Leaping The Fire

In an unbidden instant, a bright ember ignited a cascade of thought and action within me. In my imagination a mercurial figure with mighty and proud leporine ears turned to me and said “you cannot be my Consort, there are no games we can play together” with such drollness that I was immediately won over. Within a few short hours a story I’d struggled to write for several months seemed to flow as effortlessly as if I were copying it by rote. 

artist and source unknown

This was the point from which my Beltane Faerie Story seemed to blossom forth. I’d been struggling to write about experiencing queerness and Beltane for some time, from conversations that had started the previous Spring:   Deep and heartfelt sharing of the quiet hurt and exclusion felt when the menfolk and the womenfolk are separated to talk about their part in the “mysteries” that lead to the birth of a Divine Son then the digging of a symbolic feminine hole in which to plant an equally symbolic masculine Maypole.  Spirited debate on social media about some of the perceived heteronormativity present even in the writings of druids we admired, that lazy lack of thought beyond the pervasive norm of opposite binary-gender pairings which, while not actively discriminatory, did nothing to acknowledge the non-heterosexual, non-childbearing, non-fertile, non-binary gendered members of our community.  Out and out slanging matches based on the clear premise that these neo-traditions were entirely non-excluding so long as you just played along with them to maintain the status quo, on which more later, and that if one didn’t like them then one should bugger off to some other tradition and stop trying to mess up druidry by making it all politically correctness gone mad.

Amidst it all, a correspondence between myself, Penny Billington the editor of Touchstone and a young academic whose intellect and sense of social justice I greatly admire. I fondly imagine it as being akin to The White Council, although Penny assures me I’m no Cate Blanchett and that she certainly looks nothing like Christopher Lee. Their commentary was so insightful and had such depth I felt like I was running to keep up, but it did wonders to clarify my thoughts.

The White Council (c) New Line Cinema

The story was published in Touchstone and then featured on Druidcast Episode 84. I had that mix of feeling happy that work I had done was out in the world and fearful of having put myself out there quite so visibly. Brené Brown talks about keeping yourself small and under the radar to avoid feeling vulnerable, yet in vulnerability finding the birthplace of creativity and innovation, and I had stuck my head well and truly above the parapet.

There were reactions. People had opinions in my direction. Most were positive. Not all were kind. Some were downright personal. There emerged an idea that I was somehow trying to steer druidry into a new, non-traditional form. What was my end-game?  Why did I become a druid if I didn’t love The Goddess and The God? Why was I trying to change the nature of the Gods in order to fit my lifestyle?  If I felt so unwelcome, why didn’t I just leave? What would this gay-druidry look like and why didn’t I go off somewhere and do this gay-druidry with the other gay druids and leave everyone else in peace to do it the way it’s always been done? And so on…

It’s worth noting at this point that I usually choose ‘queer’ to describe myself. Gay is fine too, but I am wary of the androcentrism it conveys.  I worry that most people just read ‘gay’ as ‘gay man’, limiting advocacy of lesbians, bisexuals, genderqueer, *trans people, non-binary, androgenous, asexual and intersex people gathering under the rainbow banner of what Dan Savage wryly refers to as “our beloved acronym” of LGBTQIAA+

It took me a while to notice that due to the limitations of my talent, nearly everybody had missed a significant amount of what I was trying to convey: “Beltane Faerie Story” is a satire. It’s supposed to be faintly ridiculous, from the glorious Beltane Hare-spirit crowning a Champion with a pair of furr’d ears to the final Ceremony with added extra verses for the queers.  "Which version are we doing this year?" I imagine the Archdruids muttering. "The gay ritual or the normal one?"

If I did have an “end-game”, then my ulterior motive would be that it should seem ludicrous that a spiritual tradition should have to go to preposterous lengths to be accommodating. It should already be inclusive or it simply isn’t fit for purpose. That means we don’t need “gay druidry” any more than we need “gay tea” or “gay cars”, just tea that tastes good to anyone who wants to drink it and cars that anybody can learn to drive.

Many, many months later I was to hear Penny in conversation with Philip Carr-Gomm as recorded at the OBOD 50^th Anniversary Celebrations. I heard it on Druidcast as somehow I missed the actual interview. She interrupts Philip near the end of the conversation and changes the subject onto the contribution being made by gay OBOD members and in what she says I hear threads from our conversation and feel deeply moved.

Her summation is characteristically erudite, a passionate ally she dismisses heteronormativity stating simply that, “what we do want is a druid robe that everyone is able to shake their shoulders in and feel comfortable with”.

