Reviews – Ensouling Language

Posted on February 2, 2012 by Karl

Ensouling Language:   On the Art of Nonfiction and the Writer’s Life

by Stephen Harrod Buhner

Review by Karl Schlotterbeck

T Ensouling Language Book Cover his is a marvelous that is remarkable in a number of ways. I was excited by the title when I first heard about it. When it arrived, I was dismayed at its heft (463 pages); amused at the irony of its cover illustration of a quill; and sorry when I came to the end of it. In the first pages, I was captured by the little story he told so well to demonstrate the affection and meaningfulness of words, books, and experience. My expectation had been of a formulaic how-to book of which we see so many, but it was itself a journey into the place of perception and creativity where words are as alive as we are, and reveal their sacredness as containers of soul and of meaning – and how to get to that place. Buhner pulled me deeper and deeper into the subject – stacking up meaning behind the words like water behind a dam, as he would say.

In fact, Ensouling Language called me back into myself, a reminder to write for what might be communicated about the interiority of my subject in its meaningfulness, and in the fact writer and readers’ communication occur well beyond (or deeply within) black text on white page, deeper than the dictionary definition of words. Rather, it occurs in the heart of the matter – where creation and some spirit of the nature of things seek to express themselves through the human heart and tongue and hand, and to result in something larger than either.

I struggle to find a descriptor for what he does. He nudges us out of a little ego’s perspective with its petty needs for common currency and approval, out of our humanocentric viewpoint, and out of any illusions of being objective. Perhaps it is this very difficulty in trying to “reduce” his effort to an easy few words that affirms the beauty and depth of his work.

I found him sometimes speaking as a shaman, sometimes as an analytical psychologist, sometimes as a prophet or Druid – and this is the work’s most direct relevance for us. For Buhner, words are not just things to be used to fill the space around us, nor are they something we use to avoid our fears by yakking about superficial things. Nor are they a tool to try to bridge our loneliness as human beings; but they have the capacity to take us to a place of discovery, where our fears are created, where our loneliness is rewarded and relationship is intimate – whether that be with a tree, a dolphin, another person’s experience or our own. As he says:

These moments of touch with the nonhuman world are what the ancient Greeks – the Athenians – called aisthesis. The get to aisthesis, those moments when we are touched in return, our nonphysical touching must go deeper than merely feeling the world. It must go to the place where touching travels both ways. And this, very definitely extends awareness a great deal further than our society wants it to go. It involves a living exchange between the human and the nonhuman world, eventually, with the world itself. By engaging in that exchange, we break a very powerful cultural injunction that is present in many Western cultures. We abandon the view of life that does not allow us to extend interiority to dolphins or trees or stones. (p. 143)

His writing was, in many ways, watching a deft psychoanalyst pay attention to a person’s utterances and what they reveal about the speaker, how they may fall short of their purpose and thereby shows the hidden baggage of the writer. He notes how one’s unresolved and unreflected upon personal issues become revealed and how hiding those issues flatten the work. Facing then directly gives depth and richness. It’s like my own work as a psychologist: not just listening to what people say, but how they say it in terms of the words they use, the tone of voice, facial expression, body language and context.

Something in me found a home in this book or, perhaps I should say, several aspects of me found a common heart through his writing: Druid, shaman, psychologist, writer, poet.

This is an easy book to recommend for its meaningfulness, its intelligence, depth, and genuineness in practicing what it is prescribing. He challenges the readers’ ways of perceiving and relating to the world, meanings put into words, framing of propositions and need to beware of the inevitable hidden baggage. But it’s not directly about a philosophy of genuineness, depth and presence: it’s a how-to manual (as he reminds us). He addresses the tension between “proper” grammar and writing for impact, dealing with editors, publishers and contracts; getting help and the whole business of delivering one’s words to the readers who hunger for them.

This is a book I can highly recommend, not only for aspiring writers, but for anyone who wants to engage the world deeply and recognizes the value of words in the exchange.

Ensouling Language: On the Art of Nonfiction and the Writer’s Life
Paperback: 480 pages
Publisher: Inner Traditions

Kindle Edition available!
File Size: 754 KB
ASIN: B00462RVFK

Posted in Henge Happenings, HH #93, Reviews | Tagged Book, druid, review, Writer, Writing | Leave a comment

From the President – Samhain 2011

Posted on January 3, 2012 by tony

By Tony Taylor

This issue’s cover of the Kilclooney Dolmen captures the magickal nature of the sacred site as well as the quietness of the portal tomb. A stunning photograph by Henge member, Steward of the Wood. And no, it wasn’t photoshopped.

Projects

Due to technical problems, the minutes of the 2011 Annual Meeting aren’t available. They will be available shortly and we expect to present them in the Imbolc issue of Henge Happenings.

Tony and TopazOwl, with the help of Nick and Ailim, are working on marketing the Henge by improving search engine rankings, and increasing our Facebook presence. If you have a website, please create a link to the Henge website. Please mention the Henge in your blogs and postings, which will help create a buzz about the Henge. Be sure to “Like” the Henge of Keltria on Facebook. We are also looking into a more focused email marketing process. If you are interested in assisting in these activities, please contact the Henge Office or the webmaster.

Various board members are working on new and improved publications and other resources. The Council of Elders is working on a “Book of Keltria” which will provide a central place to learn and understand the key elements of Keltrian Druidism. Others are working on a new and improved Grove Leaders Handbook, which will incorporate special rituals, such as handfastings, coming of age, and other rituals.

I look forward to next year’s Gathering of the Keltrian Tribe and Annual Meeting. If you would like to host the Gathering, please submit your proposal to the Board of Trustees, via the Henge Office, by Winter Solstice. Please see the article in this issue for more information.

