A "Warriors path" and not being on one...

Let me begin by saying that I have nothing but respect, even admiration for those who have dedicated themselves to the betterment of self, and the protection of others, through the use of combat and martial means. For those who serve their communities by being the thin line between those communities and those who would seek their ruin, for those who serve their country by traveling to distant lands thousands of miles from home, I salute you with as much gusto as I can muster. I realize these sort of intro's will often transition into a critique or diatribe about some aspect of the police or military, but that isn't where I am going with this.

I am a fighter, I always have been. I know how to fight, how to defend myself and those I care about, and have done my best to help those who can't; but I am not, nor have I ever considered myself, a warrior. I suppose it comes down to how I understand the concept, and my feelings are divided. On the one hand, I understand the historicity of the word, the issue of caste/class and profession and the philosophy behind many different cultural understandings of the term. On the other, from my own religious perspective, there are deities who are overtly associated with war and combat. Further we have (to some greater or lesser degree) a conception of "paths" or perhaps even "modes". The two most common "paths", at least from my own experience in CR, tends towards either the Warrior (laoch/ gaiscíoch) or the Poet (filid). I should mention at this point that another, fairly common "path" is also out there, though with less fanfare or flourish, that of the Homesteader/Hearth focused (baile/ tinteán) which is where I find myself. Of course, many choose not to carve up their practices or delineate so cleanly. However, many will have specific patrons to whom they are pledged or clientele of, and often (but not always) their patronage is predicated upon their profession. It can often be a chicken/egg dilemma when it comes to deciding what came first. Was this particular deity always pulling you towards them, or were you pulled because of some predisposed affinity? I suppose these are the sorts of mysteries we must contend with.

I have mentioned it before, but I have become certain that I have a calling, and that it is inextricably linked with my profession. As such, I have a patron god to whom I am pledged, who I believe has had some influence over my path, as it were. There is some evidence to support the notion that among the "Celts" ones patron deities were, when not household or familial, based upon profession or craft. Most of the Irish texts dealing with the Tuatha de Danann, suggest that most of them were associated with some skill, craft, art or profession; and it seems likely that if they are in some regards reflective of pre-Christian beliefs, the probability of different professions making sacrifices to specific deities is reasonably high. If profession is too specific, perhaps function is a better way of approaching these relationship; especially when one seeks (to some extent) map professions which simply did not exist to deities which may have associations with specific aspects of life.

I've wandered a bit, but it provides some necessary perspective on my part. I have no qualms, or regrets about my chosen career, and frankly I can not remember when I was ever so excited to get out of the classroom and into the workplace. There remains a lingering sense of something, which I am not able to put my finger on. I read the tales, and anyone familiar with them will be aware of how the great majority of the narratives focus on warriors and their deeds, and feel a connection with those individuals and my own aspirations and values. I understand that many of the "Celtic" values which are discussed, have their basis in what was a warrior-elite culture (or tradition of literature), and yet not being a warrior myself, can still see their value and worth as values and virtues to embody. I read fiction, watch films or listen to songs which will stir emotions in me, get my blood up and have me aching for a chance to scrap. This is one of the reasons I consider myself a fighter, as opposed to a warrior. Not that a warrior would have a different visceral response, but that how one responds to something is not (necessarily) what makes one a warrior.

I mentioned profession and its relation to function, and I think that if one calls themselves a warrior, they ought to be involved in some aspect of warring (or at the very least, fulfilling a function in which they employ martial means). The two most obvious being police and military (or inactive/ex members thereof), but there are others; security guards, full time martial artists/instructors, bouncers, etc., are all in some way making a living via their proclivity to function in a martial manner. I will admit that my definition is a bit different than others I have come across, a bit grittier than some of the more romantic ideas. I do balk a little at some of the more modern approaches where someone who practices martial arts in their spare time, and has read the hagakure or Book of Five Rings, considers themselves a warrior. I think one needs be engaged in combat or martial employment to be considered a warrior. As I am not in such a profession, I am not nor do I consider myself a warrior. I have an idea of what I would consider as being a warrior, and thus on a warriors path, but far be it from me to tell someone what they can and can't be. This is simply how I understand it.

