The Wounded Masculine

I just finished teaching a dream retreat based within the Path of Pollen/Lyceum methodologies. As a result, my dreaming has been turned up a notch.

I have been dreaming of love and pain. In my dreams, I am both a man and a woman and we are in love. We are each other. In all dreams, as the woman, I am trying to save the man. And as the man, I am trying to protect the woman. It is always the man who is riddled with bullets or wounds. Who is hunted by the underworld god. Who is bleeding out. Who is fevered and dying. And it is always the woman who is trying to save him. In one, as I wipe away the blood from many bullet wounds I realise that underneath the blood he is covered in a thin layer of propolis. When I see this, I know that he is strong enough to survive. Propolis is, after all, the immune system of the honeybee, made in reverence with the budding life sap of the trees and the inner alchemy bee.

I know that it is not my job to save the wounded masculine, but this week I have been feeling him so strong. In me. In the world. In men. I have been feeling all the places the divine masculine sacrificed himself. All the places the divine masculine has been exiled to the edges of the sea and the desert. Exiled from our tidy, hurried lives. All the places he took the bullet so that we could survive. I know that it is Patriarchy, among other systems of dominance, that has wounded women. Laid claim to our sovereignty. Violated our womb and our bodies. Silenced us. Killed us. The same belief structure has created systems that harm the Earth and all her living creatures. But I also know the this system has cut wounds so deep in men and the masculine that he/we are now fevered with the impact. Burning up. Breaking down.

Today I am simply feeling compassion for all the places in ourselves that have been suppressed, oppressed and violated by the current system of dominance we live within. I want to cry tears into the bullet wounds I witnessed in my dreams and watch them wash the injuries clean.

Call it resurrection of the self. Call it saving each other. Call it the deep work. Call it the shadow. Call it the beloved. Call it what you will, but regardless of where you fall in the spectrum of expression that we call the masculine and the feminine, we are in the laboured work of healing. We need all of ourselves. We need the feminine flow and masculine sturdiness. We need the women’s holding and men’s tears. We need the moonblood and the salt. We are calling our exiled, wild soul back to ourselves.

Oh, my beloved, come close: I am willing to look into that dark chasm of wounding and coat it with my tears, my love, my lion’s roar, my propolis, and my honey.

How to Keep Bees

How to keep bees:⠀

* Flirt with the sea⠀

* Look through old volumes of botanical illustrations⠀

* Read books by Sharon Blackie⠀

* Skinny dip at least once in a slightly risky location ⠀

* Question why it’s called the European or western honey bee when it originated in Africa.⠀

* Go to France. Or Nepal. Or whatever place is calling the soul of your imagination.⠀

* Giggle all by yourself.⠀

* Take a course in eco-psychology⠀

* Tell her how you feel.⠀

* Leave offerings for the trees.⠀

* Get stung.⠀

* Spend time playing make believe with a child⠀

* Teach yourself about what’s growing and blooming in your area. Eat from the lands closest to you.⠀

* Be seduced by flowers.⠀

* Watch Martin Shaw tell a story.⠀

* Ask the wild bee what the druid knows.⠀

* Drink sunlight, tickle starlight.⠀

* Get your hands dirty.⠀

* Talk to your ancestors.⠀

* Bathe your mind in propolis.⠀

* Be curious about the family of ducks at the park.

* Question definitions of gender.⠀

* Dress in your finest just to have a chat with the moon.⠀

* Light beeswax candles and read delicious fictions late into the night.⠀

* Tell him how you feel.⠀

* Protest with Greta.⠀

* Backpack at least once in the wilderness.⠀

* Let spirit take you.⠀

* Stay up all night dancing.⠀

* Let bees lick honey off your fingers.⠀

* Lick honey off your fingers.⠀

* Dive into the reverie. ⠀

Food for Bees

Do you feed your bees?

Bees get their nutrients from flowers. Pollen provides protein, fatty acids and minerals, while nectar provides energy through carbohydrates (sugars) and minerals/vitamins.

