Lora O'Brien's Blog, page 4

The Fairy Lover

The fire crackled and hissed, as life escaped from sticks and seeped from turf that had lain long idle in watery bogs. Each new noise made him jump a little, each spark that fell seemed fascinating to a mind that hungered to focus on something, attend to anything but the blank white page before him. There was no sound from outside the cottage though, at this hour even the night creatures usually heard shuffling along on their business were abed. He had sat through the long, empty darkness all alone, again, since he had banished her from the house. He couldn’t have accepted what she had to offer. The price was too high, the cost too great to bear. Many had warned him through long years of training, of the possibility that she might appear. Or one like her, for there were many who sought the likes of him in this land, many who would pull and call and tempt and offer the worlds to a poet’s soul. His Masters had gone through it with each apprentice, and when it came his time to teach he had issued the same dire warnings, extolled the same ghastly consequences.

Out of the mounds they came, the Leanán Sidhe. Fairy Lovers: bright was their light, their gifts, their love. Strong burned the creative fires that they stoked and tended in a poet’s soul; his musical, magical, poetic inspiration, but with the gifts were balanced the ties that bind, for once a Fairy Lover gained entry to a man’s body and soul, she did not ever give them back. Their love was a deadly delight.

She had come to him first on a night just like this. A fire burning in the hearth of his small cottage on the hillside, a long and lonely night awash in the void of mundanity, with not a trickle or a spark of creative inspiration to be found. The gentle tap tap tapping on a window, thought at first to be a branch or twig, but persistent enough to breach the miasma surrounding his heavy head.  When he opened the door, she stood a little out of the light that spilled into the night, back from the threshold, and she spoke to him quickly, offering all the things they had said she would, in a voice as soft as the velvet nub on a new calf’s horns. He listened, and was tempted, and resisted; refusing to invite her inside, refusing to accept the offers… but knowing that his refusal bound her to him as surely as he would be bound to her if he had accepted.

That was three moons ago now, and she had never left.

Constantly calling, she haunted his dreams, and shadowed the windows of his house as she circled each night. Her voice came to him awake or asleep, whispering dreams when he had no defences, tapping at his attention when he would try and concentrate, or create. Useless, pointless exercises that served no purpose other than to frustrate him. She stayed beyond his reach, impossible to banish, although the Rowan and cold iron charm his old Master had recommended for the threshold served the purpose of ensuring that she could not cross, no matter the weakened state she found him in. He was safe inside.

As he stared again at the plain white sheet that signalled his failure, his lack of resource, he realised that he’d had enough. In a dream, he rose from the table in the centre of his room, and walked to pull open the door. Reaching up, he ripped the charm from the lintel, raised his arm, and threw his protection out into the blackness beyond. Then he waited.

When she came, it was with a sigh of silk that instantly calmed his mind and balmed his spirit. His eyes drank her beauty, as she touched his flesh and entered his home. She would drink of his love, and give in return, and his pages would fill with bounty… until she took all that he was. That wasn’t the first or last of the Sidhe ever to take a man… but sure, they are all stories for another day.
Story first published in my 'Tales of Old Eire' column, Renaissance Magazine, 2013.
  
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The Red Haired Hare

The oak door boomed, with a fierce thumping that shook the drying bundles of herbs right out of the rafters across the great hall. The Chief, sitting up at the top table, plucked a bit of dried nettle that had fallen into his cup, and – as puzzled as the rest of them about who could be making such a racket outside on that wild night – he gestured for the beams to be lifted and the door thrown open.

The gale from outside billowed in, throwing rain and twigs across the floor, and lifting the food off the plates of those who sat the closest. She stood on the threshold, with a cloak of dirty red wrapped tight around her, hood up against the storm - though it fought her every step to tear it down and away off into the night. She didn’t wait to be asked, but made her way inside with what would, ordinarily, have been a purposeful stride, but now was hindered and hobbled by an obvious injury to her left thigh. Once in, she threw off the hood, shaking loose the red head of curls for which she was well known, even then, and saying not a word til she stood right in front of the top table, and looked the Chief square in the eye.

“You owe me an honour price”, says she, “for the damage was done to me when your hounds were ahunting today in my woods.”  The Chief knew well there’d been no damage done to her, nor any person, that day, for the Gilly was well trained to tell all on his return from any hunt. All he’d reported was a hare run down near the end of the day, though it’d gotten away before the kill, more’s the pity. He also knew those woods were no more hers than they belonged to his Gilly, but her family had the cottage by there for generations now, and the local stories went that they weren’t the type of folk that’d be wise to mess with (and whatever it was that had the neighbours afeared seemed to be growing stronger with each passing generation) so the Chief left well enough alone on that one. He asked her what she thought the honour price was owed for, and didn’t she bare her own thigh right there and then; the creamy white of it slashed through with a big mouthed bite that could only have come from one of the Chief’s own hounds indeed, for other dogs weren’t the size of them, and all the wolves had been hunted out long since.

