Saturday, 16 March 2013
Hopefully the last hard frost of the year...
Friday, 15 March 2013
Addressing the Mis-Representation of the Divine Feminine
As I write this, we are approaching the Spring Equinox.
Alban Eilir.
The balancing point of light and dark.
The gateway from the dark half of the year to the light half of the year.
The time of the maiden, as she walks amongst us, giving us seeds and turning the land to green again.
I invite you now, to spend a minute or two thinking about how the divine feminine is represented through our rituals following the wheel of the year.
I've spent time thinking about this, and I've found my inspiration coming thick and strong from a source I had not considered before, and as I've delved deeper and deeper into it, the inspiration gets stronger and stronger, to the point where I can see it in the land around me and in the cold wind that swirls the newly falling snow around me.
You know, we have this every year, the transition from the dark half of the year into the light half. From winter into summer. We like to think of it as the days getting longer, the earth warming up, life slowly coming back. You know, gradual and gentle. But it isnt like that. Each year we have an 'unexpected' cold snap. Spring seems to start and then we lurch right back into winter again. I'm telling you -its a battle!
In the 1800's before the Mabinogion was collected together and published, just in the footnotes, Lady Charlotte Guest wrote something about the Battle of Achren. And then it disappears.
It appears again and is expanded by Robert Graves in his book 'The White Goddess'.
So heres the jist of it. On one level, the Battle of Achren is a battle between the underworld and middle world. Between dark and light. On another level it is a battle between the old gods and the new gods. On another level it is a battle between trees - with Alder on one side and Ash on the other. On another level it is the battle between winter and summer, reaching its bloodiest at the equinox.
Alder on one side, Ash on the other. The annoying thing here is that I want to quote something but I cant find it anywhere. According to the internet, Alder and Ash feature in Scandinavian creation myths, where the first man and woman are made each out of one of the woods, different sources give a different tree for each sex and I couldnt find the actual myth, just references to it, but if we take this into account, it also represents a battle between masculine on one side and feminine on the other.
Alban Eilir.
The balancing point of light and dark.
The gateway from the dark half of the year to the light half of the year.
The time of the maiden, as she walks amongst us, giving us seeds and turning the land to green again.
I invite you now, to spend a minute or two thinking about how the divine feminine is represented through our rituals following the wheel of the year.
I've spent time thinking about this, and I've found my inspiration coming thick and strong from a source I had not considered before, and as I've delved deeper and deeper into it, the inspiration gets stronger and stronger, to the point where I can see it in the land around me and in the cold wind that swirls the newly falling snow around me.
You know, we have this every year, the transition from the dark half of the year into the light half. From winter into summer. We like to think of it as the days getting longer, the earth warming up, life slowly coming back. You know, gradual and gentle. But it isnt like that. Each year we have an 'unexpected' cold snap. Spring seems to start and then we lurch right back into winter again. I'm telling you -its a battle!
In the 1800's before the Mabinogion was collected together and published, just in the footnotes, Lady Charlotte Guest wrote something about the Battle of Achren. And then it disappears.
It appears again and is expanded by Robert Graves in his book 'The White Goddess'.
So heres the jist of it. On one level, the Battle of Achren is a battle between the underworld and middle world. Between dark and light. On another level it is a battle between the old gods and the new gods. On another level it is a battle between trees - with Alder on one side and Ash on the other. On another level it is the battle between winter and summer, reaching its bloodiest at the equinox.
Alder on one side, Ash on the other. The annoying thing here is that I want to quote something but I cant find it anywhere. According to the internet, Alder and Ash feature in Scandinavian creation myths, where the first man and woman are made each out of one of the woods, different sources give a different tree for each sex and I couldnt find the actual myth, just references to it, but if we take this into account, it also represents a battle between masculine on one side and feminine on the other.
Robert Graves says about the battle of Achren – “In ancient
times, to know the names of the enemies gods was to be able to summon them and
fight a battle of a different kind. In the battle of Achren, there was a man on
one side and a woman on the other, who unless their names were known, could not
be overcome”
Two old men meet for a game of wits, their movements mirror those of gods, each trying to outwit the other, playing a guessing game, they are directing an ethereal battle which affects us all on here. Each knows that the other has a piece of vital information that must be guessed, and once it is revealed it will allow the leader of a mighty army to deliver the fatal massive blow that will end the battle.
And here we all are with this bloody battle going on around us - dark/winter pitched against light/summer. One side gains the advantage, and then it swings the other way. Sunshine and birdsong one day, snow, sleet and biting wind the next. This is real. This is how it is.
As the days get longer the intensity of the battle increases. Winter knows it is losing ground, so it throws as much as it can against the oncoming Summer. One by one its warriors fall, their blood soaking into the ground. Losses are equally as heavy on the light side too, they are fighting with all they have, neither side will give in until they are down to their last man. Or woman.
Each side has one fierce warrior who cannot be defeated. They fight the hardest and the longest, and they show no mercy. On one side is a man, on the other a woman. Alder and Ash. They only have one weak point - their name, which is kept secret. Until their name is guessed, they are unbeatable and they battle on and on as their comrades lie bloody and dead or injured around them,
Alder holds the land of the dead, As his warriors fall and are trampled as a bloody mass into the ground, their numbers decrease, but there is no giving in, and he summons more to rise and fight, calling up the dead and demons to come and hold their ground.
