But what of the stars?

Courtesy of NASA - a photo of Jupiter taken by
New Horizons

Like many of us who follow the pagan path, the sky is very important to me.

My first clear memory of awareness of the sky is from when I was five years old.  Our family had moved to the far north of Canada – literally in the tundra – and it was winter.  My father knew the science teacher at the local high school, and had been invited to join a star-viewing party during which some pretty amazing aurorae were expected.  There were several impressive telescopes, the sky was as clear as crystal, the aurorae were as amazing as advertised, and I was hooked.

At five, I’m not going to pretend my interest was particularly deep.  But the experience did make me aware that, yes, there was something over my head at night, and it was wonderful.  Living so far north, even at such a tender age I often had occasion to be outside after dark (in winter night comes early!) and I’ve been a fan of the night sky ever since.  I went through the usual rocket obsession stage, and the SF stage (OK, I confess – they’re still going), but it wasn’t really until about my teens that I made a serious effort at learning more about the details.  I’d picked up bits and pieces over the years of course – I knew the planets, as far as they were known at the time, and could name a few stars and constellations, had a general idea of the sheer scale of space, but I’d never really studied it. 

When I started really looking at the sky?  Wow.

When I started on this spiritual path, I continued studying the sky but in a different way.  I’m still by no means an expert even after all this time, but the combination of a personal interest in the science and the esoterica I’ve delved into over the years has taught me a thing or two about the significance of the stars and planets.  I think nearly every pagan practitioner invokes the stars to some degree in their work, some more than others.

But the New Horizons flyby of Pluto this week set me thinking about something else – something that wouldn’t have occurred to me in the early days of my astronomical obsession, and something that is sort of at right angles to what I would have been thinking about when studying the stars from an esoteric perspective.

Apart from the “greater” gods I follow, I also pay homage to the coblynau and to more powerful spirits of place.  I have communed with the gods in trees and fields of course, and with the spirits that dwell in fertile earth.  But, importantly, I have also reached out to the gods and spirits who dwell in stones, in rivers, in mountains.

But what of the stars?

What would we – as spiritual pagans – find on our first steps on other worlds?

Is the Moon dead? Certainly, there are no animals or plants there, and no sign of anything even as simple as living bacteria or viruses, but…dead?

Or is the Moon alive?

If we could stand there, could we feel the diaphanous touch of those who dwell there?  Could we feel the thrum of the mountains basking in the sunlight?  Could we sense the deep mysteries of the gods of the mare?

What of Mars?  Do those (hypothetical) seasonal rivers have river gods who dwell in them?  What of the other worlds?  Those with life (of our kind) and those without?  Are there coblynau gathered round Philae, drawn to the craft and love that went into its construction?

And what of the gods?

Does Llŷr dwell in the seas of Uranus and Titan as he does in ours?

Can Ceridwen be found amid the constant transformations on Io’s surface?

Is Arianrhod’s deft hand at work among Saturn’s rings?

At a time like this, when we have wound up our skill like Lleu Llaw Gyffes to throw our “stone” with such precision over such a distance, I can’t help but wonder:

Are our gods tied to us, and to our home, or do they wander far and near?  Are they universal, or are the gods like the “little” spirits of place, huge in local terms – and in comparison to us – but strictly parochial?

And if so, what other gods dwell out there in the dark? 

And how may we know them?