She turned to the Master of the Hound, and asked him straight out if that bite, fresh as it was, could only have come from one of the Chief’s hounds, and he had to agree there was nothing else local that could have made it so fresh and so obvious. When the Chief refused to credit it, saying he knew the only thing they had run down that day was a fine puss of a hare, her nod and stony stare was all it took to draw the breath from every person in the place in shock.

But what could he do?  Paying her would only show him believing in the magic long since thought to have been stamped from the land. He shook his head, and bid her leave, though the poisonous words then spewing from her mouth were enough to pale the staunchest noble at his tables. Her curse on his hounds just riled his temper even further, so he rose himself and pulled her off out into the night, with her cursing still heard after the stout beam was wrested back in place to bar the door.

She stayed there, just outside the hall, right through that night. Only at dawn, when she heard the first wails and cries as they found the stiff, cold forms outside in the kennels, did she pick up her skirts and begin the walk back to her cottage, where she lived for many a year more, with many more wails and cries on account of her… but sure, they are all stories for another day.
Story first told to my own childer, a long while ago... but first published in my 'Tales of Old Eire' column, Renaissance Magazine, 2013.

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Queen Maeve of Connacht - Part 3

Maeve and her Lovers

Ok, well, how long have you got? Yes, there were a serious amount of men who were getting it on with the Queen. She was a woman of large appetites.

There's a whole Irish text devoted to this very topic called 'Medb's man-share' (Ferchuitred Medba). The text was also called 'Medb's husband allowance', 'Medb's men', or Cath Boinde (the Battle of the Boyne), and you can find the translated version HERE. It originally comes from the Yellow Book of Lecan manuscript.
In the Tain Bó Cuailnge, we can see how she offers her own favours to the owner of the Brown Bull of Cooley, King Daire, to sweeten the deal... before she heads to an all out murderating war raid. It's hardly her fault he refused and forced her hand, now is it?

"Go there, Mac Roth," orders Medb. "Ask Daire to lend me Donn Cuailnge for a year. At the end of the year he can have fifty yearling heifers in payment for the loan, and the Brown Bull of Cuailnge back. And you can offer him this too, Mac Roth, if the people of the country think badly of losing their fine jewel, the Donn Cuailnge: if Daire himself comes with the bull I'll give him a portion of the fine Plain of Ai equal to his own lands, and a chariot worth thrice seven bondmaids, and my own friendly thighs on top of that."

Queen Maeve and Her Lovers... the Book!
For a really interesting examination of Maeve as a Lover, Initiator, and Intoxicator, you won't go far wrong with this book. 

The author is a Jungian Psychoanalyst, looking at the Maeve myth in the context of her modern practice, which is a fascinating angle that makes for exploration of Queen Maeve in directions we'd never thought of.

Publisher: Nicolas-Hays; 1 edition (October 2001) - available on Amazon HERE.
Queen Maeve - Dead and Buried
Awww, she's Dead? How?!

In her later years, Maeve often went to bathe in a pool on Inchcleraun (Inis Cloithreann), an island on Lough Ree, near Knockcroghery in County Roscommon. Furbaide, who's mother she had killed, sought revenge, and set about planning her demise. He was quite dedicated about it. But I suppose it's the type of thing that you'd really want to get right.

First, he took a rope and measured the distance between the pool and the shore, and practiced with his sling until he could hit an apple on top of a stake Maeve's height, from that distance. The next time he saw Medb bathing he put his practice to good use and killed her with a piece of cheese.  Yes cheese. Queen Maeve was killed by cheese. Her son, Maine Athramail (he who was originally Cairbre, and most 'like his mother', ascended to the throne of Connacht in her place.
 
But buried in Sligo, right?

Well, not exactly. Maybe. 'Maeve's Cairn' in Co. Sligo, is the best known burial site of Queen Maeve, but it is one of three possible sites. According to some legends, she is indeed buried in the 40ft (12m) high stone cairn on the summit of Knocknarea (Cnoc na Rí in Irish, Hill of the King/Queen) in County Sligo. The story goes that she is buried upright, facing her enemies in Ulster.  

In Bronze or Iron Age burials though, it would be common enough to hack an important dead person apart and bury bits of them along different boundaries, for protection and guardianship. Another story goes that she is buried in the hill of Knockma (Cnoc Medb in Irish, Hill of Maeve), near Belclare in Co. Galway, which is also where Fionnbharr, King of the Connacht Sidhe, holds court. The Fairy connection is an interesting one, and maybe related to her later associations with Mab, the Fairy Queen? The boundary theory holds here too though, as the views from the top of Knockma are spectacular. Very convenient for a guardianship position, I'd say.

Her home in Rathcroghan, County Roscommon is the third, and most likely burial site, with a long low slab named Misgaun Medb being given as the probable location. In the 'she got chopped up in bitty bits and buried' theory, this is where her soul (most likely to be contained in her head, according to thinking of the time) would be. Or possibly her heart. Whatever bit of her was deemed the most important part would have stayed at home, with other bits spreading out at lesser sites along the boundaries. Prev: Queen Maeve of Connacht - Part 1
Prev: Queen Maeve of Connacht - Part 2

Queen Maeve of Connacht - Part 2

Maeve's Mammy

Cruachú Crobh-Dearg (the spelling varies, as ever in our wonderful collection of tales) is remembered as a handmaiden of Etain, appearing in the love story of Etain & Midir. 

