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Hey Everyone!
Editoral
by TreVor GreenfIeld
Welcome to the latest offering of MoonScape, the fourth overall and our second December edition, which is either the Summer or Winter Solstice wherever in the world you are located! Once again we are blessed with an array of articles from Moon Books authors traversing the spectrum of Pagan discussion… dive in to read articles on the Minoans, Brigid, Circe, Serpents and more.
We also welcome back our favourite artist, the wonderful Andrea Redmond, from the Donegal Mountains in Ireland. In the last edition we featured Andrea’s portrait of Aine on the front cover and this time round the picture is of the Cailleach. And as a bonus, another of Anrea’s Cailleach portraits accompanies an article on the Goddess by Rachel Patterson. As I mentioned in a previous editorial, we were delighted that Andrea sought us out and we hope in future editions to not only showcase the talents of our
Vicky Hartley Managing Director
Matty Greenfield Content Designer
authors but also those of other artists, photographers and poets from across the Pagan planet
In this edition we also feature some excellent creative writing. An beautiful new poem from Dorothy Abrams, a seasonal ghost story from T. K. Prothero and a story from Andrew Anderson based on the folklore of Herne the Hunter which, in time, will also feature in video format on our YouTube channel… which leads me neatly into some shameless promo…
When you’ve finished reading MoonScape don’t forget to head over to our website and explore the hundreds of Pagan titles we have on offer as print books and ebooks. And when you’ve done that why not head off to our YouTube channel to enjoy something from our ever growing video library, or even take in a Podcast (also available on Spotify and Apple).
Wherever in the world you are, Moon Books wishes you a Happy Solstice.
Trevor Greenfield Publisher
Rachel Patterson Publicist
Search of the Minoan Pantheon
Challenges and Joys In
by laura perry
If you ever want to be faced with your preconceived notions about an ancient culture, just try reconstructing their pantheon. The journey that I and the other members of Ariadne’s Tribe have been on for the past decade, reconnecting with these fascinating and mysterious deities, has taken us down paths we never expected, and some we never even knew existed!
When we feel called to connect with deities, it’s often our first impulse to head to the internet or the library to find out more. But what if there just isn’t much out there? That was the case when I began researching the Minoan pantheon years ago, and to some extent, it’s still the case. That’s due at least in part to the Minoans’ history, specifically their contact with one other culture.
The Minoans, a Bronze Age people who lived on the island of Crete in the Mediterranean Sea, have some similarities with the Druids of Iron Age Britain and Gaul, even though the two cultures lived in very different places and times. In both cases, the local culture was conquered by a foreign power that became the main source of information about the people, their culture, and their religion. The Druids and the Celtic cultures they belonged to were overrun by the Romans, who wrote propagandistic histories about them, painting them as backwards, superstitious, merciless savages.
The Minoans were in a similar situation with the Greeks. Bear with me here; I’m going to go all “history teacher” on you for just a moment. I promise, it won’t take long. Originally, historians thought the eruption of the volcanic island of Thera in the eastern Mediterranean destroyed Minoan civilization, but recent research has changed our view of the Minoans’ final centuries.
The Thera eruption occurred around 1600 BCE, and as you might expect, the resulting tsunami did some serious damage to Crete. I’m sure the enormous ash cloud from the eruption didn’t help matters, either. But the Minoan people survived. However, their society was weakened, and the Mycenaeans (early Greeks) were able to take over at Knossos, the largest city on Crete.
Over the course of the next two centuries, the Mycenaeans took over more cities and attempted to occupy the entire island. When they were unable to do so, in about 1450 BCE they systematically looted and burned all the Minoan cities on Crete except Knossos. Then, fifty to a hundred years later, Knossos itself was looted and burned, possibly by the Minoans who had taken refuge in the mountains at the center of Crete after the other cities were destroyed.
Then the Late Bronze Age collapse occurred, a sort of Dark Ages around the eastern Mediterranean, during which there was drought, famine, governmental
collapse, and general mayhem. Finally, a few centuries later, classical Greek culture emerged. It’s from Homer’s writings at the end of the LBA collapse (The Iliad and The Odyssey) and from classical Greek writers that we get most of our meager information about the Minoan deities. The rest comes from the Linear B tablets that the Mycenaeans wrote while they were occupying Knossos. As you might guess, none of these people were very positively inclined toward the Minoans.
So we began our search for the Minoan deities with these fragments of myth and mentions of Minoan figures who were characterized as human or even as monsters, but who we thought might be deities: Ariadne, Minos, the Minotaur, and others. Another handful of Minoan deities were borrowed into the Hellenic pantheon. Rhea, Eileithyia, Dionysus, Zagreus and some others all have stories involving Crete, suggesting that they originated there and probably had myths from earlier times that have been lost.
What else did we have to go on? Sir Arthur Evans, the British archaeologist who was in charge of the excavations at Knossos, had some ideas about Minoan religion. They turned out to be very wrong, but like many others, at first I believed his notions about a single Minoan Great Goddess, a sort of early goddesscentered monotheism.
and Homeric stories. So we began trying to assemble them into a pantheon. But we ran into a few problems. Many European pantheons include a Moon Goddess and a Sun God, but we couldn’t find either in our search for the Minoan deities.
It turns out, some older cultures had this pair in reverse: a Sun Goddess and a Moon God. You can still see remnants of this in the Norse pantheon, for instance, with the goddess Sunna and the god Mani. It took a lot of digging and the addition of dance ethnology to our toolbox of methods to discover the identity of the Minoan Sun Goddess (we call her Therasia, though we don’t know her Minoan name) and Minos, who turns out to be a Moon God.
When all was said and done, we ended up with a pantheon structure that we didn’t expect, but one that makes perfect sense coming from a matrilineal society. The Minoan family of deities, as we know them in Ariadne’s Tribe, is headed by a trio of mother goddesses: the Earth Mother Rhea, the Sun Goddess Therasia, and the Sea Goddess Posidaeja. They represent the three sacred realms of Land, Sky, and Sea.
The Minoans, however, were polytheists, just like all their Bronze Age neighbors: the Egyptians; the Sumerians, Akkadians, and Babylonians; the Canaanites; and the Mycenaeans. They had many deities, not just one. So we began to piece together the pantheon.
