Imbolc and the Cailleach

Imbolc, or Brigid’s Day, was traditionally the beginning of the spring season in the ancient world. It was largely marked by the beginning of lambing, the return of milk from dairy livestock, and the blooming of the blackthorn. But it is still the dark half of the year and the time of the Cailleach, and there is a lot of folklore connecting Imbolc and the Cailleach.

In one of the most well-known, the Cailleach is associated with the Winter Queen Beira, who ages throughout the year and then bathes in a magical spring once a year to restore her youth. It is said that the spring’s magic is at its most potent on the first day of spring, or Imbolc, which is when the aged hag of winter bathes in the waters and transforms into the spring maiden. As the year once again progresses, she ages, until by Samhain she is once again the hag of winter, ruling the dark half of the year.

But in other versions of this story, Beira captures the Summer Queen Bride (associated with Brigid), and keeps her as a drudge. But on the first day of spring, the Summer King Angus rescues her and names the day “Bride’s Day,” which is how the day is known in Scottish folk tradition. This struggle of Angus against Beira, and the liberation of Bride, represents the cycle of the seasons, with Beira representing the stormy time of winter and early spring, while Bride represents the calm times of summer and autumn.

One of the aspects I find so fascinating about this tale is the seeming inversion of the Greek myth of Hades and Persephone. Now, many modern enthusiasts and folklorists have taken another look at the myth of Persephone and Hades with the question of whether Persephone really was abducted, or if she was honestly in love with Hades and sought to escape an overbearing mother. In the same way, I like to take a second look at the story of Bride and the Cailleach and wonder if there is some other tale that has faded into the recesses of unrecorded history.

Finally, my favorite story of the Cailleach at Imbolc is the inspiration for a beloved American tradition. It was said that each year at Imbolc, the Cailleach gathers the rest of the kindling and wood she will need to keep warm until the storms of winter pass and spring and summer return. Because she controls the weather, she makes the day fair if she needs to be out for a long time to gather a lot of wood, but if she doesn’t make nice weather, it is because she doesn’t need much more wood because she foresees a short rest of winter. Now, this story has been change in the States and the wizened figure of the hag of winter has morphed into another familiar creature that is consulted as a weather augury around the beginning of February: a groundhog.

Blessed Imbolc and may the winter end soon!

[NB: You can find the stories of Beira, Bride, and Angus in Wonder Tales from Scottish Myth and Legend by Donald Alexander Mackenzie]

Brigid: The Healer

Content warning: Mention of pregnancy loss.

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As January reaches its apex and slides into February, I can feel the influence of Brigid more strongly in my life again. We are nearing her feast day, La Fheile Bride, Imbolc, Candlemas. She has been a healing presence in my life since the loss of my first pregnancy over three years ago and her celebration, and the traditional beginning of spring, is always a bright spot in my year.

Brigid, or Bride, is one of the few pre-Christian goddesses who has been syncretized explicitly into Scottish folk practice, appearing in the Carmina Gadelica as the midwife of Mary, foster-mother to Jesus. The songs make it clear that this is not really a fifth-century Irish saint, but instead a goddess-like figure who appeared at the Nativity in a radiant golden light. She is invoked as an equal to Mary and is often associated with midwifery and fire, like the pre-Christian Brigid.

My experience with Brigid began about three years ago as I was trying to heal after losing my first pregnancy. Brigid is associated with grief and the loss of a child and so she was one of the goddesses I invoked to aid me. While her gentle presence was a balm to my grief, I found her most powerful when I invoked her on behalf of another. Shortly after my loss, a dear friend fell dangerously ill, and I was so worried for her that I prayed to Brigid to please protect her and help her heal. She made an astonishing recovery after that, faster than anyone expected. From then on, I knew that, while An Cailleach is my primary focus, Brigid would be a part of my life for good.

I associate Brigid with fire and water, so I invoked and honor her with a candle and either an offering of clean, consecrated water, or else a tea session with my favorite Baozhong oolong, which holds a deep association with water for me. Her presence is soothing, like a mother’s embrace, and as her feast day approaches, I feel the dark and cold of winter shaking loose from my bones and the warm hope of spring kindling in me.

In folklore, Brigid is the daughter of the Dagda, a goddess of poetic inspiration, healing, and smithing. She is honored with perpetual flames as well as holy springs and wells. This trinity is sometimes made explicit, with Brigid having two sisters, also named Brigid, making her a sort of triple goddess. In some folklore, she is associated with tricolor animals, such as calico cats. During the first battle of Magh Tuireadh, her son is killed and it was from her wailing in grief that the practice of keening was brought into the world. She is both revered as a spring or summer maiden, as in the stories of Bride in Scottish folklore, as well as a mother and midwife, in the stories of her grief and the syncretic practices of honoring her connection with Jesus.

