poem

Finding Your Own Way

December, 2018

Chapter 8

The Shamanistic Path

I add this section for those who are interested in the spiritualistic or shamanistic aspect of meditation. This is simply an introduction to the world of the shaman. For those who wish to delve further, I would advise finding a reliable teacher to help them. In the last twenty years, there has been a widening of interest in the healing and spiritual practices of our ancestors and many have found a pathway back to a more earth-centred method of teaching and healing.

As always, trust your own instincts. Find out as much as you can before becoming too closely involved with any particular individual. We all go through challenging times, – but if this person is not handling the important aspects of their lives very well, then perhaps they are not for you.

If they care more about money than the work they are doing, then they are most likely not the right person to teach you. If they take on too many students, then they may not be able to give the support needed. Many shamans offer healing and counseling. If you are interested in learning from someone, then this may be a good way to find out if your paths are compatible. Even a good shaman may not be suited to you personally. Be prepared to take the time needed to find a way forward. A good friend who is a powerful shaman told me that the teacher will find you when you are ready. We work on ourselves and the universe guides us to where we need to be. I am always suspicious of weekend courses which promise to turn someone into an instant healer /shaman/counsellor with a nice shiny certificate.

What we know of the early religious practices of mankind is based largely on cave paintings and a few archaeological discoveries. Most anthropologists base their conjectures loosely on the tribal cultures which still existed in remote places up until quite recently, – before becoming overrun by modern society.

It is widely believed that shamans have existed as a separate class for at least 30,000 years.

It is my own belief that many men who were unsuited to hunting became shamans. In many ways, their initiation was as tough as that of the warriors in many cultures. Often they were buried for several days to symbolise a journey to the underworld.

Those with minor disabilities which would have made them unfit for hunting were able to help their tribe by performing rituals for success and journeying inward to help find the best places to hunt for game. They would then be on hand to protect the camp during the hunt and use divination to resolve any disputes. Contacting the ancestors may have been an important part of their duties and healing diseases by the use of herbs, and in serious cases, ‘soul retrieval’

In soul retrieval, the shaman enters the underworld to find the lost soul of a tribal member. The afflicted may have a mental illness or a fever or be near death.

The shaman must be confident and courageous, or he too may become lost in the vast realms of the underworld and perhaps never return.

I would find this idea quaint, – apart from having witnessed the effects on what could easily be called “loss of soul” on a good friend. He became lost during a badly constructed ritual for past life journeying which was popular in the 1970’s. Something rather nasty returned in his stead.

It took most of the night to evict the ‘entity’ and return this young man and he was never quite the same again. I am aware of the theory of disassociated personality complexes, but it is hard to call them that when they read minds and try to tear your throat out. This is why it is best to get a teacher before tackling more advanced work. Always set your boundaries and your intent. Use whatever help is available to you and meditate in a safe and a sane way. Take things slowly and easily.

My own ideas on how early shamanism was structured, are based more on my own experiences than on the little that is known of early man. Because a group of people may live a nomadic lifestyle or exist in buildings suited to their locality, made of straw and mud, – it hardly proves that their culture has not advanced in 30.000 years.

In 1980, I went to see a small collection of artifacts, taken from Newgrange, Ireland, which were on display in a private library in Dublin. I went with a friend, who I will call Susan. We were invited to go there by the leader of a Rosicrucian group we were involved in. All we were told was to look for an item listed as a ceremonial mace head and see what connection we could make with the object. It was an egg-shaped stone with spiral patterns and a hole through it, large enough to fill a man’s hand.

As I gazed at the object, I found myself back in Newgrange, sometime around the building of the passage tomb. A young man dressed in furs sat in front of a fire using the object to grind something in a bowl. He had a clubbed foot. When I commented on it, he laughed and told me it was why he was chosen to be a shaman. When I compared notes with Susan, it turned out that we had shared the same experience. Our accounts of the vision matched perfectly. Oddly, I forgot about this experience for many years until the memory came back to me one day. I wrote the poem below to remind myself of the journey.

Trance is a powerful tool for spiritual exploration.

It can be triggered by many methods.

Hypnotism is the least trustworthy and most dangerous method.

