spin and make my final round.
“LET THE AROUND WORLD OF THE WIHTA!”
The moving became a blur.
“BE HERE IN THIS SACRED PLACE!”
Breathing heavily, but not entirely from the effort of movement, I stopped and gathered myself up. The staves felt heavy now, as though the threads of the worlds had been gathered up like the gossamer of a spiders web, and I pulled them apart from their crossed position.
“OH MIGHTY ALCIS, LET THE GATES BE OPEN!”
A shift occurred, a reality-bending shift that felt almost like reverb to me as I pulled the staves apart and then dropped to my knees to plant them in the ground.
“The gates are open”, I breathe, and then shakily make my way back to my seat to sit down.
It's not a shakiness born of weakness though, or of being unfit, but rather the shakiness born of energy coursing through the body. That feeling of being a conduit. I sit, I breathe, and I redirect the energy.
That night my dreams are laden with meaning, filled with liturgy and fire, wells, and trees – of recreating the cosmos as we understand it in ADF rites. They're not particularly restful though, dreams that are partially trance rarely are. They're half liturgy and rite, and half libraries, books, and parsonage. They feel like a homework assignment.
At Beltane, the gatekeeper will be Manannan Mac Lir – a deity with whom I have only more recently begun to worship and build *ghosti.
One of the things I like the most about ADF is our willingness to admit when we make something up, or pull it from non-Indo-European sources. The concept of gatekeeper and opening the gates was hard for me when first began in ADF, but increasingly it is with the gods and goddesses associated with the liminal, and of course portals that I work.
Yesterday felt right, yesterday felt like a tradition born.
“LET THE UNDERWORLD OF THE DEAD!”
I circled the fire sunwise, as the spear-carrying brothers of Sunna would.
“LET THE ABOVE WORLD OF THE GODS!”
The world moved around me as I continued to spin and make my final round.
“LET THE AROUND WORLD OF THE WIHTA!”
The moving became a blur.
“BE HERE IN THIS SACRED PLACE!”
Breathing heavily, but not entirely from the effort of movement, I stopped and gathered myself up. The staves felt heavy now, as though the threads of the worlds had been gathered up like the gossamer of a spiders web, and I pulled them apart from their crossed position.
“OH MIGHTY ALCIS, LET THE GATES BE OPEN!”
A shift occurred, a reality-bending shift that felt almost like reverb to me as I pulled the staves apart and then dropped to my knees to plant them in the ground.
“The gates are open”, I breathe, and then shakily make my way back to my seat to sit down.
It's not a shakiness born of weakness though, or of being unfit, but rather the shakiness born of energy coursing through the body. That feeling of being a conduit. I sit, I breathe, and I redirect the energy.
That night my dreams are laden with meaning, filled with liturgy and fire, wells, and trees – of recreating the cosmos as we understand it in ADF rites. They're not particularly restful though, dreams that are partially trance rarely are. They're half liturgy and rite, and half libraries, books, and parsonage. They feel like a homework assignment.
At Beltane, the gatekeeper will be Manannan Mac Lir – a deity with whom I have only more recently begun to worship and build *ghosti.
One of the things I like the most about ADF is our willingness to admit when we make something up, or pull it from non-Indo-European sources. The concept of gatekeeper and opening the gates was hard for me when first began in ADF, but increasingly it is with the gods and goddesses associated with the liminal, and of course portals that I work.
Yesterday felt right, yesterday felt like a tradition born.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
Core Order of Ritual - Gatekeepers and the Druid's Sigil
Our ProtoGrove's Spring Equinox ritual is coming up, and so thoughts have been turning once more to creating liturgy. I usually try to choose a different ritual stage to write with each rite, and so this time, I chose to do the Gatekeeper invocation and Opening the Gates.
It's really one of my favourite parts of the Core Order of Ritual, even though it was adopted from non-Indo-European tradition (not that my liking something is dependant on the Indo-European status of something), but it's one role I've never taken on in ProtoGrove ritual before. I'm not entirely sure why, maybe it's nervousness, because from experience with my private rites, an effective gate-opening is one of the key points that make the difference between amazing ritual and something that feels more like going through the motions and simple piety in action. At least to me that is.
And I've had so many ideas for a gatekeeper invocation and gate opening.
In our PG, our solar High Days are typically Germanic in nature, and so for me the natural choice of Gatekeepers are the Alcis - the Germanic Divine Twins.
Warning, here is where I go into UPG.
I didn't used to worship the Divine Twins, but a conversation with a certain very well-read and intelligent gentleman about the layout of temples and the connection between the Twins and entrances planted a seed in my mind and it seemed like from then on, every night was dreams about door ways and athletic dancing with spears. Always Twins. I began to see the doorway - that liminal space between inside and outside - as being 'their' place. Rock paintings of the sun with (what we imagine as) her two brothers formed into UPG about the Twins and the Sun, and so the sun also took her place more firmly in my personal cosmology.