Thoughts

Certainly Samhain is traditionally the time for reflection on those who have passed on to the otherworld. As I grow older I see more and more of my contemporaries pass on. Fortunately, the Henge had only one Henge member, John Brown, take that journey. Please remember him in your Samhain remembrances. Many of us experienced the loss of loved ones; family, personal friends, and, of course, special animal friends. If you know of someone who had a particularly close spirit pass over, please acknowledge the loss to them and ask their permission to include them and their loved one in your prayers. If you suffer a loss be sure to let the Henge Office know so we may remember them and give solace to you.

In the Keltrian Tradition, Samhain is also the time to make your plans for the coming year which is declared in ritual. This should not be something simple to be accomplished by Imbolc, but a longer, more ambitious goal. What is it that you want to accomplish? We would like to hear from members regarding what your goals are and how they were formalized in ritual.

For many years our Grove has taken a large piece of slate and had each of the Grove members make a drawing as a representation of that goal on the slate. The slate is displayed during rituals during the year to remind everyone of the goals and plans that were set forth that past Samhain.

Walk with wisdom, peace, and harmony.

Posted in From the Officers, From the President, Henge Happenings, HH #92 | Tagged Book of Keltria, Dolmen, Goals, Samhain | Leave a comment

A poem (from the first ogham fid): Beith, the birch

Posted on December 31, 2011 by Jenne

A poem (from the first ogham fid):
Beith, the Birch

by Jenne Micale

The pale lady dances on the old field
the fences graying, crumbling to dust
goldenrod, mullein, Queen Anne’s lace, cornflower
where once cows bustled to the new barn.

But that has ended in the long-ago.
The pond forgets the farmer’s dull tread
as its mud swallows the memory of boots.
The field is wild now, pasture for deer.

The birch wasn’t the first on the dance floor.
She wasn’t the moment of ending
the passage of one song to another.
She is, instead, the scrawl on the wall

That marks the first words of the new poem.
Forgotten the farmer, forgotten the field
and only her high step through the meadow
a wraith in her white sheath, garlanded green.

Quick in the breeze now, a shimmer of hair
as mice clamber in the gold at her foot
the bobcat, all stillness, hunting them down
as she writes with her light foot on the green.

Posted in Henge Happenings, HH #92, The Bard's Path | Tagged Beith, birch, Ogham, poem | Leave a comment

Kilclooney More Portal Tomb

Posted on December 29, 2011 by SF4097

KILCLOONEY MORE PORTAL TOMB

Part 1 of 2

by Steward of the Wood

Steward of the Wood

She met Steward of the Wood at the gate to the track, riding side saddle on the white mare with a black dog and young, brown filly running playfully beside her. Epona, Goddess of Fertility and Bounty, smiled down at him in all her glory with that warm, welcoming smile and the aura of health and abundance emanating from her. As the mare beneath her stood still, the brown filly gently nursed the mare and the black dog nudged Steward’s hand. “We are glad you came, Steward of the Wood. She has been expecting you and I am to guide you to the Veil.” Only then did he remember that Epona was also known to be a guide to the Otherworld (Summerlands, Tír na nƠg).

Steward was awe-struck. Little had he imagined such an encounter on this fine September day in Donegal, Ireland. As a Druid, he was in search of the Gods and Goddesses and the Nature Spirits of this ancient land. In the planning of this quest, his body, and it’s very DNA, tingled at the prospects of encountering the Ancestors, including his own Irish ancestors. Now he was here, in Donegal, at the site of the Kilclooney More Portal Tomb and looking into the beautiful face of a Goddess, Epona, with her long, dark brown tresses cascading over her shoulders and along the back of her white woolen tunic to grace the mare’s back.

“I greet you Goddess Epona and your companions,” he said, searching for words in his faltering wits. “I come in love and peace and seek communion with the Gods and Goddesses, those who I honor with my devotion. I am a child of this ancient land through my ancestors,” he continued.

“We know them… and you,“ she said as a sly smile graced her lips. “We also know what you seek. She is waiting for you on the other side in the Grove and I promised her that I would lead you to the Veil.”

A flush of humility overtook Steward of the Wood and he replied, “I am overwhelmed at your generosity and tell me, who she is, and what will I learn.”

“Ah,” said Epona, “that is a good question. She will reveal both to you, but come, she waits,” at this. Epona turned the mare and led them up the grassy track.

Strolling in the warm sun-bathed afternoon through the verdant land, Steward silently thanked Danu, Earth Mother, for this chance to be with Her and Her children, his brothers and sisters, the Nature Spirits. Wrens danced on the air and serenaded them as they walked through grass and sedge punctuated by white wildflowers. Their floral fragrance hung sweetly on the air.

He began to detect a gurgling sound, almost laughing faintly on the gentle breeze, low at first but gaining strength. Pausing and turning to Steward, Epona nodded to the side of the track and said, “Refresh yourself at the sacred spring. Cleanse and prepare yourself.”

“Gladly,” he replied with a bit of relief. “I want to enter the Otherworld ready to receive knowledge.”

At that, he walked the short distance to the spring which bubbled, laughing, from the warm, rich ground at the base of a small hummock. Lush, green plants with abundant white flowers encircled the small pool. The Spirit of the Spring, standing beside the pool, beckoned him. He could almost discern her form, that of a slender woman, young but ageless, in a gossamer raiment, but she was elusive…with form and then without. Her voice was that of the spring. When he approached, he could faintly make out her lithe arms as she beckoned him to her and the spring.

“Thank you, beautiful Spirit,” Steward said. “I come to you in love and peace.”

She replied, barely audible above the gurgling sound, “we know. You are expected. She told us you were coming in search of her inspiration.”