Ash holds the land of the living. As her warriors fall and lie dying she knows she cannot give in. Behind her the land is alive, there are uncountable births and beginnings waiting on her success. Each of her fallen warriors will be replaced by a new, fresh life, they all depend on her to carry on fighting, never falling, even as she stumbles she will fight on to defend them and gain ground for them, spitting the blood from her mouth to scream into the face of winter and thrust forward with her sword, hacking her way through the demons that seem to pour down upon her.
And it is from there that she gathers her strength, she has the energy of life to move her forward, and however hard the battle, however many blows she takes to her body she will not be defeated, as she sees the demons rise up before her, she knows that they are the last line of defence, winter is still fighting, but it is on its knees.
Alder is in full bloom, his catkins blowing yellow pollen through the air, making Her cough and choke. As she wipes the blood and spittle from her mouth and strives forward to square up to her unbeatable foe, she snatches a sideways glance to the ash buds, poised black and heavy waiting to burst. As the two warriors meet, each rains massive blows down upon the other, it is now a duel, a fight to the death, each waiting for that moment of weakness to occour.....
Between blows there is a brief pause as each sucks in air, their lungs screaming for oxygen, there is a moment of clarity, when they look each other in the eye, and the words come -
"Sure hoofed is my steed, Impelled by the spur.
The high sprigs of Alder are on thy shield
Bran art thou called, of the glittering branches.
Sure hoofed is my steed in the day of battle
The high sprigs of Alder are in thy hand
Bran thou art, by the branch thou bearest
Amatheon, the good, has prevailed."
And thus it is, the tips of beech sprout anew, green again whatever grew... A warrior finally falls defeated, the black buds of ash finally burst and the battle of Achren is over. Spring comes into bloom.
So. bear this in mind in your rituals, as you picture a young maiden in a white dress skipping through fields with flowers sprouting from the hems of her skirt... life isn't like that. Nature isn't like that.
When are scraping the last late frost from your car windscreen one morning, when you look at your garden and find that it has killed off the flowers you planted last weekend when it was sunny and warm, when the emerging potato plants have had their leaves burned on the allotment because you didn't think to cover them over with fleece, and the birds are gathered round the feeders which has suddenly gone empty as their natural food is frozen... spare a thought for the spring maiden, clad in armour and fighting her way through winters grip. She's stumbled, not defeated, but winter hasn't quite lost its grip yet. She's not just some passive pretty thing responding to her lovers touch. Yes she is that - but she so much more besides.
This image of a goddess bringing eggs and flowers and bunnies into the land seemingly because everything about her is so beautiful, when taken to an extreme, can be dis-respectful to the picture of womanhood in general, and it is in the wider world that we should be taking our inspiration for the divine as it manifests itself in the here-and-now. We go on about basing our stuff on Celtic culture, back then we know that women were equally warriors and fought alongside men. Women today in the west have equality, but this has been hard won and fought for. Women have put their lives on the line to bring about equality. And in other parts of the world, this simply does not exist and women have had their voices taken away.
Sometimes we can make her image a bit too passive and accepting of all that the male aspect brings. It is like she lies there sleeping while the sun warms everything up and then she wakes up and thinks "Oh this is nice, I'll just add some flowers to brighten the place up..."
You know... She, and women, have a hand in creating and manifesting the world around us all. And creating a better world to live in isn't always easy or pretty.
This image of a goddess bringing eggs and flowers and bunnies into the land seemingly because everything about her is so beautiful, when taken to an extreme, can be dis-respectful to the picture of womanhood in general, and it is in the wider world that we should be taking our inspiration for the divine as it manifests itself in the here-and-now. We go on about basing our stuff on Celtic culture, back then we know that women were equally warriors and fought alongside men. Women today in the west have equality, but this has been hard won and fought for. Women have put their lives on the line to bring about equality. And in other parts of the world, this simply does not exist and women have had their voices taken away.
Sometimes we can make her image a bit too passive and accepting of all that the male aspect brings. It is like she lies there sleeping while the sun warms everything up and then she wakes up and thinks "Oh this is nice, I'll just add some flowers to brighten the place up..."
You know... She, and women, have a hand in creating and manifesting the world around us all. And creating a better world to live in isn't always easy or pretty.
Saturday, 2 February 2013
The first Signs of Spring
Its February 2nd.
'Officially', Imbolc was yesterday. Our grove ceremony is tomorrow. Today, it just felt like it.
The dogs needed walking, and I remembered that I did a particular walk last year, which set off a years worth of work for me, so I decided it would be good to do the same walk again today, to seal it off.
To start the day though, with the sun pouring through the windows, I grabbed a pair of clapsticks that I have made - ash ones seemed right, and I sang to the sun in the living-room, the room where it gets the most sun and it warms up the whole room.
When we were ready for our walk, I was assuming we'd be about 2.5 - 3 hours so we all set off, the 2 dogs and I, looking for signs that Imbolc was truly here, now, on this day.