So when it came to the creation of my Gatekeeper/s invocation and Opening the Gates, these associations were what came instantly to mind.
What if - at least for the purposes of ritual - the spears were staffs?
What if a rudimentary dance could be incorporated to 'dance the ways open'.
Soon, I'd written a basic outline for that section of the rite, I would give my invocation to the Alcis, asking for their aid in opening the gates and offer to them. Then, while holding two staffs crossed before me, I would then circle round the fire in a kind of wild 'dance' (because I'm under no illusion of my choreographic abilities here), three times as attendees chant 'Open the Gates!', before separating the staffs and planting them into the earth to form a physical gate of sorts and declaring them open.
Of course, this says nothing of the more magical aspects of this act, the more inner level of ritual.
After writing this piece of liturgy though, I started to find new ideas of ways to 'tweak' this section - like 'preparing' the staffs by turning them into Portals as outlined in Ian Corrigan's 'Sacred Fire, Holy Well'.
Separately, through my divinatory work for the Seers Guild training, I've been getting to know the Ogham a little better, and just this last week, this passage from Skip Ellison's book on Ogham (p26) almost jumped off the page at me:
"We can use the oak in our magic whenever strength or nobility is needed. It can be used as a symbol of a gateway or entrance into the land of Faerie."
And this got me thinking about the use of a Druid Sigil - with its two staves and circle of oakleaves - as a physical and magical representation of a gate. What if it might be considered a gate? Used as a gate in ritual? Do people do this already?
Needless to say, I have a lot to prepare before Ostara.
It's really one of my favourite parts of the Core Order of Ritual, even though it was adopted from non-Indo-European tradition (not that my liking something is dependant on the Indo-European status of something), but it's one role I've never taken on in ProtoGrove ritual before. I'm not entirely sure why, maybe it's nervousness, because from experience with my private rites, an effective gate-opening is one of the key points that make the difference between amazing ritual and something that feels more like going through the motions and simple piety in action. At least to me that is.
And I've had so many ideas for a gatekeeper invocation and gate opening.
In our PG, our solar High Days are typically Germanic in nature, and so for me the natural choice of Gatekeepers are the Alcis - the Germanic Divine Twins.
Warning, here is where I go into UPG.
I didn't used to worship the Divine Twins, but a conversation with a certain very well-read and intelligent gentleman about the layout of temples and the connection between the Twins and entrances planted a seed in my mind and it seemed like from then on, every night was dreams about door ways and athletic dancing with spears. Always Twins. I began to see the doorway - that liminal space between inside and outside - as being 'their' place. Rock paintings of the sun with (what we imagine as) her two brothers formed into UPG about the Twins and the Sun, and so the sun also took her place more firmly in my personal cosmology.
So when it came to the creation of my Gatekeeper/s invocation and Opening the Gates, these associations were what came instantly to mind.
What if - at least for the purposes of ritual - the spears were staffs?
What if a rudimentary dance could be incorporated to 'dance the ways open'.
Soon, I'd written a basic outline for that section of the rite, I would give my invocation to the Alcis, asking for their aid in opening the gates and offer to them. Then, while holding two staffs crossed before me, I would then circle round the fire in a kind of wild 'dance' (because I'm under no illusion of my choreographic abilities here), three times as attendees chant 'Open the Gates!', before separating the staffs and planting them into the earth to form a physical gate of sorts and declaring them open.
Of course, this says nothing of the more magical aspects of this act, the more inner level of ritual.
After writing this piece of liturgy though, I started to find new ideas of ways to 'tweak' this section - like 'preparing' the staffs by turning them into Portals as outlined in Ian Corrigan's 'Sacred Fire, Holy Well'.
Separately, through my divinatory work for the Seers Guild training, I've been getting to know the Ogham a little better, and just this last week, this passage from Skip Ellison's book on Ogham (p26) almost jumped off the page at me:
"We can use the oak in our magic whenever strength or nobility is needed. It can be used as a symbol of a gateway or entrance into the land of Faerie."
And this got me thinking about the use of a Druid Sigil - with its two staves and circle of oakleaves - as a physical and magical representation of a gate. What if it might be considered a gate? Used as a gate in ritual? Do people do this already?
Needless to say, I have a lot to prepare before Ostara.
Monday, February 29, 2016
Magicians Guild Musings
My Dedicant's Path coursework passed early this month, and so I've been
working on quite a few new courses. I also joined a couple of guilds;
the Seers Guild, and the Magicians Guild.
As my background isn't in ceremonial magic, it's been a challenge so far, but that's one of the reasons why I opted to join the guild and work on the guild training courses. This exposure to ceremonial magic in the History of Magic section of the training is really giving me ideas for hybrid rites, or at least rites that take the effective ritual mechanics and techniques of ceremonial magic but that are inherently Pagan and conform to the Core Order of Ritual.
