Montague Whitsel

The Voyage Theme in Celtic Spirituality

Posted: 04/01/2010

“Myth is multi-layered, like life, and to get the most out of it, we have to be aware of many different elements at once.” (1)   - Moyra Caldecott  Women in Celtic Myth (1992)   Always in the vernaltides, meditating on the fact that winter is receding and that I am free, once again, to wander, to go for hikes, and to find spiritual succor in natural places, I reflect on the Celtic theme of the "sacred journey."  The Celts loved to 'travel-with-a-purpose,' just as much as they liked staying at home by the hearth.  Thus there are several genres in Celtic myth and literature dealing with journeys; especially the "sea journey."   There are two types of "sea journey" tale.  First is the Voyage (“Immram”) in which a mortal visits the Otherworld, but in which the journey to the final destination (usually an island) is more important than anything that happens once one arrives at the ‘destination.’  Second, there is the Adventure (“Echtra”) in which a mortal visits the Otherworld, though here, getting to the Otherworld is less important than what happens there.  Despite the emphasis; whether on the voyage itself or the destination -- the goal of these stories is spiritual wisdom, both for the character si the tale and for the hearer of the story.   There are seven Immrama (“Voyages”) known to us from mediaeval lists.  Three of these survive more or less intact, and each is important in its own way.  (1)  The Voyage of Bran mac Febal is the earliest tale, and comes to us in a seventh century text.  (2)  The Voyage of Máeldúin is extant in a text dating from the 700's CE.  (3)  The Voyage of Saint Brendan is preserved in a ninth century text, though the tale is probably somewhat older.   Each of these tales has unique elements, yet all involve a voyage to a mysterious island (or series of islands) located to the 'west' of Ireland, and then some kind of ‘return home' after the adventure is complete.  The Voyage of Bran comes from the Pagan Celtic world, and is pre-Christian in virtually all of its themes.  The Voyage of Máeldúin is also Pagan in theme and structure, though it deals with the idea of redemption and forgiveness, which made the take appealing to Celtic Christians.  The Voyage of Brendan is thoroughly Christian in both theme and aspect, though still embodying a Celtic vision of life-in-the-world and a deep love of life in general that is absent from so much of orthodox Christianity.   The Voyage of Bran mac Febal begins as Bran is encountered by a mysterious woman who tells him of a strange island (Emain Ablach) and then urges him to go there.  This Isle is said to be "full of apples" and is where wisdom is to be discovered.  Inspired, Bran gathers a crew and finds a corracle (a skin-covered boat) fit for the journey, and sets off.  He leaves his home and makes the voyage over the wide-maned sea to the West.  Along the way he comes to many isles and has strange encounters and dangerous adventures.  At one point, he meets the Sea God Manannán mac Lir, who is riding his chariot over the horse-maned sea, and receives encourage- ment from him to continue in his quest.  At the Isle of Merriment and Delight, they have to leave a crewman behind in their desperate flight (the isle was not a good place to be!).  They take the loss in stride, and continue in their search for Emain Ablach.   Bran and his crew push on, plunging over the wild waves.  They do eventually reach Emain Ablach and stay there for an indeterminate time.  While there, they are engaged in good feasting and a restorative kind of partying; enjoying a great many sensual and sexual delights.  Each crewman is blessed in what he receives, and is satiated with the full-fillment of his life.  The Isle is definitely a place worth being!  At some point, however, Nechtan – one of the crew – becomes homesick, and beseeches Bran to leave the Isle and return to Ireland.  After much hemming and hawing, they make the decision to leave paradise.  Bran is warned, however, that the journey will end in sorrow, travail and despair.  One of the priestesses of the goddess on the isle gives him two words of advice: (1) First, that he must pick up the crewman lost on the Isle of Merriment and Delight, and (2) second, that he should not go ashore, once they reach Ireland.    Bran and the crew leave Emain Ablach and return to Ireland.  They come to familiar shores, only to find that their boat will not let them guide it into the shallows!  When a crewman puts his hand in the water, it withers.  Nechtan, desperate to be reunited with his kin, leaps into the water and goes ashore, despite the warning given to them on Emain Ablach.  Immediately, he turns to dust.  At this, the crew realize they are stranded in  their boat.  Bran writes his adventures on wooden sticks in Ogham letters, and once these have been cast in the water and have floated to shore, he and the crew sail away, never to be seen or heard from again.   This story manifests the Celtic dream of the travel of the human soul from this life (Ireland) into the next (Emain Ablach) and back again.  Bran and his companions cannot return to Ireland without dying, as they went into the Otherworld while still incarnate.  However, the story implies, those of us who die before journeying to the Isle of the Blest in the Otherworld (which is the usual order of events), will eventually return and be born again into this life.  We may learn about life & death and the journey back & forth between the worlds by meditating on the symbols woven into the story; Apples, Islands, Silver Branches, Pleasure and Sensuality, etc.  