Having felt her warm, gentle presence, I understand why the Irish and Scots wished to keep her in their traditions, despite the incursion of Christianity. And, perhaps, this benevolent presence is why the early Christian missionaries accepted her into their traditions, even going so far as to rewrite the Nativity for her.

Red Thread and Fiber Magic

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One of my favorite book series as a girl was Tamora Pierce’s Lioness Quartet. The books follow the life of a young magic-user in a fantasy realm, but one aspect of the story that I always found fascinating was when the main character is teaching a group of young people to act as their village’s magical practitioners and is teaching them the crafts involved in enchanting using household tasks, particularly fiber.

As someone who crochets, spins, and sews, fiber arts are something that intrigue me in the context of my craft, and in the folk practices that call me, thread and string are key players in common charms. So when I saw that my go-to yarn source had come out with a new three-ply wool yarn, I decided to look into string and thread charms more deeply.

My first stop was my book on Scottish charms and the writings of Scott Richardson-Read of Cailleach’s Herbarium. My trusty book of Scottish charms and amulets talks of the “rowan and red thread” charm, where two crossed sticks of rowan wood are tied together with red thread. Incidentally, this charm reminds me a bit of the “god’s eye” charms we made in elementary school. The color red has associations with protection and counteracting harmful magic across cultures. And Scott has written of the snaim, or three-knot charm, using red, three-ply wool string to perform a ritual knotting and chant to banish the evil eye.

Though I have no cattle to be blighted or any mysterious illnesses of my own, the use of folk protections like this appeals to me, especially when it involves a medium that I feel a close connection to. I’ve taken up spinning because I appreciate the meaning and symbolism of both spinning a thread, as well as the focus that goes into it. While my current batch of wool is undyed grey Shetland wool, perhaps I should consider dyeing some red fiber to spin my own thread for protection charms. Even without the threat of baneful practitioners who might curse me, a little protection is never a bad idea.

And this is the philosophy of practice that I find so attractive about traditional folk magic — it is not about large rituals, but about weaving magic in with the mundane. In the same way that the pre-Christian beliefs were intertwined and syncretized with Christian belief, the mundane and the sacred are blended in such a way that the magic imbues all areas of daily life. It isn’t about specific rituals, but about finding the magic in small charms. As I crochet a project, sew an apron, spin a skein, prepare a meal, or simply make a cup of tea, intent and focus lend magic to all of these actions, making them into small workings, even when I am not sitting down to “do magic.” It is all magic.

Eventually perhaps I may need to put some of these ideas together. I’ve thought for a while of creating my own special shawl to wear when I’m doing particular workings. While I had hoped to use my own handspun yarn, I worry that it will not be rugged enough to stand up to near-daily wear, so I have been looking at using commercial yarn. And crochet is similar to a series of knots. Perhaps a three-repeat pattern would be a powerful way to knot intention into the piece. And perhaps I should run a red thread through it to remind me of the protection of mundane crafts.

The Veiled Lady

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Recently, I posted a picture of myself working on my Materia Medica in which I am wearing a head covering. I tried to pre-emptively explain it because in the past, when I’ve covered my head in public, I’ve gotten a fair number of comments or questions about it. But then a friend pointed out that it is only natural that I would feel drawn towards head covering or veiling, as my main deity is known solely as “the veiled one.”

Head covering or veiling exists in many spiritual and religious traditions for many reasons. Sikhs cover their hair to protect their crown chakra; Jewish people cover their head as a representation of their observance of Jewish law and custom; some Christian faiths cover, either all the time or specifically during services; and Muslim women will take the hijab as an expression of their faith. In pagan communities or among other practitioners, veiling is seen as an act of connection with a deity, or else a way to protect spiritual energy that is expressed through the hair or head.

Historically, head coverings also have a long and global history. My own covering is inspired by medieval European coverings, as well as by modern head scarves. I have found myself falling in and out of covering my head for various reasons — for hair protection, to keep things clean, to cover them when they’re not, and as a way to alleviate the pressure of updos on days when I have a headache. It was not until my friend’s comment that I realized that some of this was subconsciously an expression of my connection to a deity who is named for her head covering.