So I'm still here, still in a comfortable robe, but more often in jeans and a hoodie. Still working on actually feeling comfortable in my own skin, but still celebrating Beltane.  I celebrate passion, I celebrate the greening of the land, the physical sensuality to be found out there in the world. I leap the Bel Fire, the fortunate fires that bless our endeavours as we emerge from the dark half of the year. I pass through two pillars of flame, the Gateway of Summer, hoping to burn away the old parasites that cling to me.

Clearing

In a clearing in the middle of the deep greenwood sits a man in a patch of dappled sunlight, careless of his simple robe, cross-legged and barefoot on the forest floor. Around him are arrayed books and journals, alongside a burlap satchel containing an assortment of curious items he has gathered along his way.

 

From time to time he looks up, reaches out to select a new journal, swimming through the lines and words, bathing in the pools and currents of these memories.  In each handwritten page experiences are relived:  insights, joys, frustrations, barriers, contemplations and explorations of one sort or another. Next a book or two are chosen, in those chapters he soars from concept to concept, held aloft by the updrafts of intellect, research and imagination to soar above the tangled path, perch on some airy belvedere or seek nourishment in a reaching bough. Then a pause for an object picked up and turned over in his scarred hands, feeling its wholeness and its beauty. Each unique thing has its purpose, a lesson or some significance, not just relating to why it was carried on the journey but in the story of how it was found, made or sought out. 

The man is a traveller, he has been on a long journey, but he has not come to this familiar clearing to rest, nor is his journey yet over. There is a quiet industry about him, like that of the bees that float around the clearing and with a similar purpose. To go forth, to range far and wide, to gather in and, in returning, to create golden nourishment.  After lifting his face to the light and feeling the radiance through closed eyes, the man again delves into the recesses of his bag, bringing out crisp new leaves of paper and his favourite pen. It fits in his had like the hilt of a blade, held the way a musician gently and firmly holds their instrument.  After three deep breaths, he begins to write…

… the light begins to dim as he reaches the end of his final page. The setting rays catch the smoke rising from his small fire and gently wreathe the clearing, holding the moment in amber.  Satisfied with his work the man carefully rolls the paper and binds it with a length of thin blue cord, placing it reverently on a low stone that rests near the fire at the centre of the clearing.  He repacks his pen, journals, books and all but three of the objects into his burlap satchel.

Those three objects are offerings, gratitude to the Gods and Spirits and Guides that have been his company on the journey so far.  First incense, offered to the coals to rise in aromatic wisps, each herb, wood and resin adding their own counterpoint to the woodsmoke.  Next mead, the brew of sunshine and sweetness transformed by patient tending, the first three shining drops given as libation. The third offering is placed upon the stone, a carved post of pale willow wood with a face peering from it. The face of a serene man, wide eyes staring into the unknown and a brow crowned with antlers and leaves. All three are things the man has made with his own hands, expressions of his creativity and symbols of the things he has gathered.

Leaving the way he arrived, he pauses briefly in the entwined archway formed by an oak and a beech tree and places a hand on each trunk, standing on the threshold between the clearing and the path that leads onwards into the wildwood. The way ahead will soon be crowded with shadows, he will need a lantern to light his way, a staff to steady him and a cloak to keep out the night-time cold.

Moments later he steps forward, journeying on.

Beltane Faerie Story

In a land far from this land in a time far from this time there was a great gathering of all the people of the land to celebrate the Festival of Beltane.

The clans and families and tribes all met together.  In their midst were many great Bards, honeyed of voice and true of song; many powerful Ovates, skilled of hand and sure of vision; and many learn’d Druids, wise of thought and just of deed. It was they who led the revels and rites and rituals that would celebrate the Festival of Beltane, light the Fortunate Fires and open the Gateway of Summer.

uncredited on www.andybaggott.com

Each year the men and the women of the tribes gathered with each other to call forth the Spirits of the Land and the Season.  Games were played, contests fought and mysteries sought to determine who would be crowned the Queen of the May and the Lord of the Hunt.

Each year they separated. Menfolk with men and womenfolk with women, they set about their sacred tasks.  There was great merriment and passion and lust when the menfolk and the womenfolk were reunited to crown the fertile Queen of the May with a garland of white hawthorn blossoms and the potent horn’d Lord of the Hunt with a pair of stag antlers. When the champion of the menfolk was crowned, he embodied the Spirit of the Lord of the Hunt, just as the champion of the womenfolk embodied the Spirit of the Queen of the May.