It should be noted that in these stories pleasure and sensuality are not evil; they are not something we must avoid or escape.  In the next life, according to Celtic wisdom, we will be able to indulge in sensuality and pleasure of all kinds without being hampered by the limitations of our senses and our bodies.  For the Celts, pleasure and sensuality, beauty and joy, lead to Wisdom and even salvation; they do not prevent us from attaining it.   The Voyage of Máeldúin is a more elaborate tale, with subtle nuances and an intricate symbolic structure.  It begins with Máeldúin’s birth and then relates the murder of his father.  When Máeldúin grows up, he learns about his father's un-rightful death, and vows to avenge him.   A Druid gives Máeldúin specific instructions for how and when to execute his father’s murderer, who is known to be living on an island near the west coast of Ireland.  Máeldúin gathers a crew and builds a corracle, in preparation for the journey, following the Druid's instructions to the letter.  Just before he leaves, however, his three foster-brothers come and ask to be given berth on the boat, as they, too, want to see the right thing done with regard to Máeldúin's father's murderer.  Máeldúin allows them to come onboard, though the Druid made no allowance for more than a certain number of crewmen.   Alas, when they come to the island where the murderer lives, they cannot go ashore!  The wild waters and the weather prohibit a safe landing and, after several tries, Máeldúin and his crew are blown away from the isle and set out upon the high-maned sea.  It is here that their adventures really begin!  Once the sea is calm, they discern (by divination) that it was the presence of the three extra passengers (the foster brothers) that threw the ‘sacred instructions’ -- given to Máeldúin by the Druid -- ‘off kilter.'  Repentant and miserable, they go wherever the wind and the waves carry them, travelling from the isle.  From this point on, Máeldúin’s Voyage, which started off as an errand of revenge, becomes one of self-discovery.   The company travels to 33 mysterious islands in the wide-maned sea, having marvelous adventures and making several harrowing escapes along the way.  Their adventures lure them toward new spiritual horizons; they have grown significantly toward enlightenment, and they are now ‘content’ to live life a 'different way.'  Their spiritual transfiguration can be seen in what happens when they come again -- quite seredipitously -- to the isle where the murderer of Máeldúin’s father still lives.  Máeldúin comes ashore looking for food and lodging, and it is only once he is on the sile that he recognizes it!  The men on the island welcome Máeldúin and his crew, giving them new clothes, and serving them a sumptuous meal, during which the voyagers relate their adventures.  That night, Máeldúin meets his father's murderer and blesses him.  The next day they sail back to Ireland.   Thus this Immram ends up as a story of forgiveness.  Máeldúin experiences a kind of Pagan 'conversion' while journeying from isle to isle, his ship being driven by the wild wind and strange currents.  By the time he gets back to the island of his father’s slayer, he has no desire to murder him in blood-vengeance, even though the laws of ancient Ireland would permit him to execute his father’s murderer!   The Voyage of Saint Brendan is another unique tale and has much insight to offer those who listen to it with an open mind.  Though Brendan of Clonfert has been attributed with making as many as 12 voyages, the most significant manuscripts cite two major voyages, one unsuccessful and the other successful.  In the first of these, Brendan hears, from an old saint, about "the Isle of Paradise" where God reigns.  [Note, here, the similarity with what initiates the Voyage of Bran!]  Inspired, Brendan prays for several days and then, with the approval of his abbot, gathers up a crew who together build a large corracle.  They then go off adventuring long upon the Sea, visiting a succession of mysterious isles.  They return to Ireland, however, without finding the Isle of Paradise.   Saint Ita (Brendan’s foster-mother) then tells Brendan that the reason he was unable to find the Blest Isle was that no blood – of either men or women or of animals – may enter Paradise.  Brendan realizes that he must therefore make a boat of wood (his coracle had been made of animal skins!) and try again.  He builds the wooden boat, and then he and his crew set sail once more.  This time his is successful.  After visiting many mysterious islands, he finally reaches the Isle of the Blest.  There he encounters God in the animals and plants and in many strange inhabitants of the isle.  After his visit he and his crew return to Ireland, ready for a life of "divine work" (prayer) and service in ministry to others.  His voyage rendered for him the wisdom necessary to be able serve Christ in this life, by showing him a Vision of the next life.   One of the many interesting themes that emerge from the fabric of Brendan’s Voyages is the holiness of all life.  Celtic saints generally revered life in whatever form it was found.  They esteemed animals as their ‘friends,’ and has a deep respect for trees and stones and the wide-maned sea.  Love of live fostered a zest for life in the Celtic peoples, whether Pagan or Christian, that is so often absent from religious practitioners today.  Their sense of adventure and their need to live life to the fullest is something worth investing ourselves in today.   [If you would like to explore the spirituality of the voyage and the journey, see "The Fourth Way: The Way of Pilgrimage and the Immram," in my book, WellSprings of the Deer, 2002]