Snowdrops -tick
Warm Sunshine -tick
Cold Wind - tick
Frost and Ice - tick
No lambs to be seen. I know they have been born, from the farmer in the next village, but they are still in the lambing sheds at the moment, not in the fields. However, as we went along the bridle path that cuts through the zoo, I did see baby capybara and a baby elephant :-)
Along the canal to the reed beds. I had done some shamanic work here at samhain with the reeds, and they had asked me to make a dream-catcher and hang it in the branch of a tree overhanging the bed, which is what I had done. As I was passing I thought it would be good to see if it was still there - but Alas! the tree, one of a row of trees, just that one - has been chopped down and was lying in pieces at the side of the reed bed. I did have a good look for the dream-catcher, but I couldn't find it.
At first I was concerned that the singular tree that I had hung it in had been cut down, but sitting there for a while, I thought, well, I made it at the request if spirit, and spirit guided me to that particular tree. If it had been earmarked for felling, just maybe, my dream-catcher was there for a reason, to serve some function for the tree awaiting its fate. I don't know. But thinking that it was chopped down because there was a dream-catcher in it is a bit far fetched.
Anyway, I sat there with the reeds, and cut some of them to make into a Brigid's cross. The vertical standing reeds were too dry and snapped rather than bending, I was expecting this, and thought I might have to take them home and soak them first to make them supple, before realising that the base of the reed bed is fallen reed stems laying in water already, so I used those ones instead. 16 pieces of reed for each cross, stripped and cut and laid out on the canal towpath. A few people passed me and said nothing.
One old man passed just as I had finished it and was hanging it on a twig while I cleared up. From his voice, he sounded Polish, and he remarked on what I had made, and asked what it was, and I said it was to celebrate the first signs of Spring..
"oh its not Spring yet though..." - No, but its the first signs of life, the lambs and the bulbs coming up..
"Ah I understand", he said, and then went on to tell me about making christmas decorations and chandeliers to hang candles from, out of wheat straw, we spent a good while talking, and he used more reeds to demonstrate how to make the things he had made as a child, and there was lots of smiling and laughter, before he went off on his way.
I wanted to make another cross, so I went a bit further along and made a second one. This time another old man stopped and asked what I was doing.
"Is it for EVIL purposes?" he demanded...
...Err... no, its for SAINT Brigid, I replied.
"Oh, ok. What does it mean?" - So I said again about the first signs of spring.
"But its not Spring yet" - So again, I repeated about the first signs that it is on its way, the lambs and the bulbs emerging.
"Well, I'm not arguing with you, you obviously think you know better" - Oh ok :-/
And somehow this led into a longer conversation about life, allotments, the weather, litter, trees - everything was wrong of course, when I said it, even though he would in a couple of sentences time say the same thing that I had just said, but I took it in good humour and he walked a length of the canal with me, although I was laughing and talking with him, I was secretly hoping he wasn't going to walk the entire length with me, and sure enough, at the next bridge he left me, to go up the road, effing and blinding at some people who were fishing on the other side of the canal.
My fingers were cold carrying the 2 crosses, so I fashioned a long stick to carry them with for the next hour home... there's me walking along the canal tow path with a long stick and 2 straw crosses suspended from the end of it, I have to admit it did remind me somewhat of the Blair Witch Project, but none of the people I passed stopped to talk or ask what they were, and I was left in peace.
As I got to a particular stretch of the canal, I remembered that a year ago, I did this same walk, no crosses, but came away from the canal bearing the body of a dead dog that I had found, carrying death with me. I spent a year with the dog and then its bones, finishing the ritual off only 3 weeks ago. And last year had been a year of deaths in the family, just maybe that was the imbolc seed that foretold the coming year.
This year however, I have repeated the same journey and come away with life, confidence and laughter, and it felt really good to acknowledge this.
So I have 2 crosses, one will be for the sacred well where we are having our ceremony tomorrow. The other will hang on a shrine at home until later in the week, when I will give it to the River Dee. Finally, I hear her calling me, the Goddess of the river that flows through the town where I live.
'Officially', Imbolc was yesterday. Our grove ceremony is tomorrow. Today, it just felt like it.
The dogs needed walking, and I remembered that I did a particular walk last year, which set off a years worth of work for me, so I decided it would be good to do the same walk again today, to seal it off.
To start the day though, with the sun pouring through the windows, I grabbed a pair of clapsticks that I have made - ash ones seemed right, and I sang to the sun in the living-room, the room where it gets the most sun and it warms up the whole room.
When we were ready for our walk, I was assuming we'd be about 2.5 - 3 hours so we all set off, the 2 dogs and I, looking for signs that Imbolc was truly here, now, on this day.
Snowdrops -tick
Warm Sunshine -tick
Cold Wind - tick
Frost and Ice - tick
No lambs to be seen. I know they have been born, from the farmer in the next village, but they are still in the lambing sheds at the moment, not in the fields. However, as we went along the bridle path that cuts through the zoo, I did see baby capybara and a baby elephant :-)
Along the canal to the reed beds. I had done some shamanic work here at samhain with the reeds, and they had asked me to make a dream-catcher and hang it in the branch of a tree overhanging the bed, which is what I had done. As I was passing I thought it would be good to see if it was still there - but Alas! the tree, one of a row of trees, just that one - has been chopped down and was lying in pieces at the side of the reed bed. I did have a good look for the dream-catcher, but I couldn't find it.
