Nimue Brown's Blog, page 429

Celtic religion

In his excellent book, Stalking the Goddess, Mark Carter makes some interesting points about Celtic religion. (You’re going to be hearing a lot about Mark). The Celts didn’t have a name for their religion so far as we know. Why would they? It was their religion, the religion, it didn’t need naming. To call it Druidry, he points out, is like calling Christianity Priestism. Celt itself is a word that comes from the outside too. There’s the Greek word Keltoi, which I think the Romans took up to describe some of their ‘barbarian’ neighbours, designating others as Germanic. The divisions are arbitrary.

Often names come from the outside. We don’t need them. We are the people, this is our earth, this is our religion, you only need names when there’s something to distinguish yourself from. As Alan Pilbeam points out when writing about countryside history, inside the village, it’s just the village. The name other people give it will tell you a lot more about what the place is like. I live in the area that was once Slime Bridge. Nice.

Druidry is not the word for ancient Celtic religion. Is it the word to

describe a modern religion? I’m going to say no. Druidry is not A Religion. For many people, what they practice as a Druid is effectively a religion, but that’s not the same as A Religion. We have polytheists, monotheists, duotheists, animists, pantheists and non-theists amongst the modern Druid ranks. No amount of mental wriggling will enable you to call that A Religion. It’s lots of religions.

It’s also worth noting that our culture is totally different. Modern Druids are not one people in one society with one land and one religion. We are scattered across diverse communities and walk amongst people of widely different beliefs. We live in very different places, too. It no longer makes sense to say ‘we are the people and this is our religion’ because the context that worked in no longer exists. There is a great deal about Celtic religion we can never replicate because we do not have social context in which it functioned. A religion is not a tag on to a society. It both informs, and is informed by everything else. Without Celtic life and Celtic social structures, we are doing something else. That’s fine, but we need to recognise it.

I think it helps to consider Druidry as a doing term. Druidry is that which Druids do. This in turn allows us to focus on the commonality and not get bogged down in what it means that some of us believe in individual, personified deities and some of us don’t. Druidry is service. It is study. It is using your creativity for the good of your land and tribe (whoever they are). It is teaching and enabling other people, planting trees, honouring the natural world. Druidry is turning up when you are needed and doing the things you are called on to do. That might be celebrant work, or helping other people find the words they need, or writing stroppy letters to the press, or any number of other things. It’s not belief that makes a Druid, but the doing. It’s also wider reaching than the Druid or Pagan communities. It’s being a voice for the environment at a local planning session. It is protest for human rights and social justice.

Often where your Druidry is most needed is not in the company of other Druids, but out in the rest of the world. The company of Druids is more a place to share ideas, and draw inspiration. We do not need to do Druidry for other Druids very often. Rites of passage maybe, support in hard times, but mostly if a person is doing Druidry, they don’t need another Druid to do it for them. The (im)moral support can be nice though.

Proto Druids

It’s been my privilege on a number of occasions now to see people discovering that they want to walk the Druid path. Frequently there’s an attendant process of working out that lots of the apparently disparate strands of their lives are in fact all things that will become part of their Druidry. I went through this one myself, and it was rather a surprising process. The Bardic grade of OBOD consisted a lot of going ‘bloody hell that as well eh?’ which was a good sort of experience.

So, I thought I’d put together a list of things that tend to already be in the lives of proto-Druids, for people who were wondering if the might be. If you spot one I’ve missed, add it in the comments please! If you’ve got an interest in, or are actively undertaking a number of these, you may be a proto Druid!

Environmental issues and green living, alternative living choices, compassionate living.

Philosophy

Trees

Herbs

Folk music, myths, story telling

Divination

Harps

Celts – ancient or modern.

Archaeology

Astronomy

An enthusiasm for being out of doors.

A call to service, volunteering work.

A need to do creative things – craft, arts, performance, or being the sort of person for whom cooking or making a garden for example, is an art form.

A passion for language, possibly manifesting in poetry, or other forms of writing, or the enjoyment thereof.

Social justice

Feeling a bit out of kilter with modern society

Peace work

Animal welfare

Healing – bodies, minds, humans, nonhumans, places, communities

Teaching

Meditation, or contemplating things a lot

If you feel a pull towards making, holding and facilitating real communities

Ancient sites

Liminal places (in fact if you already know what liminal means, give yourself extra proto-druid points)

A hunger for the numinous and for inspiration.

Druid Adventures

I mentioned a couple of days ago, that I was plotting something, and after some reflection, I’m going to blog the process, whatever it is, even if it doesn’t work out the way I hope it will. If things go to plan, there’s going to be study, and scope for some really productive service. I love studying, so am hoping for things to get my teeth into, and the direction I have in mind could bring some really good challenges.

Of course the flip side is that trying can mean failing. Which is why I’m going to talk about the whole thing.

I’m in the process of applying to become a tutor for OBOD.

I completed the three grades some years ago, and I enjoyed the process. It was challenging, sometimes pretty hard (the Ovate Grade I found emotionally very difficult.) Progression through the grades is not a given. Many people just don’t finish the Bard grade anyway. If you complete it then you can move on to studying the Ovate material. At the end of the Ovate grade, you can fail. It is possible for someone to say no to you carrying on.

I had several tutors on the way through. My Bardic tutor was totally awesome and really helped me. I’d been set back by some bad teaching, and needed help rebuilding my confidence. I’m not a passive receiver of other people’s truths, I need to test and challenge, and what my tutor for that grade gave me was a safe space in which I could do just that, and be accepted. I struggled more with my Ovate Tutor, he had things going on in his life, we weren’t on the same wavelength, and I discovered he was moving out of tutoring, so that was a very different experience, but I got through. In the Druid grade I didn’t have much contact at all. I’d found my feet.

