Our Patriarch

The Patriarch of my family is my Older Brother.  I am not sure when that happened exactly.  Perhaps when our younger brother died suddenly this past summer but, I think it happened long before that. 

He has always been the one who makes everything alright for everyone, no matter what happens.  That is not to say our father hasn’t always been a strong and loving provider.  Or that our grandfathers were not kind and loving men.  Or that the women in our family are not strong, intelligent, powerful women.  All of these things are true.  But somewhere along the way, my older brother became the central pillar that holds up the hall of our House.  He is the Cornerstone of our foundation, the Oak that gives us shelter and security and rest when we are weary.  He is the peace-bringer we look to and the example we aspire to.  He is always there.

And now, when our grandparents are passed and our parents are aging, and the children are becoming adults, and raising little ones of their own (well one at least) the presence of this strong and easy-going man, has become essential to the well-being of our family.

He is the one who spends time with our father, and our mother.  He is the one who steps in to provide love and support our brother’s daughters, he and his love, his wife of 32 years, provide the home and hearth for our aunts, uncles and cousins, and their children and grandchildren to gather, so that our extended family can come together and remember that we are a tribe. There is no judgement, everyone is welcome, everyone is family, and family is everything.

Knowing that he will be there when we are old, when our parents pass, when the girls marry, when the boys become fathers, when our grandchildren too become adults, gives me a sense of peace that I have associated with him since I was a small child.

He is a loving son, husband, father, uncle, coach, friend and brother.  He is a Great Man.  A man of peace, a man of care, a man of humble strength.  I Give Thanks for the Blessing of Our Patriarch.  May the Gods and the Ancestors bless our family with his presence for decades yet to come.  So Mote it Be!

Grief and Conflict

We are humans, all of us.  Regardless of our spiritual paths or our religious beliefs, we are not immune to the truth that death is a part of our experience.  We will all lose people we love and we will all have to work through our grief over those losses.  None of us get a pass on this in life.  

Seventeen days ago, my younger brother died unexpectedly and suddenly.  We have shared more than one lifetime together, as well as our bloodline.  I loved Him and we had conflict between us, and we stopped working on our relationship about two decades ago.   

Sometimes we will lose someone we love without warning, with no time to prepare or to say our farewells.  And as is the nature of relationships, either family or lovers or friends, sometimes that loss will be of one with whom we have conflict.  Love and conflict are more often companions than mutually exclusive conditions.  For conflict with one we do not love is often reason enough to walk away from another person but, we will persist in spite of conflict if we love another.  And so, grief is often complicated by unresolved conflict with the one we loved and lost. 

We each grieve in our own way, and in our own time.  For me it is a delayed experience.  For the first two weeks, my perception of reality was surreal, often blurry and out of proportion.  Then life became normal again and my grief began to visit me at night.  When all is quiet and my mind can identify what my heart and soul are actually grieving and, my heart and soul can feel that grief, it is the conflict that I feel, and the pain of that conflict and the anger that it exists. 

Another conflict that accompanies grief is that in moments of unexpected emotional crisis, old habits of behavior, old patterns of relating within the family, reassert themselves.  Conscious effort is required to recognize these habits and patterns and to re-establish newer skills and ways of being.  It challenges my sense of self, and forces me to reexamine my relationships with those whom I love who remain.

I have work to do.  Including the work of reaching out to Him whom I have lost to assist in what way I can, and to ask Him to work with me to make some peace between us before the next life we share.  May our Ancestors and my Gods and Allies bless us and assist us in this work.  Blessed be. 

Y Gwir Yn Erbyn Y Byd!

The Grand Sword of the Gorsedd of Bards 

“Y Gwir Yn Erbyn Y Byd” The Welsh proverb “The Truth against the World” is only the beginning of a ritual litany.   

Before the National Eisteddfod (a bardic competition of singing, recitation and instrumental mastery celebrating Welsh identity, language and culture) can commence, the Gorsedd (gathering) of Bards conducts a ritual in which the Grand Sword (upon which these words are inscribed) is partially unsheathed and laid upon a stone altar.

The call is made “Y Gwir yn Erbyn y Byd!” The Truth against the World!

The response is a question “A oes Heddwch?" Is there Peace?