We already had a good handful of names from our explorations of Hellenic myth
The rest of the deities are their children, in one way or another. So we have Ariadne, Tauros Asterion, Arachne, Korydallos, Antheia, Dionysus, the Horned Ones (including the famed Minotaur), and a host of others. We even have two more Mother Goddesses: the Serpent Mother and Ourania, our Great Cosmic Mother.
In a sense, we, too are the Great Mothers’ children. In finding this pantheon, I feel like I’ve reconnected with a family I never even knew I had. When you meet them, you might feel the same way, too.
Laura Perry is the author of Pantheon: The Minoans
The Cailleach
by rachel paTTerSon
As the air begins to feel crisp and sharp first thing in the morning and last thing at night, when the leaves on the trees are starting to think about changing their colour, she begins her awakening. With the coming of the season of the witches she arrives. I would like to say she floats in gently on the autumn breeze but what she actually does is stomps in loudly wearing her hob nail boots, smoking a pipe and swearing like a
You will feel her in the land and the waters most strongly in autumn and winter.
fish wife (for Pratchett fans, think Nanny Ogg). The Cailleach arrives at the beginning of autumn with full force, no pleasantries and hits the ground running. Not literally running because she is an old lady and that would be unlikely. Her energy is ancient and primordial, she is a creatrix of the landscape, Goddess of winter, water, weather and time itself, she is Crone.
The stories tell of a giantess stalking through the land carrying an apron full of boulders and rocks, as she walks the apron string breaks and stones fall onto the ground, creating the landscape. This is The Cailleach. You will find her name in many places, primarily Scotland and Ireland but traces of her can be found across Europe.
As a crone she bears the images of life on her face, with skin of blue perhaps to represent the winter or the darkness of death. Her body in the form of an old hag, she has seen it all, done it all and has the temperament to reflect it. One eye is milky and unsighted, in myths this often shows seer abilities and the skill of seeing into the Otherworlds and The Cailleach definitely has those traits.
The Cailleach carries a staff, when she bangs this on the ground it brings the cold of winter. With her winter persona comes the correspondence of bones, she is the dark mother, a goddess of stones and bones and death. She is an ancestress who rules the dark half of the year and is as ancient as earth itself. But she does have a nurturing side because she is the spirit of the land and can help us see the wisdom of letting go, of learning from the past and transitioning forward. For rebirth there must first be a death of some kind and The Cailleach can assist with this.
As a dark goddess, The Cailleach can help you to see and understand the dark to be able to appreciate the light, creating balance. The dark can sometimes be seen as scary, she will help you peer into that darkness and not be afraid.
You will feel her in the land and the waters most strongly in autumn and winter. She is the frost on the ground, the chill in the air, the storms and the snow. Some stories tell of her riding across the sky on a wolf (or a pig) bringing the snow and crushing life from the plants. This brings her role of death and destruction but also as midwife for the dying year, what she is actually doing is keeping plant life safe over the winter months so they can be regrown again in the spring.
She is the Crone, she is all things, she is in all things, she is the goddess.
Rachel Patterson is the author of Pagan Portals – The Cailleach.
The Carol Singers
by T. K. proThero
Mary sat silently in the darkened kitchen watching the hands of the clock snail around. Her hands were so cold that even when she sat on them to get a bit of heat, they were still numb. It got dark so early in December.
She dared not stand too near the window in case anyone saw her, especially THEM. The carol singers! Just thinking about them made her heart race and her breath was shaky. She distracted herself with the advent calendar, and carefully opened the next door – 13 – a tiny picture of a donkey walking to Bethlehem – wait, thirteen? Unlucky thirteen…she gulped and tried to push this thought out of her head.
Glancing at her reflection in the mirror next to the advent calendar, Mary considered herself an unremarkable child, with mousy hair that hung limply on her shoulders, and pale skin and pale eyes. She was about average height for a nine-year-old, average at reading and slightly below average at maths.
4.30
Her stomach was rumbling so she decided to brave opening the fridge door and get out the sandwich and milk her mum had left for her. The fridge door emitted light. If she did it fast maybe it wouldn’t matter. Maybe no-one would see it, maybe THEY wouldn’t see it.
She hesitated, unsure, but hunger eventually overcame her. Quietly she ate. The bread was rubbery, and stale, as it always was. It was that tasteless pale-yellow cheese again. The same every day. She wondered why they made it like that. She gulped down her glass of milk, thinking it seemed tasteless too. She sighed. With the utmost care, she placed the plate and glass in the sink, if she did it exactly right, it wouldn’t make a sound.
She noticed fleetingly, the twinkly lights on the Christmas tree in the window of the house over the road. The pavements were wet, and the lights reflected red and green in the puddles. Fools! She smirked; it would be the first house THEY went to. Nevertheless, she
wished she could decorate the tree her mum had hastily got down from the loft, yesterday. It looked pathetic and unloved standing darkly in the corner of the front room.
She wondered what presents she would get this year. Last year, it had been a beautiful Victoria Rose doll – dressed in velvet with a mock apron, long golden hair that shone as Mary brushed it and blue eyes that blinked as she pulled the doll out of the box. She so desperately wanted to run up the stairs now and play with her, but it was too dangerous. The stairs creaked. Besides, she couldn’t remember when she had last played with her, or where she was even...
4.55
If only she could turn the TV on! It was five to five and Friday. That meant Crackerjack. Her favourite programme. She clenched her hands in frustration. Too risky. She’d have to move the aerial around the room to get a decent reception, meaning she might be spotted. She knew her mum would be cross with her for drawing attention – THEY were bound to turn up at that moment, or when it was on – and they would DEFINITELY hear it.
She wondered what time mum would be home. After bedtime probably. She always listened for the latch and then pretended to be asleep, so she didn’t get in trouble for staying up late. Mary just liked to know she was home.
Taking her place behind the settee where the deepest shadows lived, in the further corner from the window, she sat and waited. Her mind was now completely filled with thoughts of THEM. She tried hard not to think of the carol singers, but her thoughts raced ahead:
The grating of the knocker echoing in the quietness was the first thing she remembered. It rapped and rapped and rapped and rapped, louder and louder and louder. She covered her mouth, suppressing a scream. Her heart was pounding so hard! Tears formed in her eyes. She knew, she knew that they peered through the letterbox, those piercing eyes would be searching for her, waiting for her to come to
the door!
The singing would start then – oh god! It was DEAFENING! So loud that she had to cover her ears.
