The Badb is listed as a Goddess of battle and death in Ireland's ancient lore. Said to take the form of a hooded or scald crow the Badhbh flies over the battle fields of Éireann, and that her raucous cries cause the weak of heart to quail in terror.
Yet those who experience the attention of this deity are not always doomed to fall in battle, for the Badhbh can also speak to the doom of that which limits a person, inciting them to greater feats by challenging them to overcome their own reservations. Calling to a person from atop some challenge they must face, exhorting them, not with gentle whispers, but with harsh and grating caws to rise up, take on their power and excel.
This Goddess has many feral aspects, none of which could be described as gentle or nurturing. Yet that does not mean she does not care, or at the very least have some vested interest in a person. As the trainer motivates the athlete, the mentor drives the student, or the drill Sargent pushes the soldier, the Badb's screams call upon us to go beyond what we thought of as out limits and find greater strength within.
Do you hear the call of the Badhbh? Does she speak of the end of your limitations? Maybe you too are in Boot Camp with the Badb.
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The Banshee is one of the most commonly known figures of Irish folk lore, but at the same time one of the most misrepresented.
The modern word comes from the Irish term Bean Sídhe, which translates as "woman of the sidhe", Sidhe being the folk who exist in the Irish Otherworld. These beings are connected to death, but they are not the source, nor a guide for the dead or dying. They are connected to Irish families and their function is a service to the living. It is said that the bean sídhe would come to the family and play laments, or wail and keen so that they would know that there has been a death in the family.
There are many nights where the call if the banshee would chill the blood of those who heard it, leaving them shivering because of its chill power, but also in grief for new would soon arrive of the death.
There are many other functions that are fulfilled by these women of the Otherworld, many of them linked with sovereignty of the land or the success of a family line.
These women are bound to their own purposes and some of the oldest family claim a lineage that includes the, such as Cliodhan and the MacCarthy family or Aoibhail and the O'Brien family.
It might be fair to say that choosing to be a Banshee, is not just a job. It's a Calling.
Athair is the modern Irish word for 'Father' and 'Olathair' is an old Irish name that ties directly with one very singular deity. Olathair is best translated as 'great' or 'ample' father and there is only one God of Ireland that fits both of those descriptors very comfortably. He is an Dagda.
When the Tuatha Dé Danann came into Ireland they found it occupied by descendants of a distant ancestor, the Fir Bolg. From the very beginning of these tales of ancient Ireland we see the Dagda's power and influence upon the battle field, from breaking the lines of the foe, to rallying to defend their King Nuada, when he suffered the loss of his arm.
Later we see the Dagda offering service to his people by building the fortress of their new king Bres, and taking for his payment, the mother of all cows.
When tragedy strikes and the Dagda looses his son Cermait, he journeys out of Ireland to find a way to deny death itself and restore his child. Taking up the big club/stave he offers as guarantee his powers over Land, Sea, Sky,the Sun, Moon.
When war again comes to the Tuatha Dé Danann, this time against the Fomorians, the Dagda offers to do all that every other druid, sorcerer, cupbearer and warrior had offered.
Later when he takes the seat as King of Ireland, he looks to ensure that each of his people have lands fitting to them and when his young son Oengus comes seeking aid, the Dagda is there to clear a forest in a single night, and rework rivers upon the land in another single night.
Wherever we find the Dagda in the stories he is always engaged in some act of transformation, altering the land, the people, and even the season about himself.
Truly there is not father like the Great Father.
Oghma served the Tuatha Dé Danann as their Champion, bringing his great strength to bear time and again in the challenges that faced his tribe. Yet it was not only the power of his arm by which he served. It was also with the power of his mind.
When challenged to prove his excellence in the the fields of though as much as the fields of battle, Oghma set to and with his hand and his knife he carved the first ogham. Some say that the union of the knife and his hand brought about the first script of Ireland, but for others it is more than a simple physical thing. It is written that Sound and Matter are the mother and father of the ogham, as each character is carved to capture the essence of a particular sound.
Ireland has come a long way from the first carved ogham, and the word 'sound' has taken on a rather uniquely cultural meaning, most often found in the northern suburb of Dublin. To many 'being sound' is an expression of a person's dependability, but also they're openness, they're acceptance and their all round positive influence.
Maybe some part of this expression is an acknowledgment of Oghma in our day to day life, but whether it is or isn't it might be fair to say that if you're Sound' it 'Matters'.
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Before their arrival in Ireland the Tuatha Dé Danann were said to have traveled far and wide, learning all manner of skill, druidry and other occult practices. The power of this tribe was such that their movements were noted in visions of prophecy long before their ships ever graced the skies.
One of the most influential characters in the Tuath was called Dian Cecht and he was said to possess the greatest skills in the ways of healing and restoration.
When battle came against the Tuatha Dé Danann, Dian Cecht was never far away. It was said that he could set up a healing well, and a warrior laid within it's herb infused waters, would arise with all but the most mortal of would healed. These warriors would return to the battlefield the next day as if no harm had come to them and this was how the tribe sustained their battles for weeks at a time.
The skill and renown of Dian Cecht's healing waters was such that during the invasion known as the second battle of Moytura, the Fomorian foes knew that they would not stand a chance if the well remained open to the healers. So it was that with guile and stealth a number of their warriors entered the camp of the Tuatha Dé Danann, not armed for battle, but each carrying a stone. These were placed into the healing waters until the entire bath was filled so that no more water could flow. So it was that the Fomorian's destroyed the healing magics of Dian Cecht and lessened the power of the Tuatha Dé Dannan for their battling.
Yet, no stranger to the ways of harming is Dian Cecht, for it was said that he could cause the most mortal wounds to fall from his sword and that none but he, or one of skill matching his, could survive them. The most unfortunate display of his knowledge of harming comes against his own son. Miach had managed a feat in healing that even Dian Cecht could not rival, in restoring to Nuada his own arm, regenerated and whole from whence it has been buried and decayed.
In a wrath Dian Cecht took up his sword and placed many mortal wounds upon Miach, each of which the lad healed with his skill. Wounds which should have ended even the mightiest warrior, were restored in all but an instant by Miach's knowledge of the healing arts. As such Dian Cecht took his harming to the furthest extent and smote Miach's brain from his skull. Taking the brain away ensured that his son could not restore himself and so he was buried. Yet Miach had one last healing gift to give, for upon his grave grew every healing herb, matched to the location of the body that it would restore.
