Dark Wings Descending

My Oath Rite was interesting due to the fact that a couple of us had intended to give our Dedicant Oaths during the Grove’s Yule ritual, however we had to reschedule the ritual due to 20 inches of sudden snow fall. Because our Yule ritual was to be about how we, as Pagans, have been “walking our talk” over the past year and what we’ve accomplished to present to the Gods and Kindred, several members opted to still hold the Yule ritual in the snowed-in privacy of our own homes.

In other words, even though I had spent time thinking about what I wanted to say for my actual Oath, I was now presented with a new problem: putting together an entire high rite with only the materials I had on hand. I scrambled to prepare all of the necessary parts while my friends (Grove mates) literally walked miles in the snow to my apartment to hold our Yule High Rite and keep our promise to the Gods. While they were walking over, I was going through all the ritual materials I had available to me, and also digging out a ritual space on my balcony (which was more like a snow pit).

What did wind up happening was utterly magical. The howling winds and blowing snow (and my thawing friends) really set the stage for honoring the Norse kindred, which was who we had slated to honor at the Grove if the snow hadn’t dumped it’s wrath all over us. It put me in the correct mindset with regards to what it means to be dedicated to a cause.

We spent a great deal of time setting up, as we wanted to make sure we did everything carefully.

Here are some photos of the set up:

I re-dedicated my ring with the blood red stone to my Patroness as proof of my dedication and also to express my love for Her. I also dedicated my Raven Torc to her as a symbol of my strength in her, and my dedication to remain fearless in my spirituality. I also dedicated an ancient shark’s tooth necklace to Manannan MacLir in return for His bearing witness to my Oath, and also to symbolize my thanks and gratitude to him for guarding the spirits of my ancestors.

In reading my Oath, I was shaking from the cold and from all of the energy around me. I made only one mistake in misreading a line, but all things considered it meant the same even with the mess up so I’m not too concerned. I really felt the presence of the Kindred that evening. During our offerings segment, it struck all three of us attendees that we should offer up songs. Somehow, despite the bitter cold and shaking a bit in the wind, I found my voice again and let my ancestors hear it once more after a long period of silence. It had been so long since I had the nerve to sing on my own, and so long since I managed to remember every lyric to a song. I felt them smile, somehow, and I knew that my Oath would be heard. I felt a sense of accomplishment and even a little pride in the strength of our little group.

Because the Rite we did was intended to be a full ADF High Rite, we drew an Omen for the Rite and those of us that gave our Oaths pulled their own personal Omen for their Dedication. I drew a single card just after I ducked in the door to put away the first round of supplies. I drew the 3 of Pentacles from the Mystic Dreamer Tarot deck (which contains photographs of some of my friends who attended this Yule Rite, actually) It assured me that everything I have been trying hard to do is going according to plan. I’m making progress, and getting back into the creative flow that I had lost for a little while. The photography business I am starting up is doing rather well so far, so on all counts this was a reassuring and positive card to draw for my Dedicant Omen.

Not two seconds after I drew the card, my husband had come out from his bedroom to join me in the kitchen and wrapped his arms around me from behind as I read the card. It was cavity inducing and adorable. While I was shifting though to move on with the question of whether or not my Oath had been accepted floating around in my head, some of the hot wax fell from the candle I was carrying and sealed my Oath ring to my finger. (see the last picture) This action, and the Omen of the Card I drew suggested to me that my Dedication had been accepted.

Truly, it was a magic night.

(word count: 774)

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Book Review: The Myth of Matriarchal Prehistory by Cynthia Eller

This book was an interesting, fact heavy read which intended to inform the reader about some common misconceptions regarding the role or existence of a prehistoric matriarchal society. The author was faced with several instances of renowned speakers who, for whatever reason, touted the theory of matriarchal prehistory as fact. I certainly don’t blame her for wanting to set the record straight, but I feel that her book could have done with a little less venom.

Eller makes some rather convincing arguments to back her case, but she begins her book fairly by asserting that because none of us actually lived during the prehistoric period, all we have to go by are our theories of what was. She is highly critical of specifically FEMINIST matriarchalists, which she openly criticizes throughout the book. Despite her emphasis on fact and the work she put into developing the feminist matriarchal belief structure, Eller is sometimes prone to making sweeping generalizations. For example, she often cited examples of Goddess worship and equated that with Feminist Matriarchalists interchangeably. Certainly not all religious paths that find themselves worshipping a Goddess, or feature a Goddess centered spirituality buy into the feminist theories.

Still, Eller does provide us with many of the leading theorists and what they have said to bolster their theories. She often finds herself touching on the work of Marija Gimbutas as the primary mother scholar of Feminist Matriarchal theory. Gimbutas has provided us with theories about, if a matriarchal society existed and a patriarchal revolution occurred, how and who the patriarchal revolution started with based upon her own archaeological/anthropological evidence. In a sense, she provided the evidence most matriarchal theorists were looking for to prove their insubstantial theories that females have long been oppressed by patriarchy, which they insist is against the natural human order. Feminist matriarchalists believe that in the beginning, women were the priestesses and rulers of society, revered as the mysterious and peaceful life bringers because men did not understand their role in reproduction. Then one day the patriarchal and nomadic “Kurgan” invaders came in from somewhere in modern-day Russia and introduced war and oppression to the female gender. It’s quite fanciful, and conveniently paints all men as the bad guys.

Despite all of the sarcasm Eller includes in her writing, I am inclined to agree with her. Feminist Matriarchalists are impractical and often seek to cherry pick evidence to back their theories rather than accepting the whole of the evidence presented. For a theory to be substantially considered, ALL of the evidence must support the theory, not just some of it. To quote the author, “Looking for religion is a near guarantee that one will find it, even if it is not there.” It would seem also that Feminist Matriarchalists have added religion to the mix by suggesting that they have faith in the theories as part of their spiritual belief. As a spiritual belief alone, this may work, but the theory does not stand up to archaeological evidence.

