A Book In The Origin: January 1

I enjoyed Juni’s idea of making the first of the month a holy day so much I appropriated it for myself. I am using phrases from “The Battle of the Trees” in the Book of Taliesin to name these holy days, and to meditate on. January 1st is A Book In The Origin.

I like this turn of phrase very much in translation: to me, it implies that nothing is created out of nothing, that every book ever to be written, or will be written, or was never written, has already been written and is just waiting for you to read it. Some may find that thought uncomfortable, as it implies there is nothing original or that you cannot create anything, but because I view art and words as divine events, and manifestations of divinity, I find it a relief. It means that all I have to do to write my book is shut up and listen, and take notes.

There is a fascinating concept related to this idea in Jasper Fforde’s Well of Lost Plots (from the book of the same name, and featured in other Thursday Next novels. In the basements of the Great Library, where all published fiction is stored, lie the subfloors of the Well, where stories are put together, honed and polished by various fictional denizens and made ready to release into the ether to be piped down into the brains (and pens) of unsuspecting authors everywhere. While they think they are making it up, in fact the story itself is putting itself together and becoming available.

While the Well is a rather humourous way of looking at it, the idea that a book has already been written, and is waiting to originate from me, is a singular part of my writing philosophy, and indeed, one of the pillars of my whole reason for writing.

What an inspiring and optimistic thought to start the new year. I am a book in the origin, my pages turning to reveal words that I have not yet discovered, but have already been written and are waiting to be written in my own hand. I am a story writing itself.

 

Tempest Moon

December 31st’s blue moon ushered in the new year. A full moon occurring at the end of the calendar year is infrequent, and won’t happen again for another thirty years or so. This December and January moon comes in the time of winter when one knows that the days are growing longer, the solstice having passed, but the days are still short, dark and cold. We have entered dark winter where we will stay until February and the promise of Spring in the air comes back.

This is the Cold Moon, the Long Night Moon, the Tempest Moon.

 

Samhain

In the lands where the ancient Celts thrived, October was the time of settling cold, final preparations for long winter, and the death of the old year. In the lands where some of their modern descendants eventually came, the leaves are turning gold, red, brown; the breezes are growing stronger and more chill; the sudden storms of summer are giving way to steady rainfall and in extremes, frost appears at the window. It is easy to see how traditions of the dying year can thrive in this environment.

In the lands where my ancestors came, the leaves remain on the trees; the long drought of summer is largely broken by storms, though the heat remains; there is no chance of frost until January. Maybe. My choice to honor this time of year as one of the memory of death and the meditation on the cycle of endings and beginnings may take a bit more effort to embrace, because the natural world around me seems to be alive, even thriving, after the extreme thirsty summer and the blessed new rains.

And yet, I choose to align myself with the patterns of the Celts because while externally my world isn’t preparing for a long sleep or death, internally, my own world is descending into the long dark-half of the year. It is the end of summer, samos.

Scél lemm duíb: (I have news for you:)
dordaid dam, (the stag bells,)
snigid gaim, (winter snows,)
ró-fáith sam. (summer is ended.)

Other pagan voices on Samhain:

Alexei Kondratiev

Beyond The Fields We Know

Gus diZerega

Ali at Meadowsweet Myrrh

 

Stag Moon

One of the things I’m trying to do with my path is made a coherent and meaningful calendar of holidays– holy days. While much my calendar is based on a personal journey, and sort of follows several different stories at once, one of the numerous threads I’d like to incorporate into it is a small observance at the full moon each (more or less) month.

These observations are carefully tied into several other ideas and concerns of mine, but at the core, the lunar holiday schedule is based off of Amergin’s Mystery, as it is sometimes called. I’ve picked and chosen names for each full moon based on the lines in the first part of the poem. Beginning the full moon after Samhain, I hope to implement something a little more substantial than what I currently have right now with the full moon of Wind.

But since the full moon of October 4 recently passed, and since I am trying to start getting the mindset needed (or desired) more available to my brain, I want to ponder what it may hold for the coming month–the moon called Stag.

 

Midsummer Ritual

This Midsummer, I was moved to do a ritual, very small, which is something I am not usually inclined to do.

What this ritual basically came down to is the mystery of fire and water (a primary mystery of Brighid, and one with which I’ve always had particular resonance), or “sunlight on water”, as it applies to the various parts of my life. Without too much detail, I’m focusing on being a channel–the flow of emotional and physical energy (water) and spark of creative energy (fire) merging to allow me to continue working in the forge, writing on the page, without (heh) burning myself out or draining myself. (Excuse the double puns).

The end metaphorical vision is basically for me to be as a river, flowing, with sunlight sparkling all over me, and it was this vision I focused on.

I do not think the “fire on water” motif is amiss at Midsummer, being both the time of the greatest sunlight and the greatest heat, the time when all of nature is abundant, and we are all working hard to produce work (especially me, as a college student, when I finally have time to focus on non-school work), and the time when we all seek water, whether to cool ourselves (in the pool!) or, as we are down here in south Texas in a heavy drought, to survive. The image of sunlight on a river is one that connects me not only to my physical surroundings and the emotional connotations of this holiday, but it connects me most importantly to Brighid, who is at the center of everything I do.

I’ve learned how to crochet in the past week, and decided to incorporate it into my ritual, in which I made a chain of all the things I wanted to accomplish, to have support for, to have energy for, etc. I unraveled it and placed it outside to blow away, and then I came back and wrote this poem:

 

Imbolc

Imbolc is the first of the four fire-festivals in Celtic tradition, and is generally known as Brigid’s Day, Bride’s Day or Candlemas. The goddess Brighid presided over this day of purification, the home, and the coming spring, and later, St. Brigid presided over the festival of candles that symbolize the soon end of night.

The goddess Brighid, for the uninitiated (har har), is an Irish goddess of poetry, healing and smithcraft, and has several associations with the land, sovereignty, justice and the “outsider”–those that bring challenges and renewal to the tribe. She is one of the Tuatha De Danaan, and was later adopted as a saint in the Catholic Church, even becoming Ireland’s most beloved, after St. Patrick. Her symbols include the everlasting fire, which dedicants keep around the world and in the church St. Brigid founded at Kildare in 19-person groups called cills. Every member of the Cill keeps the flame for a night’s vigil, and on the 20th night, Brighid herself is said to tend the flame. Other symbols include the well, the cauldron, and in a potent mystery, the fire rises from the water, invoking Brighid’s association with inspiration and creativity.

Because I follow the goddess Brighid, Imbolc has always been a special time for me, and several traditions are very special to me. I dedicated myself to Brighid at this time, on her day, as well as joined two Cills, and I also began the tradition of leaving a brat–a small strip of cloth for Brighid’s “mantle”–at the window for her to bless. Every year it grows in strength and I use it as a charm for protection. Other traditions include making Brighid’s crosses from rushes and hanging them over the threshold to protect the home. Rites of purification, blessing and housekeeping are common at Imbolc, as they are at the other festivals, but unlike the other four festivals, Imbolc is a rather small and private household affair, for in the depth of winter, it was difficult to travel and gather in large groups.

This Imbolc, my project was to review and reform the calendar I had devised for my path. I haven’t gotten too far, but I am beginning to think differently about things: about the rituals I actually performed, how they went, and how pertinent they were. Imbolc is a wonderful time for focus, divination and setting up for the future, and the work I have done today will no doubt lead me to beneficial results in time.

Brighid is a beloved and powerful protectress for all storytellers and for all Poets, and to share Her day with her, doing her work, and trying to deepen my understanding of her is a wonderful honor.