It might be fair to say that anyone can cause hurt or harm to fall upon those around them, but only those who know the harming of a thing can truly understand the healing of it. When it comes to Dian Cecht - The Ways of Harming are Easy. The Ways of Healing are Hard.
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The ancient tales of Ireland tell us that the Tuatha Dé Danann were a people possessed of ever talent. Indeed in order to gain entry to the hall of the king at Tara one had to declare their mastery and be found of value to the Tuath.
One of the most welcomed people in this skilled society were the bard's whose performances added much needed cheer in tales songs and music. Of course there are many who could turn their hand to an instrument, but there were few who could claim true mastery of it.
Here is where we learn of the three strains. These three acts of musical endeavor were only possible to one who was a master with a harp.
The Goiltrai or Sorrow Strain was said to move a person to weep uncontrollably. To show their grief in the wetness of tears upon their cheeks.
The Geantrai or Joy Strain was said to move a person to revel, singing dancing and laughing with wild abandon until their muscles ached.
The Suantrai or Sleep Strain was said to lull a person towards rest, slipping comfort upon them until their head would fall and sleep take them.
We see these strains being performed by Lugh when he comes before King Nuada in Tara, and again performed by the Dagda in the aftermath of the second battle of Moytura when he quests to recover his harp from fomorian raiders.
Yet there is another reference to these mystical strains that is worth knowing and that is the rumored origins of this musical magic. It is said that the creation of these tunes are linked to child birth, as it is in this state that a person would experience these feelings to their greatest extreme.
What made these so important you might wonder, why these specific three strains? It's because they are the strains of emotion.
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As we move through the lore of the land there are many instances where this Goddess makes herself known or her presence felt. One of the first mentions of her is upon the battles of the Plain of Pillars known as Moytura. Here she is found with her powerful sisters raining magic down from the skies upon the heads of their enemies. We later find that Macha is listed among those who fell during the second battle of moytura having been in the thickest parts of the battle side by side with her husband, Nuada, the first king of the Tuatha de Danann in Ireland.
It is some time later, during the texts known as the Ulster cycle that we see the return of this Goddess when she takes on human form and weds a mortal, bringing him great abundance, influence and even conceiving children with him. Her only request of him in return for her favour is that he keep her identity secret. Alas her deal is undone due to the boastful pride of men and not only is she revealed, but forced to race the kings own horses whilst pregnant.
When dragged before the king she did not shy from the challenge of the race, but merely asked that she be allowed to deliver her children first. Finding no honour in the king at his refusal of her request, she turned to all men present and ask for but one voice to plead for her. Once again she found no honour among them as all they offered her was silence.
Nevertheless Macha raced the kings horses beating them easily, yet bringing upon her human form a early labour. There upon the finish line, she birthed her children and died. Yet with her dying breath she laid down a curse upon the men of Ulster that would unman nine generation of them, and wrack them each with birthing pains whenever the land of Ulster may need their strength most.
Wherever we find Macha in our tales she is always a person of power, but power which is hard earned upon the sweat of her labour or the skill of her battles. She is sometimes placed in positions of conflict by those who should be her support. Those who do harm upon her lands or those whom she considers her people, had best be wary. By her word and her deed will she see balance restored.
Where Macha is concerned, justice always follows.
]]>The Tuatha Dé Danann came into Ireland as the descendants of those who had emigrated to avoid oppression. They took rule of the land and began to prosper, yet there were dark times in their future. Something which could not have escaped the notice of those gifted in prophecy.
Through the abuse of the power in his position of King, Bres brought about his own dethroning, and it was this that heralded conflict. Taking his grievance to Balor the war king of the Fomorian's he incited them to invasion. His intent to seize with conquest that which he could not keep fair and right rule.
The Tuatha Dé Danann were not to be found wanting in their preparations for it was clear to them that war would come again to Ireland. A new king came among them, Lugh, a warrior bound up in prophecy all of his own. Yet such was the belief in the prophetic powers that the Dagda, great druid of the tuath went out to consult with the Morrigan and gain from her skills, fore knowledge of the Fomorian invasion site.
In the aftermath of that second battle upon the plains of Moytura the Tuatha Dé Danann stood as victors but as with all wars there came loss. Above the plains the Morrigan, Goddess of Prophesy, Poetry and Battle cast her gaze across the ruin and spoke three poems of Ireland' future.
The first of these poems started;
Peace To Sky.
Sky To Earth.
Earth Below Sky,
Strength In Each One,
A Cup Overfull,
Filled With Honey,
Sufficiency Of Renown..
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Given his relationship to Lir, the sea, we see Manannán connected to the oceans often in very interesting ways, from his magical crane skin bag, which is only full when the tides is, his magical steed Aonbharr which can ride across the waves as easily as land, even to his wonderous self navigating boat, Sguaba Tuinne ("Wave-sweeper"). Always though, Manannán seems to have an intelligent solution to whatever challenge he faces not least of which is the ability to mimic someone else so that their own lord doesn't realise and puts their own warrior to death, instead of this the Mac Lír.
In our fascination with Irish lore and the oceans we couldn't not consider the amazing creature that is the octopus. Though there is no direct connection to Manannán in the lore, its not hard to consider this ocean dweller, with its intelligence, it's camelion like ability and some might say uniquely adaptive genetics, coming to the attention of the God of the sea. So much so that our own resident Eel was very much tickled by the idea and designed this Tee. Who's to say that Octopi aren't envoys from the ocean given their ability to communicate with us in intelligent and entertaining ways.
Either way, it cannot be denied that Manannán is a pivotal figure of Irish lore. Wherever he appears its almost always with some wisdom, warning or lesson. So, Have you heard the Good Word of our Lord Manannán Mac Lír?
The scholarly arts were his to call upon so much so that it was by his working that Ireland's first written language was formed. A series of straight and diagonal lines joining or crossing a main central line is the form in which this script can be found. Even today, the landscape of Ireland is still covered in stone bearing the marks of this ancient writing, many marking the boundaries of territory, or the grave sights of notable people long since lost to the world of the living.
In an ancient document known as The Ogham Tract we learn the story of the birthing of this language and many of the beginnings of how to explore the power of this script. It is said in the Tract that 'the father of Ogham is Ogma, the mother of Ogham is the hand or knife of Ogma'.