Wounded Heart

Do only fools and cripples live in longing for the light?

Are wounded hearts the only ones who venture deep into the dark to draw aside the veil?

They, who wander aimlessly in woods and fields, to search for wisdom long before the dawn,

Have pity for the poets and the artists who have felt this sense of exile since the day that they were born.

A simple, egg-shaped stone, small enough to fit inside my palm, became the key.

I gazed upon the spirals on this artifact and little did I realise the tale it had to tell.

My friend and I transported back in space and time to when it last was used.

At Newgrange barrow, we both stood, amazed, astounded and bemused.

The shaman sat before a fire, with robes of fur, and mischief in his eyes.

Grinding herbs with stone and bowl, our sudden apparitions seemed to cause him no surprise.

It happened forty, and five thousand years ago, I scarce remember all he had to say.

But one thing stood so clearly in my mind, it stayed with me until this very day.

He seemed quite young for one so wise, with a boyish face and long dark hair,

But, when I gazed upon his crippled foot, he quickly picked up on my stare.

I commented upon the injury at which he saw me glance,

He laughed as if I was a clumsy child, and asked how else would he have had his chance?

The wounded walk the lonely path, and fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

The blind can see the things which normally are hidden by the light, – their vision knows no end.

The beggar and the vagabond have riches that a king will never know.

And when the journey has no maps or charts, the child within us knows which way to go.

***

About the Author:

Patrick W Kavanagh, Featuring the inspirational art of Bill Oliver

Writer, poet, Patrick W Kavanagh was born in Dublin and now lives and works in Lincolnshire in a small rural town. Patrick became fascinated by the strange abilities of the human mind from watching his mother give psychic readings using tea-leaves and playing cards. With a lifelong interest in metaphysics and parapsychology, he has given tarot and spirit readings for over 40 years. He travels to many events with his wife Tina, exploring the power of shamanic drumming to heal, and induce therapeutic trance states. They also hold a regular drumming circle in the picturesque Lincolnshire Wolds.

By Patrick W Kavanagh available at most retailers:

Finding Your Own Way: Personal Meditations for Mastery and Self-knowledge on Amazon

Solstice is…

December, 2018

Solstice is…

 

(Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash)

 

Holly sharp sting,

Red blood like

Berries, red, white

Mistletoe hang

Deadly dart and Baldur’s curse

Druids’ king seeking potion

Now a kissing spot

Love instead

Shown through gifts

Wrapped mysteries

Ribbons hiding

Hearts’ desires

Wrap the day in a bow

But presents wait

Wait for me:

 

The mother and priestess

Down in the woods

At the sacred crossroads

Of birch and oak

The mysteries of Male and Female

And everything in between

And beyond.

 

Here I find the altar

That no one knows of

But I

I lay the offerings

Salt

Offal

Nothing to scar or litter

Nothing to damage or drain

Leaving only footprints

For even I

Am not permitted to remain.

***

About the Author:

Mabh Savage is a Pagan author, poet and musician, as well as a freelance journalist.

She is the author of A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors and Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways.

 

A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors on Amazon

 

Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways on Amazon

The Holly and the Oak King

December, 2018

The Holly and the Oak King

 

 

Each holds sway and hand of might
Upon the year’s Great Wheel.

In each domain one shall be King
As wax and wane of Light
Move within nature’s cyclic ring.

Solstice Kings, though brothers, they
In battle determine solar fate.

The Oak holds fast to
Growing light as Holly

Brings his shadow near.

The time between held in
Equinox Gate and season’s turn
Tips finely calibrated scales.

The Light holds fast the Oak marks time
Flanked by strength and sundial’s grace.

The Holly answers with response
A dance of calculated pace.

At sunset’s call, he strikes his final blow
As Oak in silent acquiescence bows
And bends to Summer Light’s repose.

His brother hails triumphant as
Holly King and in power upon rooster’s

Early morn call shall next arise.

The waning of the year begins
With Oak King’s necessary demise.

For what lay sleeping within

The growing splendor of

Holly’s strong and fertile embrace

Is the promise of Light’s return

At the peak of winter’s darkened

And heavy snowy face.