At that he slowly knelt beside the spring and bathed his face, neck, arms, and hands in the silvery, translucent waters. It was incredibly refreshing, exhilarating, and renewing. “My mind feels alive; my skin tingles,” he thought. Then refreshed, he stood up and thanked the Spirit before returning to Epona who waited patiently by the track.

“Are you fully ready now, Steward of the Wood, child of Danu?”

“Fully,” he replied, “and I am ready to meet my destiny. I long for it. I have envisioned this in my dreams and meditations.” She motioned him forward and they continued their journey to the dolman which was only another 100 feet away atop a small rise in the undulating land. The ancient dolman stood silhouetted against the sky, the enormous grey cap stone resting atop four stone pillars.

As they approached, Epona stopped beside the dolman. Looking intently at Steward, she said, “Praise and honor the Ancestors who made this most sacred monument to the Earth Mother as well as the Hidden Ones who guard it. Then enter her awaiting womb to pass to the Otherworld. You will be welcomed by Manannán Mac Lir who may allow you to enter. It depends on whether he deems you ready.”

Steward smiled. “Thank you Epona. You have blessed me with your presence and I honor you.” Then he circled the massive dolman deiseil, thanking and praising those who made it, and those who guard the portal. After a brief pause, he bent over and entered between the two pillars that form the entry way. In the dim light, he could see the path descending steeply into the dark, brown earth…the womb of Danu. Faintly, he saw torches alternating on the walls. They illuminated ancient symbols carved lovingly into the standing stones lining the walls.

Walking past, Steward could see concentric circles, wheels, and spirals, ancestral images carved in the living stone by the Wise Ones to express their awe and visions of enlightenment. He tentatively touched a spiral, tracing it in the cool grey stone with the forefinger of his right hand and suddenly he knew. “This is the journey that my spirit makes in search of essence…the light of knowledge and understanding,” he proclaimed loudly. Only silence greeted his knowing.

The only sound was a slight crunching noise as his feet met the soil during the rest of his journey in the dimly lighted passage…the birth canal. A faint, musty odor was in the air. Then he rounded a corner and came face to face with an almost blinding light. Hard to grasp initially, his mind finally understood that it was a doorway…a doorway from the body of the Earth Mother into the Otherworld.

Slowly, Steward continued walking and just before he entered the door, he looked up and saw the symbols on the lintel stone over the door. It was a series of consecutive zigzag lines cut into the stone. “The nine waves,” he said out loud, “and I am going beyond the ninth wave to Tír na nƠg.”

Emerging into the diffuse light of a foggy place, yet still almost blinding after his dark journey, Steward stopped and blinked several times to regain his sight and finally his composure. There just 20 feet to his right stood the figure of a man but clearly more than a man. He was large, easily over six feet tall, with long flowing red hair and a full beard, both the color of fire. His eyes were the green color of seaweed and seemed to lightly sparkle. His clothing consisted of a tunic the color of varying shades of water, both blue and green. As Steward stood speechless, the God strode over to him and spoke with a deep, resonating voice. “Steward of the Wood, I bid you greetings. Your coming was foretold. Are you ready to pass through the Veil? Are you worthy? Is your heart clear of guile and are you truly ready to follow the Path no matter where it leads?”

“I am Manannán Mac Lir, Son of the Sea, Manannán of the Red Beard. I have prepared myself these last four years as I studied the way of the Druid. Epona has guided me to you and I am ready to walk the Path of Knowledge.”

“Your Ancestors are here as are the Nature Spirits and the other Gods and Goddesses,” Manannán spoke in his deep, resonating voice. “You have been here before in past lives and now we welcome you in this life.” As he spoke, he gently anointed Steward on the forehead with oil making the sign of Imbas. “May you be blessed in mind, body, and spirit. Go forth in the Otherworld on this, your first visit in this lifetime. May it prove to be only the first of many such visits. Your destiny calls you back.” As he finished speaking, the fog began to clear. Slowly at first and then increasingly Steward began to see the Otherworld across the watery Veil.

As perspective slowly returned, Steward realized that he was in a beautiful world. A sídhe was behind him with the entryway whence he had emerged. In front of him was a grassy strip of land about 200 feet wide strewn with flowers of all hues…blue, red, yellow, white, and purple. Across the meadow lay a forest filled with ancient trees. They were huge and in leaf. A path led into the woods and disappeared around a bend.

Standing beside the path leading into the forest was a man. He wore a green woolen tunic the color of dark green oak leaves with a brown leather belt about his waist and brown woolen trousers. His hair was wavy brown and shoulder length and he had a moderate-length brown, wavy beard with auburn red hue. He looked strangely familiar to Steward. He almost recognized him.

At that moment, the man broke into a broad grin and motioned Steward to come to him. Crossing the grassy meadow, slowly, hesitantly at first, Steward approached the man who extended his hand in greeting.

“Welcome, Steward of the Wood, my friend. I have sensed you for many turnings of the wheel. It is good that you return home to us,” the man said.
“I have longed all my life to be here but have only now found the way. I too have sensed the Otherworld and sought its portal in my travels throughout the world,” said Steward.

“Now that you know the way, you can visit us at any time. There are many portals and you carry the best of all in your mind’s eye,” said the man.

“What may I call you,” asked Steward.

“Just call me Guide for now and I will reveal more to you later,” said the man. Guide continued, “I believe you know my companion, Spirit of the Buck.” At that he motioned to an enormous buck deer that was totally white in color with red ears and jet black eyes.

“Oh, I know the Spirit of the Buck well,” said Steward of the Wood. “His children, the deer, and I meet regularly and commune in the mundane world. They have gifted me many tokens that now grace my altar. I seek and call them and they visit me, imparting knowledge and skills like swift, quiet movement through the forest. Up to this point, I have sensed you and spoken with you, Spirit of the Buck, my totem. It is good to finally meet and I honor you.”