Blasphemy, right?
I have to confess, I do rather like this kind of experimentation. I've always been something of a pragmatist when it has come to the magical arts in the past - if it works I do it, and if I can hone what I already know works, then I'll take out that honing tool and put it to work.
The first ritual that niggled me for playing with is the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram. I learned how to do it years ago as another sort of weapon in my arsenal for exorcism (I used to get called in to exorcise places every now and again). However, I wondered if it would be truly possible to create a 'paganized' version that still maintained the same ritual mechanics as the original.
And thus began a crazy process trying to make that work. I have something that does work for me, but I'm still working on it. The main changes I've made though have been:
*Changing the initial visualisation to visualising myself growing so as to dwarf the earth and that I stand upon the earth - as a part of the solar system still - and draw energy from the sun. This helps to tie this non-qabalistic cross with the work of the Two Powers meditation.
*At what would be 'Malkuth', there is an added section in which earth energy is also drawn up in the visualisation - once more tying into the Two Powers.
*The language used is a prayer I wrote in Old English that I vibrate.
* After reading that the use of four elements in the Western Esoteric Tradition derives from the Tetragrammaton, I changed it to three - land/earth, sea/waters, and sky/fire.
* The pentagram is replaced by a swastika. The use of the swastika does present the problem of it being four-legged and more tied in with four elements (at least in Golden Dawn magic). However, the history of the swastika is far older than the Golden Dawn - or the Nazis -and I take it to be a holy and auspicious symbol. I also personally have good associations with the symbol after living in Asia (where it is commonly displayed) and protecting my home using that symbolism.
*The circle creation section of the ritual is also tied in with a recreation of the cosmos.
Like I said though, I'm not 100% happy with what I've come up with.
However, I *am* happy with my newest idea, very happy in fact, and I'd love to try it out.
It's a recreation of the cosmos type idea that's based on the Planetary Morning Star (a symbol that is now being used by modern practitioners of the Fairy faith). At the center is an axis mundi or tree, and the star is marked out using ribbon and stakes around the tree/post. The working area is in the center of the star, around the tree, and the representations of land, sea, and sky are placed in accordance with the diagram. It's intended to recreate the cosmos in a slightly more concrete sense, placing it fully within our solar system. Again, there are holes here, namely that we know there are more than 7 planets and that the earth isn't at the center of the solar system. However, it is not a scientific truth that we seek to express here, but a truth based in myth and ritual; that, as Mircea Eliade once wrote, '"Our world" is always situated at the center.'
If nothing else, I think it would make for a very beautiful and grand ritual setting and recreation of the cosmos (the ribbons then being used to decorate and honor the tree that served as the axis mundi after the rite is ended).
Notes:
* The center dot denotes tree/axis mundi.
* The triple division of the circle is not for replication, it's merely to show the positioning of the representations of the land, sea, and sky. So, for example, a representation of earth would go in the North, the fire (as representation of the sky and realm of Shining Ones) would go in the South East. The well would go in the South West.
* Start at Sunday and follow the line to Monday, then Tuesday, then...you get the idea. Neat, huh?
As my background isn't in ceremonial magic, it's been a challenge so far, but that's one of the reasons why I opted to join the guild and work on the guild training courses. This exposure to ceremonial magic in the History of Magic section of the training is really giving me ideas for hybrid rites, or at least rites that take the effective ritual mechanics and techniques of ceremonial magic but that are inherently Pagan and conform to the Core Order of Ritual.
Blasphemy, right?
I have to confess, I do rather like this kind of experimentation. I've always been something of a pragmatist when it has come to the magical arts in the past - if it works I do it, and if I can hone what I already know works, then I'll take out that honing tool and put it to work.
The first ritual that niggled me for playing with is the Lesser Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram. I learned how to do it years ago as another sort of weapon in my arsenal for exorcism (I used to get called in to exorcise places every now and again). However, I wondered if it would be truly possible to create a 'paganized' version that still maintained the same ritual mechanics as the original.
And thus began a crazy process trying to make that work. I have something that does work for me, but I'm still working on it. The main changes I've made though have been:
*Changing the initial visualisation to visualising myself growing so as to dwarf the earth and that I stand upon the earth - as a part of the solar system still - and draw energy from the sun. This helps to tie this non-qabalistic cross with the work of the Two Powers meditation.
*At what would be 'Malkuth', there is an added section in which earth energy is also drawn up in the visualisation - once more tying into the Two Powers.
*The language used is a prayer I wrote in Old English that I vibrate.
* After reading that the use of four elements in the Western Esoteric Tradition derives from the Tetragrammaton, I changed it to three - land/earth, sea/waters, and sky/fire.
