An attraction to Neo-Druidism as a spiritual path assumes a few things as givens: An orientation to polytheism in preference to monotheism, a commitment to study over a period of time, and an openness to community, at least where community presents itself. Similarly, Neo-Druidism diverges from some other modern Pagan paths in important ways: An emphasis on offertory ritual rather than primarily magical workings, a tendency to find roots in historical and literary material—principally Celtic—as often as in lineal initiatory mysteries, and a preference for gods and goddesses viewed as discrete personalities as opposed to overarching dualities. If you are reading this, it is likely that most—if not all—of the above qualities find a place in your spirituality. You are likely someone whose life is animated by more than one or two gods and goddesses, who can be inspired by the words and deeds of the ancients, and who is willing to celebrate the Earth and its seasons and its bounty in the company of others.
The ancient Celtic cultures celebrated their world and the exploits of the worthiest individuals with poetic words understood to be sacred and visionary, capable of real impact on that world. In seeking to build a personal spiritual practice that honors the religious wisdom of ancient Druidism in modern days, we are well served by considering—at least in general terms—a sense of the process undertaken by the practitioners of the sacred among the Celts.
In the broadest sense, the sacred poets among the Druidic class are alleged to have first taken into themselves the nearly infinite variety of the natural world before entering into isolation or seclusion, where the influences of the gods, ancestors, and other spirits might work in them in concert with their sensory experiences. From this womb of creativity, they would birth sacred verses. Surviving to this day are tales of the vision-seeking Druid wrapped in the hide of a bull as his peers chanted around him, inducing a dream state that would reveal a precious truth.
The truth is, though, that most of us are not mystics and many do not seek to be. And we have no reason to assume that the same was not true of the ordinary people of the ancient Celtic realms. How can we make use of the pattern of poetic training and composition left to us by the ancients in our ordinary lives to enrich our spirituality?
It is possible to see in the arc of the poet’s creative experience an underlying mechanism that we can start to apply, simply and continually, as it proves useful in drawing closer to the gods and ancestors, however they reveal themselves to us as individuals. In simplest terms, we could—following the Celtic love of triadic forms—state this in three terms: observation, contemplation, and offering.
Observation describes our opening to the world around us as every bit alive—and ensouled—as are we as individuals. Ancient Indo-European myth gives us a picture of the cosmos as comprised of myriad parts derived from an original whole (and suggests that the human being might be seen as similarly composed). Go out into the world and find a place that seems hospitable to you—in whatever way that suggests itself to you—and start by relaxing…and listening. Turn your attention outward. The twentieth century—sometimes called the century of psychoanalysis—has too often rendered us so inward-looking that we move past the world rather than truly within and connected to it. So begin by listening. It doesn’t matter whether you are in the woods or the heart of the city: Begin to train your ear to pick out individual sounds that you might have missed had you not taken the time to listen. The hum of flies or bees. Chirping birds. The hum of high tension wires. From opening your ears in this way, it is only a short step to opening your eyes, to expanding your awareness of the myriad details around you and the ways in which they influence your spirit.
You may want to keep a journal of meaningful experiences along the way. Avoid the temptation to intellectualize the sensory world. Doodles and rough sketches are as valuable as a well-turned phrase—plenty of time for that later. Scraps of song or phrases that stick in your head. How you felt after sitting and being warmed by and watching…really watching…a roaring fire. And perhaps how you felt watched in return?
Moving to the second activity—which we can call “contemplation”—we could sweep into its bounds a variety of internal processes, including prayer, meditation, mantra, and so on. There is a tendency (glanced at above) to assume that visionary meditative states are somehow necessary for Pagan practice. Nothing could be further from the truth. Some Pagans seek a visual presentation of their gods and goddesses (and are to be supported in their path as it sustains and enriches their lives), but not all do. The ancients found contact with their deities and ancestors in dreams. They idealized them in statues and icons, sometimes as human, other times, hardly recognizable as such. Moderns since the Romantic era have honored and adored the gods and goddesses through the medium of poetic metaphor…and this should not be denigrated.
The key is to carve out time—even if simply in the mind as the day unfolds—to reflect and to give time to the Powers that attract you, even if they have no clear form or name (and may never achieve either for you in a concrete sense). This is to say that—in whatever form, intellectual or meditative, it takes—it is important to contemplate the divine spirits that inspire you. Sometimes this may lead you into a direct communion with a deity or other spirit, but it is certainly every bit as meaningful if it simply leads you to deeper insight about the place such a being has in your life.
The word “contemplation” is chosen for particular reason here: It derives from a Latin expression that suggests finding meaning through close observation undertaken in a sacred space. It literally meant the “intensity of the temple,” the scrutiny of the seer. So this well suits our second stage of work—having entered into the sacred realm of the myriad spirits of the Earth and opened ourselves to what it has to impress on our senses, we then open ourselves to what meanings, however literal or confounding, we can glean from this observation.
This inner work, for the ancient visionary poets, has been described as taken place in a state of isolation. (Some have suggested a form of sensory deprivation.) The concept of the heat of “incubation” is an ancient one and would have been encoded in Druidic training practices in all likelihood, judging from what remains of the bardic training texts. Using such techniques as meditation, the chanting of mantra, or just ordinary contemplation to expand the sensory input can perhaps be supported by devices as simple as covering the head with a cloak (perhaps a plaid, if one wants to honor the Celtic heritage). The heat of the enclosing and nurturing womb is related in a very real way to such Celtic concepts as the so-called “fire in the head” and the fire of the muse of the Irish poets, the goddess Brigit. So, even sitting before a fire…even a candle lit for focus…can be a spur to productive contemplation.
Ultimately, Neo-Druidism is an offertory path, however, not simply a mystical discipline. It asks us to give back to the Powers as they have given to us. The practice of frequent offerings to the gods and ancestors can be hard for some to become accustomed to. You may have seen (or heard about) substantial ritual offerings made by contemporary American Druids and struggled with the feeling that the consigning of objects of beauty or foodstuffs to a fire or pit represents destruction or a waste. This is an understandable reaction. But the practice of making offering need not start on an elaborate level.
If the underlying idea is to respond to a gift received with a gift given, then let’s ask what we might have received at the very beginning of our work. If we have opened to the world and been sufficiently inspired to soak in its many beings and physical attributes, gleaning scraps—or more—of meaning, then how can we repay with a gift in kind. The obvious answer is that we replenish—that is to say, we increase—the store of beauty in the world. A scent that we find pleasing…from incense or even a candle…will surely be pleasing to the gods. That scrap of song…is it formed enough to sing it aloud? Expressing your response via skill with a musical instrument, through a rhythm on a drum, or even in dance are highly appropriate. As what you find yourself receiving from the Powers that present themselves to you becomes more sustaining, offering sustenance in return—through simple food or beverage offerings—will make more and more sense.
At the very least, speaking back to the gods, the ancestors, even just the spirits of the animals—the essence of the act of simple prayer—continues the conversation you opened yourself to by the act of listening.
Above all, if you are just finding your way to the path of Neo-Druidism, keep your own counsel and do not be dictated to as to what is proper by way of worship. No one alive today truly knows how the ancient Celts went about their daily worship practices. And for many of us, that is part of the appeal of Druidism—we have before us the task of patiently and reverently bringing the sacred in the cosmos into our lives and entering into a lifelong dialogue with it, alone or in company.
Todd Covert – October 2006