Talking to other OBOD students, I’ve come to realise how critical the good tutor-student relationship is to the whole process. The tutor you get is one of your main experiences of the Order and that relationship can make or break your studies. Although, even the best tutor can’t fix a student who isn’t really interested enough to try, and the most determined and able students will do ok even if their tutors aren’t so good.

I think I have something to offer here, and I think I could make a meaningful contribution. I’d like to try. It means making the jump, risking the failure, or them not having any use for me after all.

It won’t be my first time volunteering for an organisation. I spent a few years doing things for The Pagan Federation, and for The Druid Network. I was so unhappy at the end of my first round of TDN time, that I didn’t think I’d volunteer again. I hated finding other people judging me over the rest of my life (it’s not like I was doing anything illegal). I don’t want to bring any organisation into disrepute, but its bloody hard hearing that people consider you a risk. Will OBOD consider me a risk? (I have this nasty habit of saying things in public, after all). Can I function inside an organisation? I went back to TDN to do book reviews, because I like reviewing books and because that’s useful to both readers and authors. Going back was really hard. I let because I was insulted, and going back felt a bit like letting the people responsible off the hook. I realised it wasn’t about them, it was about the readers and authors I could benefit by being a reviewer. Service matters to me. There are some very good people at TDN, who I am very glad to count as friends, but it only takes one or two hostile people to make a space deeply uncomfortable. As a consequence, TDN is never going to feel like home for me. Perhaps OBOD could be.

I’ve had my years in the wilderness, my hermitude, and I know, coming to the end of that, how much I do want to be part of a community. I want to feel that I belong, and that there is a place I can give service. I want to be somewhere that values what I do, that accepts I’m a bit chaotic and not keen on keeping silent about things that matter to me. It’s an interesting one, because OBOD seems pretty structured. I can cope with structure, I can work with it, and I think they could find a use for me. We shall see.

The other reason for going this way, goes like this. The back of book blurb for Druidry and Meditation mentions that I’m OBOD trained. As a consequence of this, Philip Carr Gomm got in touch with me, I’ve had some lovely reviews from OBOD, and been invited to contribute to the site. I admire Philip as an author, and he’s a lovely chap. At the time in my life when I felt I belonged nowhere, and that the wider Druid community had no place for me, he sought me out, and that meant a huge amount to me. If I could give something back… that would be good too.

Bubbling Up

This week’s instalment of Theo Wildcroft’s Sacred Body series contains my favourite bit – the idea of Bubbling Up http://druidlife.wordpress.com/2013/04/22/sacred-body-part-2-bubbling/. I’ve been studying Druidry for some time now, I’ve read Blood and Mistletoe, I’m conscious of the flaws in writing about Druids from the time and the likely weaknesses of mediaeval texts as source material. For some, that pretty much makes impossible the idea of authentic modern Druidry. However, the one idea I keep coming back to, is that the ancient Celts got their Druidry from somewhere. Not in the sense of revelation, monotheistic style (I assume). My belief is that ancient Celts got their Druidry from the land, the rivers and trees, the mountains, the cranes, aurochs, badgers, buzzards, mice and so forth. Most of that is still here.

Like Theo, I am conscious of how many artificial structures surround our daily lives. Sat here in my metal boat, with this box of plastic wizardry on my knees, typing words that will be read by people I’ve never met… we’ve created a rather fantastical and unreal sort of world. And yet… every few seconds I inhale. Air, one of the elements, with me moment to moment. Real. My boat depends on a stove for heating, I cook on gas. There’s fire in my life, every day, another element, another realness. Water, hopefully on the outside of the boat. The earth is right next to the canal, I tread on it regularly. The sky is above me every day. My food came from plants that lived, grew in soil, experienced light. If I raise my head I can see the willows, thinking about leafing, tentatively getting busy out there. Even in my constructed, human environment, nature is present. I also notice that the moss growing on my boat’s fenders do not see human construct, just a place to call home. Birds shit on the roof just as they would on the ground. I may see a human construct, but to the rest of nature, it shows every sign of just being more environment. Maybe a bit sterile and drab, but the spiders do their best to correct this.

It’s terribly easy to go ‘ooh, nature is my sacred text’ and then not really do anything with that. What can you do? It’s out there, we’re in here… and as long as we see the divide, holding ourselves as separate, we are separate.

For the ancient Celts, survival meant understanding the natural world. This soil. That tree. Those weather conditions. All of it immediate, some of it longer term – when to plant, when to harvest, what to kill and what to leave. I don’t claim to know what the ancient Druids got up to, but understanding nature must have been in the mix. That doesn’t have to mean placing ourselves on the outside with a clipboard. You can stand on the shore and watch the sea, or you can get in it and learn how to rise and fall with the waves. Or you can drown.

Druidry, for me, is increasingly about participating. Not standing back as an intellectual observer, but being in the scene, in the moment, acting and reacting, and paying attention. This land, that tree, another seagull crapping on my boat…

Starting a Grove

This summer I move off the boat, and one consequence of that is starting to come into focus for me. I’m not in a position to travel much for Druid gatherings, and want there to be something very local. There are things going on in my area – open rituals, moots, and I’ve looked into those a bit, which has got me to the point of feeling that we aren’t over saturated with groups, and that no one is doing what I want to do: Namely to have an experimental and teaching Grove.

I’ve been involved with running groups before, and one thing I’ve learned is the importance of figuring out a few things before-hand. Shape of group, aims, location, frequency of meetings, methods of communication… get these right and the whole thing can flow well and needs little energy to keep it moving. A badly set up group can use up a lot of time to little effect. I have to be careful with my time and energy, so am starting to plan months in advance.