GOD REST YE MERRY GENTLEMEN
LET NOTHING
YE DISMAY
The voices would roar and the whole house would shudder. The front door would shake and groan, like a dying elephant. All the while the knocker would be rapping and rapping….
Her hands were shaking so badly that she hugged herself harder, burying her face in her knees, her tears soaked her tights. She hoped that if she pretended, she wasn’t there, they would go away, or if they thought no-one was home, they wouldn’t even bother coming up the path…. She hoped, she really hoped.
She couldn’t guess what the time was, in the perpetual darkness that she inhabited, it felt like it must be nearly midnight. Did she dare go and look at the clock in the kitchen? Her curiosity got the better of her, and that’s when it happened. Just as she crept into the hallway, on tiptoe as noiselessly as she could, she saw a shadow momentarily pass before the streetlight that shone through the kitchen window.
Instantly she froze. There were muffled voices, and someone laughed. Please, please let it be mum! She held her breath. But try and she might, she just couldn’t tear her eyes from the front door or move a muscle. This was it.
RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP RAP
The letter box scraped as one of them tried to force it open. How she wished she had thought to tape it up or something! She could feel the eyes searching the hallway and she prayed they would somehow miss her in the darkness.
“There is someone there, I told you it wasn’t empty!” The woman’s voice sounded triumphant, and she heard muffled sounds of surprise from the others. The cold black eyes fixed onto Mary with a look of victory, “Come on love, open the door, its St. Andrew’s carol singers...” When Mary didn’t move, she continued, “ It’s for charity!!”
Silence.
Mary knew now would be a good
opportunity to flee, but fear froze her to the spot.
GOD REST YE MERRY GENTLEMEN
LET NOTHING YE DISMAY…
The carol got louder and louder:
TIDINGS OF COMFORT AND JOY…
The door was shuddering as they rapped on the knocker again and again. Mary crouched on the floor, her tears unbidden, formed a puddle in front of her that glinted from the streetlight. Her hands were clenched tightly over her ears, but she couldn’t lock out the incessant singing.
THEY FOUND HIM IN A MANGER…
Mary suddenly realised she was screaming and snarling as she was consumed by a red, burning anger. She dug her nails into her arm so hard they made bloody moons. She just wanted them to go away! Filled with furious biting courage, she sprang towards the front door, shrieking at the top of her voice:
GO AWAY!
She flung the door open with all her might… GO AWAYYYY!
The effect was immediate; the singing stopped, and mouths gaped open. Their eyes, now hollow and round were wildly staring at Mary. Faces turned white as a corpse. They began to back away, bumping into each other. Somehow in the confusion they managed to reach the gate, and as soon as they were through, they began to flee as fast as they could down the road.
The woman who had shouted through the letterbox, momentarily glanced back and locked eyes with Mary who was standing on the doorstep. She spoke to another woman who, stopped a little way up the road, and, of all things, was trying to take a picture!
“A ghost, a real ghost!” and then they were gone into the dark December night.
All that was left was a few humbugs and a broken torch on the path.
T. K. Prothero is the author of A Guide to Pilgrimage.
What Must Be Done: Lessons from Circe
by IrISanya Moon
It was not my fault, these animals who could no longer touch me through the rinds of their hardening skins… Margaret Atwood, “Circe/Mud Poems”
Circe is skilled in turning something into something else (see the many pigs on Her island). She did this out of protection, understandably, and likely to showcase Her skills to prevent future issues. Most sources talk about how She made a potion to make this happen.
The art of transmutation is shifting one thing to another or another state of being. By this definition, freezing and thawing water is transmutation. Or you could say that ingredients of a cake turn into something you can eat versus things in separate containers. If you want to tap into the transmutation magick of Circe, think about what you want to change in your life. Thinking about the state of water can be a helpful visual and practice.
For example, if you want something to become less rigid or slow, you might put that situation’s energy into an ice cube and set the intention that things will become less rigid as the ice melts on your altar. Or you might increase the form and rigidity of a vague idea by putting a bowl of intention-filled water into your freezer. Add in a few herbs to enhance the working.
[Medea] entered the palace [of King Kreon (Creon) of Korinthos (Corinth)] by night, having altered her appearance by means of drugs, and set fire to the building by applying to it a little root which had been discovered by her sister Kirke (Circe) and had the property that when once itwas kindled it was hard to put out.
Diodorus Siculus , Library of History 4. 54. 5
Who hasn’t wanted to use magick and spells to change how they look or appear to others? From the scene in The Craft movie where Sarah changes her hair color, I know I wanted to figure that out for myself as it would be much cheaper than going to a hair salon. However, I have not figured that out. But what I have found is that I do have the power to change how others see me (e.g., glamour magick) and how others perceive me (personal work).
Some easy glamour magick ideas include:
• Putting on a new piece of jewelry charged with the energy I want to embody
• Setting an intention in a cord or ribbon and wearing it until the spell is complete
• Adding a new clothing piece that makes me feel happy, powerful, etc.
• Wearing certain colors for certain purposes
• Using makeup to change my energy for ritual, e.g., certain designs for certain deities or types of workings (runes, for example)
• Writing my intention or desired energy on a piece of paper and placing it in my shoe while I walk into a certain situation
And as for personal work, you can change how others interact with you (because you are changing how you interact with them). Personal work is, well, personal, but I can offer a few ideas that can inspire you to find something that works for you.
Use affirmations to remind yourself of your power, e.g., I am powerful. I am resilient. I am worthy of respect. I am unstoppable. I have good ideas. Repeat these as much as possible to charge your entire being up and create a you that is a force to be reckoned with.
Journaling about your experiences can help you get to know yourself better. When you know yourself and what you need, you will be more confident. And while it might feel like an illusion at first, it will become true as you begin to believe yourself. Write about what you have experienced and how you felt about it, what you think you did well, and what you learned.
Seek out joy and pleasure in your life
This helps to brighten up your appearance and your overall energy. The more you prioritize your happiness, the more you can create an energy that gets the attention of others. Taking care of yourself and your well-being for a few minutes a day will allow you to show up as a brighter you.
Set boundaries . Find out what you will tolerate in your life and what you will not tolerate. Stick up for yourself. This will help you feel steadier and stronger, which will radiate from your insides to the outside.
Go to therapy . If you have the resources, it can help to go to therapy to get insights into what your behaviors are and how they impact your life. Also, having another person in your life to tell you what you need to know and what you might need to change will help you get to know your patterns. The more you can address things from the inside out, the more it will shift your outer appearance or how you show up to the eyes of others.