* The pentagram is replaced by a swastika. The use of the swastika does present the problem of it being four-legged and more tied in with four elements (at least in Golden Dawn magic). However, the history of the swastika is far older than the Golden Dawn - or the Nazis -and I take it to be a holy and auspicious symbol. I also personally have good associations with the symbol after living in Asia (where it is commonly displayed) and protecting my home using that symbolism.
*The circle creation section of the ritual is also tied in with a recreation of the cosmos.
Like I said though, I'm not 100% happy with what I've come up with.
However, I *am* happy with my newest idea, very happy in fact, and I'd love to try it out.
It's a recreation of the cosmos type idea that's based on the Planetary Morning Star (a symbol that is now being used by modern practitioners of the Fairy faith). At the center is an axis mundi or tree, and the star is marked out using ribbon and stakes around the tree/post. The working area is in the center of the star, around the tree, and the representations of land, sea, and sky are placed in accordance with the diagram. It's intended to recreate the cosmos in a slightly more concrete sense, placing it fully within our solar system. Again, there are holes here, namely that we know there are more than 7 planets and that the earth isn't at the center of the solar system. However, it is not a scientific truth that we seek to express here, but a truth based in myth and ritual; that, as Mircea Eliade once wrote, '"Our world" is always situated at the center.'
If nothing else, I think it would make for a very beautiful and grand ritual setting and recreation of the cosmos (the ribbons then being used to decorate and honor the tree that served as the axis mundi after the rite is ended).
* The center dot denotes tree/axis mundi.
* The triple division of the circle is not for replication, it's merely to show the positioning of the representations of the land, sea, and sky. So, for example, a representation of earth would go in the North, the fire (as representation of the sky and realm of Shining Ones) would go in the South East. The well would go in the South West.
* Start at Sunday and follow the line to Monday, then Tuesday, then...you get the idea. Neat, huh?
Sunday, June 28, 2015
Book Review: 'In Search of the Indo-Europeans', by J.P. Mallory
Book Review
'In Search of the Indo-Europeans: Language, Archaeology and Myth', by J.P. Mallory
When I first picked up this book, it's because I'd been trying to read Jaan Puhvel's 'Comparative Mythology', but found myself frustrated by my lack of grounding in the more 'physical' aspects of what we know of the Indo-Europeans. As the title of Puhvel's book suggests, it represents a particular method of researching IE cultures as opposed to giving a good overall introduction to the subject, and so while it's an entertaining read, I think I would recommend that any newcomer to the subject start with Mallory's book.
Although drier than Puhvel's writing, Mallory is methodical and conservative in his interpretations of physical, and linguistic evidence, which I appreciate. I found the first chapter, 'The Discovery of the Indo-Europeans', and its overview of the various scholastic currents that eventually led to the discovery of the Indo-Europeans very entertaining; indeed I had a good chucked about Goropianism (P11).
Chapters two and three were concentrated on tracing the various Indo-European groups in Asia Minor and Europe respectively, and this is where Mallory really filled in what was missing for me when I first tried to read Puhvel. His approach in each chapter is to start with the cultures that we can most confidently describe as being IE language speakers with the earliest literary records, before widening his focus to other similar groups in the same geograhpic area. For example, in chapter three, he begins with the Hittites, turns his focus to the other IE cultures in the Anatolian group (Luwian and Palaic), and then gradually traces his way around the other various IE groups in Asia Minor and beyond (such as the Tocharians). Along the way, Mallory integrates evidence from the archaeological record (such as burials and pottery), and the contemporary accounts of neighbouring cultures with whom the IE cultures interacted, to present the fullest picture possible without wandering into the realm of supposition. The interdisciplinary approach is one that I truly appreciate.
As someone with a language-based degree and a burgeoning interest in linguistic paleontology, chapter four, 'Proto-Indo-European Culture', was a delight to me. In this chapter, Mallory takes a look at what words we have been able to reconstruct of the Proto-Indo-European language, and what we can ultimately ascertain about everything from the kind of environment they lived in, to their economy, social structure, and technology. I especially found the section on familial relationships, especially regarding fosterage and the roots of nepotism (P. 124) interesting.
When it came to the chapter on Indo-European Religion, I think I was hoping for a little more, for it to be a little longer and more in depth, however I think that would have been going outside Mallory's typical purview and more into the realm of supposition. As expected, there was a heavy focus on tripartation, horse sacrifice, the divine twins, and a discussion on the usefulness of what Mallory refers to as 'new comparative mythology'. This is, without a doubt, Puhvel's territory, and were I to give advice to a newcomer on what to read and when, I would tell them to read Mallory, but then begin Puhvel's book after reading chapter five.
Chapter six took a look at the problems of trying to locate the Indo-European Homeland. Again, Mallory took a methodical and careful approach, and began by ascertaining just how big, on average, a linguistic area tends to be. Then, moving onto an analysis of the potential neighbouring cultural areas of that homeland, he sets out to prove contact through loan words, the geographical concentration of IE languages, linguistic paleontology, and a cursory look at archaeology.