The creation of this script was as a proof of Ogma's own ingenuity and that the knowing of this should be kept for only the most learned to pursue the truths that the Ogham may reveal. The act of crafting ogham is one of capturing the very essence of a sound, which could also be said as the naming of a thing and binding it to a physical form.
The power of this binding to physicality, the essence of a sound may already be apparent but the Tract continues to show us the nature of that power in the crafting of the first symbol. The first thing that was written by Ogham, >-,,,,-,,,- i.e. (the birch) b was written. This was not just an arbitrary choice but a decision based on purpose and necessity. It was crafted to convey a warning to Lug son of Ethliu, in respect to his wife, lest she should be carried away from him into the Otherworld. Seven b’s were carved in one switch of birch with the warning that unless birch guard her, she would be carried off from Lugh seven times into the Otherworld or an other country.
Ogham is a script of simplistic elegance and near unfathomable meaning. Each carving of lines indicating more than just a letter in a alphabet, or a type of tree. Each of these shapes offer us a key to exploring a world of concepts and ideals, and that is before one even gets to the insights of combining these letters into words. It was Ogma himself who defined the birth of this ancient writing saying that Sound and Matter are the Mother and Father of the Ogham.
Amongst the Tuatha Dé Danann we find mention of the Badb, or Badhbh in modern Irish. She is listed, along with her sisters Macha and The Mórrígan, as a Goddess of battle and death. Said to take the form of a hooded or scald crow the Badhbh flies over the battle fields of Éireann and that her raucous cries cause the weak of heart to quail in terror.
Possessed of the oracular skill, the Badb is quite often seen prophesying the doom of the worthy and unworthy alike. In the form of the washer at the ford we see her as a stooped crone laboriously scrubbing the blood and gore from some garment or armour, turning the river's waters to red. The identity of the doomed can be told in the recognition of the garment, for if the washer's hands are upon you own shirt then soon your time will come, and in blood and battle shall you meet your end. To die in battle was not always a thing to fear, for in facing a confrontation, standing your ground and meeting an honorable end a warrior can be said to fulfill the duty to which they have sworn their life. The prophesy of the washer could be seen by some as the culmination of their calling.
Yet those who experience the attention of this deity are not always doomed to fall in battle, for the Badhbh can also speak to the doom of that which limits a person, inciting them to greater feats by challenging them to overcome their own reservations. Calling to a person from atop some challenge they must face, exhorting them, not with gentle whispers, but with harsh and grating caws to rise up, take on their power and excel.
Do you hear the call of the Badhbh? Does she speak of the end of your limitations?
If that is so then just maybe you too can say 'Níl fadhb agam. Tá Badhbh agam' - 'I don't have a problem. I have a Badhbh'.
]]>Tales also spoke of certain nights known as 'cat nights' where a witch may transform themselves into a cat. It was said to be wary of harming any cat in case it may be a witch in feline form, for none would want of raise the ire of these magical women. Yet there was also a limit to the use of this ability. It was said that a witch can change freely to and from feline form, but no more than eight times, for where the witch to change for the ninth, then as a cat is how they would live out their days.
One other notable tale is of Cat Royalty, in that there was in Ireland a King of the Cats. One of the most famous was said to be Irusan who live in a cave near the monastery at Clonmacnoise. There he grew to be as big as an ox yet was not as well known as you might think. When a belligerent bard, the then chief poet of Ireland Senchan Torpeist, cursed all the cats on the island, it raised the ire of Irusan. The king of the cats moved to hunt the man down, and slay him so that the curse could be ended. When finally he found his prey, he seized unto his arm and began to drag him away. All the poet's pleas and flattery could avail him nothing but contempt from the Kind of the cats. Alas the actions of Saint Ciaran put an end to Irusan. Seeing the poets plight the saint came from the nearby forge at Clonmacnoise and saved the bard by killing Irusan with a red hot poker.
It is said that the king of the cats lives to this day looking as any other cat does. So, if there is a King o the Cats why wouldn't there be a Queen?
Have you asked your cat if they are royalty?
I find it fascinating to delve into these ancient origin stories of Ireland and explore tales about characters we know to be at least one thousand year old. Though tomes like the book of Kells, the Yellow Book of Lecan or the Book of Fermoy are dated to the eleventh and twelfth centuries, we know that the language is from the ninth century, and that these tales were considered old indeed when they were first committed out of memory and onto pages. So, we have stories of heroes and Gods that have survived the trials of time to still resonate with us today.
So, what powers did this Good God of druidry possess and what belief was there in his abilities that none raised challenge to his claim to wield all that they had promised?
Within the tale of the Second Battle of Moytura, a war council gathers and there the sorcerers promise to call the mountains of Ireland to throw themselves against the invaders. The Cup bearers will call up the lakes and the rivers so that no invader would find a drop to drink and last, the druid will call rains of fire from the skies, steal two thirds of their valour and bind the urine inside both man and horse so that every breath an invader took would diminish them, ever were the war to last seven years.
Here the Dagda speak and with his own words he proclaims his ability; ‘The power which ye boast I shall wield it all by myself.’
Yet this is not the only time we see the Dagda refer to his power. The Dagda has upon himself the power over sun, moon, land and sky. This he declares when he takes up the additional power over life and death in the famous magical club. Yet for all of the tales we hear of this hero amongst heroes he is rarely presented as prideful, wrathful or mean of spirit. He instead offers service time and again to his children and peoples, caring for them and carrying out all forms of toil so that his Tuath may thrive.
It might be fair to say that With 'Great God' Comes Great Responsibility!
During the times of the Tuatha Dé Danann Ireland existed in its era of myth where Gods roamed the island, shaping it, naming it and giving the island many of its features which still exist to this day. Yet this was no golden age of peace and prosperity, it was a time of oppression where not even the smoke from the chimney's went passed without some tax being owed to the Fomorians. With the fall of Nuada, first King of the tribe, Bres had been chosen to rule in Ireland and it was by this poor choice that the Tuatha Dé Danann came into servitude. Bres favoured his fathers lineage of Fomorian over that of his mother's, and so even the great heroes of the tuath came into service is tasks ill befitting their ability and status. The champion Oghma was sent to gather firewood for the King's hall everyday, which his brother, the great druid The Dagda, was set to digging the land around Rath Bres so that it arose as a fortress.