I know I am not going to get into something democratic. In practice it doesn’t work, more time is spent discussing than doing. If I’m running a thing, I will do so as a benevolent dictator, and on my own terms. People can either go along with that, or do some other thing. Groups work better where there’s some maker of final decisions and where it’s clear who holds responsibility. I’m the sort of dictator who isn’t keen to do any more work than is absolutely necessary, so always have space for people who want to do things, and for the ideas of people who come along with good ideas. I’ve learned it’s useful to feel able to say ‘no’ though, and that’s not easy if you’re supposed to be being democratic.

The other thing I know at this stage, is that I’m not going to focus on the usual 8 festivals. Partly because plenty of others in viable striking distance are doing rituals at the eight usual times, so it’s going to be easier to go along to theirs and I don’t want to run in competition to anything local. I spent a lot of years with a group doing the big 8, and felt an increasing need to get away from that, a desire to explore different stories, and to develop a different kind of relationship with the turning year. The desire for experimental Druidry is very much in my mind as I consider how to progress.

I need to find a space. I have a location in mind that should give me accessible open space, ancestral connections and a pub in viable striking distance. I will have to pin it down more precisely, and look at the transport issues. As I’m not yet sure who else might want to show up or where they might be coming from, I’m not sure what to be looking for, but some accessibility by public transport is definitely an issue. I also need to look at the feasibility of access for people who are not so mobile. Child friendliness is a consideration too. I don’t want a setup that automatically excludes anyone.

I need to find a name, but that might be easier once I have a location sorted. Once that comes, I can set up some kind of online space for ease of communication, and open the idea up. I anticipate I’m a good few months away from being able to do any of that. Rather a lot will then depend on who wants to come along, what they bring, and what they ask of me. I’ve spent nearly three years now as something like a hermit, largely out of the loop. I’ve learned a lot, and one of the things I’ve learned is how much I appreciate the rhythms of being part of an active Druid community that gets outside and does stuff.

I’m envisaging something fairly small, and fairly intensive, but we shall see. I’ll blog more about this as it develops. It’s not the only big upheaval I’m anticipating in my Druid Life, as I’m poised to jump with something else that has a lot of potential to be dramatic and interesting too. I’ll post more about that once I know what’s happening. Watch this space.

Small scale living

I picked up an article and some attendant discussions recently about living in small spaces. Apparently new build in the UK is smaller than European averages, with one bedroom flats at perhaps 43 meters square. I did the maths and worked out the boat may be slightly smaller than that, and there are three of us in it. I also gather that in Japan, small living is more prevalent.

There are challenges, let’s be clear. Having more than one person in a small space means next to no personal space. Privacy is at a premium, but not impossible. It calls for constant attention and negotiation, so you really have to get on with the people sharing the small space. We’ve not struggled on this score, although in the depths of winter when it’s wet and grim outside and we’re all fidgety, it isn’t always a joy. Laundry and wet clothes are the biggest practical problem. Again, not insurmountable. I now have little lines strung up over the sink and draining board for when the waterproof outers get soaked. Dealing with wet clothes in a small space is not entertaining, but again, wholly possible. The person with a car probably wouldn’t face this one as much.

We had to give up all sorts of things to downsize. We have to be very disciplined about buying new stuff. Actually I like this, I like living lightly and not feeling weighted down by possessions. There’s less to clean, tidy and maintain, too. Every prospective purchase has to be considered. Where is it going to live? Is something else going to have to move out, and if so, what? It makes us focus on what we value and use most. It also discourages people buying us (and especially the child) anything that is both large and useless. Another win.

There is no way we can have dinner parties. I’m fine with that, I feel no lack. We meet people other places. No frantic pre-visitor tidying up, we just go to the pub. Splendid. We don’t end up with hordes of other people’s children coming to visit. This is fine too. We go to spaces where children can rampage. I do not worry about breakages, or children getting into things they should not. More win.

Large spaces are an invitation to accumulate stuff, (Been there, done that) most of the stuff is barely used, not even necessarily wanted, but it grows to fill the available space. The smaller the space, the less you let it do that. Unlike a lot of people I know, I don’t have an attic, garage or spare rom stuffed with unwanted things I can’t let go of. This is another win. Large spaces are also an invitation to stay in while your small space encourages going out. There’s a lot of space outside. Most of the time I’ve not felt cramped in the boat, because of what’s outside the windows. There’s a lot of space outside, and in nice weather, I can sit in it, and work. My ‘office’ for writing this afternoon will be under the willows. I can also use libraries, cafes, and other public spaces. I’ve felt more cooped up in houses than ever I have on the boat.

Then there’s the cost and environmental aspects. Often we only need one light in the evening, and the heating is much reduced. More space equals more lights and more heating needed. Bigger properties occupy more land, and that does have a direct environmental impact. Think how much soil is taken out of natural use in order to support all those bedrooms and garages stacked with unwanted junk. Smaller spaces take less cleaning and therefore use fewer cleaning products. Less carpet is required. Fewer cans of paint will be deployed in decorating, and on it goes. A smaller space means less consumption, continually, saving money and keeping you greener. Furthermore it will have been cheaper to buy or rent than a big space. And that saved money will enable you to get out and do more interesting things somewhere else.

I’m conscious that anyone with mobility issues may need a bit more space to get around. That’s a different sort of issue. Some working from home options require more storage space and work area than we do – again I’d not argue with that. However, having space so that you can have more junk, and as an antidote to not being able to relate very well to the people you ostensibly live with… not so clever. Small spaces call for interesting skills, managing possessions, accumulation, and human relationships. I can really recommend it as a learning experience. There’s so much to be gained from finding out what you actually need, and what’s just weighing you down. It’s easier than you might imagine, and more fun.

Sacred Body part 2: Bubbling

by Theo Wildcroft

Let the beauty we love be what we do.

