Showing posts with label Bride. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bride. Show all posts

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

Manannán mac Lir Day




I had it in my head that a few years back Anne Johnson of The Gods Are Bored had reclaimed this day for the old Irish God Manannán mac Lir; but I couldn't quite track down an official announcement on her part, instead finding this interview she did with Him. So now I'm not sure.

At any rate, official or not, I quite like the idea of reclaiming this day for the old Irish Deities, Manannán, the Little Manxman, included. I guess I just can't get all enthused about celebrating the guy who converted Ireland, you know?

Not that I'm actually Irish, myself. Scottish, Welsh, English, sure; but it's like once my ancestors arrived on the isle of Britain they steadfastly refused to get on another boat (well, at least until America was 'discovered', anyway). Perhaps this genetic tendency is related to why I can't swim? It's not impossible.

Who's your favorite Irish God or Goddess? I'm quite fond of Brighid myself, all fire and creativity, but of course She does already have Her own day, February second. Who would you like to celebrate today?

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

Sappho for Bride's Day

Three poems, or fragments of poems, by Sappho, as another contribution to the Fifth Annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading. The last is to Aphrodite. From the Mary Barnard translation.

***

I have a small
daughter called
Cleis, who is

like a golden
flower
I wouldn't
take all Croesus'
kingdom with love
thrown in, for her

***

I have no embroidered
headband from Sardis to
give you, Cleis, such as
I wore
and my mother
always said that in her
day a purple ribbon
looped in the hair was thought
to be high style indeed

but we were dark:
a girl
whose hair is yellower than
torchlight should wear no
headdress but fresh flowers

***

Leave Crete and come to us
waiting where the grove is
pleasantest, by precincts

sacred to you; incense
smokes on the altar, cold
streams murmur though the

apple branches, a young
rose thicket shades the ground
and quivering leaves pour

down deep sleep; in meadows
where horses have grown sleek
among spring flowers, dill

scents the air. Queen! Cyprian!
Fill our gold cups with love
stirred into clear nectar

For Bride



A traditional Gaelic verse to Bride, Who drives out the Cailleach, the Old Woman of Winter:

Chuir Bride miar ’s an abhuinn
La na Feill Bride
Is dh’ fhalbh mathair ghuir an fhuachd
Is nigh i basan anns an abhuinn
La na Feill Padruig
Is dh’ fhalbh mathair ghin an fhuachd


Bride put her finger in the river
On the Feast Day of Bride
And away went the mother who hatches the cold
And she bathed her palms in the river
On the Feast Day of Patrick
And away went the mother who breeds the cold

From the Carmina Gadelica, for the 5th annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading.

Monday, January 18, 2010

Goddess of the Week




This week's Goddess is Danu, thought to be the Mother Goddess of the Continental Celts. Her name is not quite attested, nor does She have any mythology under that name; however there is plenty of indirect evidence that a Goddess by that name existed in the Celtic mythos.

The Danube River, that great river of central and eastern Europe, located in the area from which the Celtic peoples are thought to have emerged, is probably named for Her. Though it is likely Her origins are even older--there is a Vedic Goddess also called Danu, Who was the mother of the Davanas, Asuras (roughly 'demons') Who rebelled but were defeated by the Devas (approximately 'gods' or 'angels'). Upon defeat, the Davanas were cast into the oceans. The word danu in Sanskrit means 'rain,' 'liquid', or 'waters of heaven,' and is related to the names for several other famous rivers, such as the Don and Dneiper rivers of Russia, and the Dniester of eastern Europe. So She would appear to have origins in a river Goddess.

She probably found Her way into Irish myth under the name Ana, which is occasionally spelled with a D affixed to the front; as such She is the mother of the Tuatha Dé Danann, the name used for the family of the old Pagan deities of Ireland. The name means 'the people or tribe of the Goddess Ana or Danu', and Their numbers include Deities like the Dagda, Brigid, Macha, Manannán, the Morrigan, Ogma, and Flidais. Her Welsh equivalent is Dôn, also a Mother of Deities, including Arianrhod. Ireland is sometimes called for Her 'the land of Ana,' and She can grant or withhold the prosperity of the land.

Though the Tuatha Dé started out as Deities, according to legend They were later driven underground, literally, to live in the sídhe, the hollow hills; They were then called the aes síde, or 'the people of the mounds.' In time They became the fairy folk, who in modern Irish are still called the sídh, after the fairy mounds. Here I have drawn Danu in that role, as Mother of the Fairies.

The strands making up Danu are nearly lost, though we have some good guesses; and I was wondering how I was going to interpret this card in light of that. But in doing the research, I came across this line in the entry under 'Ana,' in The Dictionary of Celtic Mythology by James MacKillop (an excellent and thorough book): "Despite these pagan associations, her name is borne by the virgin St. Ana whose feast day is 18th January." Now then. That's a funny coincidence.