Yet not long could this treatment continue, for prophesy told of a warrior, a scholar, an ildanach ' one of many talents' who would cast down the Fomorian warlord Balor of the Bale eye and free Ireland from oppression. The arrival of Lugh as king of Ireland signaled that the prophesy times were coming to pass. The failed rule of Bres led to the Fomorian invasion and battle was inevitable as these two titanic forces clashed upon the plains of Moytura. There is was, for the second time, the Tuatha Dé Danann fought for thier place in Ireland. Yet for all of the heroes made and slain, for all of the great deeds and dire doings, no end to the battle could there be until The Morrigan decreed it.
What deeds could there be had if there were no one to record and remember them? Who would recall the names of the slain in times to come if not for the observation of their passing? Who could stand and gaze into the harming and slaying with a will to see, with a mind to recall every detail, and with a heart that could not be broken?
None other than the Morrigan, for battle is her domain, prophesy her power, and poetry her language. By virtue of her words of recitation were the deeds observed and recorded. By her prophetic performance was the state of Eireann set, its fate observed, and its future foretold.
One could truly say that, It's Not Over Until a Goddess of Poetry and Battle Composes a Poem About it
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Brighid is listed among them from the very start arriving with her tribe into this ancient and abundant land. As a person of great skill at a wide variety of crafts she fulfills many roles for her people. Goddess of the forge, of healing, of poetry, as well as the hearth fires of home and security. It seems that she was the obvious choice to wed Eochu Bres, and, through their union, cement her tribes alliance with the Fomorians.
Of course that union leads in many tragedies for Brighid, from the invasion of her land, the war with her tribe, and the loss of her son, an event that led to the first keening to be heard in Ireland. Through out the conflict though Brighid shows up for he people in equal parts smiting and healing. Daughter of the 'goodly one' the Dagda, she really embodies a number of aspects shared with her father, from diligence in service to her tribe ensuring their health and protection whilst inspiring them towards the pursuits of creative and artistic expression.
In later iterations of Brighid in Ireland's tales she is given the title of saint, but unlike other some beitified women, Brighid is no martyr. She turns up time and again as a force for change in the tales of this land, Stepping up to challenge those in power, providing healing for those in need, food to those who hunger, and grim justice for those deserving of it. In one tale when Brighid was accosted by a man over her beauty, she pulled out her own eye to spite the mans words. When this was later restored through her healing, she cursed the man to loose both of his eyes for the scorn which he had placed upon her.
No matter which Brighid you choose to explore you will find someone who is not adverse to doing what's needed, bringing about the change whether it's with the airs of poetic inspiration, the turning of a cursed word, or with the pounding purifying works of the forge. Whatever your personal view of this Goddess, there can be no doubt that when time comes, Brighid can drop the hammer.
]]>In the ancient past of Ireland the art of crafting poetry was highly regarded as one of the greatest skills. There was not a Hero who could call themselves such if they could not recite certain stanzas from memory as well as display the mental agility to create their own words right there upon the spot. Though of all of the famous poets and poems of Ireland's past there can be none that compare to the Morrigan.
During the times of the Tuatha Dé Danann there came a point of great conflict. The arrival of Lugh as their king signaled that times long foretold of in prophesy were coming to pass. Soothsayers and prophets had foreseen the doom of the Fomorian warlord Balor, known as 'the Bale Eye', by the deeds of a child born of his only daughter, Ethne. Some stories say that it was by trickery that Cian son of Dian Cecht found the Fomorian woman locked away from men and that their union was one of forbidden romance. Other stores say that there was a wedded union to foster peace between the two peoples. Either way, the child of thier union was Lugh, he of great skill and so the words of the prophets were proved true. There was to be no peace and with the failed rule of Bres came the Fomorian invasion.
Battle was inevitable as these two titanic forces clashed upon the plains of Moytura. All of the great names of the Tuatha Dé Danaan took to the conflict. Nuada, once king, alongside Macha. Oghma the Champion bringing doom upon Indech. Brigid aligned with the sorceress raining fire upon the foes of her tribe, and of course Lugh. The young king slipped his guards and rode straight into the thickest of the battles and there it was that he cast down Balor his grandsire.
Yet for all of the heroes made and slain, for all of the great deeds and dire doings, no end to the battle could there be until The Morrigan decreed it. As the remains of the ruin were removed, It came to the Morrigan, daughter of Ernmas to perform the last and great deed. As it had been She who worked to see her people victorious in war by her meetings and planning with the Dagda. In stripping her foes of the valor in their blood with her own hands. In calling down storms and sky fire upon the heads of the Fomorian foe, so too would it be She who brought the matter to an end.
By virtue of her words of recitation were the deeds observed and recorded. The art and craft of poetry in Ireland was less a simple expression of syllable and sound, and more a magical act of imbuing the world with meaning by bearing witness and creating record. The words would be carried forward from that moment and all would know the doings of the day. The heroes and the harmed, the victorious and the vainglorious. The words of the Morrigan spoke to the doings of the day, but also the the coming of future times. Times of abundance and plenty, when Eireann will thrive in wealth and beauty, and then further times when the island will loose her her and the knowing of herself. A loss of heart that would bring about ruin and hardship. These words the Morrigan spoke upon the plains of Moytura, words that have carried forward through the generations to the world of today.
By her prophetic performance, was the state of Eireann set and its fate observed. One could truly say that, It's Not Over Until a Goddess of Poetry and Battle Composes a Poem About it.
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What kind of person could the Tuatha Dé Danann choose as their Champion?
For an answer one must simply look to Oghma.
We find Oghma among the Tuatha Dé Danann as they first arrive in Ireland but much like his brother, the Dagda, he appears most often when some task or challenge is called for. He is with the battle formations as they first clash against the Fir Bolg.
Once the fighting was finished and the rule of the Tuatha Dé Dannan was placed upon Ireland, things did not fair well for this mighty warrior. Bres had taken on the kingship and chosen to favour only those who shared his paternal heritage, Fomorians. This bias saw the Dagda digging the ditches of Rath Bres, which Oghma, renowned for his strength was set to gather the firewood for the King's hall.
Now this was no small feat for it was known that the King must sit awake in his hall from the rise of the sun until it's set and that any who wished could call upon his hospitality for warmth food and rest. AS such the fires must be lit and stocked to burn throughout the fulls days length. Alas Oghma was not offered such hospitality. In some versions of the tale, Ogma is forced to swim a river against its currents to reach the wood. There he would gather what was required and strapping it to his back he would swim the river again. Each time the river would steal half of what he had collected, yet always there was enough wood for the fires of the King's hall.