There are hundreds of ways to kneel and kiss the ground…” Rumi

You, I and the great mother of the world – as druids we come together a few times a year, if I can make it, in fields and stone circles and woodlands far from our homes. It never feels enough to me. I don’t have any easy answers to this, by the way – Just a lingering sense of historical injustice about land reform, the Enclosures Act and the sense of a birthright sold for a promise daily broken. (And there’s a gold star, by the way, for anyone who gets that reference in the comments!)

I honestly feel that seeking these experiences can be revolutionary on a personal front at least, and perhaps even a social and political one. We live in a constructed, human world that is designed to distract and numb us from reality. Whether you believe that this is a deliberate repression or pathological dysfunction will determine your own personal politics. I only know that the more time I spend on practices where I, my body and the world meet the more sensitive I am to this artificial existence. Until blockbuster films and Ben and Jerry’s icecream and blogs about crocheted Cthulus stop being a guilty pleasure and become an intolerable itch; a sensory overload in my head.

I sat on our back step each breakfast at home last August, and read Oriah Mountain Dreamer’s ‘The Dance’ (http://www.oriahmountaindreamer.com/). She writes of her revelation that rather than striving to be the people we hope we can be, to be more honourable, compassionate, loving, grounded, and centred. To be the fully realised beings we long to be with every fibre of our being, and live fearlessly from our truest natures: we need only to move closer to those places, people and activities that allow us to already be all we are inside. We just need to spend more time wherever we feel the deep conviction that we are already enough.

She is not alone. In the poem ‘Wild Geese’ (http://www.panhala.net/archive/wild_geese.html), Mary Oliver tells us:

“You do not have to be good.

You do not have to walk on your knees

For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.

You only have to let the soft animal of your body

love what it loves.”

She ends the text:

“Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,

the world offers itself to your imagination,

calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting –

over and over announcing your place

in the family of things.”

So then this is how we find a practice of the spirit that feels authentic. We hold to what calls to us, to what works for each of us. A few years ago I had the privilege of taking the Living Druidry course with Emma Restall Orr (http://www.emmarestallorr.org/). It was all about experience, about touching the very heart and spirit of living; about the bones in the soil under our feet and the breath of the gods in the wind. And I realised during that course that what served that connection best for me, what got me into that place inside, where I could feel the world breathing with me; what really worked, time and again, was my yoga practice. That was a bit of a surprise.

In response, for the last few years, I’ve been on a pilgrimage inside the body, and to do that I’ve needed to put aside even further any considerations of label and tradition. I’ve played, crafted, danced, sweated, massaged, run, walked and sung whenever I could, and with many of you out there, on the other side of the screen.

Along the way, I’ve learnt that the yoga I practice in Britain is worlds away from how it was first practiced in India. In classical yoga, you exercise the body in order to still its demands on your mind; so that you can focus on the more sacred task of silent, still communion with the divine within. Whilst in Western yoga, there has been a bubbling up of a practice of sacred movement – a practice that celebrates and cherishes the physical body in a physical world. And by the way, there is hardly any reference to physical practice in ancient yogic texts. My practice and my teachers are all British, and that’s partly why I want to share this with you.

[image error]

There is one other Hindu reference point that I also want to share – an image of the divine dancer that has found enormous popularity in the Western yogic world. I have a statue just like the one above, a Nataraj as he is known, on my own altar at home. You’ll have seen this icon pop up all over the place. The Indian government gifted a huge one to CERN (http://www.fritjofcapra.net/shiva.html), (Note from Nimue, this is what you’re seeing, I had trouble getting Theo’s image to upload) and it’s even on the opening credits for Buffy the Vampire Slayer. You can check your box sets, I’ll wait.

I was taught that the Nataraj dances the universe into being, holds it together, still dancing, and then dissolves it again in the dance. I learnt that his dance flickers between concealing and revealing the inner divinity of all life. I know deep in my blood that this is because the pattern of that dance is in every atom, every fragment of life, and in each and every moment. I’ve been told that the fire of his inspiration is so bright that the Nataraj cannot be looked at directly. But I know I’ve seen him, and for me he doesn’t look much like a holy man.

I’ve seen that dance in crumbling warehouses and free festivals and under flickering strobes and cool UV lights. And in my dreams and journeys, the Dancer’s not Indian, he’s yet another white boy with dreadlocks, raving his heart out, wide open to the universe and all its ecstasies.

Find part one here - Sacred Body

Find Theo here – http://www.wildyoga.co.uk

“The Glass Coffin” and “The Ensorceled Prince”: An Asexual Reading

[image error]By Elizabeth Hopkinson

Almost everyone knows the familiar fairy tale ending: the prince marries the princess and they live happily ever after. But does this simple conclusion embody all that fairy tales have to tell us about human sexuality? By no means!

“Intentionally or not, (fairy tales) have been used to enforce what has been termed “compulsory heterosexuality”… But…folktales and fairy tales portrayed anything but a monolithic image of sexuality.”[i]

Even when stories end in marriage, the body of the tale can sometimes be found to explore more complex issues of sex and sexuality, and often in a more honest and helpful way than today’s media, with its sensationalism and mis- or non-representation of minorities. One such minority is that of the asexual (someone who does not experience sexual attraction or desire).[ii] This orientation has been largely ignored by today’s society but is, I believe, represented in traditional tales.

In this essay, I would like to look at two similar tales: “The Glass Coffin” from Grimm’s Household Tales and “The Ensorceled Prince” from 1001 Nights. These two stories seem to me to represent the female and male experience of asexuality, so I wish to present an asexual reading of the tales. I will look at the tales both together and separately, considering two different versions of each. I will also look at the relevance of other “asexual icons” to these stories. This, I hope, will put them in context and help create a greater understanding of the issues involved.

