So, I may have mentioned it a few times before (here, or elswhere), but I am a devotee (and soon to be client) of a deity with a very peculiar history and purpose. Peculiar, perhaps, because the natural extension of the function of the deity does not lend itself to easy or simple application in a practical setting. Those who find themselves as devotees of say, An Dagda or Brigid can easily enough apply mysticism or poetry to their daily lives, can actively write poetry or study arcane lore (and really, who doesn't like curling up with a musty tome of ancient lore, and a nice cuppa?); they can even share this information or creation with others, and find fulfillment in this, even purpose. But what is one to do when your god is a god of the dead? How best does one appreciate just what that means, or facilitate any sort of functional applicability in ones day to day life. Well, it isn't easy, but it is simple: you work with the dead.
I don't mean you hang about with sketchy types at 2:15 am in cemeteries, and do grave rubbings (necromancy, while interesting, doesn't have any explicit associations with this particular god.) I mean you become a human psychopomp and make it your job to help the dead transition from this world to the otherworld. You do what I did, and become a funeral director (mortician, undertaker, etc.)
Now, it may be a tad presumptious to call myself a "psychopomp", but hear me out. The function of a psychopomp is first and foremost the collection, care and transportation of the spirit/genius/soul of a living person who finds themselves, well not living anymore. They transport these spirits/souls generally to a more or less temporary/permanant abode, the realm of the god(esses) who are the lords of the dead. Among the Gaels, there are two to three deities which can be said to have aspects which are psychompomic: An Morrigan, Manannan Mac Lir and Donn. An Morrigan tends to preside over slaughter and battle in her capacity as a psychopomp and so it is reasonable to posit that the war dead are "hers" to claim. Of course, unlike say Greek or Icelandic counterparts, the fate of the war dead is never explicitly explained in the tales. Manannan, on the other hand, tends to get the psychopompic function association because of his representation of boundry crossing, and his associations with the otherworld (which is often believed to be in some capacity a realm of the dead.) Donn, however, does not seem to be as active in soul collecting (albeit there are some interesting literary figures who may reflect just this.), but he above any other deity is the best candidate for being the god of the dead. This is not generally disputed, and is infact widely held to be sensible for two particular reasons.
In later Irish folklore, Tech Duinn, "The House of Donn" (generally thought to be Bull Rock) is the place that the souls of the Irish go before they face the final judgement; and in some versions where the wicked souls go, as Donn is really the Christian Devil. It has been suggested that this is in fact a reflection of a much older belief, and like much of the mythic tales, is at its heart pre-Christian, with some enhumerization tacked on to make it sensible within the Christianized world. This is interesting in its own right, but the tales regarding how and why Donn came to be the god of the dead, and its tantalzing IE cultural ties so delicious, that few seem to have much doubt.
The reason that Donn is the god of the dead (particularly of the Irish), is that he is the first Gael to die after setting foot on Ireland. Following the initial landing of the Sons of Mil on Ireland, Donn (eldest of the sons, and in some stories jealous of his brothers) spurns the epyonymous goddesses Eriu, Banba and Fodla and so is cursed by them never again to set foot on their land. In some versions Donn is killed by the magic of the Tuatha De Danannan, in others he is killed by trying to upstage his brothers; in all versions the goddesses curse is fulfilled and he dies. He is burried (placed in a cairn) on a small island, usually identified as Bull Rock, and it is said that his ancestors will follow him, and reside with him ever after in his house. This is important for a couple of reasons; primarily the importance of precedent having both practical and symbolic meaning, tends to make the first of anything a big deal. Secondly, the broad IE motif of the sacrificial twins/ sacrificed king in cosmogenic narratives is an aspect of the assorted tales which could shed some light on just why Donn, who was not originally a god, was deified and held to be one. He can be seen, essentially, as a primoridal sacrifice, and through his death the Sons of Mil are then able to offer a suitable sacrifice and appease the gods. Again keeping with the IE motifs, the sacrificed king/twin is then elevated to godhood by becoming the ruler of the realm of the dead. There is a lot of hypothesis here, but it is based largely on established mythic paterns and provides a reasonable explanation.
