A’bhiolair uain…

Cha leiginn mo bhuidheann fhiadh,
Mo bhuidheann fhiadh, mo bhuidheann fhiadh,
Cha leiginn mo bhuidheann fhiadh,
Dh’imlich shligean dubh an tràigh.

Cha do ghoid mi cliabhan duilisg,
Cliabhan duilisg, cliabhan duilisg,
Cha do ghoid mi cliabhan duilisg,
‘S cha mhó ghoid mi ribeag chàil.

Is mór gum b’ anns’ a’bhiolair uain’,
A ’bhiolair uain’, a’bhiolair uain’,
Is mór gum b’ anns’ a’bhiolair uain’,
Bhios air bruach an fhuarain àird.*

So this handsome chap has come to live with us recently. Isn’t he beautiful?  As you know, if you have been following my blog for a time, the Deer is an extremely sacred animal to me. The Deer are Pathfinders & Gatekeepers, they often lead into encounters with the Otherworld, and are a great ally in shape-shifting.  When ‘Travelling’ a Deer will be my guide (most of the time), if my Gods aren’t present with me on that trip. Most nights my dream are filled with Deer, or antlers, my dreams have lots of antlers. Last night’s was of a gorgeous Hind; A Hind, and lots and lots of Rowan and Mushrooms. Deer are one of the oldest animals, along with the Blackbird, the Owl, the Eagle, the Crow/Raven  and the Salmon, they have fascinated me and held my heart since I was a young girl. My parents used to take my Brother and I to watch the herds of Red and Fallow Deer in Richmond as wee bairns, and it’s been a ritual I’ve carried through to adulthood. I even have my favourite place to hide amongst the trees on the edge of the grasslands, and watch them. The Antlered Woman, my Horned God, the Cailleach, and The Daughter of Bones are all associated with the Deer.

In the Highlands, Deer are associated with the Sith – Faerie – and Scottish folklore is littered with tales of them being Faerie Cattle herded by Faerie Women, the Glaistig, the Bean Sìth and the Cailleachan. Not only would the Sith eat the roots of Silverweed and the stalks of Heather, but they would milk Red Deer Hinds; When they couldn’t find milk spilt on the way from the dairy, which is Theirs by right. Faerie woman often assume the shape of the Red-Deer, and in that guise they were often encountered by hunters, traveling folk, and those that have lost their way. It’s not only Faerie and Gods that appear as Deer, but the dead can too. It was firmly believed in the British Isles that ghosts could appear in many different forms, sometimes in human shape, but at others in the shape of Birds,  Dogs,  Cattle and Deer.

Deer calls to us from the Otherworld… and invites us to look beyond the material, beyond the superficialities of life, toward the heart of things, toward the realm of causes rather than effects. Poised in moon- or sunlight, Deer invites us to begin an exploration of the Otherworld, the spiritual dimension of life.”  ~Philip & Stephanie Carr-Gomm

The Deer is also an animal of healing. There are many charms and  remedies  which call for Deer bits ‘n’ pieces. For instance to cure a sprain, one would tie three knots into a thread made of the sinew of a Stag in rut, whilst reciting a spoken charm, and then tie it around the effected limb. Deer tallow was used to protect the skin from the harsh Scottish weather during the Winter, and Stag Horn Jelly was a stable of the sick. It was said that “Geir féidh a-muigh ‘s a-staigh, mur leighis sin thu chan eil do leigheas ann”. ** Newly cast antlered were smashed with a hammer and boiled in water for a few hours. Candied sugar and vinegar were added, once the water had been strained,  then brought back to a roiling boil before being allowed to cool and set into a thick jelly. This was given to the infirm by the glassful, with the addition of The Water of Life, what I like to call the ‘The Cailleach’s Cure’ – Whisky! Which no doubt helped it to go down easier and taste better.