But you will notice I didn’t say anything about beauty or attractiveness. While these are certainly things people want to change about themselves, there is no one standard of beauty. There is only beauty in being who you are, exactly as you are. Circe teaches this as the one who is just as She is, and She believes others should see it too. And while She was tricked into begging for love, this is not the norm for Her and Her presence in the world.
(Excerpted from the section on Transmutation & Illusion from Pagan Portals: Circe - Goddess of Sorcery)
Irisanya Moon (she/they) is a Witch, Moon Books author, priestess, international teacher, and initiate in the Reclaiming tradition. Their work with deities informs their magick and activism. By building relationships with deities, we remember we are never alone. You can find out more here: www.irisanyamoon.com
The Faces of Brigid
by paulIne breen
For many, Brigit is known as an expression of the Celtic mother goddess that is mostly celebrated at Imbolc. At Imbolc, Brigit is venerated for her ability to return the light to the world after the barrenness of winter. She is honoured as much as Saint Brigid, who played a significant role in spreading the light of Christ. For some, the two Irish ‘Brigids’ are separate and completely incompatible. For others, there is no denying that the goddess was subsumed into the Saint.
Brigit is a face of the great mother goddess. She was associated with and connected to the terrain of Leinster in Ireland but traversed the island and became a national goddess, the Mhuire na Gael, Mary of the Irish, the mother to all, on the Emerald Isle. As typical mother goddess, she was placated, honoured and even feared. Goddesses typically preside over death, birth and rebirth. They are lifegivers and life-takers. Somewhere along the way, death was removed from Brigit’s image and an intended focus was placed on her life-giving qualities. Because of this, we may have lost awareness of and connection to another, darker face of Brigit, that can help us with any issue connected to death such as grief, lamenting, shadow work, endings, transitions etc.
Despite Brigit not typically associated with death, it was, nonetheless, inherent in goddesses and death specifically featured in Brigit’s lore as goddess. She is said to have been the first to keen, wail and lament the loss of her son Ruadan who was killed by the sacred smithy Goibniu of the Tuatha De Danann. As such, she is credited with being the original keener of Ireland and essentially the first Bean Chaointe (keening woman). Because of her keening, she emerged also as Psychopomp leading souls to their eternal home after their physical death. Death is also linked to Brigit in the possibility that the Cailleach, may be Brigit at the opposite end of the spectrum, in crone form. The maiden and the hag could
possibly be two faces of the one goddess, possibly. This view point is held by many, for others, it is entirely illogical. Because of her link to death, Brigit, is also a lady of the Irish otherworld. She does not feature in the list of Irish fairy goddesses such as Áine, Clíodhna and the like, but arguably she is one of ‘the othercrowd’. Death is the most natural passport to the otherworld, via the sí or mounds home to the fae folk. In her mythology and genealogy, she is connected to the sí, through her husband king Bres and through her father, the Dagda. Because of this, she is able to flit between the seen and unseen worlds often returning to the mortal world with Imbas or inspiration for poets and bards from the otherworld.
Beyond the Celtic and European world, she has a unique face as a vodou deity Maman Brigitte. Maman Brigitte was born out of atrocious conditions experienced by western Africans as enslaved people in Haiti during the slave trade. Taken from the Yoruba region, slaves were forced to work the plantations during Spanish and French occupation until they died. At the same time, the Irish poor were entering into indentured servitude with the hope of finishing their seven-year contract with freedom and finances, which rarely happened.
In close proximity and with similar experiences of enforced labour, the Irish and the Yoruba people were united in their suffering and captivity. Despite similar situations their hardship was not equal. The Irish were potentially free after seven years, and they were free to pray to their god and saints. The Yoruba people never had the possibility of freedom, and they did not have the freedom to worship their gods and goddesses from their homeland. In similar distress, the two worlds of Ireland and Western Africa met. With Brigid in Irish hearts and Oya, the mighty goddess of the Nile, in Yoruban hearts, Maman Brigitte, a unique face of Brigid was born.
Beneath Brigid’s mantle, the Yoruba people were able to camouflage their native gods and goddesses and loudly pray to Brigitte/ Brigid without any repercussions. To her they cried their woes, despair, anger and vow for vengeance. In 1804, Haiti became the first black republic to gain independence. The vodun religion is considered a major contributing factor in the successful revolt of the slaves, and Maman Brigitte, as part of that religion undoubtedly played her role.
After the successful Haitian revolution and overthrow of French rule, 10,000 Haitian immigrants arrived in Louisiana, America. At the same time, three waves of Irish immigrants were steadily arriving in the deep south. Like the cross, mostly associated with the partner of Maman Brigitte, Baron Samedi, their paths intersected once again and without doubt impacted each other. Once again, but this time on different soil, Haitian and Irish spiritual practices merged, blended and here in a new territory compounded Maman Brigitte. Here, in Lousiana, she would reveal a somewhat different face of Maman Brigitte that pushed new citizens of Louisiana, particularly women, forward, to put down roots, find their footing and their voices and thrive despite the past. Haitian women did this at markets, selling their wares, and establishing communities. Irish women, found their lucrative niche working as domestics, enabling them to save vast sums of money to bring over other siblings from Ireland or to establish strong Catholic communities.
In addition to the lesser known, darker, deathly faces of Brigid within her Celtic lore and as Maman Brigitte, there is yet another face she reveals as a warrior goddess, Brigantia. In pre-Roman Britain and find evidence of a Celtic mother goddess that existed as a bountiful mother before the arrival of the Romans. Wild, free and honoured high up on northern hills we find Brigantia. With Roman occupation the mother goddess evolved into a fiercely protective queen who was invoked by Britons and the Romans alike for protection of the clan, the land and for victory in battle. All things linked to defence and war
fell under her sphere. Brigantia is Gaulish, Indo-European and Old-European blended into one. She is tribal, wild, yet sovereign and regal. She is most likely Celtic in origin yet influenced by Minerva, Athena and many other classical goddesses introduced by the Romans during their occupation of Britain. Her area is Northumberland. Her tribe were the Brigantes, so named after her. The Brigantes, fleeing Roman rule migrated across the Atlantic and into Carlow and Wexford, Ireland, possibly bringing their goddess Brigantia with them, possibly bringing Brigit, as we know her today to us.