“At this, Spirit of the Buck gently nodded his head in assent and then suddenly Steward could hear Spirit of the Buck speaking his mind. “You have been one of my children, the deer, in a past life. You know full well how it feels to run swiftly in the forest on silent hooves. As a human child in this life, you remembered this and were truly a child of the forest. We watched over you and nurtured you in the forests and mountains of Tennessee. Welcome home.”

Guide then said, “If you are ready, let’s go to the Sacred Grove. She is waiting for you. Change out of those strange clothes and don ones of the Otherworld. At times, these will be helpful as you seek to blend into the forest and become invisible.” Then he handed Steward a brown pair of woolen trousers, soft brown leather boots, a dark green tunic like his and a brown belt with a beautiful quartz stone buckle, with carved triskele, and with a metal backing. Steward quickly changed and was ready to go. The rough wool against his skin took a while to get used to but then he felt even more at home.

They walked silently on the path through the ancient forest. As a forester, Steward had been in forests worldwide in the mundane world but had rarely been in ones this ancient with these species of trees and understory plants. Perhaps the closest was Sherwood Forest in Nottinghamshire, England with its large ancient oaks. A variety of trees, both in size and species grew in the forest of the Otherworld. The understory plants were varied and abundant, especially in any small openings. The air in the forest was fresh and exceptionally clear with a soft fragrance of flowers and the sun shone clearly from the sky. As he walked, Steward spotted species he recognized, including the sacred trees to the Druids: rowan, alder, willow, ash, hawthorn, oak, holly, hazel, apple, blackthorn, elder, pine, aspen, and yew. “I have friends and loved ones in these trees in both worlds,” he thought.

The forest also teemed with other life. Squirrels scampered on the forest floor as well as in the tree crowns, chattering and chasing each other like playful children. Wrens and finches sang merrily as they flitted through the trees in search of good meals…ah, a crunchy bug. Ravens perched in the trees and regaled them with their croaks and caws.

Continued next issue….

Posted in Henge Happenings, HH #92, The Bard's Path | Tagged Epona, Kilclooney, Manannán Mac Lir, Vision | Leave a comment

The Bard’s Path: The Last Lesson

Posted on December 24, 2011 by Wren

The Last Lesson

by Wren Taylor

[Ed Note: This article was first published in Henge Happenings in Samhain 1999 and is reprinted here in remembrance.]

3:30 AM — I sit bathed in the cold light of the conical copper lamp suspended over the glass topped kitchen table. This is the only light illuminated in this empty, old house. I sit on a wooden chair bundled in layers of pink flannel and a thick, peach colored terry cloth robe. My arms are wrapped tightly around my knees. Shivering, I listen to the barrage of ice and snow born out of the February storm. The maple trees sigh under the weight of the onslaught. I believe the storm is attempting to capture me and turn me into a pillar of ice. It would be so easy to do right now.

This old house of my youth has the unmistakable scent of having been shut and empty for many months, which it had since Mom and Dad moved into my old apartment over their machine shop.

Scattered before me on the table are the family’s old photo albums. As I absently flip the leaves, the house softly sings to me with the ghostly voices of holidays and birthdays past. I close my eyes, let my head fall back and listen to the squeals of laughter, voices raised in sibling competition and the soft murmurs of affection exchanged while tucking five children into their beds. I remember…

Unconsciously, I lift my fingers to my face to chase away an annoying itch and abruptly stop. His scent… His scent is on my fingers… It’s a combination of Corn Huskers Lotion and something else – something that is uniquely my “Da.” He quietly passed to the Otherworld just over an hour ago. I pull my fingers away from my face and study them under the circle of light. I think, “How odd…” Like lightening, my left brain engages and responds, “It’s not odd at all! He’s only been dead an hour. After all you did for him today of course they smell. Go wash your hands!” I ignore the practical advice and instead bring my hand back to my face. I close my eyes once more and review Greybeard’s last lesson to his children.

When the call came, it was not unexpected. I was in the fortunate position to drop everything and book the transcontinental flight. Greybeard, as we affectionately called him, was cognoscente and able to sit in his recliner for most of the first week. In a hoarse voice, he spoke excitedly of his anticipated adventure. He obviously enjoyed sending his children on treasure hunts to find specific items. He required particular pictures from the Hubbell telescope, CD’s of whale songs and various other items to help him illustrate what he expected to find on his journey. It was fun in a curious sort of way to march to his chair-side in triumph clutching the found treasures. He lavished praise on us as though we were small children although the gray was obvious on our own heads.

We discussed his funeral and he declared that it would be a Viking funeral. (That old coot! All of these years, he told me he was a Southern Baptist when he really was “one of us”…) My mind immediately flashed to the local environmental group. I dubiously questioned whether we would be allowed to launch a burning boat with him on it from the town dock. The compromise was a model Viking boat to hold his ashes. It was decided that the small boat would be launched in the brook that runs beside the building. He liked that idea. I suggested that since he had not realized his life long dream of punting on the Thames, the boat could be retrieved and I could take him with me when I travel to Stonehenge some day. All kidding aside, he liked that idea very much, too. He asked me to do a “Brunehilda” for him at his “party.” Slowly I said “suuuure“, but would he mind if we waited for the warmer weather? I pointed out that the breastplate would be a killer in the sub-zero temperatures. He chuckled and said fine, fine with a sparkle in his old tired eyes.

