Working with Stories

One of the things that myths give us, are stories that we can use to measure and make sense of our own lives. Relating personal experience to mythic archetypes it can be possible to find ways through hard times, answers to challenging questions, and ways of being. We can take the myths as role models, or as ‘what not to do’. Most of us will find times in our lives when we are out of inspiration, hope, or a sense of direction. In seeking mythic parallels, we can find answers to that, or at least the sense that others have faced challenges before and survived.

This is a notion I’ve been contemplating for a while, thinking about how pagan writers use myths to explore contemporary life – Emma Restall Orr uses the theme of Gawain and the Loathly Lady extensively to explore ideas of femininity in Kissing the Hag while Kevan Manwaring uses the Taliesin myth to explore his own bardic path in The Way of Awen. This is something any of us can do, at any time, for any reason. What prompted me to think of it was a suggestion from Ness on facebook (thanks Ness!) that I put my trials into the hands of a goddess for a while.

Crashed out for an hour this afternoon, I contemplated the stories of goddesses, and waited for inspiration. I remembered the story of Rhiannon- falsely accused of killing her child, and then made to bear people on her back like a horse, and tell her story to them. It would be fair to say that there are no close parallels between that and my own life, but it is story about endurance, staying true to yourself, and justice being done in the end.

Rhiannon endures with good grace. Her circumstances make me think of modern women accused of infanticide because their children have died from cot death. There were some high profile cases in the UK a few years ago. It’s the worst thing that could happen to a mother – to lose your child and then be blamed for it. Rhiannon is blamed. She has no way of defending herself and does not even know what has happened. She has no way of resolving things. All she can do, is endure with good grace, which she does, and tell her story.

There is a power in telling stories. In the end, the stolen child is recovered, Rhiannon’s good name is restored to her, and the real villain is punished. This is only possible because she has endured, she has survived and lived long enough to see things righted.

Normally I tend to favour active solutions to problems, rather than characters who wait for a rescuer, or for fate to return the balance. I don’t have a very trusting nature, and I feel safer when I’m doing something. But Rhiannon’s is a tale in which there is no scope for doing anything at all. There are no clues, nothing to go on. She’s not like Demeter, who is able to go and seek information about the missing Persephone. The child has gone, and there is no one who can tell Rhiannon how, aside from the mysterious thief. Rhiannon’s is a tale of powerlessness, and if any character had justification to despair, she would be the one. And yet, she gets through, somehow.

This is a story about not giving up, even when there is no visible reason for hope. That’s a very powerful message to turn to when there seems to be no way forward. It is also a tale about grace and a certain kind of quiet courage. Rhiannon does not dishonour herself in any way, despite what she is made to endure. She shoulders her burdens, literally, and she gets through. So may we all.

Harvesting …

I harvested black & red currants today, got about 7lb of the black and 5lb of the red and from just one bush each! It’s the white currants’ turn tomorrow and they look as though there’s a goodly crop .

We’re fast approaching Lammas, the harvest feast of the Celtic year and the fruit garden here is giving me of its best. We’re not completely self-sufficient … we like lemons, pineapple, olive oil, flour for bread and cakes, and I eat meat … but we must be about 2/3 to 3/4 self-sufficient. I get to be a better gardener each year, it’s amazing what thoughtful practice can do .

As a shaman, I like to live on the produce of the place where I am as far as possible and certainlky to eat local produce as much as I can. The food grown on the land where you live contains the minerals, antibodies, vitamins, and other goodies that you need to live there. This is well known for the effect of honey on hay-fever sufferers. All local food has goodness you need to help you be well there.

Being allergic to the place you live says more about you and your own feelings of at-one-ness with that place than anything else. It’s worth pondering on that … how do you feel about where you live? Do you love it? Is it your friend? Do you care about it? All those sort of questions. If you find yourself answering “no” to them then it’s worth journeying (or whatever you call it) to find out if you should really be there.