From Ireland, the faces of Brigid include goddess Brigit and Saint Brigid. In Celtic countries, her saintly guise has other faces such as San Ffraid in Wales, Saint Bride in Scotland, Berhat in Brittany. On the Isle of Man she is Breeshey or Saint Bridget. In Sweden she is Saint Birgitta. Across the Caribbean and Americas, she has a distinct face as Maman Brigitte and from the blended Celtic-classical world we have another specific face of Brigid that we call Brigantia. This deity of many faces is not just for Imbolc or ‘Saint’ Brigid’s day. She is for much more. Brigit and Maman Brigitte are faces of Brigid that helps us with all issues concerning death in all it’s expressions. Brigit of the Irish otherworld is a face of Brigid that helps us with manifestation and exploring other realms. Brigantia is a face of Brigid who helps us deal with war, defence, boundary setting and growth. In all of her faces, her essence, her ‘Brigidness’ contained within each of them is palpable.
She has as many names as she has faces and from what I have learned from my journey so far with her, is that the face that most calls to you, is perfect for you at this time. As you grow and change, so too does your need for and of her. For all of our needs, she is there facing us. Based on the saying, there is room for everyone under Brigid’s mantle, we could also say, there is a face of Brigid for everyone. Which face of hers most appeals to you today?
Pauline Breen is the author of Maman Brigitte.
Brooms Aren’t Just for Sweeping!
by danIela SIMIna
Broom. The word conjures the image of a bunch of long bristles attached to a stick, a domestic, trivial-looking implement. But there’s more to brooms than what meets the eye, their uses extending beyond keeping floors clean. While they may not be useful as actual means for aerial transportation, brooms are nevertheless powerful magical tools.
Our great-grandparents and even our grandparents still believed in a world where everything had spirit and could be interacted with. Magic consisted of simple acts and employed tools and ingredients already available in the household, such as spindles, distaffs, yarn, and of course, brooms. But it would be remiss to think of magic as a thing of the past entirely. While we no longer depend on home-spun yarn to keep us clothed and brooms to keep floors dust-free, the use of such tools has survived both in hobbies and in magico-religious practices.
Many traditions of folk magic have a wide range of uses of brooms. This kind of magic is simple, effective, and only requires a broom.
Banishing an obnoxious person from keeping on returning.
It is a joy to have guests but not every guest is a joy. Let’s assume you patiently and bravely withstood the presence of a difficult guest, and finally, the visit has ended. If you do not wish to see knocking at your door again, as soon as you close the door behind them, or as soon as they leave your yard, grab the broom and get ready. Center yourself. Affirm that you are not sweeping away dust, but any trace of [include name or names here].
Go to the place in the house where the unpleasant guest spent most of their time during the visit. Start sweeping, moving
from the back of the room toward the door that you closed behind them. Imagine that you are sweeping out a miniature version of the person, pushing them in the direction of the door. When you reach the door, open it and keep sweeping past the threshold. As you do this, intend for that person to never return to your house.
Think of all the spaces they went through during their visit. Maybe they used the bathroom, or went to the kitchen. One at a time, take each space they set foot into and sweep it, starting from the most distant accessible point and moving steadily toward the door of the house. Repeat for every space your visitor walked through.
Next, if there is a path or walkway connecting your door to the yard/gate or to the place where they had parked their car, sweep that too, starting at your threshold and going all the way to the point where the guest left the premises of your household. It is then done.
Shake the broom vigorously while holding the intention for it to shake off any connection to the work you just did. Further cleanse the broom by passing it through smoke; for this purpose, I prefer mugwort, rosemary, or juniper. You can proceed to cleanse with smoke the entire house or at least the rooms in which the visitor entered.
Remove ill-luck affecting the household.
It feels like you’ve been caught in a game of whack-a-mole which you would gladly quit, if you were only given the chance. You did your best to break the unlucky streak that is plaguing your house: you made offerings to the wights in your home and asked for their help. You burned incense, rang bells, chanted – to no avail. But, enough is enough, and with help from your broom, you can stop a bout of ill-luck from
darkening your days.
Grab a broom. Sprinkle some water on the bristles. You may infuse the water with herbs you typically use for banishing, such as mugwort, rosemary, juniper, St. John’s wort. As you do this, intend the broom to become loaded with the power of water and herbs. If you do not have any herbal ingredients, do not worry. The energy of water alone is strong enough to break and flush out everything: consider that tiny creeks cut through stone to carve out paths of their own. Do not underestimate the strength a few drops of water can add to your broom-magic.
Go around the house and open all the windows and doors you can get to. Start with the space in the house where you spend most of your time. Stand at the center of it and express your intent to kick out anything that is causing you troubles. You can be specific in listing all the things you perceive as disturbing, all the upsets that you are dealing with and want to see gone. With two or three energetic streaks of your broom, kick the invisible enemy out through an open window or door. Repeat as many times as you feel necessary, sending the trouble-causing entities out through windows and/or doors.
Pause and sense the energy in the room. One round may be enough, but sometimes more rounds are needed. You can also use a pendulum, cards, runes, or any divination system to find out whether the room is clean enough or not. Repeat the process as you go through all the rooms in your house. When you move to a different space around the house, you may sprinkle more water on the broom.
A word of caution: whether from frustration or overenthusiasm, do not swing the broom as you would do with a golf club and accidently do more damage to your furniture, lighting fixtures, art, etc.
Inviting prosperity into the household
As a concept, prosperity goes beyond finances so it is good to recognize opportunity, whatever garb it wears, when
it shows up on your doorstep. Don’t just open the door to good luck but actually invite it to come in. So, use your broom to refresh the energy and amp up the prosperity vibe around your home.
Prepare in advance a few ounces of water infused with herbs that you associate with prosperity. I personally like rose petals, apple seeds or dried apple flowers, and an acorn or two, but this is your magic, so the choice of ingredients is entirely your own. As you steep the herbal ingredient(s) in water, communicate with the spirit of the plant, asking it to kindly lend its magical properties to your work. Sprinkle herbinfused water on the broom’s bristles. Set the intent of ushering in good luck and prosperity.