Anyway, I sat there with the reeds, and cut some of them to make into a Brigid's cross. The vertical standing reeds were too dry and snapped rather than bending, I was expecting this, and thought I might have to take them home and soak them first to make them supple, before realising that the base of the reed bed is fallen reed stems laying in water already, so I used those ones instead. 16 pieces of reed for each cross, stripped and cut and laid out on the canal towpath. A few people passed me and said nothing.
One old man passed just as I had finished it and was hanging it on a twig while I cleared up. From his voice, he sounded Polish, and he remarked on what I had made, and asked what it was, and I said it was to celebrate the first signs of Spring..
"oh its not Spring yet though..." - No, but its the first signs of life, the lambs and the bulbs coming up..
"Ah I understand", he said, and then went on to tell me about making christmas decorations and chandeliers to hang candles from, out of wheat straw, we spent a good while talking, and he used more reeds to demonstrate how to make the things he had made as a child, and there was lots of smiling and laughter, before he went off on his way.
I wanted to make another cross, so I went a bit further along and made a second one. This time another old man stopped and asked what I was doing.
"Is it for EVIL purposes?" he demanded...
...Err... no, its for SAINT Brigid, I replied.
"Oh, ok. What does it mean?" - So I said again about the first signs of spring.
"But its not Spring yet" - So again, I repeated about the first signs that it is on its way, the lambs and the bulbs emerging.
"Well, I'm not arguing with you, you obviously think you know better" - Oh ok :-/
And somehow this led into a longer conversation about life, allotments, the weather, litter, trees - everything was wrong of course, when I said it, even though he would in a couple of sentences time say the same thing that I had just said, but I took it in good humour and he walked a length of the canal with me, although I was laughing and talking with him, I was secretly hoping he wasn't going to walk the entire length with me, and sure enough, at the next bridge he left me, to go up the road, effing and blinding at some people who were fishing on the other side of the canal.
My fingers were cold carrying the 2 crosses, so I fashioned a long stick to carry them with for the next hour home... there's me walking along the canal tow path with a long stick and 2 straw crosses suspended from the end of it, I have to admit it did remind me somewhat of the Blair Witch Project, but none of the people I passed stopped to talk or ask what they were, and I was left in peace.
As I got to a particular stretch of the canal, I remembered that a year ago, I did this same walk, no crosses, but came away from the canal bearing the body of a dead dog that I had found, carrying death with me. I spent a year with the dog and then its bones, finishing the ritual off only 3 weeks ago. And last year had been a year of deaths in the family, just maybe that was the imbolc seed that foretold the coming year.
This year however, I have repeated the same journey and come away with life, confidence and laughter, and it felt really good to acknowledge this.
So I have 2 crosses, one will be for the sacred well where we are having our ceremony tomorrow. The other will hang on a shrine at home until later in the week, when I will give it to the River Dee. Finally, I hear her calling me, the Goddess of the river that flows through the town where I live.
Friday, 11 January 2013
A simple, everyday spell
From time to time the subject of 'spells' comes up and gets discussed on the social media sites I am part of.
There is a meme going round facebook that says " WORDS cast spells, that's why it is called SPELLING. WORDS are energy, USE wisely"
It is also widely known that it has been recorded that the bards of old were able to write satires so powerful that they could bring kings to ruin, or could make their subject come out in boils.
This, to me, is a use of spells. And there are many different kinds of spells .
In books, I have often read the following, that a prayer is a kind of spell. A good wish, or something as simple as baking a cake, and as you are mixing the cake mix, imagining the end product being the best cake ever and sharing it with people who are going to eat it and enjoy it. Putting your words/thought/wishes into an action.
I also believe that the best form of spell is one that you just 'know' how to do, the simpler the better. And that the best form of defense can often be simply to return what comes your way back to its sender, so that the intent of it is either good or bad depending on the originator. And it is ALWAYS good practice to seek a mundane approach to the problem first.
A spell does not have to be something done in the dead of night with bats wings and a cauldron It can be a much more every-day affair.
So here is an example of something that you may or may not consider to be a spell, depending on the level of magic you see in the everyday world.
Now, I have accused nobody of anything other than writing my name. Whatever the original intent of that was, will be known by the perpetrators and their reaction will be in accordance. If it was 'just a laugh' then my response can be taken as 'just a laugh'. if it was more serious, then they know they've been rumbled.
Lots of people have seen this, and gossip will spread it further for me, so in future if my name is added to anything else, it will be assumed to be some kind of homophobic gesture. In theory I need do nothing more.
And I have completely removed myself from any spotlight of "gay shame" and thus removing an assumption that it can be exploited.
There is a meme going round facebook that says " WORDS cast spells, that's why it is called SPELLING. WORDS are energy, USE wisely"
It is also widely known that it has been recorded that the bards of old were able to write satires so powerful that they could bring kings to ruin, or could make their subject come out in boils.
This, to me, is a use of spells. And there are many different kinds of spells .
In books, I have often read the following, that a prayer is a kind of spell. A good wish, or something as simple as baking a cake, and as you are mixing the cake mix, imagining the end product being the best cake ever and sharing it with people who are going to eat it and enjoy it. Putting your words/thought/wishes into an action.