Inspirations of Saint Bridget

Posted: 02/02/2010

Prayer to Saint Bridget (2 February 1996)   “Bridget is the Old Fire Goddess of the Celts in saintly guise.  She is the Mistress of the Arts & Craefts, being the primary patroness of all those whose lives are dominated by the call to create.  Unlike token goddesses in other pantheons – who are not practitioners of what they stand as patrons for, Old Brighid gets her hands dirty in the kiln, she fires her own hearth, and she cooks up such wondrous food that even gods are tempted to come to her and sit by her fire.” (82) -          Gwendolyn Sackneuseum The Nine Wayes (1994)   [This poem, which may be found in my book, Tales from the Seasons (AuthorHouse, 2009), sums up for me much of the symbolism connected with Saint Bridgid in the Celtic tradition.  It actually arose in me as a prayer, coming out of the undulations of meditation one night in 1996, and is one of those few poems that has barely been changed since it was first penned.  May it lead you to inspirations at this spoke of the year; when fire, smithing, and poetry are all symbolic of our hope of emergence from the winterwood passages, for we are half-way to the vernal equinox at this point.  Blessed be!]     Hail Bridget, fire-keeper of Kildare_ strength of Poets, marrow of Inspiration’s Bone; emblazon the Moon upon our Souls and burn away our Fears! Lead us along the High Path of Union with the MUSE!                          1   Hail Bridget, lady of the Oaken Cell_ mistress of the City of the Four; hearken to our Rune and let there be life within the cusps of the Moon. May we find Maeve’s Son, within the cauldron of life’s bubbling inspiration!                    2     Hail Bridget, keeper of Holy Blue Fire_ let us learn Devout Patience. Mistress of Wisdom & Poetry, custodian of the Healing Hearth, burn away the chaff of selfishness and worldly greed. Open the kiln of poiesis, and gift us coals of Lunar Power!             3   Hail Bridget, sweet Mary of the Gaels – patron saint of travelers and guide of pilgrims; grant us Inspiration’s Dew! Lead us out in the Paths where Artistic Dreams come True – and Poetic Passion rages with lunatic powers of love!              4   Hail Bridget, dove among the dream-birds, sun among the stars, and the Wisdom of Serpents – brace us in your gaze!                                5 Amen.

Saint Nicholas Eve

Posted: 12/06/2009

10. Saint Nicholas Eve (5 December 1996)   [This poem is from my book, Tales from the Seasons (AuthorHouse, 2009) and is offered here in the hope that it may provide a fore-taste and preparation for the Season of Yule.  May you have a blessed Winter Solstice Season! -- Montague Whitsel]   Over the heath and through the wood, all wassailed of the glistening snow_ Saint Nicholas came with Reindeer and a troop of Elves in tow! Past the WellSpring of the Saints, he came with Holly & some Bay_ to winnow the wights out of the World, and with the Spirit’s poor to play!                    1   He slung his sack with some delight across a horse-and-rider fence, and came approaching toward the house making madness of mundane sense! He had a broom of thistle & heather, and a cap full of pomegranates. Within his sleeves were glowing secrets from which True Hope originates!                   2   Climbing the chimney, he set about divining the household’s aura. He hung about the doorposts with Ivy Wreaths of supernal giving! The Reindeer were yet invisible, the Elves were gasping in giggles_ as snow began to uncover the Night, and the Spirit spread out Her riddles!               3   Three windows with a candle’s glow loomed above the empty portico, alerting visitors to awakening souls, as Children played out their roles! The Reindeer knocked upon the door, the Elves they climbed the lattice. Saint Nicholas turned into a mist, and slipped in through old keyholes!               4   Around the house the Visitor flew, with Holly boughs and sweeping Yew! He took the staircase with abandon while seeking out the chosen few! He found their chambers open wide, with hearts yet empty from inside; He left them Pomegranates of Faith, and Apples for a starry sleigh-ride!                  5   “Hey, wait! _Nicholas, is that You!?”   One small voice dis-spells a wraith, as into deep crevices of Night Saint Nicholas and his Elves flee, putting Reindeer, unseen, to flight! Off across Fields-of-Life they flee, leaving hoof-marks in frosted snow; White tails frisking prayers like Art – the Moon chasing them with Her glow!   And in their stead a blessing’s found_ Runes of Life in the Fruit of Faith!                  6

Samhain, Mourning and Remembrance

Posted: 10/30/2009

Tomorrow is the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain (pronounced "sow-en"), about which much has been written and around which there still swirls a certain amount of fear and misgiving in our society.  There is a fairly detailed account of Samhain on the Events Calendar, if you care to read about a traditional Celtic celebration of the old festival.  There is much more than can be said in one blog, however, and one aspect of the old sacred day that is often overlooked (if not unknown) is its connection with honoring the dead. As myths suggest, Samhain marks that 'magical' moment in the year that is "between the worlds"--when the dead who have crossed over into the Otherworld are able to come back and visit the living.  They may do this out of love and friendship, and not just to taunt and frighten us!  However, if someone who was wronged in some way then died before reconciliation could be effected and the appropriate restitution made, the person might indeed come back through the veil seeking out those who did them wrong. This motif is the original reason for all of our Halloween customs, including dressing up like spooks and ghouls and going about collecting candy door to door.  The candy, as many authors have pointed out, is a modern survival of the offerings for the dead that were once upon a time collected and then taken and thrown onto the Samhain Bonfires. Because of the mythic ambience of this day -- celebrated as "Halloween" in our culture -- I have long felt compelled to go and visit graveyards on the days leading up to Samhain.  I go as a pilgrim to places of the dead, visiting the graves of those I knew when they were on this side of the sídhe, devoutly remembering them as I visit their graves. Visitation at graves seems so appropriate, spiritually, at this time of the year, as the leaves have largely fallen from the trees, the fields have been harvested, and we are on the cusps of winter's tide.  Winter is symbolic of the repose synonymous with death in most earthen spiritual traditions.  Indeed, the Celts marked the day after Samhain as the beginning of An Dudlach ("The Gloom"); a time of vigiling the passing of Summer, before Winter's onslaught begins.  As such, we stand symbolically on the threshold of 'death' at Samhain. After visiting cemeteries where the remnants of the remembered dead are at rest, I often bring out a picture of anyone I know who has died in the previous 12 months, and set it up on the meditation table or even put it on the mantle over the fireplace.  This makes their presence manifest to memory and imagination, allowing me to recall experiences I have had that involved the now dead friend, relative or associate.  It is a time of reflection and re-connection, imaginatively, with those who are gone. At supper on Samhain, I often set an extra place or two at the table for any 'spirits' of the remembered dead who might want to 'visit.'  In the evening, after Trick or Treat, I speak the names of those I have known who are now on the otherside, with invitation in my heart--in case any of them want to visit me, in dream or in more vivid waking presence.  The Celts believed, as did the ancient Egytptians, that so long as you are remembered, you are not really 'dead.'  Thus it is good to speak the names of the dead at Samhain and remember them. If you are mourning a loved one, keeping Samhain as "the Feast of the Dead" may be good therapy.  It can be a time of letting go and resolution of grief.