Go around the house and open as many windows and doors as you can. Start in one room. Sweep from the window toward the center of the room while affirming your intent silently or out loud. Put enthusiasm and joy in what you do, turning each stroke of your broom into a wholehearted welcome. You may personify luck and abundance and visualize them as anthropomorphic animal or plant-shaped entities, or clouds of color, coming into your house through the open windows and doors. Go through all spaces that feel relevant in terms of their connection to your idea of abundance and good luck.
When you are done, politely invite the entities you visualized to make themselves comfortable and take residence in your home. Promise that you will not remain passive but treat with respect their gift by actively engaging when opportunities present themselves. Put the broom away, and if there’s any water left over sprinkle the window sills and thresholds with it.
I hope this article inspires you to add touches of broom magic to your current practice.
Daniela Simina, author of Where Fairies Meet: Parallels between Irish and Romanian Fairy Traditions, A Fairy Path: The Memoir of a Young Fairy Seer in Training, and Fairy Herbs for Fairy Magic: A Practical Guide to Fairy Herbal Magic.
The Wild Dance of Herne the Hunter
by andreW anderSon
This story is based upon the folklore of Herne the Hunter, including recent versions of his tale as explored in literature and on television.
It was a cold, crisp night in the fields and forests of England. There was no moon. The world held its breath in the darkness. The stars, specks of silver on the indigo cloak of night, looked down on the hills and valleys which were brittle with frost.
And nothing moved. Wrapped within the folds of the deepest night of winter, every living thing had tucked itself into the hazy warmth of sleep. The humans pulled the covers closer, while those with fin, fur, and feather huddled together against the chill of night. This night, this sleep, was so vast and dreamless, that there was a chance it could last forever.
In the middle of a field, near a sleepy river, stood a lonely Oak. The tree slept too, a slumber as deep and dreamless as the rest of the world. The Oak had no leaves of its own, they had long since been shed, but its trunk was thick with the deep green embrace of Ivy, wrapped about its bark like a blanket.
The stillness was broken by the tiniest movement. A single Ivy leaf began to tremble. Diamonds of frost were shaken from the foliage and pattered to the ground. Then another leaf moved. Then another. The Ivy on one side of the Oak began to swing and shake and sweep as something enormous forced its way out through the bark. A pair of hands, covered with earth and moss, shot out and braced against the trunk. With great strain, they heaved a figure from the foliage. First appeared the antlers, a pair of enormous, velvet horns which slashed the Ivy as they ripped their way into our world. Next there was a face, the face of a man as rugged and beautiful as the landscape with the eyes of an eternal child. It was Herne the Hunter.
As he stepped from the tree, Herne gave himself a warming shake, from his antlers to his feet. Ivy fell from his horns. His long hair crackled through the night. The hairs on his skin bristled with cold and he breathed in the slumbering world.
“I know this night” Herne exhaled, his breath hanging like a fog across the landscape. “This is the longest night of the year. The deepest night. Oh, I have had adventures on nights like this! I have feasted with notorious outlaws around their yuletide fires. I have helped a boy hide a magical box from witches and wolves so that he could save Christmas. And my Wild Hunt drove back the darkness which surrounded the boy in Windsor Great Park, so that he could continue with his quest.”
Herne took another, deeper breath, savouring the scent of the world.
“But this is not a night when the darkness is threatening. There is no evil here; no horsemen, no warlocks, no shadow to fight. There is just … exhaustion.” Herne bent down and puts his palm, flat, on the iron earth. “This world is weary of itself. Every living thing wants to stay, here, in this moment, wrapped up against the cold and the darkness and the struggle which will come with morning. This night will hang here for eternity, dreamless, because none of them want to wake up.”
Herne stood up, wondering what he could do to rouse life and hope back into the
creatures of earth. “I need help” he began. “I need Arthur, the human King, who sits in the crown of the night sky, to push the stars around and bring on morning.”
Herne opened wide his mouth and let out a deep, unsettling call. It was the cry of a red deer. The bellow shook the frost from the leaves of Ivy and made the branches of the Oak jostle and judder. The world vibrated to the sound. The Ivy, the Oak and the rabbits that slept between its roots roused, but soon returned to sleep again.
High above, at the top of the sky, Arthur was shaken from his slumber among the constellations.
“Who is it wakes me from my sleep?” asked the King, looking down upon the land.
“It is I, Herne the Hunter, spirit of the forest, guardian of all that is wild and free. I need your help, King among the stars. You promised to return when your land was in in peril, and it needs you tonight. Your people are weary with the woes of this world and will sleep away eternity in the dark and cold, unless you push the stars around and bring the warmth of morning. Will you help them?”
Arthur gazed down at Herne, his crown glinting among the ice sharp stars.
“I will” he replied. “I will put my shoulder to the starry Plough and turn the skies until the rosy glow of morning appears in the East.” Herne shook his antlers in delight.
And so, Arthur went to the Plough and pushed and shoved and heaved. But no matter what he did, the night sky would not move.
“This night is heavy” Arthur’s voice rumbled around the dome of the sky. “I cannot move it. You must help me, Herne the Hunter.”
“But what can I do?” Herne asked. “Nothing I have done on nights like this will work this time. It is not a night for quarterstaves and swords, because there is no one to fight. It is not a night to roll out a sleigh as there is no one to pick up. And it is not a night for a Wild Hunt as there is no prey. All that there is, is sleep.”
“Then it is you who must wake them up” Arthur commanded.
Herne felt crushed by the weight of the task. If not even the King among the stars could move this night, then how could he?
He thought back over the many times he had come to save this world from the darkness but nothing seemed to help. And then, from the corner of his memory came some words, words from a man he had once known and who had written his name down on paper for the first time. The words were not quite right, but they were close enough.
Herne knew what he had to do. He looked up to Arthur, high among the stars and said:
“I’ll rock the ground whereon these sleepers be!”
Herne ran around the Oak until he found a piece of its trunk free from Ivy and began beating a rhythm on the bark with one hand. The sound of thumping echoed down, through the roots of the tree, into the soil and up, through the branches, into the sky. In between each thump of his hand, Herne stamped his foot down on to the earth. Between his thumping and his stamping, Herne created a rhythm which started to shake the frost free from the ground in the field. He let out another cry, but this one was not to Arthur. This was to the land, which responded by raising music from every stone and hedge and brook.
The Oak, now warm and awake, began thudding its roots and banging its branches, leaving Herne to spiral his way into the middle of the field in a circular dance. The warrenful of rabbits tumbled out from under the oak, shocked by the noise that had roused them from their sleep. When they saw Herne dance, they began thumping the ground with their back feet, raising the tempo of the music.