The Tales

Both stories have very similar plotlines. In “The Glass Coffin”, a tailor is sent on a quest to an underground hall, where a young woman lies in a glass coffin, waiting to be disenchanted. She originally lives happily with her brother, until a suitor arrives, who refuses to take no for an answer. He renders her immobile with enchanted music, and when she still resists, puts her in glass coffin, transforming her brother to a goat (or a hound, in another version), her castle to a miniature in a glass case, and her servants to coloured smokes or liquids in glass bottles. Only when the enchantment is destroyed can she be freed.

In “The Ensorceled Prince”, the hero is a sultan. His quest takes him to a secret palace in the mountains, where a young prince has been enchanted so that from the waist down he is made of marble. The spell is cast by his wife, who becomes dissatisfied with him and drugs him nightly so she can have an affair with a slave. When the prince confronts them, she enchants him, transforming islands to mountains, the city to a lake, and its people to fish of four different colours. Only when the enchantress and her lover are destroyed can the prince be freed.

Shared Imagery

There are several points shared by both stories that stand out for me. To begin with, the captor in both cases is overtly sexual, and exercises frightening power over the captive. This could refer to a fear or distaste for sex. In “The Glass Coffin”, this power is really quite terrifying. The enchanter charms the girl with music, which pins her to the bed and removes her powers of speech. He then enters her bedroom and proposes marriage with increasing force, until, “he declared passionately that he would revenge himself, and find some means to punish my haughtiness.”[iii] This almost feels like attempted rape (and perhaps was, in some earlier version?) which is how any advance can feel to those who do not desire it. The ensorceled prince is also rendered helpless, this time by drugged wine, which puts him in a “death-like state”[iv] while his wife indulges her sexual appetites elsewhere. Note that both characters sleep in their beds, rather than using them for other activities, and that the villains exaggerate this sleep, as if ridiculing their lack of interest. Silence also features in both stories. The girl is rendered speechless; the prince cuts the slave’s vocal cords. This could refer to the taboo surrounding asexuality.

Ultimately, both characters are punished for their lack of sexual response by being enchanted. The girl is placed in a glass coffin where she sleeps, “enveloped from head to foot in her own yellow hair!”[v] The prince is made half-man, half-statue, “neither dead nor alive”.[vi] There is an obvious reference to death here: the characters are not sexually “alive” (although neither are they wholly dead, reminding us perhaps that to lack a sex life is not to lack a life). But what stands out for me is the beauty and purity of their enchanted state. Both are physically beautiful in themselves: the girl with her golden hair, the prince with “his forehead… flower-white, his cheek rosy bright, and a mole on his cheek like an ambergris mite”.[vii] In their enchanted state, they become more beautiful. Rather than being degraded, they seem to have been glorified. The underground hall glows “like the glimmering of pearls in the depth of water”[viii] with glass artefacts, coloured smokes and miniature dwellings. The mountain palace has gold-starred hangings, birds in golden nets and lion-shaped fountains, “spouting from their mouths water clear as pearls and diaphanous gems”.[ix] The enchanted ones have almost become works of art in themselves: the girl encased in glass, the prince half-stone or, in one version, crystalline marble. They have become asexual icons: untouchable, intact and unassailably beautiful. Like Pygmalion’s Galatea or Keats’ Grecian Urn[x], their beauty and their unassailability go hand in hand; once they become “touchable” the enchantment is lost.

In traditional versions of the stories, the captives are released to take up marriage partners. (The girl marries the tailor; the prince a daughter of the fisherman who began the quest). We are back to “enforced heterosexuality” and the typical “happy ending”, it could be said. Our characters are not offered the choice of staying unassailable. But it is worth noting the sympathetic and non-threatening nature of their rescuers. Both are a far cry from the over-sexed captors. The humble tailor is a very different man from the cruel enchanter. One imagines he would not force the girl as her first suitor did. “The Ensorceled Prince” takes the matter even further. Here the rescuer is the sultan, who adopts the prince as his heir. It is this father figure (rather than a marriage partner) that seems to be crucial to the prince’s disenchantment: a figure who can maybe offer fatherly advice and support on intimate matters.

Modern versions of the stories, however, offer alternative paths for the ending. It is to these versions that I would now like to turn, along with other “asexual icons”, as I look at the individual stories in turn.

“The Glass Coffin”: The Intact Female

One alternative version of “The Glass Coffin”, complementing that of the Brothers Grimm, is A S Byatt’s re-telling in her novel, Possession. The re-telling is purported to be by one of the novel’s characters, fictitious Victorian poet Christabel LaMotte. Both Christabel and her 20th-century biographer Maud Bailey (motte and bailey together forming parts of a castle) show a strong desire for unassailability as females (Christabel by living reclusively, Maud by keeping her long, golden hair constantly covered). The character Roland, on beginning to read “The Glass Coffin” muses: “He was an intruder into their female fastnesses”.[xi] In this version of the story, the tailor offers the liberated girl the option of not marrying him, and in the end the girl, the tailor and her brother live together without saying for certain whether a marriage has taken place. This could be seen as a validation of an asexual lifestyle. However, both Maud and Christabel do have sexual relationships during the novel, coming out of their fastnesses as the girl comes out of the coffin. (Although Christabel then retreats again). There are two more characters that appear to be asexual — Ellen Ash (who experiences vaginismus[xii]) and her biographer Beatrice Nest. Both these women, however, come across as deeply frustrated characters; their personal castles and glass coffins really do seem like prisons for them. They may in fact desire sex but be unable to engage in it. This is not the same as being asexual.

Possession is a complex novel, and it difficult to know the author’s interpretation of “The Glass Coffin”. What is clear is that she wishes to use it to explore the idea of female intactness. Despite its similarities to “The Ensorceled Prince”, “The Glass Coffin does seem to present a particularly feminine experience.