So Mr. Stag arrived a while ago, and was given a good clean! He was dirtier than I expected, but I didn’t have any ‘Stag Brain Soup’ to contend with. He was given a few baths and scrubbed down, carefully with love and attention, with a soft bristled tooth-brush, then set to dry naturally(which meant being caught out in an unexpected Lightning Storm – Gotta love Ohio – and having to dry again). He was then given a lovely bath in Hydrogen Peroxide to brighten him up a little and to sanitize him completely. The next job on the agenda is to ‘Redden’ him, and start the process of ‘calling a Spirit back’, which I spoke a little about in my post about Mr. Jackdaw and my Crow friends. Sometimes it’s the Spirit of the ‘actual’ animal that wants to stay around, and sometimes it’s a ‘Spirit Friend’ who wants to use the vessel/fetiche as a home from home in the Otherworld when they come to visit. This is by no means a ‘Spirit trap’, as the Spirits should be free and unchained to go about their business. It means invoking and banishing/saying goodbyes when you want to work/commune with a certain Spirit. Unless it’s Mr. Jackdaw who comes when he pleases and heralds Cernunnos’ arrival, or Mr. Carrion who only shows up when the Cailleach is around.

So, this evening Mr. Stag was smudged with Juniper and given his first round of offerings, welcoming him home. Spring water, fresh Watercress, wild Scottish Mushrooms, Rowan berries and Heather (a gift from Ms. Graveyard Dirt) were given. My beast will continue to be lavished with offerings and gifts, and I’ll keep you all posted as to how our relationship develops…

TRANSLATIONS FROM SCOTS GAELIC:

* I’ll not permit my herd of deer / My herd of deer,  my herd of deer / I’ll not permit my herd of deer /To lick black shells in ebbing shore.
I stole no little creel of dulse, / Creel of dulse, creel of dulse, / I stole no little creel of dulse / Nor did I steal one scrap of kale.
They’d much prefer green watercress, / Green watercress, green watercress, / They’d much prefer green watercress, / That’s on the bank of the mountain stream.

**Deer fat outside and inside, it that doesn’t cure you there’s no cure for you.

***

The Horned God and the Jackdaw…

So, those that have been playing along at home, will know that some time back I found myself adopting the beginnings of my own Corvus Family. Over the last couple of months, we’ve grown quite close. All starting that pretty fucking magic night that I called them home to me, in a pretty intense journey. One which left me crawling up the stairs, once they had been fed, watered and made accustomed to their new surroundings, and straight into my bed next to my snoring husband.

Over a series of nights they were ‘reddened’ (if you look ever so closely you can see the little red dot on the jackdaws skull), and we set about forging relationships with each other. They are regularly given offerings, fed and watered, and ‘talked to’… They like to banter…

My Carrion Crow was claimed by the Cailleach this Winter. And my inseparable pair – My Rook and Hooded Crow – have banded together in collaboration. I will not have the pleasure or one’s company without the other. They seem to ‘speak‘ with the same voice.

Which leaves my little Jackdaw.

Mr. Jackdaw almost immediately attached himself to Cernunnos… So a little home was made for him at the base of my Cernunnos statue, were he receives his gifts and offerings…

When my Jackdaw comes a-pecking, I know that Cernunnos isn’t far behind. I’ve come to recognise the shrill call of the Jackdaw – That high-pitched, metallic  chyak-chyak – as His harbinger, almost as much as the smell that lingers when He is near. The smell of damp woodland, the coldness of the damp soil beneath the leafy floor. The musky smell of sex. A whiff of camphorous conifers. A heady, masculine aroma that I can never quiet put my finger on. And the undeniable smell of musty death and decay…

It reminds me of days spend whiling away the hours watching the herds of deer in Richmond Park, in London. The occasional Jackdaw settling down onto their backs to groom and rid them of ticks. It’s an harmonious relationship between the two, and Cernunnos seems happy enough that Mr. Jackdaw has become His herald…

Their trickster natures are a pretty much matched in each other, I’m always kept on my feet when they are both around…

The Power of the Wetlands – Fen, Bog & Marsh…

 

One of the northernmost bald-Cypress swamps, nearby here in Ohio...