Holding his hands high in the air, Herne called again. But this was not the haunting cry of a red deer. It sounded more like a trumpet or a horn, calling all of nature to him.
From every direction came dancers, joining in his wild dance. First were the foxes who leapt and jumped and swished their tails through the air. Mice and rats, voles and shrews rattled and spun through the undergrowth, sleepily at first but with growing speed and skill. Hares crept and leapt over each other. Badgers stomped their feet to the beat and moles erupted from the quickly thawing earth. Beetles, earthworms, and insects were flung out from the deep and onto the ground where they too joined in with the dancing. Spiders strummed their webs with all eight legs, adding the sound of strings to the music. Red deer bellowed, roe and fallow deer rutted, pine martens trotted, squirrels parachuted and wild ponies galloped around Herne in the centre of the field. Otters leapt from the sleepy river and swum through the air as if it were liquid. They were joined by shoals of fish, by pike, rudd, roach and bream, by grayling, minnows, and sticklebacks who swam and swished between the other dancers. Frogs and newts leapt into the air, while the toads sat on stones and croaked their most musical croaks. Pheasants bowed to each other before strutting and flapping their courtly dance around Herne’s feet. A mighty murder of crows and magpies gathered above him, swirling and diving through the whirl of energies the dancers were creating. Bats flitted here and there. There were redwings and fieldfares, blue tits and great tits, swans and geese and ducks, all dancing their own dances. Blackbirds, robins, and wrens fluttered and hopped, singing their most elaborate songs. Kites and buzzards spun above them all, letting out icy sharp cries. And then came the humans. Still half asleep and unsure quite what was going on, they nevertheless joined in the dance, wheeling and whirling with the other creatures. The plants and the trees responded to the joyous awakening of the world. Potent bursts of blossom confettied over the dancers.
All the dancing down on the ground made the night much less heavy. As the energy from the dancers spiraled up into the dome of the sky, Arthur put his hand to the Plough and eased the night sky on towards morning. The world, alive with delight and hope and dancing, would want to sleep no more.
The warming rays of the sun gently kissed the earth and melted the remaining frost. Herne thanked his dancers for joining him and guided those who lived there back to the river. Many of the dancers left quite quickly, eager to go and enjoy the bright morning, although the humans had fallen fast asleep where they had been boogeying. He would leave them where they lay, to dream of the time they literally danced the night away.
Arthur’s constellation began to disappear in the morning light.
“Thank you, guardian of all that is wild and free,” Arthur began “for saving the land from darkness once again. I shall remember this night, when a dance succeeded where quaterstaves and sledges and hunting would have failed. And it will make me smile.” With that, the starry Arthur faded from view, until all that could be seen was a single star from his crown shimmering in the rosy pink dawn.
Herne looked around at the land, which had not only welcomed the return of the light but, this morning, had welcomed back life and hope too. His work was done here, for the time being.
“I will be here, waiting for the next time the darkness rises” he said, staring out across the thawing landscape, “when all that is wild will come back to save that which is honest and good.” And with one final swish of his antlers, the Ivy gave way and Herne stepped back inside his Oak.
Andrew Anderson is the author of The Magic of Cats, Pagan Portals - Artio and Artaois and The Ritual of Writing.
The Knight of Lancaster
by doroThy abraMS
The lad first found his lady there Among the summer Stones
Circling them on Solstice where The merry witches roam.
“Drink in my gaze my lady love, Draw it deep within your mouth, And taste my kiss, worth far above The trinkets of my youth.”
He reached to touch her lips. Just then She turned away, slipped by. She smiled and called him her best friend. His shattered heart asked “Why.”
“If you give me but one kiss, You then will ask for more. I love your face, your eyes. This tryst Won’t see us at Church door.”
“Why would it, pagan daughter bold? We seek no sacrament. My love and yours our hands will hold Fast, free and confident.”
They both knew how this play would end as he drew her in close.
Captured as a fearful hen, She knew her will was lost.
Defeated by his sky lit eyes, The wind’s breath warmed her skin, Soon over-heated, wanton ways. Allowed his passion in.
“I love you,” her fear whispered true. He gave a wordless kiss That sank her heart into her shoes. No wife would come of this.
He loved her all the summer long, Left with the falling leaves. Heartsore, knowing it was wrong To court and then to grieve.
Back to his Liege, to ride and fight His heart lay in the Stones For he was hero, warrior, knight His life was not his own.
Told he would a Lady wed, A girl of noble of birth.
“How?” he thought. His heart was dead. He had nothing left of worth.
But they found a pretty Lass, Perhaps a match at Court? She kissed him, open eyes held fast A promise of some sort.
He knew he did not know the truth.
She held a higher rank.
But passions and their hopeful youth
Caused magic which they drank.
Sipping out the final drop
They bedded down at Yule.
Discovery was their fondest hope
As he took her jewel.
It was the longest night of bliss They shared within her room. The shortest day she was whisked off Their broken hearts were doomed.
A fool would ne’re refuse her smile. He’d lost his heart again
And pledged forever without guile, His silent love refrain.
Refusing women, love and song
He lived more like a priest
But he was heir and eldest son
He’d have a wedding feast.
Alas a faithless widow mourned
A man who died at war.
They shared a sadness, both forlorn
She caught a heart too sore.
Wiser now, he saw her plan Yet took her to his bed. His heart made him a hollow man Who finally had wed.
But he would never e’re forget The girl among the Stones.
The laughing Lassie he had met
When summer sun had shone.
And truly he remembered she Who loved him in the Court.
But now he had the Lady Three Who might love him or might not.
No cause to shun her body fair, Her title, or her lands.
The widow made of them a pair, If his heart would stand.
Could he forget his summer love? Or the girl of Yule?
What witch would want a whining dove? Why were the Fates so cruel?
Dorothy Abrams
Why Paganism is So Different, Second Time Around
by luKe eaSTWood
When Christianity emerged, polytheistic religion was the norm across most of the world. Judaism is perhaps the oldest monotheistic religion we know of, and it was expansionist but it was not evangelical. Around 1500 BCE Persian polytheism was transformed into a dualistic religion (Zoroastrianism) and around 500 BCE Buddhism began to supplant other religions in India (largely temporarily) and much of Asia. Around 100 CE Christianity became increasingly popular, finally transforming under Roman Emperor Constantine (312 CE), into something like the monotheistic religion we all know. Finally, Islam (622 CE) further increased the encroachment of monotheism on a world that had been almost entirely polytheistic.