And, once again the two shall meet
Oak strengthened by slumber’s rest.

In wooded green and glowing sun of

Lark song’s spring warmed nest.

The end of darkness nears its birth

The Holly King, his energy drained
Shall relinquish crown as brother
Oak King’s claims his time to reign.

***

About the Author:

Robin Fennelly is a Wiccan High Priestess, teacher, poet and author.

She is the author of (click on book titles for more information):

 

The Inner Chamber Volume One on Amazon

It’s Written in the Stars

Astrology

 

The Inner Chamber, Vol. Two

poetry of the Spheres (Volume 2) on Amazon

Qabalah

 

The Inner Chamber, Vol. Three

Awakening the Paths on Amazon

Qabalah

 

A Year With Gaia on Amazon

The Eternal Cord

 

Temple of the Sun and Moon on Amazon

Luminous Devotions

 

The Magickal Pen Volume One (Volume 1) on Amazon

A Collection of Esoteric Writings

 

The Elemental Year on Amazon

Aligning the Parts of SELF

 

The Enchanted Gate on Amazon

Musings on the Magick of the Natural World

 

Sleeping with the Goddess on Amazon

Nights of Devotion

 

A Weekly Reflection on Amazon

Musings for the Year

 

Her books are available on Amazon or on this website and her Blogs can be found atRobin Fennelly 

 

Follow Robin on Instagram & Facebook.

Eleven Elders

November, 2018

This blog is based on a dream I had in Sweden, on the night of Sunday October 28th in 2018. The Big Bear Mother in the night sky (asterism Ursa Major) observed the spiritual darkness cloaking` Earth and decided to send down her seven lights as falling (or shooting) stars. I decided to type up this dream as a blog honouring the lives of the people who died in the shooting at the Tree of Life Synagogue in Pittsburgh.

 

 

Eleven Elders

The Big Bear Mother in the Night Sky

Watches

Children starve in Yemen

Suffering inhumane violations in Syria

Child prostitutes in Sri Lanka

She sees Eleven Elders shot

At the Tree of Life Synagogue

In Pittsburgh

 

She tells her daughter

Little She Bear

To stay on watch

But she sends her own Seven Stars

Down to Earth

Shooting stars

Falling stars honouring the Fallen

Lighting other lights

 

They take the shape of Snow Flakes

Blanketing the cold shivering Earth

Like an infant seeking comfort

As The World Tree shudders

And quakes in grief

Over the wounding of her child

The Tree of Life

 

Seven Stars

Seven Lights

Of the seven-branched

Golden candelabra

Are lit

In the Tabernacle:

The Menorah

(Hammered out of

A single chunk of gold)

 

For eleven nights

A ferociously protective

Divine Bear Mother

Lends her lights to earthlings

Seven lights burn

In spiritual darkness

Guiding souls Home

And awakening the Elder

In Others

 

Imelda Almqvist, Kärrshagen, Sweden 29 October 2018

 

***

About the Author:

Imelda Almqvist is an international teacher of shamanism and sacred art. Her book Natural Born Shamans: A Spiritual Toolkit For Life (Using shamanism creatively with young people of all ages) was published by Moon in 2016 and her second book Sacred art: A Hollow Bone for Spirit (Where art Meets Shamanism) will be published in March 2019.  She was a presenter on the Shamanism Global Summit in both 2016 and 2017 and is a presenter on Year of Ceremony with Sounds True. She divides her time between the UK, Sweden and the US. She is currently in the editing stages of her third book “Medicine of the Imagination” and has started her fourth book “Evolving Gods: The Sacred Marriage of Tradition and Innovation”

www.shaman-healer-painter.co.uk  (website)

https://imeldaalmqvist.wordpress.com/  (blog)

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=imelda+almqvist

(YouTube channel: interviews, presentations and art videos)

Finding Your Own Way

November, 2018

Chapter 7

Meditating With A Spirit Drum

One of the easiest and most effective ways to meditate is by using a ‘spirit’ drum.

Having been a part of many workshops and drumming circles, I can personally attest to the simplicity and effectiveness of using ‘spirit’ drums for healing and journeying.