One unique feature is the girl’s relationship with her brother. In both versions of the story, brother and sister have vowed never to marry, but to live together in a kind of sexless marriage. In Grimm’s version, the brother is transformed to a goat: an animal associated with male sexuality. Perhaps, having experienced the enchanter’s advances, the girl can no longer view any man, even a brother without frightening associations of sex, and this is what she needs to be freed from. The moment when the goat defeats the enchanter could represent a return to an untainted relationship with her brother. In Byatt’s version, however, the brother takes a much more passive role as a hound. It is a piece of the glass coffin itself, in the hands of the tailor, which kills the enchanter. Ultimately, some fragment of the girl’s own unassailability overcomes the intruding male.

This militant virginity harks back to the figure of Artemis/Diana in classical mythology, who punished Actaeon for seeing her bathing by having him turned to a stag. Artemis was the goddess not only of chastity but also of hunting, so it is interesting that the girl and her brother live in the forest, “forever peacefully in the castle, and hunt and play together the livelong day”.[xiii]

In the Christian world, the ultimate virgin icon has long been the Virgin Mary, whose beautiful devotional names include “Tower of Ivory”, an image of inviolate beauty. One analogy for the Virgin Birth is that of light passing through glass without breaking it, reminding us of the glowing light and glass artefacts in “The Glass Coffin”. Mary also became a model for other virgin saints, such as Saint Etheldreda (also mentioned in Possession). Her story has much in common with that of the heroine of “The Glass Coffin”. “Although forced to marry, she felt called to be a “bride of Christ” (and) remained a virgin,”[xiv] (suggesting that she may well have been asexual). She was forced to remarry; her new husband agreeing she could remain a virgin but later changing his mind, forcing her to flee to a convent.

Interestingly, her body was said to have been found incorrupt seventeen years after death. This is a remarkably similar image to that of the virgin girl asleep in the glass coffin, still young and beautiful, suggesting a link between sexual and corporeal incorruptibility.

All this seems very strong and positive as far as the female is concerned. Her unassailability or intactness actually gives her a kind of power against men. She can be incorruptibly female without the need for sex. Of course, that over-simplifies the matter rather — which the fairy tale never does — but it does point to a difference between what asexuality can mean for a woman and what it can mean for a man.

“The Ensorceled Prince”: The Virtual Eunuch

Things are more problematic when we turn to “The Ensorceled Prince” to look at the male experience of asexuality. Even the so-called traditional version of the tale has a complex history. It is believed to originate in either India or Iran and takes place in a Muslim context, but comes to us via the French adaptation of Antoine Gallard (1704-17) and the Victorian English re-telling of Richard Burton, who we are told, “…took pleasure in… stressing, rather than suppressing, any sexual undertones or explicit scenes to be found”.[xv] So it is wise not to expect it to reflect the values of any particular time and culture: even within the story itself we see multiculturalism in the fish of four colours, representing Muslim, Zoroastrian, Jew and Christian. The modern version I wish to compare it with, however, has a definite ideological focus. This is Moyra Caldecott’s re-telling (called by her “The King of the Ebony Isles”) in her book Crystal Legends. Caldecott says in her introduction to the book, “This is a book about the stories, the myths and legends, that use crystals and precious and semi-precious stones as potent and powerful symbols”.[xvi] Therefore, it is worth bearing in mind the symbolism of crystal and jewels when looking at her version of the tale.

One thing that stands out from “The Ensorceled Prince” by contrast with “The Glass Coffin” is the prince’s unhappiness and pain. While the girl in the coffin lies peacefully sleeping, the prince weeps and laments. He also reacts to his potential captor with much greater anger and violence, attempting to kill both the slave and his wife. Whereas, in the Grimm’s version, the girl takes up a pistol only when passive resistance has failed, the prince takes up his sword as a first resort twice (when he finds out about his wife’s lover and when he realises the lover is still alive). This suggests a deep unease with the idea of asexuality in a man, and a sense of shame in having such an orientation publicly revealed. None of this is surprising, given the traditional importance of men’s virility and the association of that virility with masculinity itself. The prince is apparently desperate to prove he is still a man. He will not allow another man to take his wife (whether or not he desires to bed her) and he is active is trying to deal out vengeance. (The ineffectiveness of his attacks with the sword may relate to the idea of impotency in sexual matters and martial matters going hand in hand).

It is extremely relevant that it is the lower half of the prince’s body — that containing his sexual organs — that is turned to marble. The transformation renders him literally asexual. In Caldecott’s version: “from the waist downwards he was pure white crystalline marble,”[xvii] and his palace is made from the same substance. If we look at what Caldecott has to say in her introduction about crystal and jewels, she says: “The real value of the gem… (is) the sense it gives us of wonder that the earth can produce such extraordinary and secret beauty”.[xviii] The prince’s statue body also creates a sense of wonder, and of secret beauty. Whatever it contains is possessed by him alone.

However, the prince suffers continually for keeping his intactness. He says: “every day she (his wife) leaves the side of her lover for a while and comes to my chamber to thrash me with a whip until I bleed”.[xvix] This echoes the violence of the enchanter in “The Glass Coffin,” and could show the wife’s anger in failing to get a sexual response from her husband, or even the cruel attitude of society to a man who prefers to live without sex. It could also show the prince’s own inner torment over his orientation, particularly as a married man, expected to produce an heir. Interestingly, although she claims the story is about female sexual satisfaction, Caldecott leaves the story with an asexual ending. Re-marriage for the prince is never mentioned. In fact, the sultan’s adoption of the prince could even point the way to finding an heir without the need for sex.

The prince’s beauty is particularly interesting because he is described in a way that seems almost androgynous. Burton quotes a poem:

A youth slim-waisted from whose locks and brow

The world in blackness and in light is set.

Throughout Creation’s round no fairer show

No rarer sight thine eye hath ever met.

