The Mother

I have never wanted to be a mother; that is just how I am. I have enough to do in attempting to see to my own needs, never mind those of a dependent child. I am furthermore so introverted that the mere presence of an ordinary dog will drive me up the wall because of its constant expectation of attention.

So when I think about the Maiden-Mother-Crone archetype that middle bit, for me, is just sort of a blank. Even as a little girl I was uninterested in baby dolls. Dolls that looked like little girls, like friends, like me, sure, but ones that were like babies? I just didn't see the point.

So I've never much understood the Mother archetype. Oh I've been able to sublimate it when say thinking about my artwork, or the way I have nurtured aspects of my life. But the direct, hands-on experience of having actual children? No, and no thank you.

Now. You may have heard there is a kitten 'situation' in my yard at present. Without going into too many details (as it's all a long convoluted story) let me just say there are already some Plans in the works involving the local trap-neuter-release people. Because the phrase 'spiralling out of control' does come to mind.

As part of that long story (and if you would like more details I have also written about it at Tetanus Burger), one of the feral kittens out there looked to have been wounded. So I took her to the vet, where it turned out it wasn't a wound after all (which is good, because in my state the rabies laws will kick in if you don't know where a wound came from); instead it was these horrible things called cuterebra.

I know. The Goddess cares for all Her children. All of them. That includes both kittens and parasites. That in fact even includes parasites that squick me right the fuck out. You can google that word above if you're brave, but ai yi watch out for the pictures.

But the vet cleared it all up and got rid of the nasty things; and he gave me some antibiotics and instructions to keep her wounds clean. Said wounds are however rather deep and will take some time to heal, most likely.

So here's the thing. This kitten is just over three weeks old. She is still suckling, and is not weaned. But I'm pretty close to positive that if I just put the kitten back with her mother that one, she'll move them some place I can't find them, and two, that place will inevitably be down in the dirt and rust, which means the wound will never stay clean. And given what that kitten's been through already it seemed counter-productive to just put her back outside.

So I decided to bottle feed her. At three weeks old it's not nearly as much work as it could be; newborn kittens require feeding at three-hour intervals. Still, at three weeks she needs feeding something like five or six times a day.

Any of you who are mothers, does this sound familiar?

Now I know it's not like a human baby, not really. For one thing this stage will not last very long at all and in two weeks or less the little thing will be on solid food.

But still. It's amazing, and crazy. I have to get up at six to feed it, and so there I am measuring formula into a bottle, taking the chill off it by putting the bottle in a bowl of warm water, then measuring the temperature by putting a drop on my wrist. My mother laughed when she saw the bottle standing in the bowl; just like a baby, she said. Well, how else are you going to do it?

I've also started going through towels very quickly. There seems to be an awful lot of laundry all of a sudden. How does that work? It's a kitten, for crying out loud; she's not soiling any nappies, or drooling on her onesies!

It is remarkable how much of this Mother energy, this Mother archetype, is about the very basics. Yesterday I made a chart so I could keep track of how much she is taking in at each feeding, since she needs to eat a certain amount by weight. I bought myself a little food scale so I could see how much she weighed (ten ounces yesterday; eleven today). That chart of course also has a space for what comes out the other end, because that is very important too.

Young kittens can't eliminate waste on their own; in nature the mother will lick the kitten to stimulate it. This means that I've had to gently rub the kitten's butt with a warm damp paper towel until something comes out.

This morning when I looked in the carrier where I've been keeping her, I was happy, yes, actually happy to see a proper turd in there—that means that the kitten is able now to do that on her own. So I was all like, OMG milestone!

Holy cow.

Though I'm not sure I'll be winning any Mother of the Year awards. The poor thing is rather a hot mess, honestly, what with the gruesome-looking wounds on her neck and the fact that she's pretty much completely coated in sticky formula because there's just no neat way to do it. I've tried to clean it off as best I can but she does wiggle. Because despite the wounds she is very much alive: she's talkative, strong, fat, and gaining weight, which is good, very good.

And she has learned to purr. Yesterday it came in little fits and starts; today she's got a nice steady rumbling going. She's also started to play, a little, I think, though it's hard to tell; she's pretty uncoordinated yet.

And even though I have no desire to be a mother, here is this kitten on my lap, so small she fits into my curled hand, purring and looking up at me with those big dark eyes. She does, it is true, look a little confused: What's wrong with my ears? Why don't I have fur? Why am I so freakin' huge? But none of that really matters to her, I guess, because I am her mother now.

Here is a picture. It's rather blurry, but you can see how small she is:



Goodness.

Goddess of the Week

This week's pick is Morgana, also known as Morgan le Fay, the great sorceress and healer of the Arthurian legends. Though considered human in the late works, Morgana's divine origins are hinted at in her epithet 'le Fay,' meaning 'faery,' 'Fate,' or 'Otherworldly woman.' The strands going back are rather tangled, but she does seem to have a good part of her origins in an old Gaulish river-Goddess.