I have always felt the need for a shawl or veil while meditating. In fact, I have one shawl in particular, a black-and-white plaid, that holds a special connection to my spiritual practice and that I often use during my practice. And shawls, scarves, and blankets are a large part of my own personal ability to feel secure in an environment. It probably has a bit to do with why I feel most connected to my spiritual path during the colder months.

So as I found myself deepening my practice and my connection to the Cailleach, I also found myself covering my head more often. And with that, I felt the desire to have a special wrap. So I made it. It is made from unbleached natural linen and hand-sewn, with my intentions and attention sewn into every seam. It is easy for me to tie and secure and washable so I can use it to help keep my hair clean. It is both practical and a wonderful way to feel connected to my practice, even on days I don’t do some kind of formal working.

If you’re interested in more writings about veiling, from the perspective of a Jewish witch who addresses both Jewish and modern witchcraft traditions of veiling, Z from Jewitches has a beautiful post that helped me on my journey. All of her writings are fantastic.

Midwinter: The Return of the Light

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Whether you call it Midwinter, Yule, the Winter Solstice, Mean Geimhridh, Alban Arthan, Mother Night, or any number of other names, the celebration of the longest night is a celebration of the return of the sun. Interestingly, I think this has been the natural festival that I have been celebrating for the longest in my life. No, not because we celebrated Christmas while I was growing up, but because I learned from a young age that this “first day of winter” was the day when the days started getting longer and brighter.

My father used to bring his guitar to play songs during our Christmas dinners with family and he loved to sing The Beatles “Here Comes the Sun” after going through some typical Christmas songs as a reminder that this was also the time when the sun was returning. Later in my life, I was a long-distance runner, and would wake up early in the morning to go on my run before class or work, and I would count the days leading up to the solstice because the sun’s return meant that I would have more time to run without having to leave before sunrise.

In folk tradition, the end of December and beginning of January (or the end of the Gregorian calendar), was a time of feasting and celebration. In Scottish tradition, Nollaig and Hogmanay are celebrations of Christmas, the new year, and the return of light. They will bless their space and possessions, and recite prayers for the season, using their unique syncretic blend of Celtic deities and Christianity.

Like much of the dark half of the year, it was also a time during which the fairies were supposed to be active. On Hogmanay, you’re supposed to protect your house with boughs of holly to deter them. In Norse tradition, the winter solstice was also the time of the Wild Hunt, which has be adopted to some extent into Scottish folklore.

As I mentioned at Samhain, the popular misconception that winter was the lean time of year is disproven with the widespread feasting at Midwinter. This is the time of year where there isn’t a whole lot to do in order to make food. The harvests have been reaped, it is too early to sow, the cows have probably gone dry for the year and the cheese made. It is a time of leisure and enjoyment of your stored bounty. Time enough to work when the world warms again.

This year, our traditions are disrupted by the pandemic and we aren’t going to celebrate Christmas with family, but we are still able to take off Nollaig, the week between Christmas and New Year. So while most of our festivities will start on the 24th, I have made some space to celebrate the day of the solstice, and the return of light and warmth to the world.

In addition to my pine-infused bath soak, to bring warmth to my body, I’ve made two cypress bundles to use for smoke cleansing my space: one for Midwinter day and one for Hogmanay. I’ve also set aside a special candle light for a Midwinter vigil. Beyond that, there will be plenty of special baking, perhaps including some family recipes. I hope your holiday season is a blessed one.

Folklore and Felines: The Cat Sith

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Cats have always been tenuously domesticated, at best. The relationship between human and feline is one of decided economic exchange, with little of the emotional bond that one sees throughout history between human and canine. That is not to say that our feline companions do not have a fondness for us, but the nature of cats is more solitary in many ways. And folklore echoes this human unsureness about the relationships they have with their cats.

In Scotland, the legendary Cat Sith may have been based on feral and wild cats who roam the area, or even the hybrid Kellas cat, which shares some striking similarities to the descriptions of the Cat Sith. But the Cat Sith was essentially a fae cat creature, capable of cursing households and stealing the souls of the dead. Folkloric descriptions of the Cat Sith is a cat as big as a dog that is all black, except for the white patch on its breast. Looking at images of the Kellas cats of Moray, it’s easy to see where the comparisons are drawn.

But the Cat Sith came to be associated with the folktale character of The King of Cats, as described in a story that was first recorded in the 16th century in William Baldwin’s Beware the Cat. In the story, a man was hailed by a cat in the forest and told to tell his own cat that “Grimalkin is dead.” When he gets home, he tells his wife the story, and their cat jumps up and says that “if Grimalkin is dead then farewell” and left, never to be seen again. Interestingly, in this first written version, the man’s cat is female, as evidenced by the pronoun used by the mysterious cat in the woods.