I would love some feedback, especially from anyone who considers themselves a warrior or on a warrior path.

Gorm.

Polytheism and Catastrophe

There is a popular bit of Japanese history, pertaining to the 13th century CE, involving the attempt of the Mongol army to invade the country. On both occasions the fleets were repelled and then subsequently destroyed by Typhoons. The term which was developed for this phenomenon would later be used by the Japanese during the Second World War, Kamikaze (wind of the gods). Ignoring the more recent appropriation of the term, the basis of the concept is essentially that the Kami (in this case, most often identified as Fūjin and Raijin) protected the Japanese islands (and subsequently the Japanese themselves) from invasion; in other words divine intervention. In this particular instance, divine intervention through a type of storm most commonly associated with "natural disasters". I have read, though for the moment have forgotten the source, that this resulted in a resurgence in the (then) waning belief in the tenants of Shinto, few could doubt the existence or influence of the Kami after such an obvious display of their power, and the benefit of cultivating the proper relationship with them.

This got me to thinking, well this and what occurred in Japan this week, about a polytheistic view of natural disasters, and what role (if any) deities play in them. I could go on and on about the sort of Christian triumphalist commentary I have seen regarding this (and past) disasters, and how the disaster correlated with some slight against the god of the Christians, but this has always been one of the issues under the wider scope of theodicy, so I'll leave the monotheists to worry about it. No, my thoughts fall on the relationship between deities who have overt or tacit associations with natural phenomena or features, and so called disasters.

In Irish sources, we can observe some examples, albeit it on a much smaller scale. In one tale, we learn that the arrival of the Tuatha De Dannan caused a three day solar eclipse. In another An Dagda is able to keep the sun in the sky for a full year, making it appear that only a single day has elapsed. During the mustering of the forces of the Tuatha De Dannan, we are told that the Cup Bearers will bring a great thirst upon the host of the Formoii, the Druids will rain down fire, and two "witches" will cause the trees, stones and sods to fight on the side of the TDD. In later tales, we learn that the mortal men of Ireland must cultivate a proper relationship with the gods in order to ensure good crops and herds. In other tales, we see that a Rí weds a tutelary goddess of sovereignty in order to foster plenty in his kingdom, and that want and even famine is a reflection of the state of the king and their fitness to rule. In the mythic, and some historic texts, we see then that there is a strong correlation between the gods and the natural environment. When we get to relationships between humans and deities, that link seems to be even stronger.

So then, what of natural disasters? Do we (as polytheists) simply accept that tectonic and seismic events resulted in a shift, leading to a massive earth quake and subsequent tsunami, or is there more to it? Is this an issue best explored through a combination of scientific knowledge and mythic thinking? Could a natural disaster ever be the result of pissing off a deity? Alternatively, could some environmental event which is beneficial be divine in origin? Is either of these perspectives too literal minded? I have a number of opinions myself, but I am curious what others think. If animistic and polytheistic deities are connected to (or have influence over) natural features and phenomena (which they often do), what role to they play in events which negatively or positively impact on the welfare of human societies?

Excerpt from Polybius

*Warning Trigger*

I recently acquired my very own copy of "The Celtic Heroic Age" and have been pouring over the continental material as they are the sources I am least familiar with. There are a number of interesting sources, but for some reason I found this particular excerpt stood out more than many of the others. It could be the aspect of justice entailed, it could be the presentation of the juxtaposed gender role of a woman protecting her own "virtue", or it could be what I would consider an almost "Celtic" humour. Such sardonic humour is found in many of the medieval Irish texts, and it is interesting that it pops up in a Greek "historic" source from the 2nd century BCE as well. The excerpt if from Histories: 21.38.1-6:

By chance, one of the prisoners captured when the Romans defeated the Asian Galatae at Olympus was Chiomara, wife of Ortiagon. The centurion in charge of her took advantage of his soldierly opportunity and raped her. He was indeed a slave to both lust and money, but eventually his love of money won out. With a large amount of gold being agreed on, he led her away to be ransomed. There was a river between the two camps, and the Galatae crossed it, paid the ransom, and received the woman. When this was accomplished, she ordered one of them to with a nod to kill the Roman as he was making a polite and affectionate farewell. The man obeyed and cut off the centurion's head. She picked it up and rode off with it wrapped in the folds of her dress. When she reached her husband, she threw it at his feet. He was astonished and said, 'Wife, faithfulness is a good thing.' 'Yes,' she said, 'but it is better that only one man alive would have lain with me.'