So, I didn’t really know where to start this series… Was I going to give an introduction to the Otherworlds and Underworld? Was I going to talk about trance and altering consciousness? Was I just going to jump on in, where I felt like and go from there?  I posted an introduction to these series’ I’m writing a while ago, so when I woke up this morning thinking about the Wetlands of England I decided that this is where I wanted to begin this series; talking about The Power of the Wetlands – Fen, Bog & Marsh!

I’ve always had a thing  for water… Whether that be the sea, lakes & lochs, wells & streams, the river I grew up next to, or the wetlands that are found throughout my Homeland. With such an affinity for water, this seems the best place for me to begin our journey, as this was one of the first places I began my travels…

When accessing the Otherworld or Underworld, or working with the denizens who abide there, there are places that are more susceptible to your efforts, places where the Veil is thinnest. What occurs in this world, can echo into the Unseen, there are places that this echo makes louder and more powerful ripples in the Unseen places beyond the border…

Places such as the Crossroads, ancient stone, hills & burial mounds, certain trees & rings of certain plants, Cemeteries and of course Water! The edges of river, lake or the sea… Wells with their source being deep underground, springing forth from that Unseen place… And then we come to the Wetlands…

Wetlands have been seen as both sinister places of evil & danger, and places of unparalleled natural beauty…

Historically, the wetlands have been seen as a link between the mundane world of daily life and Otherworlds, a place where it is possible to come closer to the Gods and spirits, a place where some of those other beings could not only be contacted through, but also lived.

“Dreary and wearisome. Cold, clammy winter still held sway in this forsaken country. The only green was the scum of livid weed on the dark greasy surfaces of the sullen waters. Dead grasses and rotting reeds loomed up in the mists like ragged shadows of long forgotten summers.“

Passage of the Marshes, The Two Towers ~ J.R.R. Tolkien.

The close association between people and wetlands has an ancient history. The artifacts that have been found in waterlogged soils from all over the world document the extensive use of wetlands. Many votive offerings, gifts to the Gods, were left in wet places – including the Llyn Cerrig Bach hoard on Anglesey, the magnificent bronze shield of Rhos Rydd and enigmatic figurine of a man from Strata Florida in Ceredigion.

The dead have also be offered. ‘Bog Bodies’ have been found throughout the British Isles and North-western Europe, these bodies were either the victim of a ritualistic sacrificial killing, or that the already dead were ‘offered’ to the bog in the light of the link between the wetlands & the Otherworlds, and used as a burial ground.

In Greece and Asia Minor more than 3000 years ago, the stories of the Greek gods and their deeds became Greek mythology and a rich source of literature, poetry and art. Wetlands in Greek mythology were often sacred places associated with deities, and several Greek gods chose rivers such as the Acheloos and Alfiós as their “bodies”. The River Styx (probably the River Acheron today) was particularly significant as it separated the world of the living from Hades, the world of the dead.

A place where the dead lie (human, and animal) become an interaction point between this world and the Otherworlds, the Veil is thinner.

The spirits of the bog and marsh are known throughout folklore as Will-o’-the-Wisps or Corpse Candles, which are ghostly lights seen at night or twilight over bogs, swamps, and marshes throughout the world, but I will chiefly concentrate on British folklore here.

In Gaelic and Slavic folk cultures, the Will-o’-the-Wisps are mischievous spirits of the dead, or the land, attempting to lead travelers astray. The stories of Welsh folklore are very similar as the lights are said to be the ‘fairy fire’ held by the Pwca (of the Tylwyth Teg), a small goblin-like Faerie that mischievously leads lonely travelers off the beaten path. Which is where the expression ‘Pixie-led’ comes from, as in Devon and Cornish folklore the lights are a Pixy-light, which is not unlike the Norse ‘lambent light’ which could be seen guarding the tombs of the dead.