So then, what have we got? A Deity Who was considered central and primary to a people, Who was once the mother or leader of the Gods, though She has been much forgotten and reduced; and the startling 'coincidence' of this day, this moment right now.

Something has been brought sharply into focus. Something that touches on ancient, profound ideas. There is a connection with this moment right now and the patterns of the past. What do you see? What can you make out? It's as if two lenses have momentarily overlapped and are allowing us to see, in great detail, something we had thought lost.

Then of course there is the fairy aspect of it. It was only the week before last, in fact, that I drew the Faerie card. Though we've had the Magdalene in-between, I think this is probably in some ways a continuation of the theme of wildness and paying attention to magic; I said at the time that "[s]ome strand has looped close to the surface this week;" I think this week it has actually broken through.

I don't even really know what that means, but it feels like a rare opportunity of some sort. I would say, look around at the world of the hidden, the wild places around and within us, with clear sight (of as many kinds as you can manage), and above all pay attention.

I wonder if She can clarify.

Danu says:

Wheel, spin, watch the change. The sap is rising. Things are being born. Things are slipping through. Be ware. Be wary. Be aware. It cannot be stopped.

It must run its course. Yes, like a river--you are so clever!--a great river, that which is central to a people. No, I know nothing about that. Why would I?

Oh, yes, the veil, as you call it, it is so thin right now. I know! Now? In the middle of winter, when We should all be sleeping? But yes.

The forgotten will find you. But be aware. It cannot be stopped.


Well, I'm not sure that exactly sheds much light on anything. What do you think?

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

New al-Uzza Art



Here's the re-do I did a couple weeks ago now. The design of Her is inspired by this baetyl from Petra. (The earlier version is here.)

It's funny how there are certain Goddesses I've drawn more often than others. I mean, sure, I have three (or four, if you count the Gorgon Sthenno) renditions of Athena now, but that's because I'm still consciously on an Athena kick. What I'm finding interesting are the Goddesses Whom I am not consciously choosing to draw repeatedly. For example this is the third time, now, I've done some al-Uzza artwork; though the all-time record I think goes to Brighid, Whom I've depicted at least five or six times now. Yet I wouldn't say She's my patroness Goddess. Perhaps I need to rethink that a bit.

Monday, February 2, 2009

For the Groundhog, Blessed of Brighid





Moch maduinn Bhride
Thig an muc-ghrùnnd as an toll
Cha bhoin mise ris an
muc-ghrùnnd
Cha bhoin an muc-ghrùnnd rium.

Early on Bride's morn
Shall the groundhog come from the hole
I will not harm the groundhog
Nor will the groundhog harm me.


(Traditional Gaelic song to Bride. Well, sorta kinda. More for the 4th annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading.)

The Orphic Hymn to Nature

Ancient mother,
holy artist,
queen of constantly
unfolding creation,
we honor you.

Untamed all-tamer,
eternally splendid,
bright serenity,
first born.

Lady of the shining stars
dancing breathless circles,
gem of divine powers,

finite, infinite,
known, all knowing
yet secret within us,
you invoke yourself.

Lead us, mother of life,
give us wisdom,
grace us with beauty.

You are justice
supremely strong
ruling every chaos.

You are spiritual and earthy,
a friend to piety,
sweet to goodness
and bitter to evil.

You are the most powerful;
you nourish all.

Your pure mind full of seeds
gives crowds of stars and flowers
creating worlds streaming
to receding horizons.

Your hand holds up space.
You direct the wind.
You hinge the world
with the bolt of force.

Courageous, fatal,
all conquering queen,
hear our song.

Care for us.
Grant plenty,
adventure and comfort,
constant peace and health.


(From The Hymns of Orpheus, Mutations by R.C. Hogart. Another entry for Brighid, as part of the 4th Annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading on Imbolc.)

Haiku for Chico Marx

You played piano
And pinochle and you knew
Almost all the odds



(Also by me. Chico Marx was a compulsive gambler, and at least according to his little brother Harpo, a mathematical genius. More poetry for the 4th Annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading.)

For Brighid the Bright



I am a circle of nineteen stones,
I am the Queen inside the mound.

I am the flame within the winter,
I am a serpent from the hole,
I am a cock who crows at dawn.

I am a kindled spark,
I am the welling spring,
I am a maiden all in green.

I am a cow newly calved,
I am the midwife and the mother,
I am the milk in a baby's mouth.

I am the fire beneath the cauldron,
I am the sun's image in a pool,
I am the water and the cup.

I am the beaten bronze,
I am the hands of the harper,
I am a frog hidden in the rushes.

The folds of my cloak form the green hills
My bright flame does not die.




(By me. Part of the 4th annual Brighid in the Blogosphere Poetry Reading.)