So I still haven't explained the self aggrandizment of using the moniker of psychopomp. This is not rooted so much in mythic thinking, than in some basic... lets call it "funeral theory". The overall period/process of the funeral extends beyond the funeral service and burial, and encompasses the entire process (from death to disposition), known as "funeralization". One of the key cultural features of funeralization, an explanation as to why it occurs at all, is refered to as "persistence of personality". The persistence of personality is a non-specific way of refering to the cultural belief that between the physical death and disposistion, the personality of the individual persists in some capacity. For the religious, this is the soul/spirit/genius; for humanists this would be the "memory" or "prescence" of an individual. The idea of liminality, and its ritual and symbolic significance in Gaelic (and broadly Celtic) practice is well attested to in both the mythic texts and folklore/custom. Death and the dead are no exception, and actually almost embody the very essence of liminality. The most potent liminal periods of the year have overt associations with the dead, be they the more recent or our distant ancestors.
There are all manner of folk customs which arise and surround the proper method of funeralization in Irish tradition, and all of which seek to assist the dead in reaching their final place of rest; while at the same time protecting the still living from any latent wrath or retribution from the dead. There are taboos and appropriate rites which need to be performed to ensure a correct transition, and the body (and treatment thereof) is held to be as important as the state of the spirit. The finality and significance of the (again in folk custom) burial, but any disposition, can not be understated. So when I say that act, at least in part as a psychopomp, I do so with the knowledge of tradition and propriety, and just why it is a sacred duty.
I am fortunate, in that through my profession, through the tasks that I do daily, I am also communing with and fulfilling the duty I believe I have been charged with, by seeking out Donn as a Patron. I am convinced that the gods do have an influence over us, and can effect change in our lives; they are not afterall simply our imaginary friends. In saying as much, I do believe and reason, that Donn has influenced me in my career choices, and broadly in other aspects of my life. I'm sort of at the point when I look back at everything that has occured, and see what it has culminated in, and can see the threads. I think of the harmony and general flourishing which seems to surround me, and see the fruits of reciprosity and fir.
For these reasons, and many more I am unable to articulate; I give thanks and praise to Donn, the haunted god. Donn, the sacrificed king. Donn, the dark lord.
-Gorm.
Showing posts with label funeral. Show all posts
Showing posts with label funeral. Show all posts
Monday, September 24, 2012
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Men can cry too...
Grief is a funny thing, you expect that you will act the way you always do, in any given situation and then suddenly you find yourself in an unthinkable position; it is in these places where grief lives. More often than not, grief manifests itself most powerfully when someone close to you dies. This is something I have come to observe during my work in funeral services. People will often expect that they will react to a loss in a stoic manner, and will be able to suppress their emotions; this does occur, but it is remarkably rare. No, grief will hit you when you least expect it, even those who "society" deems ought to repress their emotions, men. A man is "supposed" to be stoic in such situations, sure he will be sad (or else a heartless monster), but he mustn't show such emotions outwardly, that is the "place" of women. Men, are supposed to grin and bare it, right? Not hardly.
I'm not sure where this notion developed, and while it may be an interesting bit of the history of gender roles, in my experience such stoicism is thrown right out. Men grieve; they weep, cry, sob, yell and scream. Men find themselves acting in a way they did not expect, with their emotions pouring forth, with such fury and violence, that their shock is replaced by shame. They become very self conscious of what they are doing, and try their best to bottle the torrent which has weld up inside them, not an easy feat by any standard. Unfortunately being in such a self conscious state, the fear of being perceived as vulnerable, or weak, will often make those individuals react rather gruffly, even harshly, towards those trying to aid them (like a staff member at a funeral home offering a much needed tissue). Are men, especially young men, correct to feel this way? Should their show of grief become a source of shame? Is their emotional vulnerability a sign of weakness? My answer would be a resounding no, but this is not merely my position as someone in funeral service; no this is also my position as a Gaelic polytheist.