If you have a few interested friends and somewhere to go to practice, – you will find that it is an amazing and uplifting experience.

Should you wish to form a circle, you will find that spirit drums vary greatly in price.

A lot of people use ‘bodhrans’ instead, as they are cheaper and can be bought from most music shops. They are hand drums used in traditional Irish and Celtic music.

If you look online, there are many useful videos to get you started. Compact discs are also widely available with shamanistic drumming and Spirit music. I would recommend Native American drumming tracks, but that is just a matter of personal taste, – there are drumming tracks available from many cultures.

If you decide to drum in a group, the biggest obstacle to success will be your own self-consciousness. Having just a small group of two or three close friends will help.

The rewards of overcoming your initial feelings of reserve are well worth the effort.

In a drumming circle, the energy of the drums take over, and the rhythm takes on a collective life of its own.

It is always a good idea to set out your intentions before drumming. Whether you wish to feel uplifted, journey, or send healing to someone, – make your intentions clear before beginning the drumming session. Imagine yourself working within a golden circle of love and protection.

Upload a few tracks online until you find a beat that appeals to you and practice it quietly in private until you feel confident with it. There is no great art or skill required. The most powerful beat is a simple steady rhythm of single beats on the drum. This is called a shamanistic beat.

Spirit Drum Meditation

To begin, choose a quiet area where you will be undisturbed.

Take several deep breaths and tell yourself to relax.

Take a little time to read the poem below and to absorb the images from the artwork

You may play a drumming track quietly in the background if you wish, but it is not essential.

Imagine a golden sphere of protection around you as you work.

Begin with the third eye meditation.

As you breathe out through your third eye, visualise a shining path ahead of you.

Allow yourself to be drawn onto this path.

You can see a fire ahead of you, in the distance, and you walk slowly towards it.

If you see any creatures nearby, take note, as they may be important to you later on in your journeys.

You will see a group of figures around the fire. Some may be drumming. Some may be dancing. How they appear to you will depend on what it is you need to learn on your path.

Spend some time by the fire and take note of whatever you experience there.

Stay near the fire until you are ready to return.

Turn back and walk down the path and you will find yourself back where you started the meditation. Breathe slowly and easily and open your eyes when you are ready.

If you feel uncomfortable at any stage of the exercise, simply open your eyes and you will return to your room, safe within the circle of light.

Finish the meditation by thanking your subconscious mind for its cooperation. Also, thank any Deities and helpers. Then draw the golden circle back to you and close the session.

What you experience and where you go on this journey will vary greatly according to your personal needs. It is always helpful to spend a few moments in setting the boundaries for your journey before you begin. What is it that you wish to achieve? What type of journey are you expecting? Is there some challenge or personal goal that you wish to focus on?

This meditation is particularly powerful when done in a drumming circle.

Be sure to have a drink and a snack before travelling home or handling any machinery.

Write down anything you saw, heard or felt. Especially, note any creatures that you encountered.

Drumbeats

The drums are beating softly in the distance,

Like a peaceful heart. they draw me to them,

leaving life’s conundrums far behind.

Like poetry, with inspirations, much too large for words,

The rhythm opens up my soul and fills my mind.

As I sit and write, the rhythm of the drums still beats within my heart.

In the forest of my mind, I see the shamans dance and whirl.

Orange flames that go so high, they almost reach the moonlit sky.

Somewhere in the Once, or in the Now, they beat their drums for me.

And now the healing magic of their chants is reaching out to me.

Wolves with emerald eyes are in the shadows.

I can hear the eagles piercing cry.

Brother Bear is everywhere, and I can also see.

All the spirits of the native forest watching over me.

Lending me their powers, so I can live the life I never thought could be.

There is poetry in every beat, and magic in the rhythm of the drums.

Through the cadence of his chants, I find the link, the shaman comes.

Healing for the body, for the spirit and the mind,

As I leave this world of consternation far behind,

and find again, the wisdom and the beauty that was meant for all mankind.

This is another meditation for the spirit drum which came to me a few years ago.

It is almost impossible to meditate without finding a great connectedness with the wider universe and the earth around us. This poem is a warning about the way we are treating the earth.