He said he was having too much fun at the party to leave, but then, he was so very, very tired. Even so, I admired his cheerful attitude and sense of humor. In a somber moment, Greybeard did extract a solemn promise that under no circumstances would he be transported to the hospital. I couldn’t blame him for that, however, the red Do Not Resuscitate order on the Hospice paper work gave me an indescribable shiver. He required around the clock care, but I was honored to be a part of it.

Reciting William Henley’s Invictus, he went to his bed for the final time. His last spoken words were, “Love, love, love.” This was Greybeard’s last lesson to his children.

INVICTUS
by William Henley

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods my be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud:
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbow’d.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

[Ed note: Invictus is also available on MP3]

Posted in Henge Happenings, HH #92, The Bard's Path | Tagged Ancestor, Invictus, Last Lesson, remembrance | Leave a comment

Review – The Gaian Tarot

Posted on December 20, 2011 by Jenne

The Gaian Tarot

by Joanna Powell Colbert

Review by Jenne Micale

Many years ago, Joanna Powell Colbert’s detailed and intricate drawings caught my eye when I was perusing a Pagan-themed book. When I learned several years ago that she was working on a Tarot deck, I was excited and delighted. The Gaian Tarot – published by Llewellyn – is the long-awaited result.

Every card in the deck features Colbert’s incredibly detailed artwork and is replete with natural imagery, from the field of lavender in the Nine of Earth (in which the central figure is Colbert herself), to the turtle and fish in the Guardian of Water, the warring eagles in Five of Air, and the shining water and rotting bird in Death. The suits are divided according to element and the court cards according to age: Child, Explorer, Guardian, Elder. The humans depicted in the cards exemplify the range of human diversity and offer, in their way, a utopian vision of what our society could be.

The cards are loosely based on Rider-Waite, although they have their own take on traditional images. The Seven of Water, for example, displays not a woman lost in dreams (contained by chalices), but a man who chooses a chalice and drinks it to the full. While the Six of Pentacles is traditionally the alms-giver, the Six of Earth shows money being exchanged at a farmers’ market. The Eight of Earth – one of my favorite cards – shows a father teaching his daughter how to play djembe rather than a child carving a pentacle, although the Rider-Waite and Gaian tarot both express the dedication required in mastering a skill. The Fool is now the Seeker, the Empress the Gardener and the Devil, Bindweed – to name a few of the changes in the Major Arcana.

To a novice tarot reader, the departure from Rider-Waite may make learning this deck a little problematic. The relative dearth of negative cards may complicate readings for more mundane purposes; the Ten of Air – geese flying during the fall migration – espouses a theme of endings, but not in the dramatic and traumatic manner of the Ten of Swords. But overall, the Gaian Tarot is excellent in giving guidance in spiritual matters – wise and gentle – and for meditation. Highly recommended.

Gaian Tarot by Joanna Powell Colbert
Paperback: 288 pages
Publisher: Llewellyn Publications; Crds edition (September 8, 2011)
ISBN-10: 0738718912
ISBN-13: 978-0738718910

Posted in Henge Happenings, HH #92, Reviews | Tagged Divination, review, seer, Taror | Leave a comment

Commentary on Reading Buhner’s Ensouling Language

Posted on October 7, 2011 by Karl

Review by Karl Schlotterbeck, MA, CAS, LP – Archdruid

Karl Schlotterbeck

I first heard of Buhner’s writings when a shamanic teacher recommended one of his earlier books, The Lost Language of Plants (2002 by Chelsea Green Publishing). In that book he wrote about the deep relationship between humanity and the natural world and how much of our human world is not only losing its ability to communicate with the natural world, but also altering it through our use of pharmaceuticals, most of which pass through the body unchanged into the environment.

Buhner advocates knowing things so deeply that there is a response from them. It is an active and interactive perception that does not just see, but is also aware of being seen by what, to the blind, is a lifeless object.

Thus, he advocates more than a writing style, but a deep way of being that has escaped many of the schools of psychology that purport to help us, and most of the religious movements that want to tell us how to live. He asks for nothing less than an awareness and integration of the imaginal, feeling and thinking realms – not just having emotions and thoughts, but developing the capacity to feel into a subject, to be able to touch something from a distance – a form on non-physical touch. He calls for integrity and being aware where one’s baggage interferes with one’s intent, and the kind of choice one has to make about reality.

Writers in our time are caught up in a great conflict between two competing worldviews. It is in many ways the great problem our species now faces: whether the world is alive, filled with intelligence and soul, or whether it is just a ball of resources hurtling around the sun, there for our use in any way we see fit. (p. 370)

This, of course, has implications regarding what rights and responsibilities we grant corporations, social movements, governments, trees, stones and soil. Our treatment of the vulnerable will reveal who we are; and we begin to see a link among women, children, the elderly, ill, homeless, poor, mentally ill – and the environment. Do we recognize value and worth only when something (or someone) is of use to us? Only for what can be mined from it? Or do we walk through the world with respect and honor, recognizing that we are part of a community – not only of people, but of spirits, creatures, stars and the earth itself? Thus, the act of writing, when done well, reflects a deep awareness (both objective and subjective), and deals honestly with suppositions about the nature of life that must be examined, decisions about the distribution of power (in all its forms) that will be healthy for a community, and how we place value on people and things, and whether one can actually tolerate truth.

In America there is debate about whether corporations have the same privacy rights as actual human beings, or whether real people have a right to know the truth about how the power of wealth is used to influence their lives; there is debate about the role of government in business, economic and sexual worlds, and about who has what responsibility for the vulnerable, and whether we as a community care at all about who owns our natural resources and who can profit from them.

Unfortunately much of the debate is framed in sound-bite-sized thoughts passed around with shrill commentaries, avoiding any deep thinking or examination of principles beyond surface allegiances. Instead, we have packaged opinions manufactured by both sides of the debate, poured into our media outlets with a force dependent not on their truth but on the wealth of their backers – as if the more times it is said the more true it must be.