The honey bees’ diet is nuanced and complex, gathered from the diverse floral offering of the bioregion and stored for consumption in the hive.

As bee stewards, we often need to be mindful of nectar sources and potentially feed our bees. Reasons to feed might include: a prolonged drought leading to a nectar dearth, a long winter, a baby colony, and inadequate forage in their habitat.

In conventional beekeeping, another reason to feed you bees is because you took too much of their food and have to feed them so they survive. 🙁

Here’s the catch: in most beekeeping practices people are taught to feed bees sugar. Even if you don’t take too much of their food, you are still expected to feed them sugar syrup for all the above mentioned reasons and also as stimulative feeding. When beekeepers feed bees too early in the spring, it stimulates the colony to start producing more bees. This is because the sugar coming in signals to the queen that there is a nectar flow and she needs to lay eggs for new foragers to be born. Beekeepers do this to get a jump start on spring and build up a bigger workforce toward human aims of production and capital.

The thing is, sugar is not honey. Sugar is not bee food. They can survive of it, but not forever. It’s hollow food. Ultimately, sugar syrup damages their digestion and weakens their immune system. Beekeepers say you can’t feed bees honey because it could contain the spores of a disease called foulbrood. This is true, however, it can be avoided if you know your honey source (talk to the beekeeper your sourcing from) and also know if foulbrood is reported in the area you live in.

If you are going to feed your bees to help keep them alive and support immune health, consider feeding them their own food: honey. If you have to feed them sugar, mix it with some honey or alternate between honey and sugar. Remember, honey is bee food, before it is human food.

Let The Bog Witch Rule

How does one live a healthy, abundant life within the impossible economy, without succumbing to the dreaded “victim mentality”? Or worse “scarcity mentality”?! These have become bad words in the pull-yourself-up-by-the-bootstraps world of entrepreneurs and personal growth. But goddamit every goddess needs her day as a bog witch. Look ya’ll, Innana got dismembered by her own sister. Persephone was abducted, and worse. Lilith got exiled. Sekmet went into a blood-drunk rage. And Mary Magdalene lost the love of her life, her station, and then had to flee her homeland. 

The story of the feminine is long, dark, bright and unpredictable. It can handle the taboo words of victim and scarcity mentality. It’s been handling all the other taboos for 5000 years or more (Eve chuckles). I’m telling this to myself: you’re not wrong when you feel like you’ll never make enough money to provide for a family. This does mean it’s true. (I’ve checked in with Wonder Woman Witch when she’s ovulating and she’s absolutely certain you’re winning life). It’s just that you’re not wrong for feeling the weight of scarcity, and the oppression of victim identity in a broken economic system, built on a societal/political arrangement that values the masculine, hierarchy, capitalism, and oppression of peoples, plants and animals over basic rights. You’re not wrong to wallow for a minute, even if you are aware of your privilege. Even if you are aware of how good you have it. Sometimes, perspective isn’t enough, because sometimes the bog witch get’s her period on a Sunday in January and decides that instead of marketing her next course because she needs to pay rent (pulls hair out), she is going to sink into said bog and mutter untruths like: “you will never be loved.” “You should get a real job.” “You’ll never have a family.” “You’re so bad at budgeting, if people found out you’d probably loose all your friends and any future partners.” “You’re addicted to work and you’ll never meet someone because you work too much.” “You can’t take time off-how dare you-the list!-how will you manage as a single mother-are you fooling yourself?”

I took the day off.

Ok 80% of the day.

I played ukulele.

I know that this is space mostly for beekeeping intel and inspiration, but I also know that there are a lot of your using this space to run your business. It is not formulaic and it’s not just a mindset. Yes, learning good habits, lifestyle hacks, and mindfulness can and does improve your business, but not with a blind eye turned away from the darker sides of this little capitalist “anybody can be a millionaire” attitude. Lilith will have none of that. The bog witch will suck the marrow right out of your morning mantra. It happens. She has a purpose too. She is not interested in your success stories. She is going to march you into her hut on chicken legs and fatten you up, because this hustling situation you’ve been praising yourself for, is a whole big bag of hot air as far as she’s concerned. She is going to compost you. Don’t worry, Arianrhod will descend from her spinning crystal castle in a few days and extend a hand of positive inspiration, so you might as well climb on into the oven and let the witch cook you. 