We are all interdependent, – if a single species dies, then we are all so much poorer and so is the legacy that we leave to our children. If the earth dies, – then we die with her.

Whether we have one life or many, we have a duty of care for the planet and those around us.

As we develop through meditation we will feel this much more keenly.

Reaching out to the world and the people, plants and animals around us will bring us much joy.

However, our increased sensitivity brings with it a need to learn to protect ourselves, and a tendency to avoid certain people and situations. Unexpected changes will begin to happen in our lives, as we move into areas of activity that were once difficult to even imagine.

Be prepared too, for resistance from family and friends as you move away from old habits and develop new areas of activity. Much of it will be in a misguided spirit of over-protection, so be patient in your dealings with those who fear the changes in your life will begin to balance out as you forge a new agreement with your subconscious mind. You will be forging a new path in life which is based on your own needs and not the expectations of others.

A Warriors Tears

What will we make of the world when the last rose has died?

When all alone we stand upon the naked earth where once the weeping willow cried.

Where once the sparrow chirped upon the leafy bough,

And now, across the barren wastes, the wind blows soft and low

And when our world has gone,

Where will we go?

Where vast majestic rivers flowed, now runs a ragged little stream.

No fish still swim within its dark and murky flow.

No dragonflies above the bare, baked clay that guides its weary way.

No butterflies delight our eyes with a colourful display.

And when our world has gone,

Where will we go?

Take the seeds of mother earth and scatter them wherever you may go.

We can plant ten trees for every tree that dies.

Cut the fences, chop the posts and let the buffalo run free.

Take the earth back from the greedy; let us share it as we did in days of old.

For when our Mother dies,

Where will we go?

I channeled this in a couple of minutes. The first two verses came in an instant. I added the last verse after a moment’s reflection as a reminder that there is always hope.

For those who drum, it chants well to a basic shamanistic beat or, “drums across the water” (such as you might hear in an old cowboy movie)

My wife, Tina, told me to sing it, and I grabbed my drum.

To my amazement, it just flowed through me. It was a very powerful experience.

***

About the Author:

Patrick W Kavanagh, Featuring the inspirational art of Bill Oliver

Writer, poet, Patrick W Kavanagh was born in Dublin and now lives and works in Lincolnshire in a small rural town. Patrick became fascinated by the strange abilities of the human mind from watching his mother give psychic readings using tea-leaves and playing cards. With a lifelong interest in metaphysics and parapsychology, he has given tarot and spirit readings for over 40 years. He travels to many events with his wife Tina, exploring the power of shamanic drumming to heal, and induce therapeutic trance states. They also hold a regular drumming circle in the picturesque Lincolnshire Wolds.

By Patrick W Kavanagh available at most retailers:

Finding Your Own Way: Personal Meditations for Mastery and Self-knowledge on Amazon

Cry of the Cailleach

November, 2018

 

Winter cries

A broken sob

Of rain and throbbing grey

To wistful white

A sorry sight

A tear track trails

And smiling fails

As frost bites hard

Each chew and chomp

Enamel stomp

Upon a tongue

Of furry sludge

A grisly grudge

A snarling wind

And screeching trees

Fog whispers please…

And begs for entry

To the heart

The roaring hearth

The glowing soul

Oh let me in, let me in…

Cailleach cries

But listen not

If you are wise.

 

Copyright 4th December 2013

***

About the Author:

Mabh Savage is a Pagan author, poet and musician, as well as a freelance journalist.

She is the author of A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors and Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways.

A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors on Amazon

 

Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways on Amazon

The Wind Came at Night

October, 2018

The Wind Came at Night

 

In the days of chilling blaze

Springtime sun as winter fades

Dazzling spears and green grass blades

The gale the only blight.

Driving out to picnics gay

February turning into May

Hearts and smiles throughout the day

But the wind came at night.

 

Batten hatch and throw the catch

Draw the curtains and the latch

Find the candle; light a match

Glow ghostly and white.

Lights to ward off what’s outside

Whatever feral monsters ride

Abroad; their entrance is denied

Though the wind comes at night.

 

I saw a face outside my place

Swiftly passed, as in a race

I blinked and there was not a trace

I shivered with the fright.