This is normal to my life and has been for most of it, since I knew what I was doing. I like to see other places, new places, but I love to come home. When I’m driving and go out into Loegr (England) across the great bridge over the Hafren (Severn) I say farewell to my land and greet Loegr. On the homeward journey I am always so pleased to be crossing the bridge again and I feel the Hafren, and the land, welcome me back.

Being at one with the land where I live I’m not stressed by my home but supported by it. the same for the food, it really does support me. And the water as we’re fortunate to be on our own spring here. Growing my own food helps this enormously. I know what love, and trial and tribulation with the weather sometimes and the slugs etc, has gone into making it. when I go to get supper I go out into the garden asking, “Now, what have you got for me today?”. It’s always good and sometimes a delightful surprise, like the first carrot of this season was the other day … Ooooo! the scent of that carrot as I eased it out of the soil !!!

Even if you only have a tiny garden, yard, pation, balcony even, you can grow some of your own food. In fact, it’s quite amazing what you can grow in just a square yard, this article shows you how to do it. do give it a go if you can … even some basil, salad, mustard-n-cress, sprouting beans and a tomato plant can fit on window ledges .

Harvest is so much more than just gathering in fruit and veg … it’s about gathering in yourself too.

• I’ll be talking more aobut Lammas on Friday – look here

Elen Sentier

writer artist gardener shaman
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Celtic shaman – Elen Sentier Gardening with the Moon: Doing the Deed – using 501

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Oak Man – latest

Jenni notices the book Bran is reading, Mary Andre’s “Arthurian Herefordshire” [it's real, you can get it, and good] and asks him about it. He tells her of his fascination with the Arthurian mythos and how he’d looked up Dyfrig, the magician who crowned Arthur at Caer Fudi (which might be  Silchester or Woodchester). And how he discovered  Dyfrig was an ancient version of his own name, Deferyl. He also tells her he’s story and song hunting … stalking stories, he calls it …  looking for more about Dyfrig.

Jenni gives him her name, Jenni Merryweather, and remarks that his first name means raven in the old tongue. He asks if Merryweather isn’t an old witch-name and discovers from her answer thather Aunt Aferyl lives at the Modlen Tower … supposedly built on the ofundations of Dyfrig’s wizard-school from the 6th century.

Jenni is a link he hadn’t dreamed about … where will she take him?

Elen Sentier
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Insomniac Ramblings

Usually I sit up all night on a hill some time near midsummer, as a religious dedication. Not this year.  It’s nearly 5am, I am sleepless and typing, with Tom keeping me company via skype, and James asleep next to me. I am heavy with tiredness – more than physical, this is a soul deep weariness and it tastes a little bit like defeat. This time of night does that to a person.

There comes a time on those summer night vigils when I start to believe that it’s never going to get light again. It was similar for me this last winter, with the ice and cold so overwhelming that it became hard to imagine sun and warmth returning. In such long nights and hard times it is easy to see why our ancestors might have seen evidence of gods in these momentous changes. The sun rise, when you’ve sat up waiting for it all night and endured the darkness, is a miracle. Everything is made new. The world becomes innocent again.

I haven’t been sleepless like this in a while – it used to be a regular part of my life, but this last year I mostly had the insomnia licked. Tonight I can’t quite find the knack. And it will knock out today, which is unhelpful, but, I have the interweb and there are useful things I can be doing, like this.

Beyond the curtains, the sky grows pale, and I think of a time, a year ago, when Tom and I talked on skype for the first time, until I realised dawn had started beyond the window. I think of festivals, and rolling into bed with the dawn chorus. Heart pounding so hard in my chest that rest seems beyond me.  And when it comes, it will be a heavy, drunken sort of sleep.

It’s been the longest, darkest night in a while. I remember other long dark nights, I cry for them as I cry for this one. Maybe that’s in part what the vigils – intended and unintended – are. A chance to step into the darkness, and wait for the sun to return, trusting that it will. Light comes back, things get better.

