There are almost as many names for faeries in these parts as there are stories about them, courtesy of the exiled Irish and Welsh whose memories still remain like holographic movies hovering in the morphogenic fields of the land they left behind.
To the Irish, the faeries are known as the Tuatha da Danaan, and also the Daoine Sidhe (pronounced shay) who are pivotal in shamanic work with the ancestors in the Underworld. They are like pilots who guide the shaman in trance along the Rivers of Blood or DNA, to help him in redeeming his family line.
The People are Sovereign. They are intrinsically Sovereign through their connection, in their Rivers of Blood or DNA, to the Ancestors in the Otherworlds. The portals between these Worlds are opened and closed by the gatekeepers, the Fae, in cooperation with shamans that are entrusted with this sacred work on the Land.
The People, in turn, elect representatives to take their views to the Parliament (Parle-ment, Anglo-Saxon for a representative assembly of speakers) and this – and ONLY THIS – is what makes our Parliament Sovereign. Other countries have copied this method of governance because, until now, it has been successful as when it is truly representative, it has the blessings of the Otherworlds. and this is why Westminster is known as the Mother of all Parliaments. Continue reading
This wonderful poem by Amara Bronwyn MacEachern Hollow Bones sums up, in a nutshell, everything about the specialised shamanic path that I write and teach about.
We locked up our wisdom into our bones
And swallowed the keys
They sank in our rivers of blood
And we forgot the maps
Because we had to forget the mysteries
To keep them safe.
We wove our hair into brooms
And swept over our paths
And then burned the earth with our rage
We didn’t teach our children
It was the only way to protect them,
But in them we planted seeds, seeds and keys
And told them stories and riddles and songs
With no roots, just tangled threads
That would take years to unwind
Just enough time
For the rains to fall again
and put out the fires
For the dams to break
For the rivers to flood
For the paths
to be walked again
For the soil to breathe
And as the old bones crumble
Deep beneath the rubble
We find we’ve always had the keys
Our stories and our maps
Our paths are revealed to some
And the seeds grow again
The threads are unspun
And woven again.
Today is St Martin’s Day or Martin Mass. It would have been 1st November, before the Gregorian calendar replaced the Julian one in 1582. Yes, that’s right … it would have been on Samhain, the day of the bone-fires.
Today is also Armistice Day – to commemorate the signing of the armistice agreement to mark the end of World War 1. What a coincidence… er, or maybe not. Continue reading
I’ve always planted by the phases of the moon – in other words, sowing seeds for flowers and herbs when the moon is waxing, and seeds for root vegetables when the moon is on the wane. There’s nothing New Age about that planting method … any gardener worth his salt knows that this is mighty effective if you want a good crop, and I think even scientists know it. But I learned something new and magical last night, from a friend. Continue reading
It was so heartening to see how the locals and even others, up and down country, pulled together in unison to help us overcome everything the Death Eaters threw at us, a year ago. There being no loyalty among thieves and dissemblers, it is the one thing they wouldn’t have bargained for.
I’ve been building up to writing this for days, but holding back too, because I’m not sure if people are ready for it. Just now, I journeyed in the way of shamanic trance to ask the spirits of the Land, to get confirmation, and was told “Yes, it’s true. You’ve been joining up the dots correctly. This has been a deliberate destruction of the holy springs of Avalon, and it’s coming from the other lands.” Continue reading