Liminality

Liminality; it is a term which many are unfamiliar with, to the extent that most spell checkers do not recognize it. For others, however, it is a concept which is of central importance. It has been my experience that anyone versed in the study of mythology is familiar, if not well versed, in discussions of liminality. My profession (well potential profession anyway) finds many of our activities occupying a very liminal period of time. From a GRP perspective, liminality is a central component of marking time and periods of significance.

Liminal, literally means threshold, the area between one area and another; the space in-between. A few people may be scratching their heads; a threshold? There is nothing significant about that, what amounts to little more than a few inches of space between where you are and where you are going. I'd argue though, that it is precisely because it is, quite literally "neither here, nor there" that it has occupied the imaginations of the folks who stop to think about just how powerful such a state really is. Borders have always been powerful, and much of how we understand, order and define space is based on the idea of what markers separate "here" from "there". Liminality; however, is not a way to create or define borders, because it is decidedly messier.

The ability to differing between two states can range from the simple to the complex. A dichotomy like inside and outside is far easier to define and understand, than say between life and death. Still, almost every culture has at some point defined what "life" and "death" mean. Since each of these aspects are so central to the human condition, the concept of liminality is of considerable importance when it comes to issues of death and dying. I mentioned earlier that my (eventual) profession is occupied with a liminal period, and that is between death and disposition. There is some sense, even among those who may not be religious, that the time between somatic death and final disposition (be it burial, entombment or cremation) is none the less an almost literal state of transition. I will have a lot more to say on this particular subject at a later date, but as I do not want to go off on a tangent; let me simply say that there is no other period in a  persons life where I believe liminality is so apparent, than around a death.

In the lore, we encounter liminality all the time, for these are often where the important actions or events occur. In the Táin Bó Cúailnge, the majority of Cúchulain's combats occur at fords, areas of higher elevation creating shallow portions of a river or stream, which allow crossings. As rivers form natural barriers, the ford is a place in-between; a liminal area. The reason for the use of a ford as a battle ground is not simply for practical purposes, but because of the symbolism inherent in it as a liminal place. Similarly, the shore is also imbued with liminality, being the place between land and sea. The sea shore is often the place where the denizens of the otherworld interact with humans. In Immram Brain, we have Bran setting off for the otherworld in a coracle, and returning to this world and meeting folks on the shore. Of course as time flows differently, he appears to the inhabitants to be an otherwordly being himself and has become removed from the natural flow of time. Likewise the area's between land and sky, hilltops or mountains, also display the importance of liminality. While the strategic nature of building structures on higher elevations is quite clear, if one examines the tales, we find yet again the same sorts of symbolism associated. In one version of the arrival of the Tuatha De Danann, they arrive on clouds, causing a solar eclipse (more liminal symbolism) and "land" on a mountain top, before setting out to conquer Ireland.

Folklore too, is replete with activities which attest to the significance of liminal spaces or times. How often are door frames the place where charms are kept and windowsills where offerings are left?

Of all the holidays, Oíche Shamhna is the best example of a day which is in essence, dedicated to liminality. The day covers (or has been argued to be) the time between the new and old year. Further, the "veil" between this world and the otherworld, our realm and that of the gods, is thinnest. This had survived in folk beliefs through the belief that the veil between the living and the dead was also transversed with ease, and so one finds any number of divination customs in the texts. The idea that the ancestral spirits may also come to call, encouraged the setting of an extra place at a table, or leaving out of offerings for those wandering spirits. Conversely, as Lá Bealtaine in our world corresponds with Oíche Shamhna in the otherworld, the same symbolism (though to a lesser extent) is also observable in folks activities around that time as well.

"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.