Each year there was a group of folk who were apart from the rest. They had a desire for different games, a heart for different contests and a spirit turned towards different mysteries. The contests of the others did not bring them the same joys or the same thrills, so they could only take part for the sake of belonging, knowing they did not, or stand disconsolate to one side and wish for the same merriment and passion and lust the others felt.

Then one year everything changed.  The stars and planets were arrayed in new alignments; the ancestors dreamt new dreams in their barrows; and the Old Gods of the hollow hills sang new songs to the Land and the Season. The stars and the dreams and the songs lit a new spark in the souls of the druids and ovates and bards of those folk who had not the same passions as the others.

“We must seek out our Spirit of Beltane,” they said. A fellowship of those folk, with wise ones, seers and singers amongst them,  gathered upon a mist shrouded dawn and set off, following an old straight trackway across the land.

The journey was long and hard and the seekers travelled all day and rested by night, the bards singing songs of their ancestors around the hearthfire.  So they continued their quest and by noon on the third day they had travelled far and reached a place they knew to be the oldest of woods, within which lay an ancient grove of trees sacred to the Goddess of the Land. At the heart of that grove stood a hawthorn, with bright green leaves and countless pale white blossoms. The seekers approached the hawthorn.

“Are you the Spirit of Beltane we seek?” They asked.

The hawthorn answered “Not I, not I.” They knew they must travel on.

The journey was long and hard and the seekers travelled all day and rested by night, the seers interpreting signs and portents around the hearthfire.  So they continued their quest and by dusk on the third day they had travelled far and reached a place they knew to be the oldest of valleys, within which lay an ancient glen sacred to the Horned God. At the heart of that glen stood a stag, with great wide antlers and countless mossy tines. The seekers approached the stag.

“Are you the Spirit of Beltane we seek?” They asked.

The stag answered “Not I, not I.” They knew they must travel on.

The journey was long and hard and the seekers travelled all day and rested by night, the wise ones telling the tales of the old gods around the hearthfire.   So they continued their quest and by nightfall on the third day they had travelled far, the old straight trackway had thinned and vanished but they journeyed on into the night, turning their hearts towards the bright full moon and striking out along a shining new starlit path.

By midnight they had reached a place they knew to be unexplored by the clans and families and tribes. They saw it was a rolling land of meadows, within which they found a labyrinth, sacred to the Moon, spiralling through the grass. At the heart of the labyrinth stood a hare, with bright eyes and a pair of lustrous ears.

“Are you the Spirit of Beltane we seek?” They asked.

The hare answered, “I am, I am.”  They knew that they had found what they had quested for.

Moonlight Hares by Vikki Yeates http://vikkki.deviantart.com

In the heart of the Labyrinth of the Hare of Beltane, the fellowship made revelry that gladdened their hearts. The games were played, the contests fought and the mysteries sought to determine who would be crowned champion and embody the Spirit of Beltane.  They felt great joy when the champion was found and crowned with a pair of proud furr’d ears.

“Am I to have a consort?” asked the newly crowned Spirit of Beltane. “Only if you wish it to be so,” answered the Hare.

“I wish it to be so,” said the Spirit of Beltane. So, the Hare brought forth three fellow seekers.

The Spirit of Beltane approached the first.

“You cannot be my Consort,” said the Spirit of Beltane to the First. “There are no games we can play together.”

The Spirit of Beltane approached the second.

“I cannot be your Consort,” said the Second to the Spirit of Beltane. “There are no contests for us to fight together.”

The Spirit of Beltane approached the third and final potential Consort.

“You can be my Consort,” said the Spirit of Beltane to the Third. “But only if you wish it to be so.”

“I shall be your Consort,” said the Third. “There are mysteries we can seek out together.”

And so the Spirit of Beltane, the Consort and the rest of the weary but elated fellowship travelled back to the gathering, arriving back at the time between the setting of the moon and the rising of the sun.

There were great shouts of joy from the clans and families and tribes when the fellowship returned to the great gathering.  The seekers were reunited with those they had left behind and to them told their tales of the quest to bring forth their own Spirit of Beltane.  Although they had journeyed for three times three days and nights, they had returned in time for the Festival of Beltane.

Together, the Queen of the May, the Lord of the Hunt and the Spirit of Beltane led the Festival, blessed the Fortunate Fires and opened the Gateway of Summer. 

And so the Wheel of the Year turned, the stars danced merrily in the skies, the ancestors dreamed sweetly in their barrows and the Old Gods sang joyfully in the hollow hills.

This story was published in Touchstone, the Journal of The Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids Issue 208 and a recording of me storytelling features on Druidcast Episode 84.