A nut-brown mole sits enthroned upon a cheek

Of rosiest red beneath an eye of jet.[xx]

This is a man who is definitely pretty rather than handsome. Androgyny — especially male androgyny — is a double-edged sword as far as asexuality is concerned. For some, androgyny suggests asexuality itself, and the androgynous become “asexual icons”. For an asexual woman in particular, the idea of a man without male sexuality can be deeply attractive. For others, androgyny is viewed in quite the opposite way. An online essay on, “What Tolkien Officially Said about Elf Sex” begins, “Ever since the movie of the book Fellowship of the Ring came out, there seem to be two popular ideas about Elves’ sex lives. Either they are radiantly asexual, or they are all screwing each other madly, along with any dwarves, hobbits or men who happen along”.[xxi] This is true for other androgynous figures too. The castrato opera singers, wildly popular in the 1720s and 30s were famously adored by women. “This may seem to anticipate the safe, sexless allure of 1950s teen idols,”[xxii] but they were also reputed to be great lovers (whether or not this was medically possible).

With his upper body only made of flesh and his lower body cold (if beautiful) stone, the ensorceled prince has much in common with the castrati and other eunuchs. It could be said that the wife has carried out some symbolic act of castration on him in her enchantment. Perhaps she is suggesting that he has, “lost his manhood”, as they had. Even the drugged wine she gives him seems to parallel the drugs used in the castration process. Like the castrati of the 18th-century opera, he then becomes a thing of artifice — part living man, part man-made (or in this case, woman-made) creation. The castrati were known for their emotional outbursts; likewise the prince, “wept with sore weeping till his bosom was drenched with tears.”[xxiii] and going back to the symbolism of crystal, we note that the last recorded castrato, Alessandro Moreschi (1858-1922) had a voice that an Austrian musicologist said, “…can only be compared to the clarity and purity of crystal”.[xxiv] The purity of the prince is surely another meaning of crystal in this story.

It could be said that the ensorceled prince is a virtual eunuch in his asexuality. In fact, a Greek word for eunuch — spadones — can also be translated as “virgin” or “celibate” and was sometimes used to refer to those who had withdrawn from sexual activity. (In antiquity, some of these practised self-castration). This could also help to account for his pain and suffering: the story does not skirt around the fact that a man is perceived to have lost something vital in rejecting sex.[xxv] Its sadness highlights the painful taboo that has existed around the topic of asexuality for many centuries.

Conclusion

Obviously, the reading I have given is not the only way these stories can be read. But in highlighting the asexual themes to be found in “The Glass Coffin” and “The Ensorceled Prince”, I hope I have may have helped to foster a kindlier attitude towards a world-view many people find hard to understand or to believe truly exists. Within these tales passed down by our ancestors lies a safe place — a secret castle or palace — in which those who desire only unassailable beauty may work out questions of identity, while being assured that this under-represented viewpoint has not been forgotten.

[i] The Greenwood Encyclopaedia of Folktales and Fairy Tales ed. Donald Haase (Westport, Connecticut, London: 2008) Vol.2 p.401

[ii] see http://www.asexuality.org for further information

[iii] “The Glass Coffin”, The Complete Illustrated Works of the Brothers Grimm (London: 1989) p.680

[iv] “The Tale of the Ensorceled Prince”, 1001 Nights trans. Richard Burton (www.sacred-texts.com) p.1

[v] Grimm, p.679

[vi] Burton, “The Tale of the Ensorceled Prince” p.3

[vii] “The Fisherman and the Jinni”, 1001 Nights trans. Richard Burton (www.sacred-texts.com) p.7

[viii] “The Glass Coffin”, Possession: A Romance by A S Byatt (London: 1990) p.62

[ix] Burton, “The Fisherman and the Jinni” p.7

[x] In Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Pygmalion creates his ideal woman, the statue Galatea, with whom he falls in love. In Keats’ “Ode to a Grecian Urn” a pair of lovers is fixed forever in the act of being about to kiss, never kissing but never losing love or beauty.

[xi] Possession p.58

[xii] Spasm of the muscles that makes penetration painful or impossible

[xiii] Possession p.64

[xiv] Saints of the Isles: A Year of Feasts by Ray Simpson (Stowmarket, Suffolk: 2003)

[xv] Greenwood Encyclopaedia Vol. 1 p.58

[xvi] Crystal Legends by Moyra Caldecott (Wellingborough: 1990) p.12

[xvii] “The Fisherman and the Genie and The King of the Ebony Isles,” Crystal Legends p.128

[xviii] Ibid p.12

[xix] Ibid p.128

[xx] Burton, “The Fisherman and the Jinni” p.7

[xxi] http://www.ansereg.com/what-tolkien-officially-said-about-elf-sex

[xxii] http://www.thesmartset.com from Drexel University, “Why Castrati Made Better Lovers”

[xxiii] Burton, “The Fisherman and the Jinni” p.7

[xxiv] “Why Castrati Made Better Lovers”

[xxv] There are, of course, numerous positive male role models for celibacy, including Jesus, St Paul and the “Pure Knight” of the Holy Grail, Sir Galahad (who comes across in Thomas Mallory as having asexual orientation). But they do not appear to have direct relevance to this story.

Originally published on http://www.cabinetdesfees.com

Author Biography

Elizabeth Hopkinson has a passion for history, fairy tale and Japan. She has lived all her life in Bradford, West Yorkshire (UK). She has had over 30 short stories published and won prizes in three writing competitions. Silver Hands is her first novel.

Silver Hands is out from Top Hat Books on 26 April. Find it on Amazon here: http://www.amazon.co.uk/Silver-Hands-Elizabeth-Hopkinson/dp/1780998724

Find her online here: http://www.hiddengrove.pwp.blueyonder.co.uk/

Druid community

There are a lot of places online where Druids gather to talk, and there is a lot of diversity in Druidry. One of the things that depresses the hell out of me, is when debate generates into angry shouting. It does this rather a lot. As there are a number of different, well established approach to Druidry (as well as all the individual stuff) this more-druidy-than-thou attitude doesn’t seem that well founded. Even in conversations about how Druids are supposed to be peacemakers, we get it wrong. It makes me sad.