When we consider the renaissance of Paganism, known as Neo-Paganism, we should remember that it is against a backdrop of long established monotheism, a total ban on polytheistic faiths that lasted at least 1000 years and prolonged war against polytheistic theology and Pagan culture. One could honestly say that Paganism has only been allowed to remerge because of the general malaise in Christianity and an increasingly secularised society, at least in the ‘West’.
To understand Paganism now, in comparison to the past, we need to understand what it once was. It is necessary to do this before we can compare it with the Neo-Paganism that has flourished over the last 80 odd years.
Lacking in a time machine, we can only really understand Paganism of the past through the conventional means of history and archeology, at least in any rational sense. Other means, of a less conventional sort, would be journeying, past-life regression, connecting with ancestors, channelling, oracles and contact with the Pagan gods themselves. Such efforts equate more with Unverifiable Personal Gnosis (UPG) than with verifiable evidence of the Pagan past, but that does not mean that it is entirely
pointless or without value.
Leaving UPG aside, I want to concentrate on what history can tell us about the Paganism that was once widespread across the world. For a start, we know that polytheism of many types was the majority theological model. A huge number of Pagan cults are attested in the pre-Christian past, Paganism was the de-facto order until the late 4th Century CE. Christianity and Islam in particular, led to the decline and often obliteration of countless Pagan faiths. Some of these faiths were so destroyed that we know only their names and the rough region of existence. Some were destroyed, leaving behind knowledge of them, while a few have survived into modern times.
The most successful polytheism, which has endured Buddhism and attempts by both Christianity and Islam to destroy it, is Hinduism. This is the oldest surviving form of Paganism today, although many regard it not to be part of the polytheistic Pagan smorgasbord, that once covered most of the world.
Once, most of the Middle East, Africa, Asia, Europe and the Americas was dominated by Paganism. Today, there are perhaps 4,200 religions, many of which are polytheistic. This has dropped dramatically over the last 1000 years and continues to drop, while the popularity of a few religions (Islam mostly) continues to increase. Diversity of religious beliefs is shrinking and has been shrinking for a long time.
Neo-Paganism has re-emerged against a backdrop of declining religiosity, but European Paganism died out in a world that was full of religions and religiosity. The idea of there being no God (or Atheism), would have been a monstrosity in ancient times. Today NeoPaganism is re-establishing itself in a world of (declining) monotheism and secular societies that accept apostasy, agnosticism and atheism.
Paganism was the Old World Order, that was effectively highjacked by Christianity
and Islam. While the theological models and iconography of the Pagan Old World was dismantled, much of the structures, practices, organisation and architectural brilliance was coopted and repurposed for the glory of these younger religions. The case is very different for a re-emergent Neo-Paganism - in a world of religious strife, decay and general decline, that is self-evident. The Old World Order, became a new order of monotheism, but we are not returning to that, we are moving into something new. Just what that ‘something new’ is exactly remains to be seen.
In the past, priesthood was highly coveted, limited, elitist and accessed only through certain entry points. This was true for Old World Paganism, but also for Christianity, Judaism, Islam and Buddhism. One could not just ‘rock up’ and become a priest/priestess, in the way that Neo-Pagans can ‘do a course’ or even ‘self identify’ as a practitioner. One was expected to study the divine mysteries or devote oneself to God (in the monotheistic religions). In both polytheism or monotheism it wasn’t easy to become a practitioner, priest/priestess, a respected elder or a guru. This was perhaps one of the strengths of these religions, whereas the absence of any real structure, or rules is a great weakness of modern Neo-Paganism. One can be all things to everyone in Neo-Paganism, make extravagant claims even. Very often, there is no accountability, pedigree, training or personal experience, no decades of training to be an ‘influencer’ or ‘leader’ in Neo-Paganism.
Neo-Paganism can be intellectual, spiritually deep and meaningful, but it also has a terrible capacity to be trivial, ignorant, corrupt, greedy and meaningless - a syncretic hotchpotch of ill conceived ideas, stolen and distorted theories and beliefs. In many cases this mess, under the banner of Paganism, is served up by sanctimonious, greedy, foolish, ill-informed, egotistical and self-proclaimed ‘practitioners’.
Neo-Paganism has, so far, dispensed with much of the esoteric structures that persisted during its prohibition and the start of its re-emergence, that is the 1920s-1990s. The need for proper training, colleges of theology, religious metaphysical, theological, moral and ethical schooling seems to have been largely ditched and replaced with a DIY approach. Legions of would-be Pagans are training
themselves through Social Media and internet groups, where it’s often ‘the blind leading the blind’.
Personally I don’t care a jot, what religion, faith or path people follow, but I at least hope that whatever they choose has some internal consistency, credibility, and is not some sad joke or imitation of an actual real, genuine religious/spiritual path.
We are in danger of losing the remnants of the old Paganism to a dumbed down NeoPaganism that is unrooted, ungrounded and not built on a bedrock of ancient Pagan belief. As a pre-Internet Esoteric student, I can see how much things have changed in a few decades. I do not like what I see, it is not an improvement. What I see is the golden nuggets of wisdom and virtue lost in an endless pile of rubbish that stretches to infinity.
Paganism was never about virtual life, online experience, internet learning and it should not be now. Early Neo-Paganism was about person to person transmission of knowledge, wisdom and faith, study, endless practice, and long should it remain so.
There is a place for technology and modern communication in our lives, within NeoPaganism and other paths, but let’s not get the cart before the horse, or kill off the horse that pulls the cart. There has to be a place for oral transmission, for lived experience, for personal and intra-personal experiences and gnosis, but the Internet world does not lend itself well to this.
Neo-Paganism is effectively only 80 years young, it was mostly hidden and illegal (hence the term occultism). In just 80 years the reemergent Paganism has done a fantastic job of degrading and devaluing itself, better than its opponents. This has to stop, or we will be left with a puerile, plastic imitation of great Pagan paths from a past era. I do not want to see that, and I think that a great many older NeoPagans do not want to see our spiritualities turn into a pathetic joke. This would be a great disservice to the Pagans that went before us, to ourselves and to future generations of Pagans, yet to come.
Luke Eastwood is the author of A Path Through the Forest.