I ran upstairs to check again

Peering through the glass in vain

The window howled as if in pain

From the wind in the night.

 

Clutch the blade and don’t be swayed.

Seek the spirit! Seek the shade!

Call the cook and tell the maid!

We search until the light.

Laughter in the face of fear

No bravery but a butt of beer

The wetness on my face a tear

From the wind in the night.

 

I grabbed my hat and stroked the cat

I peered between the shivering slats

I shrugged my coat on, faced the mat

I now would find this Wight.

For who was in this deathly storm?

What poor fool trapped and all forlorn?

Or was it evil ‘pon my lawn

When the wind came at night?

 

Slam the door and stand before

The howling horror’s mealy maw

Step forward though the soul abhors

This strange and streaming sight.

Trees are bent and strain to rise

Back to the black and bubbling skies

Clouds thick and crying; flying eyes

Borne on the wind at night.

 

The muddy grass was slippy glass

The rain like ice; cold, hard and fast

I braced against it, held the mast

Pressed on, quick as I might.

To save a soul or fight a ghost

I knew not what I feared the most

So wide eyed, I became engrossed

In the wind in the night.

 

Turn around, and back you bound

Running from the brutal sound

Cacophony of sky meets ground

The planet bursts alight!

Or stand and see the riders’ glee

The horses stamping fretfully

Red eyes, black coats, white spittle; see

The wind come in the night.

 

I didn’t flee; I had to see

What creatures stomped and stared at me

I turned and riders one, two, three

No reins; no bit to bite.

Recognition jarred my heart

My lord! My earth! My burning hearth!

My words though, they were ripped apart

By the wind in the night.

 

See the fire, see the spark

The star, the candle in the dark

The life, the sound to which we hark

The blood, the beat, the light;

The terrifying truth of life

The endless struggle, burning strife

Turning key and turning knife

The wind that comes at night.

 

It was no waif I had to save

Nor any ghostly, haunting wraith

I had spied from my house so safe

So warm and kind and light

Cernunnos!’ I cried out. ‘Herne!’

Take me with you, let me learn!’

They laughed, and all my visions burned

In the wind that came at night.

 

North or South or East or West

I know not which gust is the best

I only know I need to rest

I have no will to fight

Though each day dawns well

and morning swells

with promise fierce and true

Once evening creeps I cling to you.

The wind

It comes

At night.

 

*Copyright 23rd February 2016

 

***

About the Author:

Mabh Savage is a Pagan author, poet and musician, as well as a freelance journalist.

She is the author of A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors and Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways.

 

A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors

 

Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways

Lughnasadh Poem

August, 2018

Lughnasadh

The scythe is laid to rest

Now hands beat on chest

As all gather to prove

They are the best

The pride, the joy, the champion

The hero, the one, the winner

In each and every new contest.

Each struggle is met with smiles

Tug of war, rock tossing, wrestling

Fleet footed races through ditches and bogs

Peaty feet slipping and caked in

History.

We fly kites, and hunt treasure

20 questions, buzzing with pleasure

Simple joys, still competing

But no conflict. Competition

Without war.

Just, as we think, Lugh’s mother Tailtiu

Would have wanted.

After all, that’s who he made

Lughnasadh for.

***

About the Author:

Mabh Savage is a Pagan author, poet and musician, as well as a freelance journalist.

She is the author of A Modern Celt: Seeking the Ancestors and Pagan Portals – Celtic Witchcraft: Modern Witchcraft Meets Celtic Ways.

Eclipsed

August, 2018

Lunar Eclipse and Blood Moon 27 July 2018

My dear friend Susan Rossi who is a gifted astrologer (https://openchannelastrology.com/) has taught me to pay close attention to eclipses and the, so called, annual Eclipse Season. She tells me that eclipses act as gates or portals for human consciousness we can pass through. If we handle the challenges right we can even unhook from “karmic theatre” – meaning that we can put long-standing dysfunctional dynamics between us and others to rest. Easier said than done, but when we achieve it there is instant relief and head space.

