Stories Against Ourselves
"And the penance that was imposed upon her was ... that she
should relate the story to all who should come there."
____ Pwyll, Prince of Dyfed, from "The Mabinogion
On the night that Rhiannon (Hree-ANN'on) gave birth, her baby was stolen by an otherworldly suitor. In the morning, the nurses were terrified of being punished their lack of vigilance, so they killed a litter of puppies, spilled the blood upon Rhiannon's bed, and threw the small bones about in such a way as to cause onlookers to believe that the mother had devoured her own baby. Her husband, Pwyll (POO'ilh) was reluctant to condemn her, but condemned she was. Her punishment was that she stand at the mounting block in the courtyard for seven years, to stop all comers and tell them her terrible deed and to offer to carry the guest into the hall on her own back. When her child was eventually restored to her, she was released from her undeserved punishment.
For many, telling untrue stories against themselves is a daily experience. This may begin unconsciously. A parent or teacher may start the process in the early years with an observation such as, "You'll never come to any good." If this message is reiterated often enough, the story becomes ful-filling, accepted and believed by the person who might originally have denied its truth. Whatever the cause, the false story that we tell against ourselves can poison our lives and embitter our relationships with others. As the example of those who have been burdened with false report, Rhiannon is the lifter of burdens and the singer of the true song. She can help restore self-esteem and allow a new story to shine forth.
"Examine closely the "never" and "always" accounts and all the sorry untruths that have become part of your own story. Begin to tell a new story about yourself, taking every opportunity to detach yourself from the old, unhappy stories that you tell against yourself."
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
Monday, February 28, 2011
Sunday, February 27, 2011
The Between-Places
The Between-Places
"Celtic mysteries occurred in twi-states between night and day, in dew that was neither rain nor river, in mistletoe that was not a plant or a tree, in the trance state that was neither sleep nor waking."
___Elizabeth Sutherland, Ravens and Black Rain
For every one of us there are moments of revelation at the nexus point where opposites meet: dark and light, joy and sorrow, knowing and unknowing, keeping and losing, making and unmaking, silence and singing. In these days of growing light, when spring is still far ahead and the grip of winter is ever present, the opportunity to sample the opposites and stand at their still center is potent. These experiences do not have to be sought after; they arrive, magically blending elements together to seek us out. These are thresholds of power where neart (this is a word for which there is no English equivalent; it means 'strength or power' in the sense of 'the energy of life.') and soul are fused in one vision of wholeness, unity and often ecstasy. These between-places are the creative nexus at which vision and craft come together in embrace; this is where poetry, song, art, beauty, and inspiration uncoil from their hidden domain.
The between-places are neither fearful nor horrific, as popular opinion has so often depicted them, not are they filled with monsters and demons; rather, they are thresholds of awakening where the soul is alert and watchful for omens of change, auguries of joy, promises of belonging.
"Be attentive to the thresholds and boundaries of your life - the places where change happens. What is your most ardent need for transformatory and revelatory change right now?"
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
"Celtic mysteries occurred in twi-states between night and day, in dew that was neither rain nor river, in mistletoe that was not a plant or a tree, in the trance state that was neither sleep nor waking."
___Elizabeth Sutherland, Ravens and Black Rain
For every one of us there are moments of revelation at the nexus point where opposites meet: dark and light, joy and sorrow, knowing and unknowing, keeping and losing, making and unmaking, silence and singing. In these days of growing light, when spring is still far ahead and the grip of winter is ever present, the opportunity to sample the opposites and stand at their still center is potent. These experiences do not have to be sought after; they arrive, magically blending elements together to seek us out. These are thresholds of power where neart (this is a word for which there is no English equivalent; it means 'strength or power' in the sense of 'the energy of life.') and soul are fused in one vision of wholeness, unity and often ecstasy. These between-places are the creative nexus at which vision and craft come together in embrace; this is where poetry, song, art, beauty, and inspiration uncoil from their hidden domain.