Later on, this story is expanded upon. The man comes across not a single cat who hails him, but a group of cats carrying a coffin, who tell him that the king of cats is dead, and upon hearing this, the man’s cat jumps up and declares that they are the new king of cats and leaves. Of course the implication was that not only was the man unaware his cat was feline royalty, but also they could talk.

And I think this says a lot about the relationship between man and cat. While wild canines do exist, and were a threat to humans for millennia, cats are somewhat different outside of areas with large cats like lions, jaguars, and tigers. On the isle of Britannia, cats were generally either domesticated, or one of the increasingly small population of wild cats. But even domesticated cats are not entirely domestic, up to the present day. Plenty of people “own” cats who come and go as they please. While our own cat is exclusively an indoor cat, she does enjoy watching the exploits of the neighbor cats who roam the yard.

As a final note, mythology of the Cat Sith includes the ritual of leaving a saucer of milk out for the creature on Samhain eve so that they will bless your house (and to avoid the curse if the cat doesn’t get their milk). There was also a legend that the Cat Sith was a witch who could transform into a cat nine times, and on the ninth time would stay a cat forever, and may be the origin of the idea that cats have nine lives.

So as you enjoy the company of your feline friends, remember to be respectful. You never know when you might be in the presence of the next King of Cats.

Herbal Rituals: Pine

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It is a new month and a new plant to explore in Judith Berger’s Herbal Rituals. The focus plant in December is pine, which is already quite prevalent in mundane celebration this month. I was thrilled to find some beautiful white pines in our local park, well away from the roadways, and private enough for me to gather some needles ethically without having to explain myself to passers-by.

December is the end of the Gregorian calendar and in a lot of traditions, the winter months were not considered actual months at all. They were somewhat of a time outside of time, when people would largely hunker down, eat food from their stocks from the harvests, and spend time in community. Particularly in northern latitudes, it would be a dark and cold time, and it could get dreary, I imagine.

Pine, in Berger’s book, is not only traditionally associated with December holidays, but also has uses in warming, nurturing, and grounding the body and spirit during this cold and dark time. But they are also associated with light and illumination. In Scottish tradition, “pine candles” or chunks of resin-rich pine fatwood are burned in their saining ceremony, particularly in rituals for newborn babies. So pine, as an excellent natural fire starter, can also represent the return of light, which begins at the end of December with the winter solstice.

Pine makes an excellent infusion or decoction, rich in nutrients that are particularly good against ailments common in winter. Or it can be infused into vinegar, honey, or both as a pungent tonic. Perhaps I will explore these other preparations after my next foraging trip, but for this batch, I went a different direction.

I decided to look at the warming and grounding properties of pine in my preparations this month. I used Berger’s infused oil recipe to create a pine-infused olive oil that I can use as a warming massage oil during the dark, cold months. The aroma will be soothing to my spirit while the oil itself will bring blood into the areas of my body that might grow stiff with cold and inactivity. I chose not to include the additional evergreens in her recipe, partly because I did not mange to forage all of them, but also because I found the scent of my pine needles just so intoxicating and wanted an oil of just that beauty.

I also decided to infuse some of my magnesium bath salts with pine needles by alternating layers of salts and cut-up needles in a jar and letting it sit for a few weeks. This will make a beautiful ritual bath for midwinter. Bathing is one of my favorite ways of grounding and releasing tension and negativity, and like many others, I find myself somewhat overwhelmed with the darkness of the time of year.

At the same time, the period between Samhain and midwinter are personally more difficult because it is a convergence of anniversaries of grief-filled events in my life, so I often find myself in need of a warm cocoon to which to retreat and replenish my energy. Perhaps I will find that peach in the boughs of my pine medicines.

The Colonizer Privilege of the White American Herbalist

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This is something that has been floating around in my head for a while, partially inspired by some of the videos that Regina at In Her It Blooms has posted, and in part from a class on pre-Colombian indigenous foodways in what is now Mexico. And it’s something that isn’t brought up a lot in the discussions of ancestral herbalism and appropriation, at least as far as I’ve heard. And that is the privilege afforded to American descendants of Europeans to practice their ancestral herbalism on soil that did not originally yield the plants native to Europe.