And so for today, in the early hours, I end my instalment of what someone charmingly called ‘that disgusting blog of yours’ hoping that she is still reading. If you seek for signs of yourself in other people’s writing, you may find them. If you look for evidence of cruelty and persecution directed your way, you may well find those too – not because they are there, but because you see that way. If you, dear readers, imagine that I go to all this effort for you, personally… what can I say? I write these blogs for me, in the hopes that they turn out to be useful to others. They are a record of the journey, not an attempted assault. After the long night, there may be morning, and I may even be awake enough to see what it brings.

Oak Man 2

Bran is on the train from London and is in process of meeting Jenni. He’s a solitary soul but is opening up slightly with her.

She’s intrigued by his battered fiddle case and asks him what “itinerant” means.

He talks of travelling, moving around but it’s the word gypsy that hooks her, although he claims to have no gypsy blood …

Elen Sentier http://WWW.elensentier.co.uk

Today

I don’t know what to write about today, so I’ll just let the line flow along the page, let the words flow. Perhaps someone can find meaning in it. Perhaps I can. The act of writing is an act both of release and of taking control.

I only have any control over my life because I believe that I do, and because I think I can roll with whatever gets thrown at me. But there are days when the grief, the dismay gets too much and I wonder how we will ever get through this, how there can possibly ever be a good place on the far side. I have lived in a nightmare and I want it to end, but how to wake up?

Then I think back to the person I was a year ago, so lost and wounded, carrying the weight of blame for too many things, my soul shattered. A year of singing back the missing parts of myself. A year spent learning to trust again, to open, and to heal. I have a way to go yet.

But I am not yet free of the past. Last night’s accusation, about how I irritate and grate, how I am constantly attacking and bringing up problems still echoes in my ears. And yet, my perception is so very different, that I am quiet and keep my head down and try not to make a fuss unless something really matters. I am so grateful for the people who believe in me, who offer back reflections that do not make me look like a monster.

Today I weep for the past and the things I have been through. I have confessed the worst of it to my family, and there was some relief in that. And they step in, trying to help, to support me, and I feel so guilty that I cannot manage all these things myself, I feel so useless, letting them down, too pathetic. And I cried, and they told me it was ok, and that they would help me through. Burdens of responsibility lifted from my shoulders. I have carried so much, and so far, and thought myself weak and insufficient for all the things I could not do, but my family, are not blaming me for being soul tired and distressed. They just want to help.

I wish I had been able to speak sooner. I wish I had known how to say that I was fearful and in pain, that I could not cope. For a long time, I have needed someone to step up and help me fix things, but how could I admit that? I expected blame for shortcomings, not kindness. I am still shocked by kindness. I lived with so little of it for so long. I lived on crumbs, telling myself it was a feast, and the fault lay with me if I was still hungry. Too greedy. But they were crumbs, and I was starving to death, heart and soul.

It was a slow erosion of self, slow enough that I did not see it, until there was almost nothing left in me. I don’t know how a person guards against that. I can’t much offer advice for how not to go there. I know this. Just keep talking. Trust people. More than one person. Tell the stories of your life and make sure they seem ok to someone else, and listen if they say otherwise. It was the silence that undid me, the carrying that great, unspoken weight, and never giving anyone the chance to tell me to run, never giving anyone opportunity to come in and rescue me. Not for too long. I thank the gods there is Tom, and that he helped me feel safe to talk, and told me none of what had happened was ok, or my fault. Today, my mother’s words echo his. Terrible. And not my fault.

I am breathing very slowly. I am typing, because I can. I have spent a lot of time holding my child. I will get through this, somehow. But today hurts, and I can see no way forwards, even though I think there must be a lot. If you can spare a prayer or a little magic for James, Tom and I, we’d be glad of it. And spare a moment for anyone else around you who is in pain, or in crisis. So many folks are. Life is hard enough without people undertaking to make it worse for each other.