The between-places are neither fearful nor horrific, as popular opinion has so often depicted them, not are they filled with monsters and demons; rather, they are thresholds of awakening where the soul is alert and watchful for omens of change, auguries of joy, promises of belonging.
"Be attentive to the thresholds and boundaries of your life - the places where change happens. What is your most ardent need for transformatory and revelatory change right now?"
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Fallowness
Fallowness
"All Nature seems at work
Slugs leave their lair ---
The Bees are stirring -- birds are on
the wing ---
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing."
___ Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "Work Without Hope"
When fallowness strikes, it is important to place it in the context of the creative cycle. After the period of conceptio9n - an exciting period during which we sparkle with ideas - comes the time of gathering and preparation, when things get moving. This followed by a period of growth, which cannot be hurried, and then by the moment of ripeness, when the idea must manifest or the project get off the ground. This is followed by a time of enjoyment and appreciation, when we can share our manifest idea or plan with others. After all that has happened, we come to the time of fallowness.
To honor our own creative cycle and patterns, we must respect this period and learn to be as empty and receptive as we can. After any birth and manifestation, we are too tired to immediately reconceive: we need this time of rest when we lie fallow as the unplowed field that the farmer sets aside for several seasons to regain its fertility. Let us honor our fallowness, our uncreating emptiness, by cutting ourselves some slack and giving mind and heart time to recover their former savor in a new season. Fallowness is the ground of our conception: when the soil is ready, the seed will fall and germinate.
"Consider helpful strategies to sustain yourself through these empty times in ways that honor
fallowness creatively."
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
"All Nature seems at work
Slugs leave their lair ---
The Bees are stirring -- birds are on
the wing ---
And Winter slumbering in the open air,
Wears on his smiling face a dream of Spring!
And I the while, the sole unbusy thing,
Nor honey make, nor pair, nor build, nor sing."
___ Samuel Taylor Coleridge, "Work Without Hope"
When fallowness strikes, it is important to place it in the context of the creative cycle. After the period of conceptio9n - an exciting period during which we sparkle with ideas - comes the time of gathering and preparation, when things get moving. This followed by a period of growth, which cannot be hurried, and then by the moment of ripeness, when the idea must manifest or the project get off the ground. This is followed by a time of enjoyment and appreciation, when we can share our manifest idea or plan with others. After all that has happened, we come to the time of fallowness.
To honor our own creative cycle and patterns, we must respect this period and learn to be as empty and receptive as we can. After any birth and manifestation, we are too tired to immediately reconceive: we need this time of rest when we lie fallow as the unplowed field that the farmer sets aside for several seasons to regain its fertility. Let us honor our fallowness, our uncreating emptiness, by cutting ourselves some slack and giving mind and heart time to recover their former savor in a new season. Fallowness is the ground of our conception: when the soil is ready, the seed will fall and germinate.
"Consider helpful strategies to sustain yourself through these empty times in ways that honor
fallowness creatively."
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
Friday, February 25, 2011
A Cheerful Household
A Cheerful Household
"The house without a dog, a cat, or a baby: a house without cheer and laughter."
___ Scots Gaelic triad
The spiritual quality of a house is derived from its inhabitants. When the owners are away, the house seems soulless and unhappy. Those who live alone are particularly aware of this. When they arrive home, there is no one to greet them, no meal on the stove, no one with whom to share the day's activities. The presence of a pet within the house changes the whole atmosphere. Whether it be a dog, cat. goldfish, or bird, a pet charges the house with life throughout the day, and the homecoming of a solitary dweller is thus a happier one. The interdependence of animals and humans is a two-way process: not only do we care for our pets, but they also care for us, often giving us companionship when our fellow human beings do not.
A house without children is often a very formal affair, with everything preternaturally neat and totally geared to the occupants' pleasure. A house with children, on the other hand, is rarely either tidy or static: everything from disorder and muddle to outright chaos can typify such a home. There is a sense of nesting when babies are present, a sense of transit when the house is full of teenagers about to launch themselves on the world.
