A Meditation on Alban Elfed

Alban Elfed – the autumnal equinox – is important to me of course.  Though I don’t follow the modern tradition of identifying Mabon with the equinox per se – nevertheless with Alban Elfed approaching, and with it Calan Gaeaf not long after, my thoughts turn to Mabon the huntsman, not least because with the turning of the year and the slow end of summer it’s natural to seek out this god and his eternal youth, and his place between worlds.

I first came on Mabon (intellectually) early on, in my exploration of what there was of the ancient tales of my homeland. Mabon ap Modron figures of course in the 12^th Century tale Kilhwch and Olwen, found in its most complete form in the Red Book of Hergest and preserved for us as one of the twelve (sometimes thirteen)  romances included with the Mabinogi.

Read spiritually, Kilhwch and Olwen isn’t one tale, but three (apt!)  interwoven in interesting ways.  But one of the most interesting is the dual path to Mabon ap Modron.

Another beginning

I confess: I really don’t know how to explain this pattern of mine.

It’s been two years now since my last words here. It’s not that I’ve been gone from the path, but more that my heart has been in hibernation.

The truth is, I don’t know what causes my drawing away. I know that – in some respect – this is depression. I’ve suffered from depression for many years, and sometimes it’s just harder than others. It doesn’t help that I’m in a country where mental health resources are hard to find, and harder for a foreigner to access than even a native.

But some of it is…I don’t know. Something else.

I continue to think about the gods, about my path. I continue to read and to study. I look at the stars. I touch the earth and rejoice. I give thanks to spirits of place when they aid me. I tell stories to my children.

But then the cycle turns again and it seems as though I just wake.

Like there are other things my spirit needs to be doing, and deep down I know the gods will understand.

And then things happen. I meet some new people. I stumble on things. I have a dream.

And then suddenly I need to come back. I need to return to the path and take a few more steps along it.

And somehow, it always seems to come around now: in the fall, in the days before the equinox.

In the days that lead to Calan Gaeaf.

Is it that the gods want me back? Is it that I want them.

Is it both?

I don’t really know, but after so many years away from my precious soil I’m grateful for one thing:

A place where I can go home.

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.

Dancing with the gods

Barajima Hachiman o-mikoshi with offerings
(photo taken at the invitation of the Kannushi)

I love summer here.

The heat and humidity I could do without, but I can’t help but love summer – because summer is the season of gods.

There are festivals all year round of course, and some of the most important are in the depths of winter, but in July and August every year is a concentration of Shinto religious celebrations like nothing else.

Walk your own path

Many pagans yearn for the chance to visit a sacred place that is particularly important to them.  Stonehenge, Newgrange, the White Horse, the Cerne Abbas Giant, Ynys Môn, and dozens of other sites are common pilgrimage dreams for pagans following a British tradition, for example.

There’s nothing wrong with this of course, and these places are sacred for a reason – if nothing else, the simple weight of historical significance is enough to imbue such places with spiritual power to energize an enthusiastic pilgrim.  It’s perfectly natural and appropriate for people to want to visit powerful places they’ve read about for years. Nevertheless, I have heard many people say that they scrimped and saved for a dream trip to visit one or another sacred that had a special place in their heart only to be underwhelmed. 

Part of this is to be expected – after months or even years of anticipation, it would be hard for the real thing to measure up to the dream, particularly when the real thing is wrapped up in the tinsel of a tourist attraction. 

Hard or Soft is not the question

This recent article on Patheos regarding hard vs soft polytheism made me stop and think about my own practice.

 

Years ago, when I had my first revelations, I started out very much a “hard” polytheist.  I had personal experiences, after all – it wasn’t philosophical, it was visceral, and it seemed obvious that gods existed.

 

Then I transitioned into a much, much softer phase.  After the initial excitement, I started to really delve into not only the history and mythology of what I was coming to believe, but also the philosophy.  I was coming at this from an academic perspective and some part of me was desperate to make it “rational” – the result was that I started to rationalize my experiences as psychological.  Oh, it was still religion, and it was still true in important ways, but looking back I put an amazing amount of effort into turning my personal experiences into something universal.

 

Reflecting the gods

A Kamidana, or household shrine,
with the mirror displayed in the center.
Image taken from Wikipedia commons.

Gods are everywhere because we are gods.

This is the lesson that I have learned from Shinto, and which I have incorporated into my understanding of my Welsh path.  This fact has informed my meditation, my practice, and my reading of myth for years.

If you were allowed to explore a Shinto shrine, you would find that in the deepest part of the shrine – I suppose one might call it the inner sanctuary – there is a mirror. Those with knowledge of Japanese religion might recall that one of the three Imperial treasures is a mirror as well.  On top of this, an important kind of offering that is prepared and given to the minor gods of home and garden is a set of small, round cakes of mochi  (a paste made by pounding glutinous rice) which are called kagami mochi…mirror mochi.