Ruins and Pagan Spirituality

Posted: 09/23/2009

The other day an old student of mine emailed me pictures of an old ruined church that he and some of his friends found near where they have often hiked.  He reflected in his email on the many times that we went hiking together down the railroad tracks south of the town where I was living at that time, to an old house, abandoned and decaying.  There, we would sit on the weathered and moss-stained stairs of the back porch, and talk about the spiritual life. My book, Heart and Hearth (2009), begins with a section dealing with visits to the old Whittier House south of Wickersfeld in Ross County, abandoned for 30 years, exploring the ruin with mystical expectation and mortal apprehension all exposed in narrative trope for the reader to ponder. What is it about ruins that makes them fit subjects for spiritual reflection and even appropriate foci for mystical engagement? I have been fascinated with ruins all of my life, it seems, and the reason for this, I would propose, is that ruins are metaphoric of mortality.  Everything returns to the Earth.  As we come from the Earth, so we will someday be reunited with it in post-conscious states, the nature of which we can only speculate on.  A house or other structure, abandoned and returning to the Earth, goes through Stages of Decay, recognizable to anyone who has long visited some particular ruin, and that are as indefatuguable as they are beautiful, in a melancholy sense of that word! A ruin is a structure that has been let go; that is no longer being kept up--and which has, therefore, been handed over to entropy.  Nature brings about the ruination of human artifacts once they are abandoned, and to reflect on this process of decay in its various stages is to find an analogy for our own eventual decline, decay and death. Death is as natural as birth. Therefore, not to recognize our mortality -- the fact that we will surely die -- is spiritual suicide.  For not to know that we are going to die, is not to be able to live life as it is.  To visit ruins is one way of engaging in a meditation on decay and death.  We are like the ruined structures we visit; we keep ourselves fit and healthy as long as we can, but -- at some point -- all our maintenance will fail, and death will become an imminent destination. Ruins inspire melancholy.  But they are also sad in that they sometimes represent the tragic letting go of something in the height of its existence.  A house that has burned down and stands now in ruin on a lonesome property, ignored and nearly forgotten, reminds us that life doesn't always end well, and that many things can befall us that we wouldn't have wished for. Ruins are, for anyone of a Pagan sensibility, intimately linked with Autumn; the time of the year when Nature's fecundity wanes; the trees loose their leaves and many growing things cast off their fruit, go to seed and die.  Autumn is thus an appropriate time to visit ruined places, meditate on their presence, and contemplate our own mortality as the season turns down the Wheel of the Year toward Winter.

Dancing at Lughnassadh

Posted: 08/02/2009

There is music in the seasons, and there is a music in us that animates us and keeps us awakened to pssibilities.  Lughnassadh -- one of the old Celtic cross-quarter festivals (opposite Bridgetmas and crossed from Beltaine and Samhain in the Wheel of the Year) -- is a time to celebrate life in music and dance; thus bringing the music that animates the universe to manifest expression. Lugh -- an ancient Celtic god -- was a polymath and an omnicraefty character who gained entrance to the fellowship of the gods & goddesses -- known as the Tuatha de Danaan -- by being a master of many things, not just a master of one thing. He was a latecomer to the Celtic myths and was a magician and the god of both manual and artistic caefts. He is said to have introduced several agricultural innovations into Irish society, including the plow. This connection to agriculture testifies to the lateness of his admission to the house of the gods & goddess,as the Celts in Ireland and all across Europe had long lived the life of pastoral nomads, and only settled down to till the land late in their history.  Lugh is the male counterpart of Brighid, who is also a multitalented deity; being primarily the Mistress of Poetry, Music and Dance.  Lugh wanders the Earth at this festival named after him, looking to make craefty any mortals who are willing to discipline themselves and dedicate themselves to excellence, beauty and vision. As I come around to this turnstile of the earthen year, I find the touchstones of transcendence in music and dance.  The fervor of High Summer is passing, and in its wake I quiet down, revel more solemnly, and inevitably turn to more reflective music.  At Lughnassadh I shift toward folk, bluegrass, Celtic and any other music that has that sense of "faery melancholy" -- what is called the "High Lonesome Sound" in American music -- that reflects the irony of the Season; that although the days are still hot and humid and the woods and fields are green, the nights have begun to grow longer, the fruit on the trees and the vegetables in the garden have begun to ripen and even go past ripeness, and in the woods you will occasionally see that odd red leaf on the ground, prophesying Autumn! As we turn down the darkening side of the Wheel of the Year, I yearn for moments of transcendence, and nothing prepares me for this like music with the temperament of the melancholy.  Melancholy, properly understood, is not synonymous with 'depression' or even with mere sadness; it is that certain awareness of our own mortality tempered by the love of life.   Along with the music comes the desire to dance; to move -- to swing and sway and make my way round and round the meditation circle, moving to the rhythm of the music and hearing -- in my own being in becoming -- the affirmation of life that transcends the coming of the dark; the dying down of life in the Autumn; the end that we all must inevitably face.  To dance is to seek to fly; to move and churn and wave the arms and sing a song_ Lughnassadh as a time of dance and song can be a potent moment in the Wheel of the Year when our love of life faces our mortality -- which is what is intimated in our awareness of the dimming of the Summerwood days -- and accepts it.  Everything dies.  But first_ everything lives!  And in the maturation of life comes the harvest of all that we have worked for and striven for and danced to receive!  This is the gist of Lughnassadh for me.