You see, when Europeans came to colonize these lands, they did not just colonize with people. They also brought animals and plants with them. Rather than just learn to adapt to the native flora and fauna of this land, they brought over the things that were familiar to them. It’s why we farm cattle and chicken and pigs instead of turkey and bison. And it’s why every lawn, at least in my area, is plagued with dandelions. Because many of the medicinal plants from Europe are invasive weeds in America.

It came up when I was chatting with the presenter who was teaching us about Aztec foodways, she mentioned something called garlic vine, which is apparently common in Latin cuisines, but difficult to find outside of Latin markets and I asked if it was similar to garlic mustard, a wild plant that I can find near me in the mid-Atlantic. She hadn’t heard of it, but another class participant pointed out that garlic mustard is not native to the Americas and is considered invasive.

And that reminded me of the lovely patch of mugwort that grows next to my house and yields so much plant matter that I’ve used for various botanical experiments. Well, mugwort is also considered invasive to the Americas. It was likely brought over by Europeans to populate their kitchen gardens and escaped, as many weedy herbs are wont to do (like the spearmint that does glorious battle with the mugwort). And looking at my yard, I can identify many of the plants there. And so many of them are native Eurasian plants that have been “naturalized” to the Americas. But that is just a nice-sounding word for brought over and took over, or colonized.

So, as a colonizer, I can now “wildcraft” plants that are found in my own ancestral traditions by walking out my front door, despite the fact that they’re not native to my home soil. And yet, these plants must be displacing something, which are the native plants of this place, just like colonizers displaced indigenous peoples.

We should also remember those of us on this soil who are not descended of colonizers, but are instead descended of those kidnapped and brought over by force. And while there are some plants that were brought over from other looted lands, they are not nearly as prevalent in the wild landscape of the US. So while I can walk out my door barefoot with a pair of scissors and gather half a dozen different European-tradition herbs that I didn’t even have to plant or tend myself, another American might be forced to find a source of the cultivated herb, paying money to reclaim their own heritage, which my ancestors brought over for me to have for free.

All of which is to say that, while I am thankful for my ancestral traditions, I always try to remember that it is easier for me to practice it than others, still rooted in the ways my ancestors stole this land that I now consider my home. So as I go through my own journey, I am careful to give credit to the traditions from which I learn, respect the traditions of others, and make sure to do all that I can to keep less-privileged traditions accessible to those whose ancestry they are.

Meet the Cailleach

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It is that pre-dawn time and I lay in bed, half-waking, half-dreaming. In my half-dream, I am in a wide field. Around me stands a ring of stones and I stand in front of one, much larger, and polished like a dark mirror. Beside it is an old woman. Her silver-grey hair spreads out in wild waves, spilling over her plaid-covered shoulders, and the dim light of twilight gives her skin a bluish cast. She has a wolf by her side and a feral grin as she beckons me to her…

Perhaps this would have been a natural first post in this space, but the temptation of launching the blog on Samhain was just too great. And the whole of the dark half the year is the time of the Cailleach, while Samhain is just one day. But who is the Cailleach?

The Cailleach is an ancient deity of the British Isles. The word “cailleach” simply means “old woman” or “veiled woman,” and there are stories that refer to several specific figures as an cailleach in Celtic folklore. At her core, the Cailleach represents the crone phase of the triple goddess cycle, but is also associated with midwifery and birth. She is seen as frightening and fierce, but not necessarily an evil or bad figure. Similar to the Baba Yaga of Russian folklore, the Cailleach is a figure who appears both as a force of natural balance and as an antagonist.

In a similar story to the Greek myth of Persephone and Hades, one story of the Cailleach says that she captured the young and beautiful goddess Brigid, and that Brigid must escape to bring the Spring. But in other tellings of that tale, Brigid and the Cailleach are two aspects of the same person, with the Cailleach either shedding her crone appearance to become the maiden of spring, or else turning into a stone for the summer while Brigid reigns during the light half of the year.

My personal connection to the Cailleach started years ago when I was learning about chthonic goddesses like Hecate of the Greek tradition. The Cailleach struck me as a peculiar blend of an earth goddess, as she was said to predate even the Celtic inhabitants of the British Isles, and a death goddess. She was not necessarily associated with war, like the Morrigan, or the earth itself, like Danu, but was instead the personification of the cycle of living and dying. I’ve written before about her association with predicting the coming of spring and modern traditions around Imbolc, but never really gone into what she means to me personally.