She may have an older, sovereignty or tribal Goddess function, which is being remembered and carried through the later legends. 
Some of her story, and associations with Cruachan (Rath Cruachan, or modern Rathcroghan, in Co. Roscommon) remains in the text quoted as follows...

Listen, ye warriors about Cruachu!
with its barrow for every noble couple:
    O host whence springs lasting fame of laws!
    O royal line of the men of Connacht!
    O host of the true, long-remembered exploits,
    with number of pleasant companies and of brave kings!
    O people, quickest in havoc
    to whom Erin has pledged various produce!
    Manly in battle-rout multitudinous
    is the seed of noble Brian, with their strong fleets:
    in express submission to them have been sent
    hostages from all Europe to Cruachu.
    If we stay to recount its fame for every power,
    we shall not be able to pour out the lore of noble science

for Cruachu, holy without austerity,
whose foemen are not few.
Known to me by smooth-spoken eulogy
is the designation of powerful Cruachu:
not slight the din, the uproar,
whence it got its name and fame for bright achievement.

Eochaid Airem — high career!
when the fierce, generous man was at Fremu,
the man who cherished feats of skill,
holding a meeting for horse-fights,
There came to them noble Midir
(he was no favourite with the gentle prince)
to carry off Etain in dreadful wise,
whence came lamentation of many tribes.
Ill-favoured was the man who bore off
Etain and hardy Crochen
the queen and her handmaid,
who was right lowly, yet ever-famous.
Westward Midir bore the fair captives
after boldly seizing them as booty,
to Sid Sinche of the ancient hosts,
because it was noble Midir's hereditary possession.
Till three days were out he stayed
in the radiant noisy Sid:
after fruitful enterprise it is custom
to boast at board and banquet.
Then said strong Crochen
What fine house is this where we have halted?
O Midir of the splendid feats,
is this thy spacious dwelling?"
The answer of the famous man of arts
to Crochen blood-red of hue:
' Nearer to the sun, to its warmth,
is my bright and fruitful home."

Said Cruachu the lovely,
in presence of the spacious tribes,
"O Midir, yet unconquered,
shall my name be on this Sid?"
He gave the fine dwelling as reward for her journey
to Crochen, a fair recompense:
by Midir, report says, northward at his home,
by him her name was given to it as ye hear.
Hence men say Cruachu,
(it is not hidden from kindly tribes,)
since Midir brought (clear without falsehood)
his wife to Sinech of the Side.
As for Midir, he was no sluggard thereafter,
he went to Bri Leith maic Celtchair:
he carried with him the bright indolent lady, whitely radiant,
whom he bore off by force from Fremu.
Eochaid at the head of the numerous ranks
of his brave troop,

...was on the track of Midir, the great champion.
Said his druid to Eochaid,
"Thou shalt not be fortunate all thy life long:
lamentation for evil has come upon thee
for the loss of Etain of the golden tresses:"

"Come from the judgment-seat of Fotla
without warning, without royal proclamation;
bring with thee thereafter to Bri Leith
thy host — no cowards they — to sack it."
"There shalt thou find thy wife
in noble beauty, beyond denial:
be not faint-hearted for long, O warrior;
bring her with thee by consent or by force."

This is a beginning, with famous perils,
for the proud Wooing of Etain,
though it be a pithy tale to hear,
    the tale when men came to Cruachu to listen to it.
    It was Crochen of pure Cruachu
    who was mother of Medb great of valour:
    she was in Cruachu — it was an open reproach-
    awhile with Etain's spouse.

Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition
The Metrical Dindshenchas (Author: [unknown])
poem 63 - Rath Cruachan Prev: Queen Maeve of Connacht - Part 1
Next: Queen Maeve of Connacht - Part 3

Winter Solstice in Ireland

The Longest Night. A woman sits by her fire, wrapped in a blanket to keep out the chill, watching the flames in the quiet of a room. Her house is silent around her, family sleeping as she waits. Lights burn through the darkest hours. When the deep blackness begins to lessen, she makes her way outside, searching the horizon. A shaft of light appears, a bright lance across the land – winter is broken... Summer will return.   She smiles, then returns inside, sticks on the kettle and hops in the shower, before driving herself to work.  

What?  Did you think we were looking at a scene from long ago?  Perhaps, but come the 21st of December, this ancient ritual will be repeated in houses all over Ireland.  Meán Geimhridh, Midwinter, brings a vigil through the darkness, waiting for the new-born sun.

Irish people have been marking the return of the sun for at least 5,000 years.  We have built vast and complex monuments around it, and not just Newgrange.  You don’t even have to be a politician or lucky in the Winter Solstice lottery to see these wonders of a by-gone age.  