Toodaloo.

You are the Bridge

Where did it begin? This love affair? This obsession? This reverence? Was it in our prehistoric ancestors, with fire in their hands, climbing the highest of heights to gain your nectar? Was it in the way your honey and pollen aided in the development of our ancient brains?

Did it begin with those first altars of honey? With those myths of rivers filled with honey wine? With a white she-goat dripping mead? With the tree whose sap means honey and whose promise is life?

There is no tracing the origin of our courtship with the bee. Only honeyroads to follow into and out of antiquity. See the bee nymphs, dusted in pollen, who whispered the art of prophecy to the sun god. See the tears of Ra who fell to the earth and became bees. Christ's tears as well. Hear the hum on the lips of poets. Trace the sisterhood in asterisms. Taste the food of the gods. What about when we wised up? Got rid of all this pagan polytheism? Forgot the Queen of Heaven and chose one god. Did our obsession end? We took Her out of the picture, but did our fascination cease? Ask the priests who brought hives to the new world, because no Catholic mass could be held without holy beeswax candles. Ask the Christian family who brought cake to the bees after Christmas Eve mass. Ask the men of industry and innovation who sought to find a way to better manage this nest of divine beauty. Were they any less mesmerised than Aristotle? Hafiz? King Solomon?

Where has it gone to? This love affair?

Into the many rivers of the inquisitive religion of the modern era: science. That beautiful achievement of the honed intellect. Science, who's “authority has grown so immense over the centuries that it now claims supremacy over all other forms of thought.” (William J. Broad). A gift, this science. And a limitation, if it excludes the old memory of body, poetry, spirit and the ineffable.

What comes next in this love affair? What does the reawakened feminine bringing to the conversation? What happens when we weave centuries of honeyed wisdom with centuries of scientific progress. What else is possible? You are the bridge.

Dismantling the Inner Patriarch

I couldn’t bring myself to write a Friday post ON Friday because I was in the middle of my own maelstrom of self-doubt. On Friday I flew to LA for the most incredible opportunity to speak at the Natural Beekeeping Conference put on by @Honeylove.

I had been invited to speak on the topics I often write about: why we keep bees and my experiences with bee shamanism. While I love these subjects, I am not used to talking about them at a conference in front of people with complex presentations on innovation, science, methodology and technique. ⠀

As the weekend went on I gathered so much applicable, fascinating information. I took copious notes. I listened to captivating conversations. But I also, quietly railed against my own nature, questioned my professional value, and felt exquisitely sensitive to the fact that my presentation was NOT about how to keep/save/study bees. It was about restoring our relationship with bees. I spoke a lot about love, mystery, and the liminal. ⠀

I wasn’t due to speak until the end, so I had all this time to question everything I stand for. To feel small as a woman. To feel like my work didn’t have value without quantifiable, tangible, physical proof. I fell for the top down model of valuing intellect over intuition. Patriarchy got me good. I was submerged in the quagmire of what happens when we let a world view tell us that one aspect of our humanity is more relevant than the other. It was fascinating.⠀

I basically gave a talk in support of all that was being suppressed by my own interior judge. It felt great. Well, the judging felt like shit, but the talk felt great. So did the camaraderie, reception from those who attended, and the commingling over the weekend, of so many devoted folks. I am so fortunate to be in a field that is starting to value the feminine/intuitive/somatic experience alongside our more “traditional” values.⠀

What could be possible for this Earth if we married the exquisite intellect with the intelligence of the body and intuition? Maybe we should ask the bees.

Hymenoptera: veil-winged

Hymenoptera: veil-winged. An order of insects including wasps, sawflies and honey bees, but particularly connected, linguistically, to the goddess culture at its ties to the honey bees. Hymen is derived from Greek and means “membrane” or “veil”. It denotes not only the veil within the virginal maiden, but also the veil draped before in innermost sanctum of the temple of the goddess. It also came to represent the veil between the outer world and the hidden inner world of women’s mysteries, both physically and spiritually.