Caves and the Spiritual Journey

Posted: 06/01/2009

Caves have long been a theme in human spiritualities.  Almost any tradition you look at will have some mention of caves and the role they play in personal transformation and spiritual self-realization.  In the traditions of the West, caves have been used by spiritual communities and individual seekers since the Paleolithic (between 40,000 and 11,000 BCE).  Some of the earliest members of our species to venture into Europe, used caves for what appear to be rituals pertaining to hunting, initiation and spiritual rebirth.  As some of the first known examples of human art are preserved in these same caves, questions about the origins of art have long been tied up with questions about human ritual and religion (if you would like to explore these caves and their art, see Randall White's Prehistoric Art: The Symbolic Journey of Humankind, 2003). In historic times, the ancient Celts -- both Pagan and Christian -- were wont to use caves as places of meditation and mystical transformation.  One cave -- on an island in the middle of a lake in Ireland -- called Saint Patrick's Purgatory -- has evidence in it of pre-Christian as well as Christian use (see Nigel Pennick's Celtic Sacred Landscapes, 1996, p 124 for one discussion).  Since the Middle Ages it has been used as a place of retreat and as a destination for pilgrims.  Individuals and sometimes groups on a spiritual quest would go into the cave at dusk and remain there overnight.   Many came out in the morning having dreamt dreams or seen visions or -- if things didn't go as well -- being more or less on the mad side of sanity. Later, Saint Francis of Assisi went into a cave to pray and center himself after he had 'left the world' and decided to follow Christ as His Vagabond.  There he had divinely gifted dreams and experienced the presence of his God in prayer.  After his cave experience he went out and began his ministry, but he returned periodically to the cave for personal refreshment and spiritual succor.  Many people before and since the time of Francis have found such nurture in caves. It would take a book to detail all of the historic and prehistoric examples exemplifying the role of caves in the lives of mystics, questers, saints and pilgrims.  I chose these three simply to illustrate the point that caves have been experienced as powerful places, where the person venturing into them is likely to have experiences that transform them, and where they have found the strength which then enabled them to help transform the world in which they found themselves. Caves have been symbolic of many things in human spiritualities.  The air that moves in and out of some caves has been thought of as the 'breath' of the earth; whether the earth was understood as divine (i.e., as the Goddess) or as the creation of some God.  Caves have about them an aura of mystery, owing to the fact of the human aversion to being in total darkness.  They have been places where dreams and visions have transpired, and where strange beings, whether natural or supernatural, human or not, may be encountered.  This experience may be grounded in the fact that light deprivation affects us in very specific ways.  After being in total darkness for more than an hour, for instance, a sense of disorientation will set in, making it difficult for you to find your way around.  More severe forms of disorientation may transpire the longer you are immersed in total darkness, and most of the lore about visions and the experience of monsters, saints and demons in caves may stem from this very basic biological response to light deprivation. Caves have been symboled as "the womb of the divine" out of which a person entering into them can emerge 'reborn.'  To go into a cave is seen in various spiritual traditions as analogous to dying.  Re-emerging is seen as rebirth.  Caves have also been used as metaphors for solitude, as in "the Cave of the Heart," -- a monastic metaphor that alludes to the solitude the monk is seeking in their own "heart," the deep root or the "center" of their being.  At first, the mystic goes into an actual cave to find solitude (as Saint Francis did).  Later on, the mystic goes into themselves and finds the solitude they once experienced in the cave. Today, caves still play a role in human spirituality and mysticism.  As symbols they may guide us in our quest for solitude; that place of quiet wherein our 'soul' can be restored; our full 'powers' returning to refresh us.  As metaphorical of the existential 'center' of the person, the image of the cave may help to provide us with a deep mooring in our own becoming, bringing clarity to the mind and the heart.  Dwelling in this 'center' may lead to thresholds of self-transformation necessary to make possible a new stage in our life's journey. The experience of actually going into caves is still attractive to many people today, and this is just as true for secular people as it is for those of a more traditional 'religious' inclination.  Organizations of Cavers exist almost anywhere in the world where there are caves to explore.  These organizations are devoted to mapping, studying and preserving caves.  They study the caves scientifically and experience them for various reasons, most having to do with personal edification, stemming from the adventure involved in caving as well as the wonder and awe experienced in caves. Going into caves today requires a knowledge of the often fragile ecosystems that caves represent, coupled with an understanding of how to venture into them without causing damage.  Any human intrusion into a cave brings with it consequences, but there are more and less contaminating ways of exploring caves.  It is the spiritual duty of those who explore caves today to go in and return in such a way as to leave the cave in as unmolested a state as possible. If you want to have an experience of being in a cave, try visiting one or more of the commercial caves that are open to the public, such as Mammoth Cave in Kentucky http://www.mammothcave.com/ or Indian Echo Caverns http://www.indianechocaverns.com/ in eastern Pennsylvania.  Commercial caves allow people without training as cavers to go underground and experience the beauty and strangeness of caves.  Make an attempt to understand the geology of the cave you visit; how old the rocks are out of which the cave has been sculpted, how long ago the cave began to form, how old the various formations -- stalactites, stalagmites, soda straws, 'cave bacon,' and etc. -- are, and how they formed.  Find out what animals -- if any -- live in the cave (bats are a common resident in caves; their populations now being under threat from a 'condition' known as "White Nose Syndrome").   Once you have prepared for the journey and taken the tour, you can use the experience in meditation as a source of images and bodily sensations to guide your own cave meditations. When I first started getting into geology and going to commercial caves, I had the good fortune to be on a tour where, to give us the sensation of total darkness, the tour guides turned all of the lights off for a short time.  Though it only lasted a few minutes, and though we knew the lights would soon come back on, the experience was eerie and had the effect of heightening my senses.  When the lights came back on, my shoulders were tingling, and I knew I had tasted of what it might have been like for Francis or Patrick or the cave painters of the Paleolithic to be in total darkness, ether simply communing with it or else on a spiritual quest. Whether or not you can have the experience of actually being in a cave, if you are seeking for spiritual renewal or insight, or else yearning for silence and solitude, making a study of caves and then using the imagery of caves in meditation can be a boon.  In WellSprings of the Deer (2002) I made reference to caves as one possible destination for a pilgrimage or quest; and such a cave can be either imagined or actually existing.  If you are drawn to the idea of caves, following the lead of this desire may bring you to a rewarding place.