The next two chapters, 'The Archaeology of the Proto-Indo-Europeans', and 'Indo-European Expansions' were some of my favourites in the book. I found myself fascinated by the commonalities of burial practices among the early cultures that might be called PIE cultures (such as Sredny Stog, Corded Ware, TRB, Globular Amphora, Yamnaya, and other steppe cultures), and the use of ochre in ritual. In some ways, to me, the ochre seems to be representative of blood, its use on Kurgan burials, anthropomorphic stone stelae (as found at Kalanchak, P. 204), and Afansievo censers (P.223), suggests that it may have been seen as a purifying/sanctifying substance. When discussing the Corded Ware culture, Mallory does not mention the use of ochre, and so I wonder if for some reason the use of ochre in ritual didn't continue as the Indo-Europeans expanded north and west, and why that would have been the case. These chapters were dense, satisfying, and I feel like I could write an entire review on just them.
The epilogue, as a discussion of the history, use, and abuse of the term 'Aryan', left me both irritated and glad. I was irritated because there are certain movements that would try and use Indo-European studies to support racist agendas, but I was glad that Mallory not only went there, but thoroughly demonstrated the error of ideologies that would see us place people and languages in hierarchies of 'greater' and 'lesser'. After addressing that less savoury subject, Mallory moved on to looking at the actual legacy of the Indo-Europeans, the domestication of the horse, our linguistic heritage, and as the final picture in the book (Peter Breugal's 'Land of Cockayne') demonstrates, a potential adherence to the idea of tripartation.
Words: 894
'In Search of the Indo-Europeans: Language, Archaeology and Myth', by J.P. Mallory
When I first picked up this book, it's because I'd been trying to read Jaan Puhvel's 'Comparative Mythology', but found myself frustrated by my lack of grounding in the more 'physical' aspects of what we know of the Indo-Europeans. As the title of Puhvel's book suggests, it represents a particular method of researching IE cultures as opposed to giving a good overall introduction to the subject, and so while it's an entertaining read, I think I would recommend that any newcomer to the subject start with Mallory's book.
Although drier than Puhvel's writing, Mallory is methodical and conservative in his interpretations of physical, and linguistic evidence, which I appreciate. I found the first chapter, 'The Discovery of the Indo-Europeans', and its overview of the various scholastic currents that eventually led to the discovery of the Indo-Europeans very entertaining; indeed I had a good chucked about Goropianism (P11).
Chapters two and three were concentrated on tracing the various Indo-European groups in Asia Minor and Europe respectively, and this is where Mallory really filled in what was missing for me when I first tried to read Puhvel. His approach in each chapter is to start with the cultures that we can most confidently describe as being IE language speakers with the earliest literary records, before widening his focus to other similar groups in the same geograhpic area. For example, in chapter three, he begins with the Hittites, turns his focus to the other IE cultures in the Anatolian group (Luwian and Palaic), and then gradually traces his way around the other various IE groups in Asia Minor and beyond (such as the Tocharians). Along the way, Mallory integrates evidence from the archaeological record (such as burials and pottery), and the contemporary accounts of neighbouring cultures with whom the IE cultures interacted, to present the fullest picture possible without wandering into the realm of supposition. The interdisciplinary approach is one that I truly appreciate.
As someone with a language-based degree and a burgeoning interest in linguistic paleontology, chapter four, 'Proto-Indo-European Culture', was a delight to me. In this chapter, Mallory takes a look at what words we have been able to reconstruct of the Proto-Indo-European language, and what we can ultimately ascertain about everything from the kind of environment they lived in, to their economy, social structure, and technology. I especially found the section on familial relationships, especially regarding fosterage and the roots of nepotism (P. 124) interesting.
When it came to the chapter on Indo-European Religion, I think I was hoping for a little more, for it to be a little longer and more in depth, however I think that would have been going outside Mallory's typical purview and more into the realm of supposition. As expected, there was a heavy focus on tripartation, horse sacrifice, the divine twins, and a discussion on the usefulness of what Mallory refers to as 'new comparative mythology'. This is, without a doubt, Puhvel's territory, and were I to give advice to a newcomer on what to read and when, I would tell them to read Mallory, but then begin Puhvel's book after reading chapter five.
Chapter six took a look at the problems of trying to locate the Indo-European Homeland. Again, Mallory took a methodical and careful approach, and began by ascertaining just how big, on average, a linguistic area tends to be. Then, moving onto an analysis of the potential neighbouring cultural areas of that homeland, he sets out to prove contact through loan words, the geographical concentration of IE languages, linguistic paleontology, and a cursory look at archaeology.