Thinking Positive

It’s easier to follow through on a positive intention than a negative one, so when planning changes, there’s a lot to be said for couching them in ‘I will do’ style terms, than thinking about giving up, cutting back and so forth. Human nature is such that we do not like to feel we are depriving ourselves. If we think of a planned action as a chore, or something inherently miserable, it’s that bit harder to see it through.

I’ve talked a lot in previous blogs about the need to be able to get by with less. We have a wasteful culture that consumes too much. But, saying ‘you have to give stuff up’ is, I realise, a quick way of turning people off. So, today I thought it would be interesting to look at framing such ideas in more positive and productive language. Not least because once you get into living in greener ways, it gives far more than it costs, and the personal benefits are significant.

This isn’t just an issue about taking less from the planet, it’s an entire lifestyle. How we live, how we treat ourselves is very much part of the process. Self care should be an intrinsic part of any green agenda. Taking care of the planet begins at home, with better self care, and actions that save resources, and money. We need to do this for ourselves and our own wellbeing as much as we do it for altruistic reasons. We are pushed to work longer hours to buy more things we don’t need in order to hide from ourselves the ways in which this lifestyle makes us unwell, and unhappy. Time taken for the self, enjoying no, or low cost rewarding activities, is good for the soul, and the body, and the planet. These things are not separate. Being green is not about self denial, it’s about recognising we’ve been sold an idea of happiness that is all about making other people rich, and has nothing at all to do with what is actually good. Being green is also about reclaiming your life, your control, and your happiness.

I offer below a list of positive actions which I’m undertaking, all of which have a green element, add to life in good ways, and none of which are difficult. If you can think of more, then please add them to the comments.

 I will buy only what I need, and save myself money.

I will turn off devices I’m not using them, which will cut my electricity bills.

I will walk more.

I will eat more fruit and veg, and less pre-packed stuff.

I will use greener cleaning products.

I will drink more water, for my own wellbeing and economy.

When something ceases to be useful to me, I will find it a new home.

I will spend time outdoors, in green places, relaxing.

I will get my money’s worth out of the things I buy.

I will invest in things that last rather than waste money on cheap tat I have to keep replacing.

I will spend more time with friends, and less time with the television/computer.

I will grow some of my own food.

I will be in control of what I eat and make food I can really enjoy.

I will work out what makes me truly happy, and do more of it.

I will slow down and enjoy things more.

I will make choices I can feel proud of and take joy in.

Ancient Calendar: Sleipnir : July 26, 2010

 

The week begins with a festival of Sleipnir which the Norse would have had on this day in Ancient History.

Sleipnir was the horse that the God Odin was famous for riding.  The horse had eight legs and legend says, it could travel from Asgard to Midgard to Utgard which basically meant from heaven to earth to the underworld.

Interestingly enough, lore says that loki gave birth to Sleipnir when Loki took the form of a mare. As Loki returned then to his human form, he offered the colt to Odin as a gift.

 

C.H. SCARLETT
~
www.chscarlett.net

Why Pagans should study the Bible

Those who want to scream, please scream now and get it out of your system. Okay, feel better now?

Now, I have to point out that reading the bible and even studying the bible doesn’t mean you must believe in the bible or become a Christian. But let me explain what has brought about my biblically-oriented post.
I’m working on a m/m (gay) romantic erotic novella involving an angel and a demon hunter and an editor suggested a little more world building involving my portrayal of heaven and angels. So I uploaded the first chapter to a writing group I’m part of and asked them to tell me where they needed more details. Now, the group isn’t a Pagan group. Most probably come from a Christian background, though not so conservative that they won’t critique some gay erotica. This wasn’t a group of cloistered nuns.