The cheerful household is one wherein love is present. As long as love inhabits the home, the spirits of neglect solitude, and sadness are absent. We all need someone to love and someone to love us. In a house where love is absent, there is little cheer. All homes need the kindling of love; only with that kindling can the spirit of the house hold welcome us to its hearth.
"Where is the love invested in your household?"
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
"The house without a dog, a cat, or a baby: a house without cheer and laughter."
___ Scots Gaelic triad
The spiritual quality of a house is derived from its inhabitants. When the owners are away, the house seems soulless and unhappy. Those who live alone are particularly aware of this. When they arrive home, there is no one to greet them, no meal on the stove, no one with whom to share the day's activities. The presence of a pet within the house changes the whole atmosphere. Whether it be a dog, cat. goldfish, or bird, a pet charges the house with life throughout the day, and the homecoming of a solitary dweller is thus a happier one. The interdependence of animals and humans is a two-way process: not only do we care for our pets, but they also care for us, often giving us companionship when our fellow human beings do not.
A house without children is often a very formal affair, with everything preternaturally neat and totally geared to the occupants' pleasure. A house with children, on the other hand, is rarely either tidy or static: everything from disorder and muddle to outright chaos can typify such a home. There is a sense of nesting when babies are present, a sense of transit when the house is full of teenagers about to launch themselves on the world.
The cheerful household is one wherein love is present. As long as love inhabits the home, the spirits of neglect solitude, and sadness are absent. We all need someone to love and someone to love us. In a house where love is absent, there is little cheer. All homes need the kindling of love; only with that kindling can the spirit of the house hold welcome us to its hearth.
"Where is the love invested in your household?"
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Advice
Advice
"He who won't take advice will take the crooked track."
____ Scots Gaelic proverb
It is often said that advice is a two-edged weapon: it can both harm and help, depending upon how and whether we take it. Young Peredur, who was brought up in purposeful woodland seclusion by his mother, sought to go to the court of Arthur. Peredur's mother gave him advice so unworldly and indiscriminate that it subsequently led him into discourtesy of the grossest kind.
Without discrimination, advice can be worse than useless. When good and thoughtful advice is offered to us, we must have the wit to weigh it for its worth and implement it as sensitively as we can, balancing it with the prevailing circumstances that surround our case. When we offer advice to others, it must always be set within the context of our experience rather than based on someone else's criteria.
Age and wisdom tend to give advice to youthful experience, but it is not always welcome. The reactionary stubbornness of youth often chooses to take the longer road of personal example in order to gain wisdom. The crooked track that then unwinds may be like that traveled by Pereadur - a road fraught with obstacles and difficulties. Only when we have traveled such a road and labored to clear the obstacles can we finally have a true context for advice that is offered.
"From the experience of your life to date, what are the three best pieces of advice that you could offer someone about to make her way in the world?"
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
"He who won't take advice will take the crooked track."
____ Scots Gaelic proverb
It is often said that advice is a two-edged weapon: it can both harm and help, depending upon how and whether we take it. Young Peredur, who was brought up in purposeful woodland seclusion by his mother, sought to go to the court of Arthur. Peredur's mother gave him advice so unworldly and indiscriminate that it subsequently led him into discourtesy of the grossest kind.
Without discrimination, advice can be worse than useless. When good and thoughtful advice is offered to us, we must have the wit to weigh it for its worth and implement it as sensitively as we can, balancing it with the prevailing circumstances that surround our case. When we offer advice to others, it must always be set within the context of our experience rather than based on someone else's criteria.
Age and wisdom tend to give advice to youthful experience, but it is not always welcome. The reactionary stubbornness of youth often chooses to take the longer road of personal example in order to gain wisdom. The crooked track that then unwinds may be like that traveled by Pereadur - a road fraught with obstacles and difficulties. Only when we have traveled such a road and labored to clear the obstacles can we finally have a true context for advice that is offered.