Then comes the call “Calon wrth Galon!" (Heart to Heart!) and again the question “A oes Heddwch?"

Then finally the call "Gwaedd uwch Adwaedd! A oes Heddwch?” (Shout above the shouting! Is there peace?)  

The Eisteddfod cannot commence until the Gorsedd has declared Peace among them.

These words move me.  I have written before about the meaning that “Truth against the World” holds for me but; this past week I have been thinking about them a great deal.  My Third degree Initiation into my Tradition will occur in two weeks. It is an initiation into Service, as clergy and leadership in my Coven and my Tradition.  It is the beginning of a new leg of my journey. 

And I have been contemplating my purpose in this world in light of this new phase.  “Truth against the World” is a large part of that purpose, but it is only the beginning, only the starting point.  It is not about Truth for truth’s sake but, Truth for the greater purpose of Peace.  My heart calls out for Truth, for Love, for Healing of our World, and for Peace. 

Two days ago I had these words, Y Gwir Yn Erbyn Y Byd, inscribed (tattooed) upon my right forearm in red script, to commemorate the beginning of this stage in my life but, also to remind me every time I see them of my purpose, and of the entire litany.  To remind myself to ask the question “A oes Heddwch?"  Do I bring Peace?

I am not a pacifist, although I respect those who hold that place in our world.  My heart longs for Peace but, not for peace at any cost. Peace without Liberty is not Peace but rather oppression.  My purpose is Peace and Freedom, my purpose is Peace through Truth.  May my Gods, Ancestors and Allies bless me in my purpose.

Y Gwir Yn Erbyn Y Byd!

we belong to the Land...

I grew up on this Land, on Land close to where I now live.  My mother lived in the house I grew up in while she was pregnant with me and I lived there while carrying both of my children.  My body and their bodies were made from the food and water and air of this Land.  

The places where my parents were born hold a feeling of connection for me, and the Land across the sea that my ancestors lived upon before they came to those places holds a beauty for me, calls to me like no other place on this amazing planet we call home. 

The stream in the woods down the road from my childhood home is sacred to me, as is the stream in the woods just up the road from my tree-house.  These places, this Land, is sacred and is a part of me.  The Waters, the Trees, the Soil, the Stones, are a part of my body, always.  The Spirits of these places are a part of my soul, and I am a part of theirs. 

Earth is not only the planet upon which we live, nor an abstract idea of elemental power.  Earth is the Land that we belong to. I give thanks for the Land and for the Earth, my Mother.

Twrch Trwyth

My family totem is the Wild Boar.  I know what you are thinking, “Who would want a Boar as a totem animal?”  Not me, at least not at first.  In fact, it took me a long time to understand the great honor it is to have that creature as the Spirit of my bloodline.

In Welsh mythology the Boar is the gift of the Gods to humans.  It represents the Warrior Spirit.  In all of the stories, the fiercest animal of all is Twrch Trwyth, the Wild Boar.

It is not a predatory creature, but it is fierce and unyielding.  It is dangerous and wild, strong and unstoppable.  It is noble and brave. 

The Boar is not a creature that can be used other than as food.  The only way a Wild Boar serves mankind is through its death, to feed the tribe.  Hunting the Wild Boar can be fatal if the hunter is not also smart, skilled, careful, and lucky.  Many strong, brave men have died early deaths in the attempt to bring down the great creature.

The Boar is close to the Earth and has sharp tusks and cloven hooves.  It forages for food and is not easily domesticated.  If a domesticated sow is bred in captivity with a domesticated boar and then escapes captivity, the piglets she births will be wild, even in their physical appearance. 

I would have wished for a Wolf, or a Stag, or a Horse, or some other “Great Creature” as the Totem Spirit of my family but, I have come to understand and embrace the great and noble Spirit that is Twrch Trwyth.  His image is the tattoo I wear to honor my first degree initiation.  I wear a bronze amulet with his image to honor my clan.  He reminds me that I too am a warrior, brave and strong and noble, fierce and unyielding and unstoppable.

Hail Twrch Trwyth!  Hail the Wild Boar!