In November last year I discovered some cysts in my breast which opened a period of medical investigations married to deep inner work on Mother Issues:

  • Myself as both mother and “shadow mother” of three teenage sons, parenting with great delight all my personal imperfections
  • My real life Mother and my Inner Mother (the magical place within where I can mother myself because I am a grown-up now!)
  • My Mother-In-Law and life-giver of my husband
  • People who have reached out to me in maternal ways during my lifetime. (Women who have nourished my soul and afforded me shelter under their wing when I needed it – I am eternally grateful to them all!)

As a family we plan our summer around our children’s school holiday. We did not consult an astrologer but nevertheless we were at my mother’s house in the Netherlands the day the July 12th eclipse occurred and my mother-in-law was here with us in Sweden for last night ‘s lunar eclipse and Blood Moon.

You cannot make that up!!

Anyway, I decided to walk through these Eclipse Gates intuitively. It is tempting to read other people’s interpretations and astrological interpretations as there is a myriad of on-line articles just one click of the mouse away.

Here in Sweden forest fires rage and everyone is praying for rain. Last night’s eclipse brought that rain!! Actually it started raining the exact moment I started writing this article! I performed an informal rain dance, naked in the forest, at 4 a.m. this morning and a passing wild boar family grunted at me. One bat nearly landed on my head. – I must have done something right…

We took my mother-in-law for an outing on the lake in the early evening (this involved requesting permission from the local castle and land owner to use their jetty – and permission was granted!)

The first sign of the eclipse was a most peculiar cloud appearing over the lake. Our whole family collectively shifted into an altered state of consciousness.

This was followed by some sightings of a beaver swimming alongside our boat.

A few hours later the Blood Moon rose: hard to spot, the palest orange outline against a metal blue Scandinavian sky. All photographs of it failed. They just show darkness – as (I guess) the Moon wants them too. (I do not want to be photographed either when I disrobe and step away from prying eyes).

The next stage of the eclipse process looked like a red horse shoe birthing a new galaxy – or possibly an embryo gestating in deep sacred darkness:

This article will now continue in the form of photographs and poems as I do not yet have access to mainstream linear words for the Lunar Eclipse that occurred within me.

 

The Queen of Blood

 

In one eclipse vision

I meet

The Queen of Blood and Lineage

Seated on her throne

Within me

She hands me her star-spangled cape

 

Says

Time to stop wearing

The Midnight Sun!

Stir the cauldron

That is the eclipsed Moon

Make the Night Sky your altar cloth

The Big Dipper your ladle

 

Remember the woman in the supermarket

Who had

The Milky Way

The Winter Street

Tattooed on her back?

You are She!!

 

You are the mother bear

Whose spine is the Milky Way

As she walks The Winter Street

And leads the way through Darknesses

So it is safe

For the Moon to return

Another day

 

When I die

Wrap me in tonight’s sky

Let the Morning Sun

Burn me in a watery blaze

 

The Eclipsed Moon

Is my Home

I am

And I am not

Simultaneously

Eternally

 

This phase was followed by the tiniest crescent of reflected sunlight returning.

As this crescent expanded and we saw all phases of the Moon in one evening: a true once-a-century spectacle!

Next planet Mars, at his closest point to Earth and fiery red, rose over the tree tops (I was observing all this from a forest by the Baltic Sea).

 

 

I meditated on all the occasions when I had felt eclipsed –

and/or played my part eclipsing others:

 

Eclipsed

 

During this

Total lunar eclipse

I no longer feel eclipsed

by people

I gave too much power

 

They stood with me

As a male wolf-serpent ate the Moon

And a female serpent-wolf called Blame

Unwound from my heart

 

She joined the Great Wolf in the Sky

Where she swallowed some stars

But soon vomited up even more stars

My pain, my fear,

My attachment to that old self

Now twinkle overhead

In the neighbourhood of the Pole Star

 

Next Mars rises

The colour of pulsing rage

As he did so

Three gunshots were heard

In the deep dark forest

They killed a phantom

The Old Me

 

As a crescent of light

Reappeared on the Moon

I stood naked

Resurrected

Safely wrapped

In a wolf fur sky

 

 

 

Dream: I am the Universe

A few nights ago

I dreamed that I was the Universe

Brimming with stars

Planets and black holes

Cosmic Breath

A turning inside-

And outside-in

Weaving in and out of existence

 