The next two chapters, 'The Archaeology of the Proto-Indo-Europeans', and 'Indo-European Expansions' were some of my favourites in the book. I found myself fascinated by the commonalities of burial practices among the early cultures that might be called PIE cultures (such as Sredny Stog, Corded Ware, TRB, Globular Amphora, Yamnaya, and other steppe cultures), and the use of ochre in ritual. In some ways, to me, the ochre seems to be representative of blood, its use on Kurgan burials, anthropomorphic stone stelae (as found at Kalanchak, P. 204), and Afansievo censers (P.223), suggests that it may have been seen as a purifying/sanctifying substance. When discussing the Corded Ware culture, Mallory does not mention the use of ochre, and so I wonder if for some reason the use of ochre in ritual didn't continue as the Indo-Europeans expanded north and west, and why that would have been the case. These chapters were dense, satisfying, and I feel like I could write an entire review on just them.
The epilogue, as a discussion of the history, use, and abuse of the term 'Aryan', left me both irritated and glad. I was irritated because there are certain movements that would try and use Indo-European studies to support racist agendas, but I was glad that Mallory not only went there, but thoroughly demonstrated the error of ideologies that would see us place people and languages in hierarchies of 'greater' and 'lesser'. After addressing that less savoury subject, Mallory moved on to looking at the actual legacy of the Indo-Europeans, the domestication of the horse, our linguistic heritage, and as the final picture in the book (Peter Breugal's 'Land of Cockayne') demonstrates, a potential adherence to the idea of tripartation.
Words: 894
Thursday, June 4, 2015
Hearth Culture Essay
I was fourteen when I first started to
pray to the gods I pray to now. Well, mostly the same gods, anyway.
Back then, I would just stand, unsure whether it was 'Pagan' to put
my hands together or close my eyes. My sources, such as they were,
were the entire Pagan section from my public library – about five
or six books in total, and all with a distinctly Wiccan flavour. But
still, as it was the mid 90s, it would be roughly three more years
before I would see the internet in my backwoods corner of England (in
the next town), and it was 1999 when the internet came to our home.
This was both a curse and a blessing; a blessing because there was no 'noise' from outside sources to tell me what I 'should' be doing, and a curse because I remained in a state of ignorance when it came to anything outside of the half a dozen Pagan books from the library. Some things I got right, making offerings to trees and water, for one. But I think I got a whole lot more wrong – a least for me.
Over the years, what might be termed as my 'hearth culture' has gone through countless changes as my environment ( and by extension, I) have adapted. When I joined ADF, I was at a crossroads of sorts, because to put it simply, I didn't feel like what I was doing was 'watering my whole tree', and I'm sorry to say that most of modern Heathenism came to feel empty to me. To borrow terminology from Isaac Bonewits in 'Neopagan Rites', the magical technology wasn't just incompetant, but it seemed anathema to many.
However, I have a drive, and a need to be engaged with the magical and otherworldly. Interactions with the 'other' have been a part of my life ever since I was a child growing up with the Spiritualist heritage of my father's side of the family. At this point, I've seen too much of the otherworldly, especially the dead, to ignore that side of me in order to not make some people uncomfortable.
I also have a drive to worship Celtic gods as well as Germanic, but this proved to be a large mental block for quite a while, and it was only when I started to research the cultural borrowings between the Gauls and Germans during the La Tène period that I began to feel more comfortable with the Irish and Brythonic sides of my heritage. As I looked at the Gauls, I began to look at the Indo-Europeans as a whole, and found myself understanding far more of the Germanic worldview for it. Some of the depth missing from mainstream Heathenry started to fill in for me, and in worshipping the Celtic gods that I worship, I found a kind of healing.
My hearth culture as I experience it now is both Germanic and Irish/Brythonic. The deities I worship are Woden, Frija, Thunor, Hama, Ing, Macha, Brighid (who I see as being the same as Brigantia, and the sovereignty goddess of the land where I grew up), Lugh, the Divine Twins, Blodeuedd/Blodeuwedd, and the Taliesin. I also worship the Aelfe (elves), Matronae, Feorrin ('fairies', in my native dialect), Cofgodas (house spirits), and make offerings to Garanus as a liminal guide. The Ancestors are a main part of our hearth culture, from the whole family offering rituals to the touching their shrine and saying a quick prayer or 'I love you' on my way past. When my daughter was born, it was at their shrine that we first presented her when my husband sprinkled water on her head and named her on her ninth day.
With a few friends who also straddle the worlds of Heathenry and ADF, the process of building a Proto-Grove began, and it's been really excellent because we not only do we have great 'ritual chemistry', but we're mostly on the same page about our hearth culture focii. We're a dual Norse/Irish grove, and alternate High Days between the cultures in a way that really works for us. Imbolc is about Brighid, Ostara honours the dawn goddess that brings the spring, Beltane is all about the Sidhe. At summer solstice we honour Sunna, and Lughnasadh is for Lugh. We're pretty set on the Divine Twins for the Autumn Equinox (based on the idea that in various IE cultures, the temple pillars representing them were typically aligned with the Fall equinox), and Samhain is all about the Ancestors (and maybe the Morrigan). Yule is yet to be discussed, but will in all likelihood be Germanic - probably in honour of Odin. I would also like to include Frija, but we'll have to see how the others in the PG feel. Regardless, my own Yule celebrations will honour Frija,and the Matronae, simply because that's the High Day focus in our home at that time of year. We also typically celebrate for 13 nights, and have various rituals during that time. As for patron deities for the PG, we have a consensus to just take it easy and see if any come up in an organic way.