I also believe that the best form of spell is one that you just 'know' how to do, the simpler the better. And that the best form of defense can often be simply to return what comes your way back to its sender, so that the intent of it is either good or bad depending on the originator. And it is ALWAYS good practice to seek a mundane approach to the problem first.
A spell does not have to be something done in the dead of night with bats wings and a cauldron It can be a much more every-day affair.
So here is an example of something that you may or may not consider to be a spell, depending on the level of magic you see in the everyday world.
_________________________________
At work, we have a noticeboard that is used to inform us of just about anything. Any work related events that are going on, theatre trips, charity sports events etc are put up there for people to add their name to the list to say that they are going, and then the organiser knows what he or she is doing and can book the proper number of tickets etc if relevant.
Now, for a long time, and I suspect ever since there was a charity football match being organised, playing in tutus, my name gets added to every list that is put up asking for people to sign up. In the past I have crossed my name out, only to find it added again the next day, and the next.... so now I dont bother, and I just ignore it.
Now, for a long time, and I suspect ever since there was a charity football match being organised, playing in tutus, my name gets added to every list that is put up asking for people to sign up. In the past I have crossed my name out, only to find it added again the next day, and the next.... so now I dont bother, and I just ignore it.
This time, there was an advert calling for a darts team to play in a charity darts match, and as usual, my name was added, and I ignored it.
Until today.
When I started work, one of the guys came over laughing, asking if my name had been put on the list as a piss-take on my sexuality.
"What?"
So he asked me again, and I told him gay people can play darts, so I didnt get what he was on about.
So he had to explain it to me, that "playing darts" also means anal sex.
"What?"
The explanation, he tole me, along with gestures, is that a dart is a penis, and you have to try and aim it into the bullseye.
"What?"
...and so it went on, with me thinking this gets more pathetic every time he explains it.
Now this whole thing is just childish, and adding my name constantly to lists of event-goers does me no harm, but it must at some point piss off the people organising the event, who probably think I am wasting their time.
So, if I look at this magically, for want of another word, the power of their intent depends on me being quiet and embarrased or shown up, and them being able to snigger about me and anal sex behind my back. In reality all they have done is say that I want to play on a darts team.
So.. the best way to avoid this back-biting is to step out of that target zone they are relying on me staying in, and to send their energy back to them.
I do not accept this as a homophobic incident. If I do, then I am taking on 'gay shame'. Simply calling me gay is not an insult or a title of shame that I have to run away from.
So, I choose a different path to send their energy back. Quite calmly, I write out a notice, and I pin it on the noticeboard, in front of the clocking-in machine, at eye level, so that everyone can see it. And I make sure it stays there, at least until I have left the building.
Within 10 minutes I am approached by someone in authority, asking if I knew who was adding my name, and if he ever finds out, they will face disciplinary charges as far as they can go. People stop their work and approach me to cheer me on and say well done.
Within 10 minutes I am approached by someone in authority, asking if I knew who was adding my name, and if he ever finds out, they will face disciplinary charges as far as they can go. People stop their work and approach me to cheer me on and say well done.
Words can be powerful things. Whoever has been adding my name to lists has been faced with this ..
Lots of people have seen this, and gossip will spread it further for me, so in future if my name is added to anything else, it will be assumed to be some kind of homophobic gesture. In theory I need do nothing more.
And I have completely removed myself from any spotlight of "gay shame" and thus removing an assumption that it can be exploited.
Wednesday, 9 January 2013
Sewing with the Ancestors
Its been a while since I blogged anything, its been quite a hectic year for me one way or another and so much has happened that I've though "I should write about this" but I just haven't had the time to do it, so I'm doing a little bit now just to catch up a little.
So, going back to November/December 2012, my creative output got steered into making things with fabric. As a Christmas present to my daughter and her fiance I decided to make a huge, lined fake fur throw/blanket. Now, I'm not a sewer by any means, so just taking this on was a big thing. I borrowed my daughters sewing machine and asked my ancestors for help.
I knew that on my fathers side of the family there was a line of dressmakers/tailors so it made perfect sense to make a shamanic journey into the underworld and ask if one of my ancestors could help me out. And that's what I did - I entered the underworld as I normally do, and explained what I wanted to make, and who it was for, and asked if there was a member of my family who would be willing to help me do this.
A young woman came forward, she wore a simple plain black dress with a white pinny type thing on top of it, with laced edges, she said her name was 'Liza and that she would help me. In return, she said that she had always liked shortbread and asked me to make some for her. Thats what I did, I had to look up a recipe, and it was pretty easy, so I made a batch, and I ate some, shared some, and I put some under the tree in the cul-de-sac outside.
Now the sewing. First with the machine... all went well to start off with. I kept contact with 'Liza while I was sewing and was going at a great speed until it all started to go wrong. The thread started snapping. The needle snapped.. then another. The fabric got too thick for the machine and jammed. More needles snapped. 'Liza, still keeping contact during this, was busy talking inside my head, telling me she wasn't used to using a machine, she always sewed by hand, she was trying to pick it up but it wasn't right. After a while she kind of sheepishly admitted that she wasnt a dressmaker, she was a general household help - she could sew, she could cook, she could mend things, lots of general things, but she wasnt a dressmaker or tailor.
