Tales from the Cailleach: Tipping the Balance at Equinox.

A short walk today, just as far as the thorn. 

The Equinox sunrise gilded the stones within my mound this morning.

Photo: sunlight at Spring Equinox inside Cairn T  © Clare Tuffy http://www.newgrange.com 

Seed-sprouts rise from the earth, tiny leaves curl on branches.
Still, there is a breath of snow in the air and on these grey days I don’t stray far from the hearth.

The fire awakened, I sit staring into the flames, warmed by memories of SAMHAIN past. 

Since then I have a ready smile for neighbours and laughter in my eyes. 

They do not know the cause but I see them sniffing the air as they pass, sensing sea tang, their faces puzzled by the seaweed fond across my threshold. 

The phone rings, reflections shatter.

Two voices, so like my own, whisper down the line.

“ Tonight, is it?”

I nod my reply.

“Yes, we’ll tip the balance. ”

Later, fire banked, I listen to the house as it sighs and settles into the night.

Once the tale was told of we three Hags who push up new growth from the land at Equinox, it’s almost true that story.
My sister-selves and I labour when light and dark are equal but not beneath the earth.

As shadows deepen, eyes close, breathing slows and I gently slip away.

Needing neither broom nor steed I rise to travel rimed roads. 

Sleep blankets the villages I pass, a quiet night in this world.

Over frost bitten bog and pitch river I gather speed to soar above the rising hill.

Photo © Lynda McCormack 

A feathering of snow flakes as I settle upon Sliabh na Caillíghe, where once we leapt and hurled 

the stones that now bear legends.

Upon my chair I scour the sleeping island with keen eyes.

Photo: Courtesy of © Anthony Murphy http://www.mythicalireland.com 

Yes, the land is ready, ripe for growth. 

I release my howl of greeting high into the darkness.  

A chill blast bearing laughter replies, my sister-self on Gullion. 

A moment later the screech of Bheara answers and we three Hags are ready.

The tipping point approaches.

At the mound, breath hoar frost on stone, I enter black stillness.

In this womb, the air, already laden with the scent of meadowsweet yet to bloom, 

shifts as I trace shapes within the stones. 

Patterns once danced upon the land in rhythm with earth, sea and sky.

We three move as one. 

Goodness in seed, grass and grain.

Sunwise circling.

Goodness in flower, fruit and branch.

Weaving words.

Goodness in grain, nourish our people.

A sudden surge. 

A torrent, the yellow of ripening sun, is birthed across the land. 

The point of balance tipped.

The land awash with vigour once again.

Cailleach at Sliabh na Caillíghe © Jane Brideson.

***

Next morning, I stir the embers back to flame and place the kettle on the stove, my work complete 

till harvest.

Stepping out the sky is washed pale blue and Seán stops the post van by the gate. 

“ Not a bad morning,” he says, “ there’s a feel of spring to the air. ”

Handing over the bills he stays to chat until the kettle sings. 

“ No tea for me today. ” 

Leaving he sniffs and mutters, “ is that the sea ? ”

I look to the sky. 

From the west a cloud formed like a wave rolls across the hills.

Inside two cups sit ready.

Manannán comes.

My first story of The Cailleach at Samhain is here: The Lament of the Old Woman

The Many Coloured Land.

Yesterday, as daylight dwindled, I was sitting by the stove re-reading AE’s book

‘The Candle of Vision’ when my mind returned to the start of this year. 

I began 2016 here with a post dedicated to George William Russell, AE. 

His writing continued to inspire me through the bleak days of winter and later led me to seek out the Many Coloured Land, places of vision and creative power within myself and the landscape of Ireland.   

To read - Æ, artist & mystic - 

“And the old enchantment lingers in the honey-heart of earth.” LINK HERE

This January was icy but as daylight slowly grew I made preparations to honour Brigid on the Eve of her festival.

The cross was woven and set above the door. 

The brát was placed on the windowsill to catch her blessing as she emerged from nearby 

Croghan Hill, to walk the land. 

To read - "Brighid returns from the Otherworld" LINK HERE

The long desired greening had began by the time I travelled to Kildare, home of her eternal flame. 

Her fire pit held evidence of ritual 

and at Brigid’s Well I felt the rising of the year.

To read - "The promised Spring arrives" LINK HERE

In hindsight I now understand that water has flowed throughout my year. 

Visits to rivers, lakes, bogs and sacred wells have inspired me and strengthened my connection to the spirits of the land. 

I see now that it really began on the shores of Lough Gur, sacred to the goddess Áine. 

To read - LOUGH GUR - “a personality loved, but also feared.”

LINK HERE

Then on morning walks to my local river I spied white blossom on dark limbs.

The blackthorn blazed like pale spirits across the country.

To read "Blackthorn, dark sister of the May" LINK HERE

Pale primroses peeped from beneath hedges and gold glinted in the fields.

Bealtaine came nearer. I welcomed summer on May Eve in the old way by decorating a May bush 

and lighting a bonfire at twilight. 