Honey bees are said to arrive with the heliacal rising of the seven sisters, or Pleiades, in the East every spring. Born of the constellation Taurus, the bull, the bees rise in the spring bringing life. The bull is an ancient symbol of the goddess and goddess culture. Through the union of the bees borne of the bull we receive the sustenance of life: milk and honey.

Mirrored in the stars, these seven celestial bees hold the story of the veiled one as well. With the suppression of the goddess culture many myths were rewritten. The seven sisters became seven daughters, one of whom was named Merope or “bee-eater”. She dared to love and wed a mortal and for this she was shamed, turning her face away and dimming her light in the night skies. While every Greek myth has many versions, it’s important to remember they all have threads running back to old memory and old ways that venerate the feminine instead of shame it. In another version these sisters are seven doves, like the doves or priestess that flew out of Africa and founded the three major oracular centers in the Ancient world, including Delphi, where the Delphi Bee gave oracle.

In some myths they were the nymphs of Artemis, who was deeply tied to the bee nymphs (melissae) and the guardian of the wild bees. And in still oldrer, obscure myths the stars were in fact, seven bees: six daughters and their queen, who remains veiled (hidden) in the inner sanctum of the temple of the bee.

Food for thought next time you don your bee veil to go whisper to the bees.

Imposter Syndrome

I have a few drums I beat in my cave of honey and hum. I beat the drum for natural beekeeping and bee sovereignty. I beat the drum for the womb-beat of the Earth. I beat the drum for the rise and integration of the feminine with all peoples, industries, and businesses. I beat the drum of dismantling the Patriarchy (that one is low and reverberating AF). And I beat the drum of calling for more women’s voices in beekeeping. I’m polyrhythmic.⠀⠀

Which is why I found it so fascinating when, whilst sounding the horns and ringing the bells for more women’s voices in the conversation on beekeeping, I blanched when asked to be one of them, on a stage. ⠀⠀
Recently I was asked to be a speaker at the Natural Beekeeping Conference. A place filled to the brim with people I admire. I said yes immediately. Did a jig. Thanked the goddesses and then freaked the eff out about “my topic”. Suddenly, I felt like an imposter. I began the good ol’ comparison game. I counted my years of “experience” on my fingers and asked “Do I measure up?” I counted my hives and asked “do I have enough?” I am not a scientist. I am not in charge of 100 hives. I am not published. ⠀⠀

I immediately questioned the importance of my voice in the narrative of beekeeping. Here’s the catch, the wonderful folks at the conference aren’t asking me to discuss mite-resistant local stock or how urban beekeeping is making a difference, they are simply asking me to speak to what I already know. Why do we do this to ourselves? Women in particular learn from such an early age that we should differ to the “expert” the room. That we aren’t smart enough, strong enough, pretty enough, funny enough, or enough. The bees don’t care if you’re enough. Just show up. Show up for what you love. Be that voice, no matter how loud, quiet, weird, contrary, or charismatic. A bee never has to question her place in her hive. Why do we? ⠀

⠀
So here's a glass to all the time you've felt like a weirdo, or not enough, or an imposter, or not qualified, but you showed up anyway, because your voice is part of changing the story of our times.

12th Day of Yuletide:

What better way to end the 12 days than with a celebration of Twelfth Night. What exactly is Twelfth Night? It’s the final night, the last hurray, the “Go big or go home”. It’s origins lie somewhere in antiquity, between the Nordic Juul season and the Roman Saturnalia. Or perhaps even older than that. The winter festivals were never about one day. The season of winter merriment was just that, a season, which eventually had to come to a close so that the hard work of winter could carry on. What better way to end that season than with a party? The Twelfth Night comes from the Christian feast of the eve of the Epiphany, typically celebrated Jan 5th. The Epiphany is also known as the Feast of the three Magic Kings, marking the arrival of the 3 Wise Men to Jerusalem. However, prior to the Catholic Church deciding on the 6th for the Epiphany, there was an older tradition of celebrating the end of Yule which began at Winter Solstice. In fact, the church actually changed the day of the Epiphany to try to discourage the generally pagan revelry that occurred on the original 12th night: New Years Eve. Good try dudes. It failed. ⠀