In the Arthurian legends, Morgan le Fay is one of three daughters of Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall, and Ygraine, her elder sisters being Elaine (one of many in Arthuriana) and Morgawse, who would be mother of the infamous Mordred. They are half-sisters to Arthur, who was gotten on their mother by Uther Pendragon through a ruse (which makes it rape).

Morgan was unhappily married off to one Urien of Gore; their son was Ywain. She was very skilled in magic and much associated with Avalon, an Otherworldly island long connected with Glastonbury. She is usually thought of as a fierce enemy to Arthur; yet, when he was wounded at the end of his reign, she was one of the women of Avalon who took him in to be healed.

Those are the basics of the Arthurian legends. Let's look a little deeper now.

Her husband Urien (and their son Ywain) finds his origins in a real sixth-century king; his son Owain ap Urien was famous for battling the Angles. This fame got them both incorporated into legend, starting with the Welsh. Owain features in a tale of his own called The Lady of the Fountain; however in the Welsh Triads (Trioedd Ynys Prydain, Triads of the Isle of Britain), he is called a son of Urien and one Modron.

Modron is usually remembered as the mother of Mabon in the Welsh tale of Culhwch ac Olwen; he was said to have been taken from his mother when only three days old. Though there is not much information about either of them in this tale, there is something powerful and primal underneath it: for 'Mabon' simply means 'son', and 'Modron' simply means 'Mother.' Which means that Mabon ap Modron means 'Son, son of Mother', unusually enough; especially given that the ap part, meaning 'son of' is literally called a patronymic, meaning 'father-name,' it is remarkable that there is no mention at all of a father. And though he only has a bit part in the tales as handed down to us, yet Mabon gives his name to the collection of Welsh literature called the Mabinogion (or Mabinogi, more properly). Now Mabon does have Divine origins—ultimately he has his roots in Maponos, a Celtic God of Roman Britain often linked with Apollo. This is the Mother and Her Son.

Now as for Modron Herself: She in her turn derives from the Goddess Matrona, the eponymous Goddess of the Marne River in eastern France. Her name means 'Divine Mother'. She is probably a singular form of the old Matronae, 'The Mothers', Who are Celtic mother Goddesses going by a Latin name, usually shown in triple form, posed with various emblems of fertility such as bread, cornucopiae, or babies.

There is also a folk-tale that tells how Urien came upon a washerwoman at a ford; though she does not give her name, she tells him she is a daughter of Annwfn, i.e. a fairy-woman or Goddess, as Annwfn is the name of the Welsh Otherworld. She later has two children by Urien, Owain and a daughter Morfudd (mentioned as Morfydd in the Triads). And all that actually does connect Her with the great Irish triple Goddess of sex and battle known as the Mórrígan, which She is usually said not to have much relationship with, despite the similarity of names; for the Mórrígan can take the form of the Washer at the Ford, an Otherworldly woman seen washing bloody clothes in a river, Who presages the death of the person whose garments she washes.

You will notice, that even in the late legends Morgan is associated with triplicity—She is one of three daughters, a triplicity which is all the more pronounced given that Her sister Elaine has almost no story of her own; it's as if she is just filler brought into the stories to round out the number. And in the Vita Merlini (Life of Merlin) She is said to be one of nine sisters skilled in magic who live in Avalon.

So, then, what of all that?

It is remarkable to me how some things survive, and how despite layers and layers of camouflage and how various consonant, though unrelated stories can accumulate on an idea, one can still trace back to that source, that wellspring. In this case, literally, as Matrona has a shrine near to the source of the Marne River. I am tempted, then, to say that this week will be one of detective work and a search for origins; may it be as fruitful for you.

However Morgan le Fay, or Morgana, as I've called Her here, is perhaps calling us to remember our roots in a different way. She is never said to be anything other than human in the late tales; yet she still retains that 'le Fay' appellation. Work this week, I think, to discover your own fay-ness, if you will. We are not as separate from Nature as we would have it. We are certainly (and I realize I am rather preaching to the choir here) not un-magical beings, though we are human.

Her tale is of an ambiguous character, too; though Arthur's enemy she is also a great healer. Perhaps her story has merely been framed in a unflattering way by the storytellers who sided of course with Arthur; perhaps, also, it is a comment on the nature of magic being dark, complicated, many-sided, and rich, a characteristic that lovers of duality (who like to reduce everything to good and evil) cannot understand or endorse.

I think, though, that the main lesson this week is that you will have to figure it out for yourself. But this week marks the beginning of the end of summer, and the beginning of the turning of things, or at least that is what it has always felt like in my area. How is your world, your earth, changing now?

What does She say?

I am everywhere like the tide; the tide of the breath of the body, the tide of the seasons; I infuse it all. I am the undercurrent of the magical in all. I am that feeling of aliveness, that subtle body, the feeling of being alive. What is that after all but Magic?

Do not think that it is not all related, that the enlightenment of the Buddhists or the Christ does not also have its place, its name, its recognition in the older messier Ways; it is reality, after all, and it has always been, and has always been seen. Find the other definition for it, the one that is closer to home for you. It is there.

What do you think?

References:

The Dictionary of Celtic Mythology, by James MacKillop

Wikipedia, believe it or not, which proved handy for keeping things sorted out.