I thought most of the group would get the basic classical concepts I was using to build heaven and perhaps ask for a little clarification here and there. But from the questions I got you’d think I invented the concept of heaven and angels. The cloistered nuns would probably have been more useful. Nuns would know the bible and some of the classic literature written about it in the last thousand years or so. It has been explained to me that I can’t expect this of “the average reader.”

The lack of knowledge I’m seeing has me in shock. Look, I’m Pagan. I stopped attending church in my early teens because I just couldn’t agree with that view of the world. But I love reading and much of the world’s classic literature includes biblical allusions. When I was in college I took a course geared toward understanding the bible in literature. It didn’t turn me into a Christian but apparently it’s made me better read in the subject than a many of the Christians I know.

To me, part of being Pagan is making an educated choice about my beliefs. To make that choice, I must first educate myself. Which does mean I’ve studied the Bible. I’ve also studied Buddhism and I’ve attended Satsangs on the Shiva Sutras and Bhagavad Gita. Of course I’ve studied the classic Greek myths. Not that I’d consider myself an expert in any of these. But I’m able to recognize a reference and at least know where to go to find more information.

Though next time someone tries to convert me to Christianity so I can go to Heaven, I’m going to ask them to explain exactly what they think Heaven is. Because despite all the clamoring to get there, no one seems to know anything about it.

Letting Go

Yesterday I made a mistake. I flinched when there was no need, frightened by shadows. It brought a few things into focus – not least that there had been no need to flinch. I have allowed the past to own me. Time to let go, to say ‘these are things that happened, but they are not happening now.’ I will not be limited by them anymore.

It so often comes down to trust, to being sure the other person means well. When you don’t have that, when the slightest sign of discontent rings alarm bells, then you live walking always on eggshells, fearful of what the next step will bring. I don’t cope well with other people’s anger. I scare easily. But in moments of grumpiness, I see the potential for anger, and that scares me as well. Which in some contexts made sense, but does not belong at all in others. Where there is trust, I should be able to get beyond the fear.

It is so easy to continue old stories without noticing that I’m blithely writing them into the present. To carry forward old wounds and sources of pain, and find evidence of them in new places, because I was looking for them. I do not want to do this. It is destructive, painful, and it wrongs people who mean no harm at all. Everyone has grumpy moments – and I most certainly to. They are not always a prelude to anger or a warm up to there being a big problem. They can just as easily be small expressions of irritation, acknowledged and relinquished.

So today, I am going to give over some time to remembering moments of fear and discomfort. I shall get them out and air them, so that I can see they belong to the past and not the present. Being told off – usually for small, trivial things, made me afraid of what would happen if I made bigger mistakes. More subtle, more difficult were the buttons pushed that made me feel so guilty over things I had not done sufficiently well, or enough of, or with enough enthusiasm. I was always on the back foot, never feeling good enough. Often it’s been about things I have no control over, but which somehow get laid at my door anyway. Things that happen inside other people’s heads.

I’ve been through a process, these last few months, of pulling away and stepping back. I have claimed time and space of myself, and recently have learned to resist the criticism. The final straw was being held responsible for some small mistakes my son made, and having that treated as though it stemmed from deliberate malice on my part. It was too obvious, and that allowed me to see it for what it is, and not be caught by it. Some of what belongs to the past, is still in my present, but I do not have to own it. This is not who I am, it is stuff that happened to me.

The more I let go, the able I am to see what of this is me. I am a person to whom things have happened. I am not the things that happened. I do not have to be defined by anyone else’s perceptions of me. I do not have to let the present be shaped by that which went before. Today is a new day, the sun is bright, and the birds are greeting it as a joyful miracle. Each day the world is born anew, and I can leave anything I wish to in the past. I do not have to carry it with me. I feel like I have been covered in old cobwebs, full of dead flies. I can scrape off the stickiness, the ick. If I choose to be, I can have clean-soul skin again, because this is my life, and my story. I am choosing. I am not going to be afraid anymore.