Knockroe Passage tomb in Co. Kilkenny, which has been called ‘the Newgrange of the Southeast’, is a fine example, which contains extensive megalithic art, and not one, but two, chambers with astrological alignments; showing light through the chambers at both sunrise and sunset on the Winter Solstice.  Or take a look at Drombeg Circle in Co. Cork, a beautiful ring of standing stones which frames a flat topped rock, aligning to the horizon where the sun sets on the Longest Night.

Many traditions, now associated with Christmas and the holiday season, have their origins in the pre-Christian past.  We are lucky now to have such a beautiful blend of customs, fitted exactly to the Irish psyche and community spirit.  

In bringing the evergreen tree inside, we remind ourselves of life within the seeming death of winter, of sustenance and growth that continues through the darkest times.  Plants such as holly and ivy compliment this theme, and not forgetting mistletoe, which was especially sacred to our Druidic ancestors as a fertility symbol.  Be careful who you kiss under the mistletoe at this year’s parties!

Decorating the tree with candles, and reflective items such as mirrors and silver coins, in the past stood for an amplification of the natural energies of the living greenery; bringing more light and life to the darkness, throwing it around the room.  Today we use dodgy flickering fairy lights, glitter and tinsel, but the principle is the same.  And safer, for the inevitable puppy or toddler tree attacks. 

Green is the colour of life, and health, but so too is red – the bright blood of life that flows through our veins, keeping our hearts beating and our senses alive.  Before a certain drinks company decided it’d look great on the jolly fat guy with the beard, the colour red was valued as a decoration and a reminder of life throughout our homes for the Winter Solstice season.

Wren Day, or Lá an Dreoilín in Irish, was continued until recent times on Stephen’s Day, with troupes of kids (known as wrenboys) going round the village or town with a fake bird on a decorated stick, singing or dancing and asking ‘a penny for the wren’.  A little further back, we see a more grizzly form of this, in the hunting and capture of a live bird, which was then used to decorate the pole and held pride of place as a centrepiece for the dance that followed.  

In a time of sickness and death for the weak, this may be an echo of an older sacrifice to the Gods of Winter; take one life and spare the others through the darkness until the coming of Spring.  Or with the ‘winter-wren’ being a symbol of the old year, maybe the people simply wanted to make sure that it was well and truly done with.

The singing and dancing part of that tradition is pleasant, at least, and brings us to another Winter Solstice favourite, the feasting and the parties.  This is one that most of us keep up, to one degree or another, and having a good party to look forward to can get us through the darkest, coldest mornings.  

Winter is the time we naturally draw in on ourselves, it can be the loneliest, harshest time of year.  It’s not just the cold that brings us down, it’s the lack of light, and company.  In days gone by there was a serious food scarcity through the dark winter days too - but a bright feast, filled with family and friends, was the perfect reminder that the time of dark death still held strong seeds of light and life.  

So, enjoy your parties!
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What Can I Give You?

I've been thinking about this whole Thanksgiving business.

We don't have it here in Ireland, and I don't think I've ever really understood it, so the last few years I've made a real effort to listen when people talk about it. On Social Media, and in real life. But I've been thinking about being thankful, and giving, beyond the Thanksgiving holiday.

I am thankful for you folks out there in social media and internet land. All of ye who read my blog, yes - even you! And who follow me on Twitter and Facebook. I asked my friends on Facebook 2 weeks ago: "If I could give you something, what would it be?".

The responses were interesting, and I can even do some of them! It's not just platitudes for me though, or an interesting social media experiment. 

I'm give away a lot of my time, energy, and written stuff for free through my Email List Community - which you can join here, if you're not with us already, and there's free stuff too.

And today I'll be sharing a bit more personal stuff in the newsletter, and asking the question again - What Can I Give You?

I want you to really think about this though. 

If you don't know me very well: Join Our Community, Find me on Facebook, or Twitter, and Read my Bio. Get to know me.*

Without blowing my own trumpet too hard, I kinda have a lot to offer. I get a very positive feedback every time I write a book, teach a class, or give a guided tour. In my own circles, I'm kinda the go-to gal for people with problems.

So, realistically - what can I do for you? What can I teach you, or write for you, that will make your life better, or easier? I'm a Priestess, and it's kind of in my job description to help. 

How can I help you?

*Don't be a stalker like. I get enough of those. Get to know me appropriately; without the aid of long distance photography, declarations of love and soul mate-dom, or night vision goggles, kk? What can I give you? (Leave your Request, Question or Comment below, so they're all in the one place and I can sort through them easily, and get to helping folk asap!)

Truth and Lies

Here's a blast from the past.

The All Saints debut album was released November 1997, and by 1998 nineteen year old me was listening to it on repeat in my Dublin city centre flat.

I'd been hooked by their covers of the Chilli Peppers 'Under the Bridge' (lame excuse, but it is what it is), and the sassy 'Lady Marmalade'... but it was 'Never Ever' that got played most often that year. The usual - Cheating Boyfriend, yada yada yada. Listening to the lyrics now, I can't help but remember all the times I've been put in that "black hole" when someone I cared for has lied to me, shook or broken my trust, and I found myself questioning everything. But most of all - was it me? Was it something I did?

