A Mythological Meditation:

SAMHAIN

As a storyteller, part of my practice has always been to read and reflect upon the lore and the mythological texts that have come down to us through the ages, to see what, if any, relevance the old stories might have for my life.

I offer this story for the community, long connected with the upcoming festival of Samhain, the end of summer. It is a time of contradictions, fitting for a Celtic vision of life that seems to resist hard and fast categorization of experience. Mythology connected with Samhain contains death as well as life, describing the victory and defeat of either the forces of light or of darkness, resulting in either a destruction or a renewal of society (or sometimes both). It is also a time of divination as well, and the season when the veil between our "ordinary" world and the Other World of the departed Ancestors and the Shining Ones is the thinnest.

This selection from the end of the tale of the Second Battle of Moytura, adapted from Gods and Fighting Men by Lady Augusta Gregory, is available on the Internet, among other places at the Internet Sacred Text Archive (www.sacred-texts.com).


And the Tuatha De Danann, the People of the Goddess Dana, long oppressed by the monstrous Fomorians, finally rose up against their servitude.

It was at Samhain that the army of the Fomorians, led by the beautiful but ungenerous former king Bres and his champion, the giant Balor of the Evil Eye, and the warriors of the Tuatha De Danann, led by Lugh, the all-skilled Samildanach, met in battle on the plain of Moytura. And there was great slaughter, with spear against shield, and sword against sword, and a river of blood carried away bodies of friends and enemies together.

Then Lugh and Balor of the Evil Eye met in the battle, and Balor raised the eyelid of his single great eye that destroyed all it looked on, but Lugh cast his spear and brought the eye out through the back of his head, so that it was towards his own army it fell, and three times nine of the Fomorians died when they looked at it. And if Lugh had not put out that eye when he did, the whole of Ireland would have been burned in one flash. And after this, Lugh struck his head off.

And after that it was not a battle any more, but a rout, and the Fomorians were beaten back to the sea. And Lugh and his comrades found Bres, son of the Fomorian Elathan, on the battlefield, who said: "If you spare my life, the men of Ireland will reap a harvest of corn every quarter." But Lugh said: "This will not save you. Thus it has always been with us: The spring is for ploughing and sowing; the beginning of summer for the strength of corn, the beginning of autumn for its ripeness, and the winter for consuming the fruits of the harvest. Tell us, rather, what is the best way for the men of Ireland to plough and to sow and to reap?"

"Let their ploughing be on a Tuesday, and their casting seed into the field on a Tuesday, and their reaping on a Tuesday," said Bres. So Lugh let him go free after that.

And then Lugh and the Dagda and Ogma followed after the Fomorians, who had stolen away the Dagda's harp with them. And they came to a feasting-house, where the harp was hanging on the wall. And the Dagda called to it, saying: "Come summer, come winter, from the mouth of harps and bags and pipes." Then the harp sprang from the wall, and came to the Dagda, and it killed nine men on its way.

And then he played for them the three things harpers understand, the sleepy tune, and the laughing tune, and the crying tune. And when he played the crying tune, their tearful women cried, and then he played the laughing tune, until their women and children laughed; and then he played the sleepy tune, and all fell asleep. And through that sleep the three went escaped from the Fomorians. And the Dagda brought out from the hall a cow, who in turn called to her calf, and at the sound of her call all the cattle of Ireland the Fomorians had brought away as tribute, were back in their fields again.

Then after the battle, the Morrigan proclaimed their victory, and
prophesied:
Peace up to heaven.
Heaven down to earth.
Earth beneath heaven,
Strength in each,
A cup very full,
Full of honey;
Mead in abundance.
Summer in winter
Peace up to heaven
Be this nine times eternal.

But the Morrigan also said:

I shall not see a world
Which will be dear to me:
Summer without blossoms,
Cattle without milk,
Trees without leaves
Sea without fish.
Every man a betrayer
An evil time…

Here are some points that I have reflected on in reading this story; perhaps they might serve as a starting point for your own reflections for Samhain. More likely you will come up with your own personal responses, which I hope you will take time to share with me.

1. The solar hero Lugh, skilled in all things, battles the one-eyed monster Balor in this tale; what is the significance of the contrast between the two? Perhaps I've been obsessing about some aspect of my life or a problem; can I benefit from a broader perspective? Lugh is both an ancestor and a divinity (as is Balor, for that matter); what aid might I seek from the Ancestors or the Shining Ones?
2. The story speaks of planting and reaping and consuming; what seeds have I planted this past year that can sustain me through the dark winter? What seeds do I want to plant now, that can bloom in the coming year?
3. The Dagda's harp is able to sings of all the aspects of life, of joy and sorrow and sleep, and is even able to destroy his adversaries; how can I grow from the experience of all my emotions as this year ends and the next begins?
4. The Morrigan prophesies both good and evil outcomes; what future do I want, and how can my present choices bring it about?

May we all enjoy the blessings of the Ancestors and of the Shining Ones,
Michael McGuinness (Secretary of FoDLA)

 

©2006 Michael Sean McGuinness