Appeasing hostility

This pertains to one of the stronger instances of UPG I have had, which involves a very negative experience. This happened a few years ago, and was the singular instance where I have experienced a distinct urge to run and not look back. A bit of background info then. I have always been fairly comfortable around the dead, be it at a funeral or in a cemetery; one of the reasons I have chosen the career I am in us because of my level of comfort. I rather enjoy cemeteries actually, and there are quite a few nice ones scattered around the city I live in. Often times my fiance and I will drive to one and walk around, especially the ones who have older monuments. The long and short of it is that I have never been uncomfortable in a cemetery; never found it weird or creepy.

Now, a few years back I was visiting a mausoleum with my fiance, her uncle had a vault in it, and I was doing perfectly well before we entered. Upon entering the structure however, I became increasingly apprehensive. We climbed the stairs to get to the second floor and I became very uncomfortable. The longer I remained in the building, the more I felt unwelcome, as if some oppressive force was really annoyed with my presence and wanted me to get out. At this point, my fiance had noticed my colour was a little drained and inquired what was wrong. "I need to leave, right now" I replied . "Why?" she asked, "You've never had a problem before". "Something really, really doesn't want me here." I responded, and the feeling was only getting worse. It was at this point that I remembered an article I had read, which was written by a couple of Celtic Recons, appropriately titled: "KILLYOUANDEATYOU: or a well intentioned Celt's guide to non-Celtic bio-regions". At this point, it certainly felt like something wanted to do just that, and I walked as calmly as I could out of the building, and did not stop until he feeling had subsided. Fortunately it did so almost as soon as I was past the threshold. I have not been back to that building since. It was a markedly odd event, but one which makes no sense to me except through the lens of UPG.

And now, my dilemma. This particular mausoleum is fairly new and frequented by an almost exclusively Catholic clientele.  The funeral home I will be working for, is fairly close to it, and is also almost exclusively Catholic's who often favour entombment. Therefore it is exceedingly likely that in the near future I will have to go back to this mausoleum. I am then in need of some method of appeasing or reaching some sort of understanding with the spirit(s) of place, and I am at a loss as to how to go about doing this. It is publicly accessible, so I could fairly easily get in and try to leave an offering, though I am then at a loss with regards to what I should leave. It would be rather helpful if anyone had some suggestions or sources they could direct me to. I've gone through the article I mentioned above, but unfortunately I am (likely) not going to be in a position where leaving "well enough alone" is a possibility open to me.

Gorm.

PS: I wonder if perhaps posting this on the GN mailing list may also elicit some suggestions from those who do not read my blog?

Etiquette in another's house of worship

This is an issue I often have some difficulty with, because what my own gods expect from me is quite different than what other people's deities expect from them; though my understanding is that most of the cultural polytheistic world views are similar to my own. So the appropriate response for me when interacting with folks who are doing a ritual with deities I do not worship (a dirty word for some, but I take the word at face value) is often to simply not participate in those rituals; and generally no one bats an eye.

There is, however, a bit of a dilemma when I am expected to perform specific actions in the context of my (current/future) profession, especially in a Christian, and specifically Catholic context. There is a remarkably high likelihood that I will very soon be working for a funeral home which caters to an overwhelmingly Catholic clientele. As far as I know, the fact that I am not a Catholic is perfectly fine, this may change, I will know more at a later date, but I do not expect it to. No my issue is with a specific action pertaining to my duties as an FDA/FD, and that involves the practice of genuflection. My experience working Catholic funerals has involved some sort of genuflection, unless specified by the funeral home to not do so, in all cases.

I fear I may simply be over thinking the entire thing, after all a genuflection is not a sign of obeisance so much as it is one of respect. Given that I am in the house of worship of another deity, I suppose a little respect is not a lot to ask for, even if I do not particularly care for said deity. I suppose so long as I am able to separate the notion of genuflecting from prostrating, I haven't really anything to worry about. Plus, I suppose it would be the hospitable thing to do as well, showing respect to the "master of a house" is proper etiquette after all, and I would most certainly be a guest in said "house".

I would love to have some feedback on this one.

Gorm.