Quite some time ago I swore to myself I'd live true. It's easy to lie. It's convenient, and it doesn't seem to cost anything - at the time. It's not easy to be honest, and honourable, and to constantly be the one (or even one among a few) to stand up and fight for what's right.

I also swore that I would have no time of forgiveness for those who lied to me. And one by one I've weeded them out of my life, quite mercilessly, over a span of years.

So, here I am now. I won't say a lie NEVER crosses my ears or my lips, because that would be a lie now, wouldn't it? We are human, and humans lie. Plus, I'm a mother of three, including two teenage girls. I'm not a fecking fool here like. But I do my best to keep weeding out dishonesty, and I'm as merciless with myself as I've ever been with another.

I love that my marriage, and my polyromantic relationships, are built on complete and total honesty. I've structured things around me in such a way that there's not just no room or forgiveness for lying, there's even actually no need for it. No affairs, no cheating necessary. When we see some infidel causing heartbreak on the telly, I can exchange a small, slightly smug smile with whichever loving and lovely partner/s I happen to be sharing that media.

Ok, I'll be completely totally honest... there have been occasional smug fist bumps too. Alright! I even do a happy poly dance sometimes. It's not pretty. It is honestly joyful though, and that's fine by me.

All this truth telling, the critical thinking, the active listening, the conscious parenting skills, and everything I bring to every relationship I choose to engage in - it takes time. It takes effort. If somebody heard the term 'poly' and it conjured up images of sexy orgies... No! We mostly talk about stuff! LOTS!!!

You know what though? It's so, so worth it.

To quote the lovely All Saints ladies - I aint crazy! If somebody lies to me, I can quite easily be sure I've done nothing wrong. And Never Ever will I be in that Black Hole again. Have you been lied to? Has it changed how you relate to people? Leave a Comment below, and Share this Post if you like it!

Samhain - Into Darkness

Why is Darkness a 'Bad' Thing?

“How can I be substantial if I do not cast a shadow? I must have a dark side also If I am to be whole” 
― C.G. Jung

Samhain time, for me, runs Dark Moon to Dark Moon. As most of you will know by now, the Goddess I work for is kinda dark. Known for it like. 

I think I was pretty 'dark' before I began working for Her, about 13 or so years ago now. By all accounts I was not exactly a sunny child, and my teenage years were most certainly... difficult. For me, and for those who loved me.

I see lots of quotes and comments around at this time of year about facing the darkness, and coming through it to the light, and I get that. I do. If you have a link I can put up to this artist's work, email me! But the implication or understanding is always that we somehow belong in the light. That darkness is inherently negative, or 'bad', and not somewhere that a person would wish to stay, or stand, by choice.

I do!

I've been looking up quotes from books to post through My Facebook Page, and there are some interesting ones, that maybe fit a little better with my world view.

“People often believed they were safer in the light, thinking monsters only came out at night. But safety – like light – is a façade.” ― C.J. Roberts,  Captive in the Dark “A man must dream a long time in order to act with grandeur, and dreaming is nursed in darkness.” ― Jean Genet“There is darkness inside all of us, though mine is more dangerous than most. Still, we all have it—that part of our soul that is irreparably damaged by the very trials and tribulations of life. We are what we are because of it, or perhaps in spite of it. Some use it as a shield to hide behind, others as an excuse to do unconscionable things. But, truly, the darkness is simply a piece of the whole, neither good nor evil unless you make it so. It took a witch, a war, and a voodoo queen to teach me that.” ― Jenna Maclaine,  Bound By Sin “Time takes it all whether you want it to or not, time takes it all. Time bares it away, and in the end there is only darkness. Sometimes we find others in that darkness, and sometimes we lose them there again.” ― Stephen King“What hurts you, blesses you. Darkness is your candle.” ― Rumi“Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.” ― Edna St. Vincent Millay“I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but he who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses.” ― Friedrich Nietzsche,  Thus Spoke Zarathustra
I live in the darkness. This is where the real magic happens, the formative creation. 

Can the light catch that first push from inside the seed? The first unseen growth happens in the darkness - the plan is formed, the form is set, the energy is gathered.

Darkness has an inherent power and strength that, unfortunately, is attractive to a certain type of being. Yes, there are abuses that happen hidden under cover.

Yet more and more, we see that the truly evil are not afraid to walk in the light. They will look us in the eye, with no compunction and no remorse, and claim the way of light as their own.

And there are some of us, out here in the darkness, who patrol and guard. There are some of us who hunt here, to keep it pure and unpolluted. To ensure that the power and strength of darkness remains true, and there is no sanctuary in our land for the dishonourable. If you have a link I can put up to this artist, email me!

“Yet, 
no matter how deeply I go down into myself, my God is dark, and like a webbing made of a hundred roots that drink in silence.” 

― Rainer Maria Rilke, The Selected Poetry

Samhain, or Halloween, is the darkest time of the year. Our human judgements on 'good' and 'evil' are subjective, informed by deeply ingrained Christian morality, and largely irrelevant in the grand scheme of things.

Yes, the power and strength of darkness is not to be taken lightly (see what I did there?), and not to be trifled with. Respect is due and care should be taken, for human form is somewhat fragile in body and mind.