Would I recommend that anyone should read this book? Surely, provided they have a love for history and are capable of abstract thought. It’s a lot of information to take in at one sitting, so I’d recommend allowing a month for yourself to read and reflect.

(word count: 545)

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Book Reviews: The Tain by Thomas Kinsella

How shall I review the story of this excerpt from the Tain Bo Culaigne?
It is soon told.
This book is a small segment of a larger story: the Irish epic, Tain Bo Culaigne. Accompanied by the rudimentary illustrations by artist Louis deBrocquy, Thomas Kinsella echoes the words and wisdoms of the ancient Irish people in his translation of the classic tale.
Having read many retellings of the entire epic, it was refreshing to read Kinsella’s translation in a more true-to-life fashion. All too often, poor retellings of this tale have obliterated the magic and supernatural elements of the tale in a poor attempt at Christianizing it. All of the magical elements remain: shape changing, the sidhe, the interaction between Goddess and pupil, and even the more brutal details of the battles and duels that occurred.
The Tain follows the story of Queen Medb and her King Ailill as they set out to prove which of the two had more property and was thus the greater in the relationship. After having all of their possessions accounted for, Medb discovered (much to her frustration) that Ailill possessed one more bull than she, the likes of which could be found nowhere else save for Ulster. Unfortunately, the bull Medb required to be entirely equal with Ailill belonged to a farmer by the name of Daire mac Fiachna and so she sent her messenger MacRoth to go there and request to borrow the bull, Donn Culaigne for the duration of a year. He would be compensated enormously. When MacRoth went to mac Fiachna, the farmer eagerly agreed to the trade. However, two men of Ulster began a light hearted conversation with MacRoth just following the farmer’s agreement which ended in the insistence that Medb would have taken the bull by force if he had not agreed. This angered the farmer, and he retracted his agreement. This pitted the men of Ulster and the men of Connacht against one another, and the Tain began.
The Tain also follows the story of Cuchulainn, Irelands best known hero. Having been reared as sister-son to King Conchobor MacNessa of Ulster, Cuchulainn’s exploits as a child were well known to his childhood friend Fergus who happily relayed the beardless boy’s daring feats to Medb and Ailill of Connacht. The two monarchs greatly underestimated the young Red Branch warrior, trained by Scathatch herself, and found themselves outwitted and outmanned by him at every turn. Perhaps some of the book’s more enjoyable conversations in the book occur between Cuchulainn and his Charioteer, Laeg, as they travelled around the countryside committing outrageous feats. The conversations are honest and believable, and truly seem as a photograph of Ireland in another age. In this story, a man’s word and his integrity (and a woman’s word, besides) are more important than losing oneself to battle rage. Even Cuchulainn, while in his Warp Spasm, does not attack friends. The Tain is not about mindless killing, but about honor and integrity in the face of deception.
I was very amused by this translation of the story. Reading about what made Cuchulainn great instead of simply being told “he is great” is really what endears me to the character. This is true for all of the characters within the story. It is laced with humor, such as Fergus having to bear a wooden sword around for a while and Cuchulainn having to smear berry juice on his face just so the older warriors would fight him, and a complete cock walk of noble warriors and their entourages. I laughed out loud several times throughout the course of the book, and other times went a little cross-eyed reading about everyone that showed up at the big battle of the Tain. It reminded me of reading the Silmarillion.
It truly is an excellent translation, if not THE best available. For me, the illustrations really added to the spirit of the story, as the figures were suggested rather than obvious. They had an abstract stylization that forced the viewer to imagine what the figure was doing and fill in the blanks. Combined as one, with the text and the illustrations, it truly felt as though I had been spoken to in the words of an old Irish bard.

(word count: 708)

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My oath was given as an offering during the offerings segment of our private Yule Ritual.

This is my oath and promise:

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I hold in my heart the truth of my spirit
A well of memory, thought, and passion
Within it lies all that I am
And all that I may become
I open it now, and welcome in those who guard me
Guide me
Protect me
And Teach me.

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To the Nature Spirits I have known,
The sea, the sky, the mountain
Forests, animals, birds
My pets, my kin, I have learned much through you.
May I tread as softly in your home, and keep the balance.

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To my Ancestors—blood and friend.
I will do you proud.
I will not bear the face of defeat as long as you are with me.
With love and reverence, I welcome you into my heart

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To Morrigan I offer that which is yours
My fighting spirit, my passion and my soul
I offer you this ring on which I make my oath
To walk in your footsteps with reverence.
I wear it in binding agreement and with joy.
May it’s blood red stone be as a window
Between my heart and your spirit.
May this torc represent my strength,
For to the brave belong all things.
And on the day you call me home,
I will walk at last along side you without fear
And with perfect love, Siuil linn a Morrigan.
I am honored to call you patron.

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To Manannan, I have heard your call
As the whisper of waves upon the salt air
Blowing through me wherever I am
The cruel and wondrous depths of the Sea
Hold as much mystery as you yourself.
As keeper of those I love that have passed,
Your gentleness and wisdom have guided my forbears.
If I have inherited your spirit, let it be so.
Please accept my gratitude.
I am honored to call you friend.

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To those spirits that move with me, breathe with me, and watch over me
Though you are yet unnamed, the veil between us may one day be lifted,
To all that bear witness, I promise to keep the Old Ways.
I will follow the only path I know until the end of my days.
I will never forget.

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Should I break this my Oath to all that I hold sacred, may I be thrice damned.
Be iest lin.
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