This debate is healthy and necessary; its execution, however, has been dishonest. The Cup of Truth will have been shattered many times over; the Goddess of the Land will have withdrawn her favor at the lack of honor in too many leaders; tribal lords in the form of corporate bosses and religious tyrants run amuck like warlords who justify their predatory nature with religious, political or anarchic clichés under cover of some self-appointed “divine” mandate. This is not so different from Middle Eastern countries with their hunger to free control from an autocratic power only to be faced with tribal warlords who will fill the vacuum. The ordinary people who want to live, want to raise their families and protect their children, to do some honest work and to enjoy what this world’s beauty has to offer are used for fodder in military, political and economic warfare. It seems little different from what is happening here in America: we can see the dissatisfaction in things as they’ve been here.

In Western culture, it may well be the poets, writers and other artists who have been carrying the mantle of Druidry, seeking obedience to their gods, celebrating the life found in all of nature, and reminding us of the truths lost in media onslaught, the race for the next dollar and the manufactured propaganda of our politicians, corporate behemoths, separatist militias and religious movements.

Any piece of Nature, broken off, immediately begins to degrade. Everything here in this place is meant to be biodegradable (including ourselves). (p. 368)

What might all this mean for Druids? I propose that we should expect honest, evidence-based and respectful debate. There’s hardly one answer here, but some application of the principles of Truth, of Honor, and of Courage should carry some weight – perhaps to inspire us to hold our leaders (both governmental and business) accountable to community values, to the ancestors, and to the Natural world that we share and hope to pass down to our children. This is not an easy road. If we honor truth, we must honor it not only in our own positions, but also where it might be found in the position of our “enemies.” In America, it seems we have two great forces: one shaped by its fear, hatred and drive for conformity; and one by its guilt, lack of commitment and spinelessness.

It’s not the assertions of the right or the left that is my first allegiance, but what keeps us in healthy relationship with Nature, what honors our ancestors and what brings me alive. Is what I profess consistent with reverence for the Nature Spirits that, from the beginning of time, have given us the means to live? Does it honor our ancestors, which includes our elders who are soon to become ancestors, and the children for whom we will one day be an ancestor? Are my philosophies worthy of the gods I say I worship? If we approach this with honor, with truth, with awareness and integrity, it would be of great service to ourselves, our families, our communities, our world, our relationship with the Otherworld, and our Druidism.

Posted in Henge Happenings, HH #91, Reviews | Tagged Book Review, Ensouling Language, review | Leave a comment

TARA

Posted on October 7, 2011 by SF4097

by Steward of the Wood

Steward of the Wood

Tara! Tara…symbolizes one of the most celebrated, sacred sites for all Celts, especially those of us with Druid connections. “And here I am…at Tara,” Steward of the Wood said out loud to himself. “Over the years of training in Druidry, I envisioned walking here among the Ancient Ones, gaining sensory images and trying to learn and understand the teachings,” he thought. And he made it. Little did he know, or could envision, what was about to unfold. Magick was afoot.

The Hill of Tara nestles into the landscape a few miles southeast of the sacred Boyne River. Visible from Tara, the ancient passage tombs of Knowth and Bru na Boinne watch silently but powerfully from hill tops about ten miles to the northeast. During ancient ceremonies, fires on these sites could be seen from one hill to another. This part of Ireland is truly a sacred landscape.

Arriving late in the day, Steward walked the site just before dusk, the liminal time when the Veil between the mundane world and the Other World assumes the form of mist. This is a time when the Ancestors and Nature Spirits roam freely among mortals and time is ephemeral. The Goddess Boann blessed him as the overcast sky began to rain lightly enhancing the feeling of being in the time and space between worlds. It was easy to see why the Ancestors chose this site as it is equal in elevation to the other hills as far as the eye could see. On a clearer, brighter day, Steward would be able to see for miles in any direction. Lush, thick, verdant grass covered the entire site with a few scattered hawthorn trees (faery trees); the earthen mounds were the only things that interrupted the field of view. It was quiet to the point of being eerie with only an occasional bird flying over and sheep peacefully grazing. A pastoral smell of earth, grass, and sheep manure, permeated the air but it was gentle and pleasant. It was the smell of the earth… of Danu.

The Mound of the Hostages - Tara

Sensing the presence of ancient spirits, Steward communed with the Triad: Gods and Goddesses, Nature Spirits, and Ancestors. He introduced himself as a Druid with Ancestors from Ireland and asked them to allow him to visit and commune with them, gaining wisdom and understanding of this sacred site and how it fit with the patterns of the earth. Steward called on Ogma, the God of wisdom and magick, to teach him and help him gain the wisdom of a Druid. After a lifetime of studying earth wisdom and spirituality and dedicating himself to becoming a Druid four years ago, Steward longed to learn. “I feel impatient with myself,” he mused. Druidism has become integral to his way of life and he savored the signs of progress. “Sometimes it is hard not to question whether I am making enough progress,” he thought. “Open up and be present in this time and place,” he said out loud as if to chide.

After pausing a few minutes atop the Mound of the Hostages, Steward of the Wood headed south toward the flat topped, earthen mound that comprises the site of Cormac’s House. The ankle-high, wet grass brushed his boots as he walked, making a faint swooshing sound. Light rain continued to fall, ensuring life for the lush vegetation. He mounted the low hill and emerged on a flat top which was perhaps 50 feet wide. “Ancestors and Nature Spirits, I come to you this day asking for permission to enter your sacred space and commune with you,” he declared in a loud clear voice. Their consent enveloped him in calmness; and a tingling, excited feeling overtook Steward as they welcomed a Druid in their midst.