His position as champion is restored to him when Bres was deposed and replaced, once again by Nuada. Here we find him among the rest of the notable heroes in the kings hall and it falls to Oghma to place the first trial upon Lugh, when he comes seeking a seat. As Lugh enters to declare himself, Oghma bars his path and reaching down, he hefts one of the large flagstones from the fire pit. This he then casts out of the hall, punching a hole through its wall as he does. Lugh steps up to the challenge and throws the stone back into the hall, using the same hole. The young hero then goes one step further in fixing the hole Oghma had created. Thus Oghma tests the new comer, both in strength and in skill.
Yet strength alone was not enough, for the Tuatha de Danann were a people of skill and art as much as strength and battle. Here too we find Oghma excel above others for it is from his mind and scholarly working that the first written language was created. As proof of his own ingenuity this warrior poet created a script for learned. It was said that this script was born of sound and matter, with the father of Ogham as Ogma, and the mother of Ogham is the hand or knife of Ogma.
Oghma again took to battle when the Fomorian invasion arrived upon Ireland. It's said that he defeated Tethra, a Fomorian hero, and claimed his sword, which then began to relate to him the deeds of its former owner. Among the foes to fall to this champion was non other than Indech, king and warlord among the Fomorians. The same Indech who set an inhospitable meal for his brother, the Dagda. Though some accounts say that this feat cost Oghma his life, others say that he survived the battle. It is Oghma and Lugh who accompany the Dagda on his quest to recover his harp from the rampaging Fomorian raiders.
Whatever version of the tales you choose to follow, one thing cannot be denied. Oghma has always had a significant impact on the world around him. Battling oppression for his people. Serving the needs of his tribe. Pushing the scope of learning in new ways. To this day ogham, the script bears the name of the intellect, poet, warrior and word smith that created it. To this day, Ogham can be found carved upon the rock, some might say the very bones, of Ireland.
What kind of person could the Tuatha Dé Danann choose as their Champion?
For an answer one must simply look to Oghma.
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]]>When our ancestors came into the island it was a deep and ancient forest. Many of our earliest recorded feats by the first settlers were clearing these trees to form the first plains. Still, for all of the tribes efforts, dark and wild places still existed and here it was that these creatures roamed free to hunt and haunt the minds of men.
As with all things, change is inevitable. Over time the tribes cleared more and more of the land to suit their growing needs and the arrival of agricultural knowledge. As such the wild places were pushed to the edges and eventually, like the Tuatha Dé Danann, these creatures moved into the Otherworld.
They became Sidhe, joining the creatures of that other life. Ireland has always been a place of thin boundaries. Even today in our world of technology and skepticism there are tales of Otherworldly happenings. Across the island the observant may note lone trees set amidst cultivated farm land. Or mounded hills that have never been leveled. Generations of Irish folk know better than to disturb the last of these wild places for many are the dooms that may fall upon them for the indiscretion.
One such doom is the Cú Sídhe with translates as 'Hound of the Hollow Hills'. These beasts are said to be amongst the most dangerous and tenacious of hunters. Bound to the will of the Aos Sidhe, these hounds are said to move swiftly between the worlds, implacable in the search for their assigned prey.
What makes these predators so successful you might wonder, and well it is that you should? The Cú Sídhe makes no sound whilst it hunts. They are the silent shadow, the quiet stalker, the doom which comes unheard. Only a fool would risk the ire of the Sidhe, for once their hounds are set upon their hunt, only the very fortunate escape.
Yet, as with all things of the Otherworld there are ways in which to protect yourself. Though they move with complete silence, the Cú Sídhe does make but one noise. As they close upon their prey the hounds will let out a blood curdling howl. The howl is said to freeze the heart of even the bravest warrior, even bringing death of fright upon some. Stories tell us of fishermen, out off the coast hearing such a howl, only to return home and find that doom has called for one of their kin. This howl is to announce that death has come.
In Ireland those who heard the howl would know to seek the protection of their safe spaces. As with the black coach and the Banshee, the Cú Sídhe is a harbinger of death, so pay attention when you hear the howl of the Cú Sídhe.
]]>Few there are that can claim more than one skill to their name and fewer still that could claim mastery of those skills. One such Goddess is Brighid, known also as Bríg.
Skilled in the arts of healing, the ways of poetry, she also excels in her abilities as a smith, working all of the tools around a forge fire.
As a healer she works with those who have need of her gentle hand and caring touch. As a poet she works words for those who need to find expression within themselves, and in some way gain clarity through their works.
Yet Brighid is also a Goddess of elemental fire and wielding her hammer, she has been known to beat many a fine shape from the raw materials with which she is presented. Those who work with this Goddess are on occasion cast into the transformative fires and then placed between her anvil and hammer.
Brighid is an expert at what she does and knows exactly how much her material can take, even though we may not. Those who come through this process can truly be considered forged by fire.
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]]>The term Cailleach comes from an old Irish mythological person known as the Cailleach Bhéarra which literally translates as the Hag of Beare. She was said to live upon the Beare peninsula in Munster, the southern Provence of Ireland.
It has been suggested that she was once a sovereignty Goddess of Ireland, linked to her telling tales of her youthful beauty and drinking wine with kings. There was also links to rumors of an old cow Goddess who lived on an island off the coast. The Cailleach Bhéarra was said to have a bull called the Tarbh Conraidh and every cow who heard him bellow calved within the year.
She is regarded as a powerful figure of old Irish folk lore, who is said to be a practitioner of magic, a shaper of the landscape and a keeper of the harvest. It was said that she would challenge reapers to a competition, cutting her field, and when they invariably failed she would cut the legs from under them.
Farmers in Ireland would compete not to be last to gather in their harvest of grain. It was believed that whoever was last, would take in the Cailleach and she would need her due proportion of the harvest to sustain her through out the winter. Those who failed to show due care and respect for her, invariably found themselves with a harvest of troubles.
In Irish, the word Cailleach originally signified a nun, coming from the latin word 'pallium' which means veil. Over time it came to mean 'old woman' or 'hag'. MAybe its not hard to see how this, added to the ancient beliefs of power and mysticism, then filtered through the lens of the popular media representation, leads us to it's current use for 'witch'.
No matter whether you adhere to the old ways or the new, It would be fair to say one should always take care during Seal an Cailleach, The season of the witch.