I decided that the machine wasn't the way to finish this, so I opted out and decided to finish by hand. And you know what? It went like a dream. Me! Sewing up this huge lined throw by hand! At the end I thanked 'Liza for her help and packed the throw away.
Now, I knew that my father had researched his side of the family tree several years earlier, thats how I knew about the dressmakers and tailors in the family. And, since he had died some six months previous to this, I had the folder containing the family tree upstairs, under the ancestors altar. At the time of the original journey, I had toyed with the idea of looking up to see if there was an Elizabeth in there, but I had complete faith in the journeying, and in 'Liza, so I never did do that, it wasn't important.
NOW HERE IS THE COMPLETELY MIND BLOWING THING.
Its now January 2013 and this morning I thought I'd write this up, a short account of using my shamanism in everyday life. I thought... you know what, I will look up the family tree, and see where this Elizabeth is - and if she is or isn't there I will be honest about it - even if I didn't have her in my records, I still had faith in her, all it would prove was that she want in the records that I had.
So... 8.15am this morning, sitting on the bed in the temple room, I'm sat there with the family tree in front of me.
"Oh my god....OH. MY. GOD! OH MY GOD!!!!"
There on the papers in front of me, I find my (and I'm working this out now...) Great-Grandmothers sister - so that would make her my Great Aunt? ELIZA NEWPORT born in 1848 in Weston, Cheshire.
Eliza Newport! I had assumed that 'Liza was short for Elizabeth, and I had opened the tree looking for an Elizabeth. Her name actually was 'Liza!
Eliza Newport, from Weston, Cheshire. I had to google this to find out where it was - 50 minutes drive away. And, since my daughter had gone to university, 3 years ago, I have been driving through this village on my way to the motorway quite regularly in order to pick her up, visit or bring her home, with or without her in the car. No wonder it was Eliza who came forward to make the throw.
Eliza Newport From Weston. Born in 1848. I dont have a record of her occupation, but her parents were recorded as Agricultural Labourers, and her sister, my Great Grandmother, was a servant in a house in the nearby large village, Tattenhall, so it is at least likely that Eliza had been in service as well.
Oh My God! Not only Eliza , but there is also a geographical connection. The tailors and dressmakers are all from Dorset, and I've never been there!
I just want to run round and tell everyone about Eliza! :-)
So now, I'll end with a snap of my daughter's fiance, snuggled up under the throw that I made, with the help of Eliza Newport, my Great-Aunt. Its been great, sewing with the ancestors.
So, going back to November/December 2012, my creative output got steered into making things with fabric. As a Christmas present to my daughter and her fiance I decided to make a huge, lined fake fur throw/blanket. Now, I'm not a sewer by any means, so just taking this on was a big thing. I borrowed my daughters sewing machine and asked my ancestors for help.
I knew that on my fathers side of the family there was a line of dressmakers/tailors so it made perfect sense to make a shamanic journey into the underworld and ask if one of my ancestors could help me out. And that's what I did - I entered the underworld as I normally do, and explained what I wanted to make, and who it was for, and asked if there was a member of my family who would be willing to help me do this.
A young woman came forward, she wore a simple plain black dress with a white pinny type thing on top of it, with laced edges, she said her name was 'Liza and that she would help me. In return, she said that she had always liked shortbread and asked me to make some for her. Thats what I did, I had to look up a recipe, and it was pretty easy, so I made a batch, and I ate some, shared some, and I put some under the tree in the cul-de-sac outside.
Now the sewing. First with the machine... all went well to start off with. I kept contact with 'Liza while I was sewing and was going at a great speed until it all started to go wrong. The thread started snapping. The needle snapped.. then another. The fabric got too thick for the machine and jammed. More needles snapped. 'Liza, still keeping contact during this, was busy talking inside my head, telling me she wasn't used to using a machine, she always sewed by hand, she was trying to pick it up but it wasn't right. After a while she kind of sheepishly admitted that she wasnt a dressmaker, she was a general household help - she could sew, she could cook, she could mend things, lots of general things, but she wasnt a dressmaker or tailor.
I decided that the machine wasn't the way to finish this, so I opted out and decided to finish by hand. And you know what? It went like a dream. Me! Sewing up this huge lined throw by hand! At the end I thanked 'Liza for her help and packed the throw away.
Now, I knew that my father had researched his side of the family tree several years earlier, thats how I knew about the dressmakers and tailors in the family. And, since he had died some six months previous to this, I had the folder containing the family tree upstairs, under the ancestors altar. At the time of the original journey, I had toyed with the idea of looking up to see if there was an Elizabeth in there, but I had complete faith in the journeying, and in 'Liza, so I never did do that, it wasn't important.
NOW HERE IS THE COMPLETELY MIND BLOWING THING.
Its now January 2013 and this morning I thought I'd write this up, a short account of using my shamanism in everyday life. I thought... you know what, I will look up the family tree, and see where this Elizabeth is - and if she is or isn't there I will be honest about it - even if I didn't have her in my records, I still had faith in her, all it would prove was that she want in the records that I had.
So... 8.15am this morning, sitting on the bed in the temple room, I'm sat there with the family tree in front of me.
"Oh my god....OH. MY. GOD! OH MY GOD!!!!"