But if you are a person who has darkness within you, who fits better with darkness than light, why spend a lifetime fighting that - fighting yourself? Why not find your Balance?

“Even as a child, she had preferred night to day, had enjoyed sitting out in the yard after sunset, under the star-speckled sky listening to frogs and crickets. Darkness soothed. It softened the sharp edges of the world, toned down the too-harsh colors. With the coming of twilight, the sky seemed to recede; the universe expanded. The night was bigger than the day, and in its realm, life seemed to have more possibilities.” 
― Dean Koontz, Midnight

Irish Samhain - Halloween in Ireland

Jack-o-Lanterns were originally carved from Turnips in Ireland... 19th Century carved turnip on display in the Museum of Country Life, County Mayo.

Samhain excerpt from chapter 5, 'Cycle and Sabbats' by Lora O'Brien
'Irish Witchcraft from an Irish Witch'  -  ISBN-13: 978-1564147592
Publisher: New Page/Career Press; 1st edition (2005)

Samhain (October 31st) This festival was celebrated as a three-day event. It is given in the Coligny calendar as Trinouxtion Samonni - which translates roughly as "Three Nights of the End of Summer." 

In modern times its new face of Halloween has grown to a massive event in many countries; even in the UK, where Guy Falkes Night has been pre-dominant, we still see similar themes. Death (murder and sacrifice), fire and light in the darkness (bonfires and fireworks displays), and behind-the-scenes activity all remain large parts of the celebration. 

The feast has been Christianized as All Soul's Eve (October31), which was known as All Hallow's Eve, and All Saint's Day (November 1). Even in such form, the death theme is prevalent remembering those who have gone before.

Part of remembering and honouring the past is the theme of remembering our dead. Thoughts turn to death in earnest at this festival, it looms upon us, and this naturally brings about memories of ancestors and those who have ready passed through. Many homes in Ireland still lay the 'dumb supper'. This is the placement of one full meal on Samhain night (that is, the 31st), at the family's table. This usually consisted of a dinner in the evening, with an empty chair available, for any passing spirits who might drop in. The windows and doors are left unlocked all night (by those who deem it safe to do so, locked doors are an unfortunate factor of this rather less trusting world in which we live).  

These customs are given as a sign of welcome for the ghosts that are about at this time of year. The extra meal is left outside when the family has finished their meal. None of the living may consume the food meant for the dead; it was said that they would be barred from partaking of it after their own death if they were greedy enough to touch it while living.

The theme of honouring the dead, and aiding them in any way possible, is very prominent at this festival. Perhaps because of the significant reminder that as we are coming into the time of death, it may be us who pass on before too long. Many would not have survived a hard Winter, and at Samhain it is usually too early to tell if the weather will turn nasty or the food will run out. There may have been an element of hedging our bets, so to speak, by being polite and utterly respectful to the dead spirits, and the spirits of death, at this time.

Samhain involved the culling of stock, animals that would go towards the store of Winter food and that were surplus to requirements through the Winter (those that were old, past their prime, or the surplus males). It was a necessary and sacrificial slaughter, as keeping them alive would be a drain on the feed stores for the other animals. 

Though an essential agricultural activity, it would have made sense to use the deaths as a sacrifice to the spirits of the land, in thanks for the harvest and to ensure goodwill for the New Year's cycle. The meat was cured and stored as part of the interior or domestic work to come, to provide essential staples to the Winter food for humans. So it was a time of sacrifice and death, but also of cleansing, cutting out the old stock and preparing those remaining for the coming Winter.

All around Ireland, the bonfires that symbolized this cleansing and purification are still in evidence and are a huge part of nearly every community year In any modern Irish community there will be a Halloween bonfire of some description, though the locals will usually not understand where the importance that is traditionally placed upon this yearly ritual actually stems from. Not consciously, at least!

In the past, all the household fires would be extinguished on Samhain Eve. This in itself is unusual. The morning's fire would usually have been lit with the embers of the night before, keeping a continuous cycle. But a cold hearth was kept all day on Samhain Eve. At Tlachgta, about 12 miles from Tara, the sacred bonfire was re-lit with new vigour to see the people through the coming Winter and reaffirm the strength and survival of the community. With the kindling of new flame, spreading across the land from Tara, thoughts could turn to the New Year.

The massive bonfires, with the associated feasting and community huddle, also (I suppose) served the purpose of somewhat dispelling the uneasiness that the coming darkness would bring to many a mind, a reminder that strong flame could and would be kindled, even in the depths of the dark about to descend.

It is often difficult to understand to our modern minds how this festival is given as the "Celtic New Year”. We are imprinted with the thought of new year and new beginnings happening in early Spring. In reality, when examining the cycle of the year, it doesn't make any sense to celebrate the New Year on January 1st. Nothing new is really happening; it's still the dead of winter. And yet the joy, new resolutions, new beginnings that are such an important part of the modern celebration are a reflection of the predilection we still feel for marking the turning cycles and making a considered "fresh start” on an annual basis.