Heart & Hearth: The domestic side of spirituality explored

Posted: 05/01/2009

"What does it mean to have a home?"    This is a question that has occupied me for a good thirty years.  I have some inkling as to where the question came from (for me, personally), but it first evolved into a literary & philosophical question in the early 1980's as I came into my own as a thinker and writer, exploring the diverse ways in which people live and dwell and make themselves 'at home' (or not) in the places where they live life. The question of home; what a home 'is,' why we value it, what happens when we lose it and what it might take to reclaim it -- I consider to be deeply spiritual themes, as they impact how we live our lives.  'Home' is a deeply rooted concept in our species' spiritual and literary repertoire; one about which a wide array of questions have been posed, and into which many explorations and considerations; literary, religious, poetic, and philosophical--have been undertaken. My fifth book: Heart & Hearth: Poetic Explorations of Authentic Human Dwelling in Earth & Spirit (2009) takes up this questioning in fiction; attempting to grapple with it in terms of the history of the Whittiers; a fictional family living in Ross County, PA.  The Whittiers first emerged in my poetic imagination in the early 1980's as I tried to work out a way of celebrating the Winter Solstice Season via what I called "The Thirteen Dayes of Yule."  While this calendar has Pagan roots and sources, in the early 80's I translated it into a more or less secular domestic setting; one in which I could play with all of my own best experiences of 'Christmas' and also get to the philosophical taproot of what makes the Winter Solstice Season of such interest to so many people.  The concepts of "HEART" and "HEARTH" both emerged as potent philosophical ideas for me in context with my early strivings with the Whittiers and their keeping of the Thirteen Dayes of Yule. Over time, as I fleshed out the history of the Whittiers, I delved ever-further into questions about the actual nature of 'home,' using the Whittiers and their life-together as a template.  The history of the family -- as I had imagined it -- turned out to be very appropriate for this purpose, as the Whittiers had established a home (in 1895), lost a home (in a fire in 1949), and then re-established a new home (in 1980), forging via their experiences a life-philosophy that was both earthy and progressive.  Hearth & Hearth (2009) reflects on this history of home first via stories told about visits by various people to the old burned out Whittier House as it stood, abandoned, on Deer Hill prior to 1979.  The text then moves on and presents stories and poems that reflect iconic experiences that defined the spirit of the family before 1949; before the fire that destroyed the first Whittier House.  These are brought forth as the memories of family members, recorded by Robert Werner; a poet who spent his boyhood on Deer Hill, and Geoffrey Whittier, an historian and writer.  Finally, the reader is presented various images and stories of how the Whittiers were living on Deer Hill by the end of the 1990's, "dwelling together in Earth & Spirit" as they would call it. At the center of Hearth & Hearth is a story called "The Legend of Saint Nicholas and the Elves," which the reader is told has been passed down through six Whittier generations; and now told and retold annually around the hearths every year in the different houses on Deer Hill at the threshold of the Yule.  The placement of the story in Heart & Hearth is meant to suggest that Yule and the keeping of the Thirteen Dayes are central to what it means to the Whittiers and their friends to "dwell together" in a genuine way; i.e., "to have a home" and to be living life to the fullest. Good fiction should play out questions that we all need to ask and reflect on, spiritually and philosophically, socially and personally.  It is up to readers to then apply what they have learned from the stories they have read and experienced, with the hope of living better as a result.  I offer Heart & Hearth (2009) to you as a way of stimulating this kind of questioning, hoping to engender reflections on what it means to have a 'home' (or not) and how best to dwell together with our neighbors and friends as well as our families.