There on the papers in front of me, I find my (and I'm working this out now...) Great-Grandmothers sister - so that would make her my Great Aunt? ELIZA NEWPORT born in 1848 in Weston, Cheshire.
Eliza Newport! I had assumed that 'Liza was short for Elizabeth, and I had opened the tree looking for an Elizabeth. Her name actually was 'Liza!
Eliza Newport, from Weston, Cheshire. I had to google this to find out where it was - 50 minutes drive away. And, since my daughter had gone to university, 3 years ago, I have been driving through this village on my way to the motorway quite regularly in order to pick her up, visit or bring her home, with or without her in the car. No wonder it was Eliza who came forward to make the throw.
Eliza Newport From Weston. Born in 1848. I dont have a record of her occupation, but her parents were recorded as Agricultural Labourers, and her sister, my Great Grandmother, was a servant in a house in the nearby large village, Tattenhall, so it is at least likely that Eliza had been in service as well.
Oh My God! Not only Eliza , but there is also a geographical connection. The tailors and dressmakers are all from Dorset, and I've never been there!
I just want to run round and tell everyone about Eliza! :-)
So now, I'll end with a snap of my daughter's fiance, snuggled up under the throw that I made, with the help of Eliza Newport, my Great-Aunt. Its been great, sewing with the ancestors.
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Surfers on the bore
I did a bit of research into tides and equinoctials and new moons and everything last night, and it all very quickly got complicated. Basically, my understanding is that the full moon creates the highest tides. The equinoctial tides are on the full/new moons nearest the equinoxes. This spring, its the new moon thats on the equinox, so it wont be so big as if it were the full moon. This year we have a full moon 2 weeks either side of the equinox, so they are going to be about the same in March and April.
The Dee bore is created by the difference between the low tide and the high tide... its not just a high tide, you need a very low tide before it, so the water has to rush to catch up with itself... and they are about middayish.
So....... I figured that there would be a smaller bore today, as a piece of leftover energy from yesterdays tide, the waves are bigger near the mouth of the estuary than at the end , so I went further out to see if this would equal itself out.
There were loads of people there! On the footbridge over the estuary. All waiting for the wave... there were surfers!
It was a really good spot, although the wave was smaller than it would have been yesterday, being on the straight channel meant I could see it coming from way off, and build the tension.
The surfers were knocked off their boards.
And the good thing about being on a footbridge meant that I could see the wave passing under me and watch the river being conquered from the seaward side as well. Again, the transition from river to sea was simply seconds.
Everyone went home at that point, I hadnt intended to stay long but I had the dogs with me, so i crossed the bridge and walked upstream on the welsh side through the fields, rather than on the cycleway on the english side. I realised that the field was actually part of the flood plain, there was a hight tide mark along it, and seaweeed was dotted here and there in the grass.I walked for a while and turned back, and went to stand by the edge of the rising sea-water. And again, i felt the energy of it, it was like being plugged in to a source of static electricity, and it was greater if i faced into chester, into the direction that the water was being pulled. Feeling full of nwyfre... feeling the energy from the full moon flowing and pulling through my body.
Energised, I headed home :-)
The Dee bore is created by the difference between the low tide and the high tide... its not just a high tide, you need a very low tide before it, so the water has to rush to catch up with itself... and they are about middayish.
So....... I figured that there would be a smaller bore today, as a piece of leftover energy from yesterdays tide, the waves are bigger near the mouth of the estuary than at the end , so I went further out to see if this would equal itself out.
There were loads of people there! On the footbridge over the estuary. All waiting for the wave... there were surfers!
It was a really good spot, although the wave was smaller than it would have been yesterday, being on the straight channel meant I could see it coming from way off, and build the tension.
The surfers were knocked off their boards.
And the good thing about being on a footbridge meant that I could see the wave passing under me and watch the river being conquered from the seaward side as well. Again, the transition from river to sea was simply seconds.
Everyone went home at that point, I hadnt intended to stay long but I had the dogs with me, so i crossed the bridge and walked upstream on the welsh side through the fields, rather than on the cycleway on the english side. I realised that the field was actually part of the flood plain, there was a hight tide mark along it, and seaweeed was dotted here and there in the grass.I walked for a while and turned back, and went to stand by the edge of the rising sea-water. And again, i felt the energy of it, it was like being plugged in to a source of static electricity, and it was greater if i faced into chester, into the direction that the water was being pulled. Feeling full of nwyfre... feeling the energy from the full moon flowing and pulling through my body.
Energised, I headed home :-)
Saturday, 10 March 2012
Chasing the Dee Bore
A couple of days after the full moon comes the high tides, and the Dee estuary gives the second largest tidal bore, after the River Severn. I'd never previously known this or looked into the tides, but this month - and it just happened to be co-incidence that it is the last full moon before the equinox - I decided to have a look at this and go to the estuary to watch the tide turn.
I didn't plan anything, I thought at most that I'd sit on the banks and watch the tide turn and then sit for a while and see the estuary rise. It didn't turn out like that.
I worked out approximately what time the incoming tide would reach Chester, and went to the estuary, there were already several other people there waiting for it, so i walked further along and found a space on the bank where I could sit and wait. Silly me, I even threw a stick in at one point to see which way it was flowing in case I had missed it.