Rhythm

So this is

The sound of

One hand clapping…

 

 

 

Skulls don’t lie

 

I look at the sky

Where puffy clouds lie

Skulls with pincers

Crabs

Lobsters

Dis-ease

 

On a hot day

Hidden in plain view

Something in me dies

Whenever I tell

Polite lies

 

I look at the sky

Where my own skull

Grins right back at me

 

 

 

Wild Boar Medicine

(A small dose)

 

Right above

Solstice Rock

The Resurrected Moon

Rests in a tree

To meet all eyes

Gazing up at her

They become one giant

Golden eye

That will greet The Rising Sun too

With awe

Without question

 

Fifteen baby wild boar

Return her gaze only briefly

While grazing in the field

Believing that

The Resurrected Moon

Is the Morning Sun

In the Scandinavian

Sky

 

Having faced

My fears and phantoms

I stand reborn

A Wild Boar Person

With solar attitude

A great love for solitude

 

At this point I decided to go to bed but my bed turned into an art studio and “poet’s corner” as I cannot possibly sleep when the energy is so high!

 

 

 

Imelda Almqvist, Sweden, 28 July 2018

***

About the Author:

Imelda Almqvist is an international teacher of sacred art and Northern European shamanism. Her book Natural Born Shamans: A Spiritual Toolkit for Life (Using shamanism creatively with young people of all ages) was published by Moon in 2016.  She was a presenter on the Shamanism Global Summit with The Shift Network in 2016 and 2017. In 2018 she is a presenter on Year of Ceremony with Sounds True. She divides her time between the UK, Sweden and the US. Her second book Sacred art: A Hollow Bone for Spirit (Where art Meets Shamanism) will be published on 29 March 2019. She is currently working on her third book: Medicine of the Imagination.

Natural Born Shamans – A Spiritual Toolkit for Life: Using Shamanism Creatively with Young People of All Ages

www.shaman-healer-painter.co.uk  (website)

https://imeldaalmqvist.wordpress.com/  (blog)

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=imelda+almqvist  

(Youtube channel: interviews, presentations and art videos)

 

 

 

The Harvest Calls!

August, 2018

 

The harvest calls

Time to reap

What you have sown.

 

Flesh and bone

Tears and blood

All into the making

Of your harvest’s yield.

 

And, what have you sacrificed

As you stand ready to

Receive your reward?

 

What have you tended

And nurtured that

Has not produced

Sweet fruit?

 

What have you neglected

And allowed to wither and fall

Because you did not

See its bounty?

 

What sunlight and rain

Have you drawn into

Your own being to grow

The harvest of your

Own potential?

 

The harvest calls

Time to reap

What you have sown!

 

Author’s Notes: In the Spirit of Lammas, this poem offers up a call to look more carefully about how your efforts and focus are directed. The First Harvest brings us to a place of sacrificing what is not viable yield and gathering to ourselves what will nourish and sustain us throughout the months ahead. What hope and potential was fed at Imbolc is now manifest and what choices we make to cut away to reach the ripeness of that potential will impart their wisdom on the next Turn of the Wheel.

 

Blessed Lammas!

***

About the Author:

Robin Fennelly is a Wiccan High Priestess, teacher, poet and author.

She is the author of:

 

The Inner Chamber Volume One

It’s Written in the Stars

Astrology

 

The Inner Chamber, Vol. Two

poetry of the Spheres (Volume 2)

Qabalah

 

The Inner Chamber, Vol. Three

Awakening the Paths

Qabalah

 

A Year With Gaia

The Eternal Cord

 

Temple of the Sun and Moon

Luminous Devotions

 

The Magickal Pen Volume One (Volume 1)

A Collection of Esoteric Writings

 

The Elemental Year

Aligning the Parts of SELF

 

The Enchanted Gate

Musings on the Magick of the Natural World

 

Sleeping with the Goddess

Nights of Devotion

 

A Weekly Reflection

Musings for the Year

 

Her books are available on Amazon or on this website and her Blogs can be found atRobin Fennelly 

 

Follow Robin on Instagram & Facebook.

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