The Cailleach is a goddess who exists at liminal places in the world, like older women often find themselves. They are neither given importance or power, nor are they entirely ignored, and are often feared because of the unknown they represent. The Cailleach is both a goddess of birth, because of her associations with midwifery and Brigid, but also very much a goddess of death. As such, she has been a comfort to me during my own periods of grief in my life. I plan to write more about this in my upcoming book, The Grief Cleanse, in which I’ll chronicle my dealings with grief around a very specific period in my life, but suffice to say that the concept of a woman who is not defined either by youth or fertility intrigues me as a woman. Particularly a woman who is creeping closer and closer to cronehood myself.

The Cailleach is also a wise woman. She knows the cycle of the world. She is said to have control over the weather, or at least over the winter. In my piece on Groundhog Day, I wrote about the tradition of judging the length of the remaining winter by the weather on the day when the Cailleach is supposed to gather firewood for the rest of the winter. And another legend says that at the beginning of winter, she takes her plaid (or shawl) to the river to wash and when she is done, it stretches out pure white and covers the land in the first snowfall.

As the hag of winter, she is depicted with grey or white hair, blue skin, and hooded, often with only one eye. I find that intriguing, as she is almost a sort of Odinic character, with her associations with divination, magic, death, and hidden secrets. And Norse folklore tells of many of those deities not sticking strictly to one gender.

So I have chosen to depict the Cailleach in my own tribute as a woman with one eye veiled with a plaid that has not yet been washed clean. While I am not quite a crone yet, I feel the influence of the Cailleach in my life and heed her call as the wheel of the year turns to her time.

Herbs for the Otherworld with Asia Suler of One Willow Apothecaries

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Samhain is traditionally the time when the boundary between our world and the Otherworld is at its thinnest, and, like many of us, I have felt the tug of the Otherworld leading into Samhain and since. So to encourage, support, and connect with those impulses, I thought I would add to my herbal education with a course from Asia Suler at One Willow Apothecaries called “Herbs for the Otherworld.”

While this is not a recap or review of the course, I will say that right from the start, I appreciated Asia’s teaching style. She started with a meditation to ground and focus us so that we would be more receptive to the exercises she prompted us to go through as we moved through her presentation. The class is an audio file that I could listen to when I had some time, which I appreciated, since uninterrupted time is a luxury in my life right now. But throughout the presentation about the nature of the Otherworld and the associated spiritual ideas, she sprinkled in times to reflect silently and write out intentions and experiences.

It was through one of these exercises that I realized that, in my exploration of my ancestral wisdoms, I was neglecting my father’s ancestral line. In particular, one of her exercises led me to realize that one of the feelings this Samhain season has dredged up has been a feeling of disconnect with my father’s father’s ancestral line. My paternal grandfather was the first one to instill in me a love of the outdoors, ancestral plant wisdom, and traditional crafts. And in neglecting to explore that side of my lineage, I was approaching my ancestral truth from a very lopsided perspective.

One of the reasons I find that Celtic spirituality resonates with me is because of the vague idea that I have Scottish heritage, although I have little to go on besides the religion with which I was raised and some vague ideas my mother has about “family over in Scotland.” But when I took this prompt, realized that I was being called to pay more attention to my paternal grandfather’s line, I went into my genealogy and almost immediately found that one of my ancestors along that line had an ancient Dal Riatan surname that indicated migration from Ireland to Scotland, likely in the Middle Ages.

From there, I took the lessons of shamanic connection and spiritual journeying and started exploring on my own. I found a local mushroom farm that sells a reishi mushroom elixir. And I also decided to include my own intuitive herbal ally, my mugwort, to create a reishi and mugwort tea for Samhain Eve. Practicing with some of the Otherworld connection techniques from the course, I was able to deepen my Samhain practice and reach out to that ancestral line that had requested attention.

I was also intrigued by her discussion of “ghosts” are more than just departed people, but any departed energy that was still “haunting” us. It was interesting because most of what resonated with me in the course, was this idea of needing to connect, with ancestors and with this Otherworld. But I recognized that when listening to the section about banishing ghosts that there are still energetic aspects of my past that still linger and are not serving me. Since I don’t have Angelica accessible to me right now, I chose to use my Reishi tincture along with my carnelian stone and sat with this idea of connecting to and banishing my ghosts. And what more fitting day than Hallowe’en to work with ghosts?

The course offered not only a lot of information about the plants and techniques and context of the Otherworld, but helped walk me through these offerings to help me build my own relationship with the Otherworld. In connecting with these practices, I not only deepened my practice, but added to it. And that was a profound thing.