However, with some thought, it becomes clear that all vital growth starts in pure darkness and still silence. The Irish marked their days from dusk to dusk - giving due importance to the period of rest and regeneration, the blackness of the night. 

The human womb protects the child in its secret safety, and all the true formation has taken place by the time we start to see the outward signs of its presence. It is long before the fist or the leg pushes out like some alien creature about to break the skin that the development of the essential aspects of the baby are well and truly done. By just 10 weeks old, before most women even realize they are pregnant, the baby's facial features, limbs, hands, feet, fingers, and toes all become apparent. Its nervous system is responsive, and many of the internal organs begin to function. All this happens in the dark stillness of the womb.

At Samhain, this darkness starts to form around us and we remember that the cycle concerns not  just birth, life, and death - but the gestation, the pre-birth, conception, inception stage that is essential for healthy and true growth. It is the New Year in the sense that we are preparing to go underground, to premeditate the coming year, spend the cold dark months in thought, preparation and planning. This is important both to recover from the period of intense action just lived through, and to build new strength and new connections for the time of action to come.

Traditionally in Ireland all social arrangements were planned in the Winter, from Samhain onwards. There were gatherings and feasts aplenty, perhaps to metaphorically stick up two fingers to the coming Winter and enjoy what they had while they had it. The past was remembered and the future planned for.

It was the time when all agricultural work had to be finished, or abandoned as the herds came down from the mountains; men and women were reunited as a tribe to live out the Winter period together. The return of all those who had been away from the home may have been another connection to the return of those who were dead and gone… for the Otherworld, at this time of change, was not so far away that the dead could not return home as the living did.

The spirits of the land had no further compunction to cooperate with the tribe until Imbolg, at the earliest. The idea still survives that the blackberries here aren't safe to be eaten after Halloween. We were told as kids that the Púca spits on them and makes them poisonous after that. Samhain was always a time for inward turning, for the Otherworld to come to more prominence than it had been in the bright heat and light of the summer's sun. Many tales include weird issuing from the Otherworld, as well as easier access to the other realms, as the changeover causes the worlds to interlay.

Samhain, or Halloween, is the main time between times, when the veil of the worlds is at its thinnest and we can most easily see or feel across the bridges. 

In practical terms and non-flowery language, this means that it is especially a time for divination, magical activity, and communing with spirits, both those of our ancestors, and those passing who may or may not who wish us well-and, sometimes, those who need our help. We have lived the year and experienced the turning to its fullest, now is the time to reflect on the accumulated wisdom and prepare for the long months ahead.

For theists, the Goddess may meet the God in his Otherworld dwelling, for this is the time of death, the time to clear the path for what may lie ahead. Irish legend tells of the Dagda meeting the Morrigan as she straddled the river Unius at Samhain, nine loosened tresses over her shoulder, and joining with her there.

For us to celebrate this festival in a modern context, there are some essential elements our celebration should contain:
Respect for the Dead
This can be in the form of a dumb supper, as outlined in the previous section, or perhaps with a platter laid outside when the household retires for the night. 

During any actual ritual that is performed there should be a quiet time taken, a space for reflection on those who have passed, both in our own lives and any who linger near the physical place of working. A gentle and respectful reminder that the doors are open this night, that they may be free to move on, can be helpful. 

This is also an appropriate time for any who are capable enough to engage in "spiritualist" activity or specific contact with the dead.
Sacrifice
Most of us won't have any stock that needs culling. In lieu of looking at our neighbour's sheep - or indeed their cats and dogs - with new interest, it might be better to symbolically sacrifice for Samhain. 

This doesn't have to involve bleeding oneself for the land, though l will point out that our own blood is very powerful, with menstrual blood holding special significance as a sacrificial source. It is, after all, a natural shedding and expulsion of life-nurturing materials, usually accompanied by pain or at least physical discomfort. 

I always give something of myself in honour of the harvest and the land during this ritual. It can be a lock of hair, nail clippings, or body fluids. It can be as simple as a spit on the ground or the fire. Anything that is 'of you' will do. If I wish to make a specific connection to the land, I bury it. Most often it goes on the fire, as this is an element of the next part of the process. 
Cleansing
The most obvious way for this to be a significant part of the festival is by lighting a bonfire. 

All household fires should have been extinguished from that morning; the hearth (if you have one) must lie cold and bare until it is re-lit from the Samhain fires. This is to remind us of death's harsh coldness, before the rebirth of the new fires. If it is not practical to light your own outdoor bonfire, or there’s no hearth fire in your home, at the very least a small cauldron fire should be used during your working. 

The cauldron is appropriate, as it is seen as the vessel of transformation. Raw  foodstuff goes in, and sustaining meals come out. It is the womb of the Goddess, as anything can go in and be transformed. In the fires, we should ritually burn all from the old year that we wish to leave behind. This could be by writing those things on paper and burning it, or by burning objects that symbolize the things we wish to leave behind as we move into the new year. 