Spirituality and Self-Transcendence

Posted: 02/01/2009

This afternoon a friend and I decorated the mantle above the hearth with twisting Forsythia branches and candles in yellow and purple votive glasses.  It is the ancient festival of Imbolg, and tomorrow is Bridgetmas; sometimes called "the festival of lights."  The yellow is for the Sun; the naturalistic 'power' of which is waxing at the beginning of February.  Purple has sometimes symbolized 'royalty,' yet it has also long stood for penance and self-denial; two key themes in the quest for personal transformation in many spiritual traditions.  At this time of year the 'penance' and 'self-denial' that we are experiencing has to do with the fact that over half the winter still lies before us--with all of the  little restrictions and deprivations that that entails.  Yet the days are growing longer, bringing hope that Spring is coming. On Bridgetmas, the ancient Celts would have lit a  fire -- either in a cauldron or in a hearth -- called "imbas forasnai," -- the "fire of illumination."  This fire was kindled with nine sacred woods and was stoked and kept burning for three consecutive nights (31 January - 2 February) in honor of the Goddess Brigid (later Saint Bridget), Mistress of Craeft, Poetry and Intellectual Studies.  The goddess is portrayed in myths tending a cauldron that has brewing in it an elixir of enlightenment.  Her saintly successor (whom many say was just the goddess in Christian disguise) likewise tended a large cauldron, out of which she fed the poor and healed the sick.  Today we light candles on the meditation table and immerse ourselves in their light, seeking re-awakening. Imbas forasnai—the "fire of illumination"—symbolizes  the enlightenment we all seek.  As human animals we strive to reach out and beyond ourselves -- at least when we are 'awake' -- hoping to encounter the 'more' that we all seem to 'know' is there; whatever name we call it by.  Enlightenment is one name for an experience of self-transcendence; that sudden movement beyond or outside ourselves that facilitates the growth of insight, self-knowledge and ultimately transformation.  Enlightenment, as a state that is hard to attain and easy to lose or undermine, is the goal in many mystical traditions, even Pagan ones.  Bridget would let worthy seekers taste the elixor in her cauldron, and they would suddenly be 'filled with light' or have 'a fire in the head' ignited inside their skulls.  Such moments of being 'out of ourselves' are common to our species, and are endemic to the spiritual quest across cultural bounds. Though a spiritually disciplined person can experience a moment of self-transcendence any time, anywhere; this kind of experience is more readily available at 'sacred times' of the year.  Sitting in the place where the candles are burning on Imbolg and meditating on their light and warmth, with the flames moving and lisping before our eyes, casting shadows hither and thither, you may be moved to the threshold of that 'auto-hypnosis' which brings on what mystics have called "rapture," or even "ecstasy."  Both of these experiences are types of self-transcendence and are the 'way' toward enlightenment.  They move us out of the ordinary and into an extraordinary state.  This experience never requires drugs;  rather, it is a natural fruit of spiritual discipline, devotedly practiced, and a response to certain stimuli, which mystics have long known how to utilize to bring on the right state. Transcendence is a primal urge in our species.  Much of what religions down over the millennia have been aiming at has to do with individuals and communities seeking and self-transcendence, and then being transformed by the experience.  This is what the Mystery Cults in the Mediterranean world were seeking two-thousand years ago, and it is what mediaeval monks were seeking in their rigorous acts of self-denial and in the practices of prayer and meditation.  It is also present in Neo-Paganism; the state that is sought in chanting and dancing in the circle, the heightened awareness that comes from working magical invocations and the meditative focus that comes from putting together sachets and making amulets -- all of these activities can feed into the experience of self-trascendence. The reason that self-transcendence is such a universal theme in religion and spirituality is that it is a 'natural' experience; it is something we are capable of because of how our brians evolved and how our minds are structured as a result.  The monastic experience of 'contemplation' -- which arises after much disciplined practice at prayer and worship -- is one of moving 'out of oneself' and into a divine realm or presence.  The experience of being 'out of body' in Neo-Pagan and occult spiritualities -- i.e., "astral travel" -- is also an expression of the urge to self-transcendence. On Bridgetmas, meditate on the Fire Goddess; the saint who healed with fire, and seek the experience of the mystics who have gone to the trailheads of out-of-self experiences and come back, full of inspired imaginations and  transformed motivations.  Let Bridget be your guide as we weather out the rest of winter; follow her into the waxing vernal light.  This festival, also called "Candlemas" in the Catholic liturgical calendar (yes, there is a remnant of the ancirent mysticism of Imbolg there, too) -- is a time to re-en-fire yourself for the journey ahead.  Strip down; let go of excess baggage--and prepare to walk the rest of the way through winter, seeking the joy-from-within that comes from allowing Nature to be what it is and learning to live with the season as it is.  Dwell where you are.  Spring will come; but the task right now is to find something in this season of physical restriction and little deprivations to enjoy.  So mote it be. Blessed be!