However, I’ve seen this week a Druid group over on google, where on the whole some quite strenuous discussion has happened without descending into the other stuff. This inspires me. It is important to be able to debate the hard topics, to be able to hear ideas that do not fit with our own. I think it is healthy and important to be challenged, to be required to explain your thinking, show your evidence and deal with people you don’t agree with.

It’s pretty easy to be a peaceful Druid when there’s no conflict available. That isn’t actual peace, it’s just a convenient setup. Real peace is being able to handle conflict without it getting nasty or destructive. This is where we really test ourselves, really find out if we can walk our talk. It doesn’t mean we have to agree, or like each other, or persuade everyone to think the same. It really comes down to respect, and being able to acknowledge that my truth may look different to your truth, and that we can live with this.

I get excited by challenges to my thinking and people who know stuff that I don’t. It’s part of my on-going love affair with being a student. I want to understand. That means encountering stuff that initially makes no sense to me, and rather than rejecting it, trying to engage with it. I get a real buzz out of those. So yes, I have tried to figure out why so many Druids don’t seem to get all excited when they run into someone with a different perspective. I think there are two factors. One is that we are not, as a community, taking manners seriously enough as an issue. It’s all well and good being passionate and plainly spoken, but that can be done without actually being rude to people, I think. Encountering rudeness is a big turn off when it comes to tackling alternative perspectives. The other part is more a protective/fear issue. The more you have invested in your beliefs, the more uncomfortable it may be to have them argued with.

We live in a context full of religions and politicians all claiming a monopoly on truth. Anyone who isn’t strident can seem wishy-washy, undecided, not properly dedicated to their cause. And yet, step back a moment and it should be obvious that mostly none of us have any hope of truth monopoly. The bigger the truth, the harder it will be to grasp. Is my truth really at odds with your truth? Are we in fact groping the same elephant without realising it? (I love that story). I want to know what the elephant looks like. So if I can attach your bit to my bit, I will probably still be way off the mark, but now instead of a big flappy thing, I’ve got a flappy thing attached to a ropey thing. It’s still wrong, but it is a bit less wrong, and I’ll keep looking, keep wondering.

In the meantime, if I find I’ve irritated someone online where I didn’t mean to, I don’t get cross with them, I say sorry. I find it remarkably effective. If I’m not sure I understand what they mean, I don’t get cross, I ask what they mean. If someone misreads aggression into my words, I don’t get cross with them, I apologise for not having been clear enough, assure them that I’m not hostile, and try again. Why? Because just arguing with people is dull and pointless, and I’m not interested in scoring points or proving I am more right. Actually, being less right is more interesting, it means I get to learn something.

Where people are polite, show respect, actually listen, the conversations are amazing. We really could do more of this.

The politics of childhood

Apparently UK education minister Michael Gove thinks children should have much longer school days and much shorter holidays to bring us in line with Hong Kong. He’s also a fan of rote learning and filling children’s heads with ‘facts’ – names and dates from history and the such. Childhood can be a loaded political issue. I note how much this Gove policy resembles the attitude of early Maoist China to children. That stemmed from a deliberate intention to break family units and make everyone more engaged with the state. So, what’s Gove’s agenda, you have to wonder?

What is childhood for? Obviously children need to grow up into functional adults. They need life skills too. I would argue that developing the ability to learn, reason, analyse, research, create, innovate and the such is the best education a child can have. The world changes all the time. The young person who can flex, learn and adapt is the one who can do best for themselves and their communities. Knowing historical dates and spurious statistics won’t do you any good in the real world.

The Victorians romanticised childhood, and did away with labour for children, taking them out of the workplace and putting them into schools. But, what is education for? Is it simply to keep children out of the way while parents work? Is school there to train the employees of the future, or should learning be more about developing rounded, functional people who are capable of thinking? I don’t think the latter precludes going on to be economically successful. I’d say there’s a case that it makes for a better, smarter, more flexible country having people educated that way. It doesn’t give you cogs for your machine, or people trained to serve and obey. I have to ask, what is the Tory agenda here? I think it’s all about serving the minority at the expense of the majority.

As a Pagan, I feel strongly about creatures being able to live freely in their natural habitats. I include humans in this. Humans are not meant to be battery farmed any more than chickens or pigs are. We too need fresh air, freedom to move, time to rest. Adults and children alike should not be pushed towards ever longer work hours just to serve the corporate machine. It is a morally wrong approach. Humanity does not exist to serve GDP.

As a parent, I want to spend time with my child. I want to talk with him, play with him, share life with him. I did not become a parent with a view to handing over my child to the state and hardly ever seeing him. I suspect I’m not alone in this. Back at the last election, the Tories talked about championing family life. Well, if you want family life, you have to have time for it, and longer school hours, longer work hours doesn’t achieve that. Tired people falling into bed do not have a family life. This is not a move towards a better work life balance.

Stressed, overworked, overtired humans who lack for social and emotional contact are more likely to become sick, depressed and dysfunctional. School is tiring for young humans whose bodies are growing and changing all the time. They need periods of rest, they need unstructured time to learn and grow properly. If we go the Gove route, we will not beget success. Instead we’ll be saving for a long term crisis in mental health and social cohesion.

Hard work should only exist where it furthers human causes. We are not here to make other people wealthy. We should not sacrifice our lives to the insane, dysfunctional and wrongheaded dictats of a ruling ‘elite’ that seems to have no grip on reality whatsoever. It looks like children are the next targets or their insane and toxic policies. We have to fight.