These spirits do not always lead the poor, hopeless traveler further into the wildness. It’s all a matter of how said traveler treats the spirits of the marsh. If you show respect and reverence to these spirits, they will lead you where you desire to go, if not… Then you are done for my friends! Though if you are brave enough to follow, and show a little respect along the way, following these spirits may bring you more good fortune than you thought possible, as the Will-o’-the-Wisps are said to be guardians of treasure hidden deep beneath the swampy waters.

So when going to the bog, swamp, marsh or fen… Be weary! Go prepared with offerings to the spirits, and show them respect. As they will then take you on a journey that will feed your soul, and you will gain many treasures, in the form of knowledge and experience, from the Otherworld with their guidance.

When approaching unknown locations and spirits, it is best to harbour no expectations of what you will see or experience. Go and spend time in your chosen location, getting to know the area, getting a feel for the lay of the land and be passive & open to what will happen…

“…He, leading, swiftly rolled
In tangles, and made intricate seem straight,
To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy
Brightens his crest; as when a wandering fire,
Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night
Condenses, and the cold environs round,
Kindled through agitation to a flame,
Which oft, they say, some evil Spirit attends,
Hovering and blazing with delusive light,
Misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his way
To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool;
There swallowed up and lost, from succour far”

Paradise Lost ~ John Milton

 

Rededication and Oath Renewal…

An Offering Oil with rattlesnake skin… Hand blended incense, with graveyard dirt and snake shavings… Elderberry Wine…. A dark, rustic, freshly baked rye, barley and fruit loaf… Myself… All for Him…

The moon exactly halfway full, beaming down from above… Musky smoke, curling and twisting in plumes around the Stang, connecting the worlds…The silence deafening…

Surrounded by darkness, embraced by the night, I invoke Him… Stag King, Lord of Seven Tines… Ruler of the Forests, the Marshlands and Heath… My Protector & Guide… Gatekeeper… The Wild God at the Crossroad… The Rampant One… Lord of the Underworld and Otherworlds… Cernunnos, my Horned Lord…

And the smell of Him fills my nostrils… Damp Woodland, Sex and Death… My nipples grow hard, as a shiver runs down my spine…The world shifts… Nothing else exists… Just me and Him… My heart races… Tears well in my eyes, and a sob threatens to break my calm composure… Threatens to choke off my words…  The raw power of Him is overwhelming… I drink it in… Lap it up… I feel Him around me… Surrounding me… Embracing me…

His stern, calm voice echos through me… “Continue”…

And so I do…

I re-dedicate myself as a Witch, and renew my vows and oaths to Him…

It’s been a tough year in Ohio for me, that connection I feel to Cernunnos in England didn’t seem to be as strong over in here in the States… But alas… He has told me that I should try harder… So, I am… With daily offerings and a weekly morning devotional to Him…

My first since I was back from England was yesterday!

I rose at the crack of dawn, leaving the baby and the hubby in bed, as I slipped downstairs with a spring in my step, got dressed quickly and headed out to the car. I took an half hour drive out to Battelle Darby Creek, arriving before anyone else… It was silent apart from the chatter of birds, the occasional woodpecker going to town on a nearby tree, a few rustles in the bushes and the gush of water flowing through the creek… There was even a nip to the air…

I went with no plans…

Just to spend some time there seeking Cernunnos in my new surroundings,  to bring Him offerings and carry out some divination…

As I approached the creek, the mist was lingering on the water, giving the whole area a hushed Otherworldly feel… I could feel Him already…

I sat beside the creek, my butt on the damp floor and my bare feet dangling into the water… Crossing my own kind of ‘Hedge’… And I began my morning devotion…

Just as I was about done, and about to leave my offerings to Cernunnos, something caught my eye…

On the other side of the creek, not 15 feet away, was a glorious Whitetail Buck, sniffing the air and looking directly at me…

I could have cried, and I nearly did as ‘that’ smell drifted around me… His smell! I am His…