This is our  cleansing, and the sacrificial offering we make of ourselves fuels this fire and is our part in the give-and-take. It is often difficult to bring on the changes that we know are necessary. But this is the time to put away the things that are of no further use to us. Clear the way for new projects, new hopes, new plans.
Planning and Preparation
In your cleansing process you will have figured out what is unnecessary to carry forward, what needed rid of. The next step is to figure out what is useful, what needs to be worked on in the coming New Year. 

Plans are made for carrying this through: how best to make use of your coming Winter 'down time' and how to ensure that you have sufficient down time for necessary interior (both indoors and in yourself) activities. When the weather changes again and Spring has sprung, you can then step out again, sure that you are prepared and ready. 
Celebration
It is a time for coming together, when tribes would reunite for Winter-based activity, the start of a new cycle. Darkness is fast approaching, but there is still time and space to celebrate light and warmth and pleasure. 

There should be feasting, which has always seemed to me a particularly effective way of thumbing our noses at the coming harshness of Winter. Get the fresh meats, available milk, and newly harvested fruit and vegetables while they are all still so succulent and desirable. 

For us, although most of us are lucky enough to still get those things all through the year, seasonal and local foods should be used as much as possible, in keeping with the cycle. It should also be observed, as much as possible, that outdoors work finishes at this point. 

Pre-Samhain, make sure all your outside tasks are locked down for the Winter, whether it be putting away your gardening tools or getting the last fruits collected in. Púca spit probably doesn't taste most pleasant; it's best to avoid it if possible. And once you are safely indoors, a cheery fire, a good feast, and seeing your family and friends for perhaps the first time in months will always be cause for celebration, so our ancestors wouldn't have forgotten the mead, ale, and wine. 
Divination
Before the mead, ale, and wine consumption reaches its pinnacle, it is worth remembering that this is the time when the veil between this world and Аn Saol Eile is at its thinnest. 

It is a time of trickery, of fun and games, of cross-dressing in many of the myths. Normally strict lines are blurred and everything gets a little out of focus. Usual laws, codes of behaviour, and restrictions were always more relaxed around Samhain time. In our rituals, elements of this may be brought in with games and party tricks. 

Typical Halloween fun is always good. A lot of the games we still play have divinatory aspects, and many of us engage in acts of focused divination at this time. The end of a ritual is the perfect time for such a thing. You are relaxed, your hunger and thirst are satiated, the ‘work’ is done, and you are free to just let yourself drift into that gap between the worlds where divination lives. As anybody who has begun to try and learn to divine the future, or see visions, will know all too well, forcing the issue will inevitably result in frustration and failure. 

Staring into the flames is an excellent choice of method: this is called fire scrying. Liquid scrying or hydromancy - looking into a liquid-filled vessel with a dark interior (a chalice of red wine, a bowl of ink and a cauldron of water are all good choices ) - is also a good option. Losing yourself a little in the dark depths can bring on excellent visionary experiences. 

More structured methods such tarot card readings can also be as effective, but I am all for letting it flow loosely and seeing what comes up. If you wish to use your usual tarot, runes, or I Ching, perhaps approaching them in different ways would be a good idea. The random pulling of cards, or throwing of runes, and meditating on the pictures or symbols (just focus on them and seeing what pops into your mind, or floats through it), with no particular forced or usual ‘structure’ on your divination, is tremendously powerful when the mists of Samhain descend.
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The Gender Divide

No Country in the World Gives Women 
Equal Status or Power No country. In the world.

I... just... wow.

When I saw that headline in the Irish Examiner this morning my head exploded a little. (OK, not literally; I still need this head to write and such, so I managed to keep it intact. Mostly.)

But... It's 2014. We all pay lip service to equality. Right, right... most right thinking folk we know personally at least pay lip service to equality.

But... That report. Those facts.

But... 70% of the 1bn people living in extreme poverty are women and girls.

But... Every single time I saw this post about Jennifer Lawrence shared on Social Media, the comments contained some menz trying to argue, in many and various ways, that she was asking for it. 

But... I'm still hearing Rape Jokes. And justification of Rape Jokes.

But... Women who face the heartbreaking trauma of fatal foetal abnormality still can't get a medical abortion in this country. They are travelling to England for an injection to stop their baby's heart, and then travelling home again, at great personal risk, so that they can safely, sanely bury that child's body, and don't have to wait for a knock on the door from a courier delivering their child's ashes.

But... The society I'm raising my children in - this Ireland, right here, right now - is not safe for women. Is not equal. If my daughter was raped, got pregnant, and didn't want to grow that child in her body for 9 months - if I decided to help her abort that foetus, legally I would face 14 years in prison. As would she. Her rapist, IF caught and charged and found guilty, would face just 7 years. And that's a big IF.

But... Well. Do I need to go on? Why am I even writing this post? Will anything ever change, or am I just banging my head against the brick wall of patriarchy, getting bloody and broken, and accused of being just another angry feminist. Because we should be Equalists, right?

But... I'll be Equalist when we're Equal. Follow me on Social Media to have your say, lend your voice. Give me some hope? Thing is, I'm more likely to get rape threats and harassment for daring to speak out. 

But... My author page is here, the personal page is here... or here for Twitter. 

Because, Fuck You. I Won't Ever Shut Up.