Then I heard the roaring.... the gulls downstream all flew up at once, and then I saw the wave come crashing along the banks... not a huge, surf-able wave, but a violent noisy wall of water - further out towards the sea it is higher, at this point it was a couple of feet maybe, and it rushed past me, and within a matter of seconds the lazy river had turned into proper sea, a good few feet higher already
WOW! I said, to myself, and I was caught up in the energy of the event, really excited and immediately decided to chase the bore upstream, so i jumped into my car and drove into town, to the weir - the weir had held the tide back, at the bottom it was all collecting and rising, soon it would break over the top - and within minutes the weir was defeated and submerged beneath the incoming tide.
I jumped back into the car and drove a few miles further upstream, I had no idea how far up it would go but I wanted to do this, caught up as i was. Parked up and across the fields i went, there didn't seem to be much happening, so I threw a stick in to test the current, it just stayed in the one place neither going upstream or down, so i hung on for a bit , and then - it was off! slowly at first going inland, but picking up speed, so I followed the river inland, on foot, being overtaken by ducks and canoeists, none of whom were paddling but being carried upstream faster than I was walking.
The further inland i went, the more diffused the energy got, the head of the energy being the crest of the tide, and as I walked i though about all that energy being diffused into the land, bringing Spring with it. After reaching Ecclestone I decided I'd gone far enough and reluctantly headed back... the river was still flowing fast in reverse, and part of me wanted to carry on with it, and another part of me wanted to return back to the places i had stopped before and photograph the changes in water level. Anyway, I turned back and walked back to where the car was parked, but I stopped at a favourite spot of mine near there and sat at the waters edge for a while.
I actually felt it.
Watching the river flowing upstream... something changed... there was nothing visual that I could reference to or check with, but i felt as if it had passed, that the tide had turned... nothing in the flow of the river or the water levels could prove this to me, but I figured it was time to go, so i went back to the car and drove back to the weir, took some more photos and them went back to the estuary where i had started... and it actually had started to go out. The water was flowing out to sea again, at some point on my way back it had caught up and reversed itself, and here I was watching it on its way out again.
It was half past two in the afternoon, I'd been out 3 and a half hours, I got home and I was really tired, really suddenly. Drained. But really pleased to have been part of this and shared in the energy of the occasion, feeling its ebb and flow.
I'd managed to take some before/during/after photos -
Starting at the estuary just outside Chester -
BEFORE-
DURING-
AFTER -
And the weir....
DURING -
AND AFTER -
I didn't plan anything, I thought at most that I'd sit on the banks and watch the tide turn and then sit for a while and see the estuary rise. It didn't turn out like that.
I worked out approximately what time the incoming tide would reach Chester, and went to the estuary, there were already several other people there waiting for it, so i walked further along and found a space on the bank where I could sit and wait. Silly me, I even threw a stick in at one point to see which way it was flowing in case I had missed it.
Then I heard the roaring.... the gulls downstream all flew up at once, and then I saw the wave come crashing along the banks... not a huge, surf-able wave, but a violent noisy wall of water - further out towards the sea it is higher, at this point it was a couple of feet maybe, and it rushed past me, and within a matter of seconds the lazy river had turned into proper sea, a good few feet higher already
WOW! I said, to myself, and I was caught up in the energy of the event, really excited and immediately decided to chase the bore upstream, so i jumped into my car and drove into town, to the weir - the weir had held the tide back, at the bottom it was all collecting and rising, soon it would break over the top - and within minutes the weir was defeated and submerged beneath the incoming tide.
I jumped back into the car and drove a few miles further upstream, I had no idea how far up it would go but I wanted to do this, caught up as i was. Parked up and across the fields i went, there didn't seem to be much happening, so I threw a stick in to test the current, it just stayed in the one place neither going upstream or down, so i hung on for a bit , and then - it was off! slowly at first going inland, but picking up speed, so I followed the river inland, on foot, being overtaken by ducks and canoeists, none of whom were paddling but being carried upstream faster than I was walking.
The further inland i went, the more diffused the energy got, the head of the energy being the crest of the tide, and as I walked i though about all that energy being diffused into the land, bringing Spring with it. After reaching Ecclestone I decided I'd gone far enough and reluctantly headed back... the river was still flowing fast in reverse, and part of me wanted to carry on with it, and another part of me wanted to return back to the places i had stopped before and photograph the changes in water level. Anyway, I turned back and walked back to where the car was parked, but I stopped at a favourite spot of mine near there and sat at the waters edge for a while.
I actually felt it.
Watching the river flowing upstream... something changed... there was nothing visual that I could reference to or check with, but i felt as if it had passed, that the tide had turned... nothing in the flow of the river or the water levels could prove this to me, but I figured it was time to go, so i went back to the car and drove back to the weir, took some more photos and them went back to the estuary where i had started... and it actually had started to go out. The water was flowing out to sea again, at some point on my way back it had caught up and reversed itself, and here I was watching it on its way out again.
It was half past two in the afternoon, I'd been out 3 and a half hours, I got home and I was really tired, really suddenly. Drained. But really pleased to have been part of this and shared in the energy of the occasion, feeling its ebb and flow.
I'd managed to take some before/during/after photos -
Starting at the estuary just outside Chester -
BEFORE-
DURING-
AFTER -
And the weir....
DURING -
AND AFTER -
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