To read - "The May bush ribbons dance as the Fairy Host pass by" LINK HERE

As the land brought forth her flowers and the sun stretched the evenings

I felt a strong pull towards water, the west and Irelands’ many sacred wells. 

To read - "Sacred water and three thousand Holy Wells" LINK HERE

To read - "By Stone, Whitethorn and Well" LINK HERE

One well in particular, Rathin Well in Co. Clare, was to connect me to a deep sorrow still felt
by many communities.

To read - "In silent need they searched for Holy ground" LINK HERE

The year turned towards harvest but water still drew me to loughs 

To read - "Lughnasa, loughs and a last salute to Summer." LINK HERE

and the dark bog spirits of the Midlands.

To read - "Dark Spirits of the Bog" LINK HERE

There were places where the Otherworld felt close

To read - "The Burren: Land of the Fertile Rock" LINK HERE

and a morning when I stepped into The Silence.

To read - "Otherworld Shenanigans: The Silence" LINK HERE

Throughout this years’ adventures The Cailleach, the Old Woman, has been close by.

She has threaded her way through images.

To read - "The Cailleach - Hag of the Mill & Mother of the Herd" LINK HERE

And words. 

To read - "A Samhain Story - The Lament of the Old Woman" LINK HERE

As I prepare to celebrate the birth of a new year she whispers in my ear -

“ There is more, much more yet to come. You have merely glimpsed the Many Coloured Land.” 

Outside The Cailleach traces frost upon the leaves but I know she has already planted 

the seeds of next years’ adventures.

Many thanks to you all for reading, following and commenting on this blog. 

May your New Year be filled with good food, good health & good company!

Tales from the Cailleach: The Lament of the Old Woman at Samhain.

I am known to my neighbours as the mad one who talks to the fairies and it is said I walk the roads 

whilst others sleep.

These same neighbours come to me for help with the troubles of country living; a sick mare, a lame cow or the strange event that preys upon the mind.

At these times I make the tea, stand the pot on the hearth and let the silence brew. 

I suggest a simple explanation for the opening door, the chill at the fireside or a room the dog won’t enter. 

Most times they are satisfied.

With others a pinch of truth is all that’s needed to recall piseogs and buried knowledge that goes on long into the night.

So I live amongst these people, not quite accepted by them, for I do not go to mass as they do 

nor hail the priest as father.

I keep to my own ways, spirit unbounded by men with rules and robes.

Now and then I catch a sharp glance from some busy farmer as I visit mound and thorn but they do not guess my secret.

Three times a year I leave my home in darkness, needing neither broom nor steed, I rise from bed 

to fly above the sleeping townland.

Whitethorn scent may rise to meet me or, as tonight, turf smoke greets my flight across grey fields.

Image by Peter Gordon at http://explorelight.com

Skimming winding river I am observed but not by human eyes. 

Deer, owl and hare all know my ways, the night is ours.

Over hidden valley and bald mountain top I rise to settle on the tumbled cairn. 

Below land stretches away in shades of darkness undisturbed.

A sigh, long and deep, escapes me. 

Eyes close to invoke Samhain long past when the people knew and held us close.

Heart heavy with old memories, sorrow gnaws at my breasts and I nurse it. 

Alone, unloved, forgotten in this modern world.

Bitter wind shakes me from the past. 

Keen-eyed again, I stretch my sight to spy the distant horizon. 

Far off, a shift, a smudge, disturbs my vision.

A wisp of smoke.   A soar of sparks.   Now a flare of yellow red. 

Tlachta’s fire is kindled !

One by one other heights reply; 

Teamhair, Cruacháin, Uisneach, Sliabh na Caillí, Cruachán Aigle and Binn Ghulbain. 

Sliabh gCuillinn, Sliabh Dónairt, twin fires upon Dá Chích Anann. 

Hill top beacons burst with fire. 

In valleys tiny flames wake as dormant village cross-roads ignite. 

A million flames, a rosary of fire across the land.

The old ways are remembered!

Three calls from sharp-mouthed Raven cleaves the silence, The Great Queen rises from her cave. 

Beneath Brí Éile Brigid’s forge is lit anew as one by one, across the night, mounds open 

and those who have never left return.

Here, upon the Height of Ireland, I stand tall again and at my side Manannán shares his secret smile with me. 

The tide has turned.

Samhain greetings to you all!

This story was inspired by reading ‘The Lament of the Old Woman of Beare’, an Irish poem written in the 10th century,
which led me to wonder if The Cailleach lived amongst us and if so, what sort of neighbour would she be?

This virtual film relates a version of the poem translated by the Celtic language scholar Kuno Meyer. 

In the ancient past the Samhain fire was ceremonially lit by the Druids on Tlachtga, the Hill of Ward in Co. Meath. 

It is believed that answering fires were also lit on other prominent places across the landscape.

In more recent times the Tlachtga ceremony has been rekindled and this short film shows part 

the ceremony in 2015.