]]>The Leannán Sidhe is an alluring, powerful and somewhat dangerous member of the fae folk of Ireland. Often translated as the 'fairy lover' this person takes a rather specific interest in mortals.
In some cases sharing a loving and lasting relationship with them, either in our world or the Otherworld. The most widely known version of this Leannán Sidhe would have to be Niamh. She came to Ireland from the Otherworld upon her great white steed and seeing Oisin, son of Fionn, hero of the Fianna, fell in love with him. Oisin for his part was equally smitten by Niamh and agreed to journey to Tir na nOg, the land of eternal youth, with her. There they lived a joy filled life and even brought forth children together. Unfortunately, the tale does not end well as homesick Oisin left to visit Ireland upon Niamh's white steed, and by ill fate broke the one prohibition she had placed upon him. Oisin's doom came swift upon him and it was said that Niamh was forever in her grief.
Still, though this is the most well known Leannán Sidhe, its not the most common version of the tale. Far more examples exist of a fae immortal taking an artist, musician, or poet as their lover. It is almost always a tortuously passionate and inspiring relationship, with the mortal reaching undreamt of heights in their art. Still these tales too do not end well for the mortal as the Leannán sidhe is said to come upon them every night to drain them of their life essence. These artists exist for but a short time, burning bright with their creativity even as they are consumed unto death to satisfy the needs of this immortal being.
There are few ways to escape the 'affections' of a Leannán Sidhe. Once they have bonded to you there can be little hope of survival. Even fleeing across the waves, out of Ireland, to the Americas was not enough, according to one particular tale. What hope there is comes with its own moral dilemma. The most effective way to free oneself from a Leannán sidhe is to find for them some other mortal to take your place. Therefore to save your own life you must willingly sacrifice another to an unending, Otherworldly hunger.
Whether you meet this 'fairy lover' on the streets, or between the sheets, it might be fair to say, you're fucked.
]]>It is to these Otherworldly powers that we will draw our attention this day for in the réamhscéal - or 'before stories' we find a much concerned Medb, Battle Queen of all Connacht, seeking wisdom from sources outside our own world.
She journey's to her druid there to have him cast his divination magic and lay some light upon her thoughts for they are heavy with concern for her people. Well aware is Medb that she gathers a war host, built from four of the five great provinces of Ireland, and that she will lead them in blood and death against the fifth. Ulster, province of battle. She asks of her druid, who shall return, for though some may fall surely most will return unharmed. Her druid cannot give her more than guidance that at least she herself, will return home.
Of course this leaves our Queen Medb with no great reassurance and indeed some confusion. The Curse of Macha lies upon the men of Ulster and they are all abed in their pains. How then could her victory not be plain for the Draoí to recount?
Upon her chariot she leaves the druid and her charioteer decides its best to wheel the chariot around by the right so that good fortune can be upon them. It is in this moment that again the Otherworld shows its influences. A chariot approaches bearing upon it a most wondrous and beautiful maiden.
Medb gazed at her. "And what doest thou here now, O maiden?" asked Medb.
"I impart to thee thine advantage and good fortune in thy gathering and muster of the four mighty provinces of Erin against the land of Ulster on the Raid for the Kine of Cualnge."
"Wherefore doest thou this for me?" asked Medb.
"Much cause have I. A bondmaid 'mid thy people am I."
"Who of my people art thou and what is thy name?" asked Medb.
"Not hard, in sooth, to say. The prophetess Fedelm, from the Sid ('the Fairy Mound') of Cruachan, a poetess of Connacht am I."
Presented with this opportunity and familiar with the workings of the Otherworld Medb knew that it was only right to put the 'ceist' or question to this seer and to seek insight as to the fate of the people of her battle host.
"Tell, O Fedelm, prophet-maid How beholdest thou our host?"
Fedelm turned her gaze upon the future of Medb's army and in that world she saw the coming of the Hound of Chulann. She saw the feats of the Champion who stood in Ulster and the reaping that he would place upon the forces of the Queen of Connacht.
This is how she answered;
"Crimson-red from blood they are; I behold them bathed in red!"
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]]>We find tales of Mananán's presence all through out the mythical cycles but indeed also in later stories known as the cycle of Kings. He is presented in many forms, but almost always he is a pivotal character around whom some important function, action or change invariably occurs. It's Mananán who leads the Tuatha Dé Danánn into the hollow hills. Mananán who converses with Bran on his voyage, giving him a warning. Mananán who gives Cormaic Mac Airt the famous cup which divines truth.
There are many amazing and wondrous and magical things which Mananán possesses. Everything from his self sailing boat Scuabtuinne or wave sweeper, a sword that cleaves any armour and compels truth Fragarach "the answerer", a cloak of invisibility which he can also use to cause memory loss, his steed Enbarr or "water foam" which can run as well on the waves as it does on land, and of course his unique bag in which he keeps all of his treasures. The bag which is only full at high tide and at all other times remains empty.
If you think that this is where the wonder ends you will find yourself mistaken, for even if Mananán were bereft of all of these items he would still be a figure to inspire amazement. Our stories tell us that he is a master of disguise, capable of changing his appearance in any manner he pleases to suit his ends. He is also a warrior and sorcerer of such note that even the Tuatha Dé Dananan defer to him. In one tale Mananán sprints from Tara to Emahain Macha and back, covering near the length of the island in all but a few mins returning ahead of the other racers who were about to cross the finish line before he had even set out.
By now you have a deeper understanding of this very powerful and influential deity, but there is one thing that I have yet to mention which sets him apart from almost all the other Gods of Ireland. Mananán is the lord and guide to the Otherworld. In Irish tradition the Otherworld is known as an Saoil Eile, literally the other life. It is a separate parallel existence to our reality yet it is possible for some to cross over and experience fantastic places like Tir na n'Og the land of the eternal youth, and Mananán's home Emhain Abhlach, the Plain of Apples which is an abundant paradise.
Many heroes of Irish lore have cross the waves, stepped through the mist or ridden a horse into the Otherworld, from Bran, Cormac, and Oisin we learn of this amazing alternate reality, but also of its dangers. To get lost in the Otherworld is to loose all sense of self, all sense of purpose or direction, and to spend an eternity rowing around seeking the solace of a home you may never see again. Those who manage to safely navigate this realm generally do so with the aid of Mananán as thier guide.