It is during these times, I am reminded of Caílte mac Rónáin as depicted in the Acallam na Senórach. Here we see a mighty warrior (though less mighty than he once was) who is still more than a match for any of the obstacles still left in Ireland. Here is a man who has lived for hundreds of years, has seen all those he loved killed or fall before his eyes, but who still has a story to tell. It is between the many adventures and telling, in those quiet times of reflection, that we see just how burdened with grief Caílte truly is. He bears not only his own past, but the past of all those who has gone before him, and he weeps, openly and unashamedly at their loss. At no point does anyone in the text sneer at how pitiable it is to see such a man reduced to weeping. Upon hearing the tragedies which have occurred, his audience will often be moved to tears right along side him.
Such is the burden of all those who survive, of the old warrior at once proud of his past yet also haunted by it. The burden of carrying on in a world where one you loved is no longer, seems to be well understood by our ancestors. There is no scoffing, no mocking of emotional outpourings; rather there is understanding and empathy, and the hope that we should all bear such a loss with dignity and strength. For while grief can be crushing and seemingly endless, it is something which as time goes by, inevitably becomes a constant companion. There, and never far out of mind, but bearable as we go on living.
-Gorm
I'm not sure where this notion developed, and while it may be an interesting bit of the history of gender roles, in my experience such stoicism is thrown right out. Men grieve; they weep, cry, sob, yell and scream. Men find themselves acting in a way they did not expect, with their emotions pouring forth, with such fury and violence, that their shock is replaced by shame. They become very self conscious of what they are doing, and try their best to bottle the torrent which has weld up inside them, not an easy feat by any standard. Unfortunately being in such a self conscious state, the fear of being perceived as vulnerable, or weak, will often make those individuals react rather gruffly, even harshly, towards those trying to aid them (like a staff member at a funeral home offering a much needed tissue). Are men, especially young men, correct to feel this way? Should their show of grief become a source of shame? Is their emotional vulnerability a sign of weakness? My answer would be a resounding no, but this is not merely my position as someone in funeral service; no this is also my position as a Gaelic polytheist.
It is during these times, I am reminded of Caílte mac Rónáin as depicted in the Acallam na Senórach. Here we see a mighty warrior (though less mighty than he once was) who is still more than a match for any of the obstacles still left in Ireland. Here is a man who has lived for hundreds of years, has seen all those he loved killed or fall before his eyes, but who still has a story to tell. It is between the many adventures and telling, in those quiet times of reflection, that we see just how burdened with grief Caílte truly is. He bears not only his own past, but the past of all those who has gone before him, and he weeps, openly and unashamedly at their loss. At no point does anyone in the text sneer at how pitiable it is to see such a man reduced to weeping. Upon hearing the tragedies which have occurred, his audience will often be moved to tears right along side him.
Such is the burden of all those who survive, of the old warrior at once proud of his past yet also haunted by it. The burden of carrying on in a world where one you loved is no longer, seems to be well understood by our ancestors. There is no scoffing, no mocking of emotional outpourings; rather there is understanding and empathy, and the hope that we should all bear such a loss with dignity and strength. For while grief can be crushing and seemingly endless, it is something which as time goes by, inevitably becomes a constant companion. There, and never far out of mind, but bearable as we go on living.
-Gorm
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
"Civic Religion"
This is a bit of an odd post, but was the best way I could think of discussing the subject. A bit of background first. Last week Police sergeant Ryan Russell, was struck and killed by a (deranged) man who had stolen a snow plow. The public outpouring of grief from my city; from politician to plebeian, radio host to new anchor, journalist to blogger. There was a two day visitation, during which hundreds of people lined up outside the funeral home to offer their condolences. Today was the funeral, a procession of around 8000 police officers from Toronto, around the GTA and even from the US marched down a major thoroughfare, itself lined with somber faced civilians, to the Metro Toronto Convention Centre. The funeral service was held in the MTCC, and by the time the service began, some 14 000 people had come out. Many dignitaries associated with the Police, a former Chief turned MP (who had sworn the fallen officer into the service), Current Chief Bill Blair, among them, gave eulogies and sympathies for the family, both personal and professional. The service was long, punctuated with music and speeches, but the solemnity of the day was not lost on anyone. The final farewell for a hero, who had, as his wife so eloquently spoke, “Ryan put others before himself. On Jan. 12, this cost him his life.”