If there's one thing though, that being a long-time Heathen has taught me, it's that hearth culture is a changing thing, it's mostly never set in stone. It's a thing that's alive, built up of layers of action, of piety, of prayer, of ritual, of oaths, and service. It's also something that adapts to environment and to each new arrival in the family, only to be passed on to those that come after us. I don't know how this hearth culture is going to look in another twenty years, but I do think that there is plenty of room for growth, for strengthening our reciprocal relationships with the kindreds, and being the best we can be for those around us.
Words = 986
This was both a curse and a blessing; a blessing because there was no 'noise' from outside sources to tell me what I 'should' be doing, and a curse because I remained in a state of ignorance when it came to anything outside of the half a dozen Pagan books from the library. Some things I got right, making offerings to trees and water, for one. But I think I got a whole lot more wrong – a least for me.
Over the years, what might be termed as my 'hearth culture' has gone through countless changes as my environment ( and by extension, I) have adapted. When I joined ADF, I was at a crossroads of sorts, because to put it simply, I didn't feel like what I was doing was 'watering my whole tree', and I'm sorry to say that most of modern Heathenism came to feel empty to me. To borrow terminology from Isaac Bonewits in 'Neopagan Rites', the magical technology wasn't just incompetant, but it seemed anathema to many.
However, I have a drive, and a need to be engaged with the magical and otherworldly. Interactions with the 'other' have been a part of my life ever since I was a child growing up with the Spiritualist heritage of my father's side of the family. At this point, I've seen too much of the otherworldly, especially the dead, to ignore that side of me in order to not make some people uncomfortable.
I also have a drive to worship Celtic gods as well as Germanic, but this proved to be a large mental block for quite a while, and it was only when I started to research the cultural borrowings between the Gauls and Germans during the La Tène period that I began to feel more comfortable with the Irish and Brythonic sides of my heritage. As I looked at the Gauls, I began to look at the Indo-Europeans as a whole, and found myself understanding far more of the Germanic worldview for it. Some of the depth missing from mainstream Heathenry started to fill in for me, and in worshipping the Celtic gods that I worship, I found a kind of healing.
My hearth culture as I experience it now is both Germanic and Irish/Brythonic. The deities I worship are Woden, Frija, Thunor, Hama, Ing, Macha, Brighid (who I see as being the same as Brigantia, and the sovereignty goddess of the land where I grew up), Lugh, the Divine Twins, Blodeuedd/Blodeuwedd, and the Taliesin. I also worship the Aelfe (elves), Matronae, Feorrin ('fairies', in my native dialect), Cofgodas (house spirits), and make offerings to Garanus as a liminal guide. The Ancestors are a main part of our hearth culture, from the whole family offering rituals to the touching their shrine and saying a quick prayer or 'I love you' on my way past. When my daughter was born, it was at their shrine that we first presented her when my husband sprinkled water on her head and named her on her ninth day.
With a few friends who also straddle the worlds of Heathenry and ADF, the process of building a Proto-Grove began, and it's been really excellent because we not only do we have great 'ritual chemistry', but we're mostly on the same page about our hearth culture focii. We're a dual Norse/Irish grove, and alternate High Days between the cultures in a way that really works for us. Imbolc is about Brighid, Ostara honours the dawn goddess that brings the spring, Beltane is all about the Sidhe. At summer solstice we honour Sunna, and Lughnasadh is for Lugh. We're pretty set on the Divine Twins for the Autumn Equinox (based on the idea that in various IE cultures, the temple pillars representing them were typically aligned with the Fall equinox), and Samhain is all about the Ancestors (and maybe the Morrigan). Yule is yet to be discussed, but will in all likelihood be Germanic - probably in honour of Odin. I would also like to include Frija, but we'll have to see how the others in the PG feel. Regardless, my own Yule celebrations will honour Frija,and the Matronae, simply because that's the High Day focus in our home at that time of year. We also typically celebrate for 13 nights, and have various rituals during that time. As for patron deities for the PG, we have a consensus to just take it easy and see if any come up in an organic way.
If there's one thing though, that being a long-time Heathen has taught me, it's that hearth culture is a changing thing, it's mostly never set in stone. It's a thing that's alive, built up of layers of action, of piety, of prayer, of ritual, of oaths, and service. It's also something that adapts to environment and to each new arrival in the family, only to be passed on to those that come after us. I don't know how this hearth culture is going to look in another twenty years, but I do think that there is plenty of room for growth, for strengthening our reciprocal relationships with the kindreds, and being the best we can be for those around us.