There is a saying that knowledge is power. The knowing of a thing leads to understanding and in understanding we are empowered. Might I suggest you take some time to get to know Mananán Mac Lír, so that you too may be prepared for when the Otherworld calls.
]]>Where we find this acknowledgement is in Ireland's ancient folklore concerning that conflict known as the Second Battle of Moytura. When facing the threat of invasion from the armed hosts of the Fomorian's, King Nuada abdicates his throne in favour of Lugh so that his people might stand the best chance or survival. Nuada then gathers all of those who wield druidic power and asks them what they will bring to the battle in service of their tribe and it's new king.
The sorcerers state that they will call up the mountains of Ireland to support the Tuatha Dé Danann, casting the rock of the earth against them. The cupbearers state that they will call up all of the lakes and rivers of Ireland so that they will support the people of Danú and remain hidden from the Fomorians, causing them to thirst and weaken. The druids promise to rain fire from the sky so that it falls upon the Fomorians and brings both terror and harm to them. Also that every breath the Tuatha Dé Danann take will increase their strength and valour so that, were the battle to go on for seven years, their people would still be strong and capable.
Here is where we learn more of the true powers of the Dagda, because his response to all of these wondrous promises is this;
‘The power which ye boast I shall wield it all by myself.’
Yet this is not the extent to which the Dagda's abilities are made clear to us. The Dagda causes the sun to stop in the sky so that his son Oengus could be conceived and born all in one day, and Boann's infidelity concealed.
When seeking to take up the power over life and death so that he can restore his child Cermait, he offers a guarantee listing his powers over 'sun, moon, sea and land' so that he may borrow the club from its owner; that is after he used it to slay and restore him and his brothers.
After the battle with the Fomorians, the Dagda travels with Lugh and Oghma to recover his stolen harp. As it comes to him the harp becomes the slayer of nine of the raiders, but then the Dagda uses it to make the invaders dance, then weep, then fall into a magical sleep.
The Dagda it is who rules Ireland after Lugh, seeing to its rightful abundant growth for eighty years. During this time he clears forests, creates rivers and ensures peace and safety for everyone.
So it might be fair to say that the Dagda, though possessed of so much power, so much wisdom and ability, may not be considered 'morally good', but maybe you will agree with me that whatever he sets his mind to, he will be just good at it!
]]>With his harp he would turn the seasons, his cauldron would satisfy any company that came to it, and with his club take life and restore it.
No small character by virtue of his power, names, role and indeed stature - the Dagda could command high respect for his abilities. Yet among the Tuatha Dé Danann Nuada, known as Airgetlám, was their first king. Under his judgment the Dagda served, and upon the plains of Moytura he battled the Fir Bolg, breaking their lines so that one hundred and fifty might follow in his wake.
When the kingship moved to Bres son of Elatha of the Fomorians, the Dagda again served his king by digging the trenches of Rath Bres, building the fortifications that would provide security for his people. Now at this time the Dagda laboured mightily and so was his meal was required to be mighty - so that the rewards would match the efforts.
By Bres' ill judgement of the Dagda was the king's rule shown to be failed, and in that act were the seeds sown for his downfall... and indeed the war with the Fomorians.
When battle came the Dagda took upon him the deeds offered by all of the others, the sorcerers summoning the earth, the cupbearers summoning the waters, and the draoí summoning fire from the air.
With his efforts, under the leadership of Lugh, the tribe of Danú were victorious - and in the aftermath it was the Dagda who stood with the Mórrígan as she declared the battle results, and spoke her prophesy for Ireland.
After Lugh, the Dagda took up the kingship of Ireland and served his people for eighty years. He cleared a forest in a single night, drew out rivers across the island, set forth the boundaries of the provinces, gave each of his tribe land and holdings of their own, and banished a monster and the sea itself from the land to form the plain of Mag Muirthemne.
All of this the Dagda did whilst adhering to the principles of his people. Keeping to the rules and expectations of hospitality. Speaking Right Judgement. Ensuring reciprocal justice.
The Dagda is a God of labour, but also a God of balance and rest. Of getting what you deserve for the efforts you put in. Honouring Him is not as hard as you might think, it can be quite easy in fact... just Do the Work.
]]>Here we find Medb of Cruachán, a woman of power, intellect, and will.
Medb was queen over Ireland's western province Connacht, ruling with wisdom and passion from her seat of power at Cruachán (Rathcroghan). Such was her wisdom that heroes would come from all over Ireland to be judged by her in feats of skill and valour.
In fact when King Conchobar of Ulster found himself with three such heroes, Conall Cernach, Lóegaire Búadach and the infamous Cú Chulainn, near coming to blows over who deserved the hero's portion of the feast, he thought to shift his violently explosive problem on to Medb. Such was her skill with words and the ways of the Otherworld, she was able to fulfill her judgement, that Cú Chulainn was the greater hero, whilst still turning the problem back upon Conchobar.
Medb's name is synonymous with the word mead, an alcoholic beverage made from the ferment of honey. Indeed one of the translations of Medb is 'she who intoxicates'. As an equal ruler of Connacht she was free to take as many lovers as she chose. Such were her appetites, it was said that she would take seven lovers in one night. That, or one Fergus Mac Róich - another notable Ulster hero of great renown, stature, vigor, and stamina.
When her right to equal rule was challenged over a matter of wealth concerning her prize white bull, which had left her herds to join those of her husband's, she engaged in very generous negotiations to secure a breeding loan of its only rival in Ireland - the brown bull of Cooley.
Thanks to the drunken braggartry of her envoys, the negotiations failed. What was worse, they had forced her along the path of invasion and conquest. Still, Medb would not be denied, and she called unto her a grand army - laying claim to the heroes of other provinces and their retinues as the judge of their worth. The war against Ulster had begun.
Medb is a multi faceted figure of Irish lore, linked with priestess work in the Otherworld, the sovereignty of Ireland itself as a goddess, and the rites of judgement and right rule. She is a sagas worth of exploration and learning all in herself but the Banshenchus (the Lore of Woman) manuscript, may have described her best; "Glorious, perverse, extravagant and liberal".
All in all, He's kind of a big deal. So let me share with you a story. A personal tale of Dagda work, the layers of the Irish language, the power of words, and the foolishness of a bard.