There in the middle of the hill was the fabled Lia Fáil, the Inauguration Stone, phallic in shape and about five feet tall. He lovingly approached it, circling in a deiseil fashion, praying to the Spirit of the stone, and asking permission to approach. “I am a Druid and I praise you, Lia Fáil, stone of many legends, I humbly seek to learn from you,” he intoned.
As he gently reached out to touch it, Steward was overtaken by a scene of the inauguration of Cormac Mac Airt, Ulfhada (long beard), as the Ard Rí (High King). The year was A.D. 227 [although nobody else there knew it -ed] and he was engulfed in a great gathering of the clans to celebrate the inauguration. The excitement and feeling that overtook him was palpable. “What happened?” Steward thought as he questioned his sanity.

People gathered from all over Ireland. Colorful tents and wooden structures covered the sacred site and hundreds of people were there. Steward could see Cormac walking around and talking with people. He was dressed in a brightly colored tunic of red and green with his iron armor shining. He wore a fine helmet with a raven on top, its wings moving slightly as he moved his head. The handle on his sword bore a swirling Celtic design with silver and gold intertwined. The glossy, leather scabbard was also highly adorned.

Lia Fail & Mound of the Hostages in distance

Cormac stopped to talk with an almost-equally adorned warrior. As Steward walked up to join the small crowd surrounding them, he realized that he too wore the tunic and armor of a Celtic Warrior and noticed how heavy it was, feeling like he was carrying a backpack weighing at least 30 pounds. He overheard Cormac address the other warrior as “Fionn” and he realized quickly that this was Fionn mac Cumhaill (Finn mac Cool), leader of the famed Fianna Eireann. Fionn was surrounded by several of his warriors and they were all dressed in their finery in preparation for the marriage of kingship (Banais Ríghe) of Cormac with Sovereignty of Ireland in the form of a beautiful white mare.

“Fionn mac Cumhaill, son of the great warrior, Cumhaill, the marriage of kingship is upon us and we will celebrate with the Feast of Tara (Feis Temro) to mark this event. We are glad you and the Fianna Eireann, Protectors of this Isle, have joined us,” said Cormac.

“Greetings, honored Ard Rí,” said Fionn. “Your marriage and feast will be sumptuous and remembered by the Bards for all ages,” he continued. Loud cheering followed these words as more and more of the Fianna and others around them took up the chant, “Ard Rí, Ard Rí,” banging their weapons on their shields. The noise was almost deafening.

As the clamor died down, Steward heard the squealing of pigs in the distance as they were being prepared for the feast. The delicious aromas of the cooking food were mixed with the pungent smell of wood smoke from the cooking fires. The smoke contributed to a bit of haze over the Hill but at least it wasn’t raining. Being twilight, the haze added even more to the ephemeral appearance of the Hill.

The general clamor of people talking, food preparation occurring, and children playing was thundering as Steward strained to hear Cormac and Fionn talk. Fionn was accompanied by three other warriors who appeared to be members of the Fianna. I wondered if they were Oisín, Diarmait, and Caílte. Finally I got close enough to hear Fionn compliment Cormac’s prowess in his most recent battle with the King of Connacht as Cormac sought to bring the recalcitrant men of Connacht under his rule. In turn, Cormac told Fionn that he could not have done so without the crucial help of the Fianna.

As he stood listening to Cormac and Fionn, Steward noticed a man dressed in a white robe and wearing a gold torc staring at him. He wore his hair long but it was shaved in the front of his head. As he looked at Steward with piercing blue eyes, he walked over and asked in a somewhat hushed tone close to Steward’s ear, “Are you Steward of the Wood?”

Steward replied, “Yes,” also in a hushed tone. The Druid said that he had a message for Steward as he moved away from the crowd and motioned Steward to follow.

They walked to a relatively private spot and he identified himself as Cathaír, the Druid. He said, “Steward of the Wood, Long Traveler, in my journey to the Other World a few days ago, I received a vision from Ogma that you would be visiting. He gave me a message for you. He said that you were a Druid from another time and far away from Eire. Ogma told me your studies are rewarded with knowledge about the Triad as well as the patterns of energy flow in the earth. He hears your requests for assistance and he will work with you.”

Cathaír looked at Steward with a questioning glance. “Do you understand?”

Lia Fail (on right)

To which, Steward replied “Clearly. I have sought the advice of Ogma many times and am honored that he has heard me and seen the sincerity of my actions.”

Cathaír continued, “The Gods and Goddesses have seen and felt your presence at many sacred sites across the earth, on this Isle and beyond. They know that you have been seeking them and your Ancestors. The Nature Spirits told them that they feel your welcoming presence in the forests, beckoning them to commune with you. The spirits of the trees and streams love your gentle touch and they connect with your ancient spirit. Your magickal name fits you well, Steward of the Wood. Danu, our Earth Mother, loves you and your dedication to her and all her children. Your Ancestors take pride in your leadership and all your work to learn about them and especially your efforts to share this hard-won knowledge with your living kin. They feel your love and acknowledgement and are grateful for it. Through you and their living kin, they continue to live.”

His final message to Steward spoke of hardships. “Ogma told me to speak to you of a never-ending journey. Through your past lives, you have gained much wisdom and sometimes painful experiences. These serve you well now. At least during this lifetime, you will be a Long-traveler…a Seeker. You are fated to journey ceaselessly to sacred sites, to visit beings who can teach you and Ogma will be your guide. It is lonely at times, but your reward is passing on the knowledge that you have gained. Your greatest joy will be in reviving and sharing the knowledge of the Celts and their Gods and Goddesses and the Nature Spirits. Of equal joy will be demonstrating the nurturing value of having a personal relationship with the Ancestors. You are blessed, Steward of the Wood!”