Words = 986
Tuesday, June 2, 2015
Book Review - 'The Complete Idiot's Guide to Paganism' by Carl McColman
When I first picked up this book on Kindle I liked the overall structure of the book, the five themed sections with chapters focusing on an aspect of each theme made for easy navigation, and there is a logical progression to the sections and chapters.
The first section, 'Pagan Basics', was an overview of Pagan beliefs, the relationship of Pagans to the earth, three different types of Paganism, and a look at the other cultural odds and ends that have come to play a role in modern Pagan belief.
While I appreciate the difficulty of talking about a path as wide and varied as Paganism in terms that would please everyone, the first chapter reads like a set up for the 'No True Scotsman' fallacy, presenting things that the author finds distasteful (like animal sacrifice) as 'not Pagan', regardless of actual Pagan practice. The whole first section seems to be a vehicle for the author's biases in general, especially with regards to worshipping 'the Goddess', and the sacredness of nature (not all Pagans worship the Goddess or have find the earth sacred). For a 101 guide to Paganism, it seems to be more 'Wicca-lite' than a real look at some of the diverse set of beliefs and traditions that huddle under the Pagan umbrella. Even the treatment of the three paths the author chose to focus on (Shamanism, Wicca, and Druids/Revivalist traditions) further reflects his biases with the chapter on Wicca being notably longer than the others. Not only that, but he squeezes Druids, Asatru, Romuva, Hellenismos, and Kemeticism into one chapter, and repeatedly brings discussion of Druidry back to Shamanism. The very complex traditions of Asatru and Romuva are only alloted one paragraph each, and poor Hellenismos and Kemeticism get a small paragraph between them!
In the final chapter of this section, the author looks at other factors that he felt contribute to the 'Pagan Puzzle', and while he does look at the influence of the Western mystery tradition, I don't think he devoted enough time to it, given its influence in Wicca (and therefore neo-Paganism on the whole).
The second section, 'How to Think like a Pagan', begins with an examination of Pagan cosmology, in which three different schemas are presented, then moves onto ideas of the Goddess and God, the spirit world, the elements, and the cyclic nature of Pagan beliefs.
I do like that the author takes the time to essentially explain discernment when dealing with the otherworld and spirits (chapter 7), and that the dead are not necessarily the same as they were in life. I think that's really helpful to have in a beginner's book, and not enough books tackle that. I also like that he points out in chapter 11 that not all Pagans have the same ideas on what constitutes 'the elements'.
Unfortunately, this is also the section in which he further cements the duotheistic mindset of Wicca, devoting a chapter to exploring 'the goddess', and another to exploring 'the god'. I think it's a major neglect of the author to not devote any significant time exploring the different Pagan approaches to deity, and that he could have filled an entire chapter looking at henotheism, duotheism, and the different types of polytheism. His treatment of fairies is similarily frustrating, on the one hand he seems to pidgeonhole them in elemental associations, but then on the other hand, rightly makes the point that they're all individuals, not all nice, and that some are best left alone.
The most annoying bit of this section though for me, was chapter 11. McColman gives the symbols for the four elements of Wicca, then equates them with yin and yang, and then genitalia. This feels like something from his own tradition, but rather than explaining that that's where he's getting it from, it feels like he's pointing it out as a universal truth. I also found it kind of worrying that he gave the king of the fire spirits as 'Djinn', especially when you think about what Djinn actually are in traditional lore. Not something I'd want beginners to mess around with.
The section on Ritual is a good primer on Wiccan-esque ritual, which isn't really my cup of tea, although the section in which he links Wiccan tools with the tarot suits is quite well done. The section on festivals needs to be better cited too, but citation of sources isn't a particularly strong point of this book. I understand that this is a 'Complete Idiot's Guide', but even complete idiots should be furnished with well-cited guides.
All in all, I think the section on Magic is one of the best sections in the book. The chapter on meditation is very well done for beginners, and aside from the generalisations about 'Pagans not cursing', on the whole, it's not too bad. I especially appreciated the inclusion of the origins and wider meaning of the words 'heal'/'healing' in Chapter 20 and their association with 'wholeness'. So kudos to Mr McColman there!
The final section is by turns good and bad. I really liked the section on the different types of groups, their pros, cons, and how to evaluate if a group is truly good for you to be involved in. This is a self-protection issue that I don't think is brought up enough in beginner books, and I especially appreciated the advice to keep an eye on how much time you're spending online vs actually doing (chapter 24). It was also good to have a section on how to build your own practice as a Pagan, but that would have been better without the encouragement to find one's 'matron' and 'patron' deities.
On the whole though, while there were some good parts, I wouldn't recommend this book.
Words = 960
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