Othala; the Heart of the Ancestors

The Following is a journey I took last year after the premature birth of my granddaughter.  I work with the Runes as part of my daily practice.  I  work with my Ancestors as part of my daily practice.  And  journeys like this are a foundation of my personal practice.   I wanted to share this with you because it is a part of me and my work of Finding Light among the Shadows.

I stepped through the door and into the Otherworld.   I looked at my feet.  I was barefoot and the grass beneath my feet was soft and brown.  I wore a simple woolen dress of my family tartan, and a bronze amulet of a boar, my family’s totem, hung over my heart on a ribbon of red silk. 

I looked around me and found myself in an autumn evening at twilight.  The woods nearby were almost bare and the path in front of me led over a grassy hill.  I followed the path over the hill and on the other side found a low round-house with a thatched roof.  The windows glowed with warm light and wood-smoke rose from the chimney into the evening air and smelled like home.

When I found the doorway, the wooden beam above was carved with a crescent and v-rod like the tattoo on my back, the side beams with a trisckle on the left and a spiral on the right. An equal-armed cross decorated with knotwork adorned the threshold and a red whole-cloth blanket quilted with a dragon covered the door.  I pulled the blanket aside and entered, letting it drop back into place behind me and looked around.

The roof was supported by a network of straight beams in a concentrically spiraling starburst pattern, the walls were stone and the floor was covered in rugs of braided wool rags like my great-grandmother used to make when I was a child.  Glowing oil lamps and books filled the small wooded shelves around the walls, and musical instruments hung from the beams supporting the roof.  

A fire danced brightly in the small hearth, warming the entire house. In front of the hearth sat a small wooden table with a white linen table-cloth, and on it, my grandmother’s teapot in robin’s egg blue and two miss-matched cups.   Beside the table I saw a basket made like the rugs, of braided woolen rags and inside the basket, a babe wrapped in a yellow blanket crocheted like my Nanna had made it.  The infant slept peacefully, breathing easily, safe and warm and blissful. 

As I turned to leave, something flashed on the edge of my sight.  I turned again to see on the mantle above the hearth, an egg of garnet.  It was deep and clear and smooth and it seemed to glow from the inside.  As I continued to gaze at the stone, I heard music and a voice speaking to me of the “heart-stone”, the heart of my ancestors.  The stone will receive the energy I send to it and it will serve as a source of power for the ancestors to protect the child, to heal and bless the babe in the basket.  

When the music and the voice stilled, all was quiet once more and as I pulled back the blanket covering the door, I noticed my grandmother’s garnet ring upon my hand.  

I went back out into the night and followed the path back the way I had come.

Bloodlines

My bloodlines are important to me, to my spiritual path.  They are where I come from and where I am going and who I am.  Perhaps not the entirely of the picture, but certainly the essential palette without which there would be no picture.

I think of my bloodlines as the paint, the pigments, the colors of which I am made and the composition as my specific path in this life, the choices I make are the brushstrokes.

I think that metaphor is useful but, I will not belabor it further.  This is about the colors of my bloodlines.  In this digital age we can view an identical image in multiple palettes without altering any other factor and in each instance the image will be uniquely different.

Knowing yourself is the first goal of the witch, for how can we pursue evolution if we do not understand ourselves?  I am a person, with specificity and individuality.  I am unique.  I will never again be this person.  This is the life I have in this incarnation.  And my bloodlines are the source material  of this life, of my body, heart, mind, and soul. 

I have specific talents and abilities, and processes that are necessary to the work that I am here to accomplish.  I cannot function the way another person does.  I must work within the framework and with the pigments of the palette that is me.

My bloodlines are metaphorical as well as genetic.  I am the descendant of my ancestors both familial and spiritual.  All are the stuff of the stars that made me.

I am descended from coal-miners who emigrated from South Wales to North-East Pennsylvania and German craftsmen who immigrated to Baltimore.  I am descended from musicians and stubborn, strong-willed, secret-keepers.  I hear the voices of trees and stones and running water.  I do not see, but rather feel the music of the Fae.  I am not the Phoenix but the Owl, not the Hero but the Storyteller, not the Singer but the Songwriter.

My bloodlines inform the nature of my work in this life as well as the way in which I will accomplish it.  The more intimately I understand those bloodlines and myself, the better I can accomplish that work.