At this, Cathaír clasped Steward’s hand in friendship, gave him the smile of a true brother and knowledge seeker. Returning from a state of awe and reverence, Steward said, “Honored Cathaír, I don’t know what to say. This acknowledgement is unexpected and I thank you for this wonderful news. I am so grateful that you were willing to carry the message to me.” Without saying another word, Cathaír quickly moved away into the crowd leaving Steward in stunned silence.

As Cathaír moved away, Steward experienced a shift in time back to the twilight presence where he began seemingly hours ago, but actually only a few minutes. Steward thought, “Did Ogma cause the shift in time? Had he been the one who drew me to Ireland in the first place?” Steward thought to himself, his mind was racing with questions. “I have prayed to Ogma many times, seeking his help and guidance. Even though I had learned to sense a measure of ‘leadings’ from my prayers, I had not felt a strong direct guidance. How would that change? Should I journey to the Otherworld in hopes of contacting him directly? Would Spirits be his intermediaries? Steward was stunned but exceedingly pleased by everything that just happened. He wanted to stay in the past. Steward gratefully raised his voice to Tara, “Oh powerful Ogma and my Ancestors, especially Cormac and Fionn, I thank you for allowing me to learn with you, to see you and begin to understand. I will never forget the grandeur of what I saw. Cathaír, I thank the Gods for you and your message.”

Descending the mound of Cormac’s House, he began to walk back across the Hill of Tara to his waiting car. Visiting Tara was a dream come true. The Gods and Goddesses, especially Ogma and Danu, the Ancestors, and the Nature Spirits seemed so close. What an incredible feeling. What a mystical and magickal site.

Sheep Grazing at the Hill of Tara

Footnote: Spirituality infuses everything and everyone at Tara if you open up to the experience. It is truly a place where all Druids should go and commune. Prepare yourself before the visit to understand better what you are seeing and sensing. Read about Tara, including the legends of Cormac, Fionn, and others. Tara is nourishing and reenergizing to the Druid spirit.
Our spirituality is growing stronger in the world and visiting these sacred sites and reconnecting with our past and present helps its growth. We as individuals are strengthened as are the Gods and Goddesses, the Ancestors, and the Nature Spirits. They feel our strength as their influence and power grows. It is a mutually-beneficial service. As we grow, then they grow; and in turn, our Druid community grows.

Walk with wisdom.

Posted in HH #91, The Bard's Path | Tagged Celtic Heros, Goddesses, Gods, Hill of Tara, Irish Heros, Lia Fail, Mound of the Hostages | Leave a comment

HoK 2011 Gathering Photos

Posted on September 18, 2011 by tony

HoK 2011 Gathering Photos

Gathering-2011

HoK Gathering of the Keltrian Tribe Coon Rapids & Ham Lake, Minnesota July 2011

Posted in Photos | Tagged Gathering, Keltria, photos | Leave a comment

Two Adorations

Posted on September 18, 2011 by AutumnRose

By Autumn Rose

Autumn Rose

EARTH ADORATION

Lady, you were the dream of Earth before the Earth was formed, and you will be the memory of Earth when the Earth no longer exists. You are the Spirit which indwells the Earth that is. You are the womb from which all earthly life emerges, and you are the tomb to which the dead of Earth return. You are the fountain from which we drink, and you are the garden in which we pluck our sustenance. You are the Maiden, the Mother and the Crone, turning like a wheel from birth to birth, ancient beyond memory, yet ever young. Praise to you, Lady, Goddess, Queen!

SUN ADORATION

Great Sun, you are the Lord of Worlds; the planets with their moons, the asteroids and the comets are your courtiers. You are the bright star of the daytime heavens. You are the heat that rescues from cold and death, and you are the light that rescues from darkness and fear. You are the blaze of revelation and you are the glow of knowledge. You are the newborn God, and you are the Champion and Hero. You are the beloved of Earth, the center of her universe, and from you she does not stray. You are her husband; your embrace brings her to fruitfulness. As she is the Mother, so you are the Father of earthly life. Praise to you, Sun God, Lord and King!

Posted in HH #91, The Bard's Path | Tagged adoration, Bard, Earth Mother, God, Goddess, poem, Sky Father | Leave a comment

Ensouling Language: On the Art of Nonfiction and the Writer’s Life

by Stephen Harrod Buhner

Review by Karl Schlotterbeck

By Tony Taylor

Projects

Thoughts

A poem (from the first ogham fid): Beith, the Birch

by Jenne Micale

KILCLOONEY MORE PORTAL TOMB

Part 1 of 2

by Steward of the Wood

Continued next issue….

The Last Lesson

by Wren Taylor

[Ed Note: This article was first published in Henge Happenings in Samhain 1999 and is reprinted here in remembrance.]

INVICTUS by William Henley

[Ed note: Invictus is also available on MP3]

The Gaian Tarot

by Joanna Powell Colbert

Review by Jenne Micale

Review by Karl Schlotterbeck, MA, CAS, LP – Archdruid

Buhner advocates knowing things so deeply that there is a response from them. It is an active and interactive perception that does not just see, but is also aware of being seen by what, to the blind, is a lifeless object.

Any piece of Nature, broken off, immediately begins to degrade. Everything here in this place is meant to be biodegradable (including ourselves). (p. 368)

by Steward of the Wood

Gathering-2011

By Autumn Rose

EARTH ADORATION

SUN ADORATION

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Ensouling Language:   On the Art of Nonfiction and the Writer’s Life

A poem (from the first ogham fid):
Beith, the Birch

INVICTUS
by William Henley

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