Such an event is very rare, this being the first fatality involving an on duty Police officer in almost a decade. Very public, and generally widely supported. Of course there are a few voices of dissent, that the entire thing was "over the top", or a "PR campaign to boost the image of Metro Cops", who admittedly have been under a good deal of public scrutiny surrounding the events during the G20 conference in June 2010. Despite this sort of cynicism, however, I believe that this is a striking example of what I would call "civic religion".
One may observe "civic religion" in many of the events which seem to permeate a give community, though more often than not, it is at its finest when giving reverence for the dead. There is a sacredness associated with those who have died in the service of community, of province and of country. In the case of the war dead, it has been formalized for almost a century. Even now, a significant portion of the main artery of southern Ontario, the 401, has been dedicated as the "highway of heroes" and all of the men and women who have been killed in Afghanistan, have made their way down this stretch of highway. People still line up on over-passes waving flags or saluting, motorists will pull over to the side of the road to allow the motorcades transporting the fallen, to pass.
The word "hero" is almost always used by those who wish to honour the life and sacrifice of those who are willing to, and have, given their lives in service to others. Yet this cynicism remains, "the only reason he's a 'hero' is because he was killed" or similar sentiments may accompany discussion, some times in hushed tones, sometimes in screaming derision. The very word "hero", itself derived from the Greek hērōs, itself (likely) derived from the Proto-Indo-European *ser (to watch over, protect) entails those who are charged, by community and state with protecting those who can not. In the tales, we see this time and time again, the function of a hero above all else, is the defense of his kith and kin. I think the people who see things so cynically, have a very deep misunderstanding of what "heroic" means, of the value of a life in general, and more so for the life of a person who was willing to live in service to others. It is because of the way they lived their lives, and not simply the manner of their death, that makes someone a hero, and thus worthy of respect, if not reverence.
My heart goes out to the family of Sgt. Russell, and may he be warmly welcomed in the halls of his ancestors.
Such an event is very rare, this being the first fatality involving an on duty Police officer in almost a decade. Very public, and generally widely supported. Of course there are a few voices of dissent, that the entire thing was "over the top", or a "PR campaign to boost the image of Metro Cops", who admittedly have been under a good deal of public scrutiny surrounding the events during the G20 conference in June 2010. Despite this sort of cynicism, however, I believe that this is a striking example of what I would call "civic religion".
One may observe "civic religion" in many of the events which seem to permeate a give community, though more often than not, it is at its finest when giving reverence for the dead. There is a sacredness associated with those who have died in the service of community, of province and of country. In the case of the war dead, it has been formalized for almost a century. Even now, a significant portion of the main artery of southern Ontario, the 401, has been dedicated as the "highway of heroes" and all of the men and women who have been killed in Afghanistan, have made their way down this stretch of highway. People still line up on over-passes waving flags or saluting, motorists will pull over to the side of the road to allow the motorcades transporting the fallen, to pass.
The word "hero" is almost always used by those who wish to honour the life and sacrifice of those who are willing to, and have, given their lives in service to others. Yet this cynicism remains, "the only reason he's a 'hero' is because he was killed" or similar sentiments may accompany discussion, some times in hushed tones, sometimes in screaming derision. The very word "hero", itself derived from the Greek hērōs, itself (likely) derived from the Proto-Indo-European *ser (to watch over, protect) entails those who are charged, by community and state with protecting those who can not. In the tales, we see this time and time again, the function of a hero above all else, is the defense of his kith and kin. I think the people who see things so cynically, have a very deep misunderstanding of what "heroic" means, of the value of a life in general, and more so for the life of a person who was willing to live in service to others. It is because of the way they lived their lives, and not simply the manner of their death, that makes someone a hero, and thus worthy of respect, if not reverence.
My heart goes out to the family of Sgt. Russell, and may he be warmly welcomed in the halls of his ancestors.
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