Many years ago there was a pagan gathering. Not those held in olden times among trees and rocks. No, this pagan gathering was an annual event held in a hotel where folk would gather and speakers would be brought from all over the world to share in the current state of paganism. At this event a tuatha, or some might say warband, regularly host a temple dedicated to The Mórrígan, Irish goddess of poetry, prophesy, battle and fate. Within this reserved sacred space they set aside altars to many other Gods of the Tuatha Dé Danann.
This particular year the chieftains of these Mórrígan devotees offered a great honor to one who they called friend and recognized for his words. An Scéalaí Beag was offered space to join the ritual of consecration and to use his words to call in The Dagda to the altar that was set aside for him.
Of course our bard was only too pleased to accept their offer, and promised to do them honour with his words. I'm sure we all know that this is the part of the story where things do not, indeed, go as planned.
Within the temple space the rite was enacted. With great solemnity of words and shared intent the ritual built, as voice after voice added their words calling the deities of Ireland to take up their space within the temple. Around they came to the altar of the Dagda and the bard where he stood before it's arraignment.
With their consent he opened the bottle of Irish whiskey which had crossed the ocean with him for just this purpose. Raising his voice he spoke the words they had asked of him, offering tribute to the God he had declared himself to and pouring libation into the vessel upon the altar. Then when it seemed all of the words had been said, others arose and passed the bards lips, unplanned, uncalled, and in the native tongue of his land.
"Nuair a ólann mé, ólann tú."
With that the bard took a sip from the bottle of whiskey feeling its smokey flavour upon his lips and the hot burn of it slide down his throat. Now some of you may know and already have sighed and rolled your eyes at the foolishness of the act, but for those others let me tell you of the danger of words. Especially those offered to a God during ritual, a God known as much for his vast appetite as for his vast power. A God who takes a person's word as their bond, especially when that word is sealed with a drink.
For what the bard had intended was to invite the God to share in the drinking and toasting of those who came to honour him. What the bard had actually said was 'When I drink, You drink'.
As the ritual concluded and the temple was opened, the tuatha began to host a grand evening of celebration, food, drink, stories and sharing. Our bard stepped from the temple space engaging in the chat with the other devotees. It was only when he was asked for a share of his whiskey that he realized he still carried the bottle. The bottle of Irish whiskey he had brought to honour his God, the bottle which should have stayed on the Dagda's table. Making his hurried apologies the bard rushed back to the now deserted and quiet temple space. Kneeling upon the floor before the altar he took a moment to call out to his God and apologise, then reaching up, placed the bottle upon the table. Or at least tried to.
There are many of the old stories of Ireland's folklore that speak of what happened next, but even though the bard knew the stories, he never fully believed they could happen, that was until the moment the bottle stuck fast to his hand.
Try as he might, his fingers wouldn't open, his grip not relax on the bottle. In the quiet space of the temple surrounded by the gaze of his Gods he did what any mortal would. Panic.
His heart began a hammering, blood rushing its way about his body, driving a flush of heat to his skin and causing his mind to race. In a moment that stretched to an eternity but existed as no more than a few rapid breaths the bard experienced a shift in his reality. It was then that he heard the voice of his God, loud and clear in the space that was set for Him, and His God was laughing.
The rumbling chuckle rolled its way down into him, surrounding him with a warmth that stilled his heart and soothed his panic. When at last the bard was at his ease the chuckle faded and his God spoke words to him.
"So we're drinking are we?"
Now don't mistake my meaning in sharing this tale with you. This is no story of higher calling to sacred duty. This is a cautionary tale of the Rightness of words and their power to bind.
For in speaking as he had, Nuair a ólann mé, ólann tú - 'When I drink, You drink', the bard had ritually declared himself not just the Dagda's drinking companion, but in fact, his drinking vessel. The words of the bard had bound him to the God's thirst and the God had chosen his beverage, the newly opened bottle of Irish whiskey.
What followed next is not my story to share for there are many perspectives of every tale, but suffice it to say the bard drank for his God and his God drank deep indeed.
With the end of the bottle came the end of the agreement, relieving the bard of his duty and most of his senses to boot. That he survived what could be considered deity level alcohol poisoning may be less of a feat of mortal endurance and more one of divine intervention.
So dear friends, we come to the end of the tale and I hope the lesson has not been lost to you. Be wary of the Rightness of words - for they have the power to bind when spoken to a God. Be cautious in your dealings with deity - for they will hold a promise more dear than you may consider, and last but by no means least... ALWAYS set aside a separate vessel when you're drinking with the Dagda.
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]]>From the time of the Tuatha Dé Danann there were many Gods and Goddesses, but there are few that stand out as remarkably as The Mórrígan.
In the time of trouble leading up the Fomorian invasion, Nuada abdicates the throne so that Lugh may lead the tribe. Even this is not seen as enough and so their 'Good God' the Dagda sets out to seek aid. He travels across the land to a ford upon the river Unshin.
There upon the boundary of earth and water, surrounded in air and warmed by sun fire, he meets with a woman. They share in each other, as husband and wife, and the space is called the bed of the couple.
This woman is the Mórrígan, and she looks upon the skeins of fate to seek the future of the coming conflict. Yet with her prophesy given, still she offers more for those who she considers her own. When the battle comes she will go amongst the enemies and take from them the valour of their kidneys. What promises the Mórrígan makes, she keeps, for on the day of conflict she comes to Lugh and the tribe bearing fists full of the blood of their enemy.
The day is carried by the battles of the Gods, but it is by no means complete until the witness is taken - for who can say what deeds occurred without proper record kept? It is the Mórrígan who bears this witness, reciting a grand poem declaring the battle and all that she sees. When asked what comes next, she offers another poem layered with her prophetic gift, declaring the future of Ireland.
The Mórrígan is an expert at the long game - for her perspective is not measured in days or months, but in decades and indeed centuries. She will always take that which is of use to Her, but for those she calls there is greater personal work required.
To achieve that which She expects, one must gather their valour and be ready to gaze upon the battlefield, for in Her service we can gain glimpses of fate to aid in the manifestation of Her design.
This design came about during the opening session of the annual Meeting the Mórrígan Intensive Programme, taught by Lora O'Brien. Every year her students are expected to go deep in their service of the Goddess.
So are you ready? To face yourself and the battlefield of your soul? Are you ready to Go Deep with the Mórrígan?
If you'd like to take a free course to learn about this Goddess, go to Getting Started with the Mórrígan at the Irish Pagan School.
]]>
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