Silence & Solitude: A Meditation

Posted: 12/21/2008

It is the Winter Solstice, and all is quiet.  The night is portending a storm, and as usual on this earthen tine of the year, I find myself seated across the room from our Yule tree; on which the lights are dancing, making patterns on the walls and ceiling in the otherwise dark room.  Loreena McKennitt's new Wintertide CD is playing softly in the back room, inspiring me to depth-meditations and vivid imaginings of the mysteries of the Season. Poetically, I invoke the four Sídhe; Falias—Gorias—Finias—Murias (Celtic names for the North, East, South, West) and then sit in the circle of myself, centered and open to the mystery of the universe.  I meditate.  I chant words of power and inspiration as they come to me--awaiting the turning of the tides as the night passes; after which the days will start to get longer again, and the nights will wane shorter. Winter Solstice.  This is, for me, perhaps the most 'sacred' night of the year.  It is the end and the beginning.  For almost forty years I have experienced the year metaphorically as 'being born' on the morning after Solstice Night and then 'dying' at the next Winter's Solstice.  This is the longest night of the year.  On this night I stop; I look forward to passing this night in quiet solitude, always trying to plan my schedule to make this possible.  I relish whatever silence I can cull out of a busy schedule.  As it is the 'holiday' season and the 'last minute' people are getting into full swing, I avoid stores and malls and look for a place to sit and meditate, where I can be alone with the Alone. We need to relearn Silence and Solitude; as individuals and as a culture. Silence & Solitude are the two basic disciplines of the Second Way; as outlined in my book, WellSprings of the Deer (2002).  I have oft urged that the Winter Solstice Season is an iconic time for learning these twin disciplines.  As the people at Ravenswood were doing in my story, "A Solstice for the Deer" in Tales from the Seasons (2008), I am sitting here listening to the night, reflecting on all of the symbols I relish of the Winter Solstice Season; allowing my imagination to roam when inspired--returning always to the Hearth at my Heart.  It is a haunted night; it is an enchanting time to be 'awake' (i.e., waeccan) in the Earth & Spirit. I have taught the disciplines of Silence & Solitude while sitting in the dark near the Yule Tree, as midnight approached on each of the days leading up to and then away from the Winter Solstice, and found my students rewarded with the kind of personal revelations that can arise only when we quiet ourselves enough to listen to ourselves and the cosmos. And what have I learned from this pedagogy? I have learned that we Americans don't know what Solitude is, or how to embrace Silence in positive ways.  All too often when teaching these disciplines, students revolt--if not consciously, then subconsciously.  A barrier goes up in their Heart against centering and quieting down.  They have to leave a session we are doing on solitude, to go do something with friends, or to see if their significant other has been trying to call them.  While these are the more overt reactions I have witnessed, they say something about our culture, and what we are taught to appreciate, but also what we are taught to loathe. A student once told me that "to be quiet is to be unpopular."  He said this with an unnerving embarrassment, as he already saw it to be a lie.  Yet he knew he once believed it.  Another told me that those who like to be alone were shunned (and I suspect feared) in his high school--because "no one in their right mind wants to be alone." But this only tells us how far we are from a centered existence; which is the foundation of a genuine spiritual depth.  It is only once the constant chatter and the unending desire to be always doing something abate that we can really begin to hear ourselves think; and then begin to discover our truest selves.  There used to be an expression, "It's so noisy I can't hear myself think."  I would argue that today our whole society is immersed in such a blanket of background noise that it's a wonder anyone can think at all! We need more Silence and Solitude in our culture; and especially at this time of the year.  The symbols and rituals associated with the Yule* help people to experience a 'quieting down' as the days grow shorter and we are left without as much light.  Yet our culture has turned this time of the year into the most active, frenetic and indeed frantic debacles in our annual round of 'holidays.'  Whereas our culture would have us running ourselves ragged in the great 'potlatch' of 'Christmas' gift-giving, a more earthen spirituality urges us to attune ourselves to the dimming down of the world as the Yule passes.  It says, "Relax, grow quieter; enjoy the darkness and reap the rewards of embracing Silence & Solitude." ... The music has gone off.  It is after midnight, and I am sitting alone in the room with the Yule Tree.  It is so quiet that I imagine I can almost 'hear' the little LED lights on the tree blinking on and off; on and off.  A soft wind rustles leaves and rushes around the house.  I feel the significance of the Yule and Winter's Solstice as both a naturalistic and as a mystical event.  All of my exhaustion and tension have been washed out of me by the quiet vigil I have kept for these last two hours.  In the depths of Silence & Solitude are to be found the seeds of self-transcendence and self-realization.  I will soon go up to bed, and in the morning_ a new year will have begun.  So mote it be. * These are discussed detail and at length in my book The Fires of Yule (AuthorHouse, 2001)