"From the experience of your life to date, what are the three best pieces of advice that you could offer someone about to make her way in the world?"
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Rites of Passage
Rites of Passage
"How can we help our young
Who wait to cross the frontier
Between child and adulthood?"
___ Caitlin Matthews, "Conference of the Trees"
The transition from childhood to adulthood is a time of emotional upheaval not well supported in our society. The preparation for adulthood requires sensitive rites of passage that actually mean something. In Celtic society, children were frequently given in fosterage to neighboring families so that this transition could be overseen by adults who were not blood kindred, who had good sense or some special skill into which the child could be inducted. The custom of fosterage also put a buffer zone between child and parent, thus avoiding the worst of the acrimonious generational confrontations that plague families during adolescence. Poorer children would receive the initiation of solitude when spring was well under way, for then the herds and flocks could be taken out of lower pastures and driven up to higher ground. There some distance from their homes, adolescents would tend the animals, living by night in a sheiling, or temporary structure.
When a much-loved child crosses into the harsh frontier of adulthood, there needs to be a sense of achievement and celebration, a paving of the way, a marking of the transition. Rites of passage need to welcome the new adult into the community and value him or her.
"Think back to your own time of adolescent transition. What would have made your transition easier? What ceremony would have given you a sense of achievement and self-worth? If you have children, meditate upon ways to enable their transition."
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Loss of Mythic Place
Loss of Mythic Place
"If the full, rich, mythic sense of place is finally taken out of our cultural compass, then we will mentally inhabit a spiritual wasteland.
___ Paul Devereux, Revisioning the Earth
In the Grail legends, the loss of primal harmony between the worlds causes the apparent world to become a wasteland. A similar process is at work within our own world at this time: the demythification of the earth. The long-held stories and understandings about the land are being eroded by forgetfulness and active neglect. Each region has its own stories and traditions, fusions of legends and stories that cluster about the nexus points of sacred sites and prominent land features. They tell of the creative acts of giants, gods or spirits, the deeds and quests of heroes and heroines, the wise advice of animals and trees. These points are thresholds of connection between our daily temporal world and the eternal timelessness of the otherworld.
The erosion of such myths in our landscape arises when we begin to view the land as inert and spiritless, as a commodity of financial value when we separate ourselves from the greater community life of our own country, when human beings are understood as the summit of creation and are encouraged to take its bounty as their own, without thought of return or reciprocation.
If this process is continued, we will indeed begin to inhabit a spiritual wasteland, a place of separation wherein we have no intercourse with the abiding soul of the land.
"Find out about the area in which you live. What history, myths, stories, and legends are wound into the soil? What do these tell you about the nature of your region?"
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
"If the full, rich, mythic sense of place is finally taken out of our cultural compass, then we will mentally inhabit a spiritual wasteland.
___ Paul Devereux, Revisioning the Earth
In the Grail legends, the loss of primal harmony between the worlds causes the apparent world to become a wasteland. A similar process is at work within our own world at this time: the demythification of the earth. The long-held stories and understandings about the land are being eroded by forgetfulness and active neglect. Each region has its own stories and traditions, fusions of legends and stories that cluster about the nexus points of sacred sites and prominent land features. They tell of the creative acts of giants, gods or spirits, the deeds and quests of heroes and heroines, the wise advice of animals and trees. These points are thresholds of connection between our daily temporal world and the eternal timelessness of the otherworld.
The erosion of such myths in our landscape arises when we begin to view the land as inert and spiritless, as a commodity of financial value when we separate ourselves from the greater community life of our own country, when human beings are understood as the summit of creation and are encouraged to take its bounty as their own, without thought of return or reciprocation.
If this process is continued, we will indeed begin to inhabit a spiritual wasteland, a place of separation wherein we have no intercourse with the abiding soul of the land.
"Find out about the area in which you live. What history, myths, stories, and legends are wound into the soil? What do these tell you about the nature of your region?"
[From: "The Celtic Spirit" by Caitlin Matthews]
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