So let's carry on with the merriment: 🍰 In Old England there was a custom of the King’s Cake. On this night, a cake was made. A bean was baked into one half, and a pea into the other. As guests arrived, men were given slices of cake from the bean side and women from the pea side. Whomever received the piece with the bean or pea was crowned the King and Queen of Revels. ⠀

 In Celtic countries like Wales, Scotland and Ireland, there is a tradition of first footing. It is considered good luck to have the first person who enters your home after the stroke of midnight be a dark haired man (a stranger is best!) bearing gifts of a coal, shortbread, or whisky! This likely stems from the fear of blonde Viking invaders in Northern Scotland. Besides who doesn’t want a tall, dark and handsome stranger bearing gifts at your door at midnight. Shall I send my address?⠀

Furthermore, in Scotland, where Christmas was banned by the church for a period of time (for being too pagan), the people celebrate Hogmanay. Folk used to actually work through Christmas and put all their festive attention on Hogmanay. This grand New Year’s Eve festival of fire balls, torches, fireworks, and lights includes traditions such as first-footing, kissing (of course), and ringing of bells to clear the old and ring in the new. It was also a time of gift giving and house cleaning. If you’re in Edinburgh you might even start New Year’s Day with an icy dip in the sea!

In Ireland, single people often placed a sprig of mistletoe, holly or ivy under their pillow in hope to dream of their future mate.

Whatever it is you do this night, give a toast to the people who came before you. Everything you do comes from somewhere and was touched by many cultures intermingling and borrowing from one another. Ring in the year with one hand reaching back, and one hand reaching forward, as we carry on with the grave responsibility and wild revelry of being human.

  Photo credit: @edhogmanay showing the Edinburgh torch procession at Hogmanay.

11th Day of Yuletide: Saturnalia

The Christmas season is full of many traditions that have their roots in the rivulets and estuaries of folklore. From flying reindeer to fruit cakes, there is a rich tapestry of customs woven between the old gods and the new. Christmas is simply the newest name for a time period that required merriment. Why? Because we all need to lift our spirits in the heart of winter. Do you think we’re the first generation to experience Seasonal Affective Disorder? Definitely not. When your life literally depends on the sun coming back to warm the land and make crops grow, seasons become awfully important. This time of year was about prophecy, divination, offerings, celebration, song, storytelling, nourishment and giving. And though we may not like to remember it, in our tidy, holy days, this time of year has also always been about getting it on. If you need any clues just look at the trailing star leading from mistletoe to the New Year’s Eve kiss. From whence does such amorous behaviour stem? Well, from every culture dealing with long nights, spicy brews and close quarters. But also, from the Greek and Roman winter celebrations such as Saturnalia and the winter feasts of Poseidon and Dionysus. These were feasts that carried on for days if not the whole damn month and required an “anything goes attitude”. Let’s all remember, that before the shitty Patriarchal oppression of women by the Church, folk had a much more realistic attitude toward sex. As in, it happened, often. Both men AND women enjoyed it. Women created life from it. It was pleasurable for women (and men). And sometimes, in the dark of winter, it could really just lift the spirits and bring about a little more of that sacred fertility every culture since forever has been celebrating.

Saturnalia, the most well known of these festivals, was a time for merriment, drunkenness, and the breaking of social rules. Servants were served by masters. Clothing was swapped, nakedness abounded, and much banter was to be had. There were even honey cakes shaped like male and female sexual organs paraded around and, erm *coughs*…consumed. 

It was your everyday bacchanalia. The gods of love and wine ruled. This was one of the first origins of Christmas. That’s right. Folks celebrated the return of the light (read: the return of fertility and life) by exchanging gifts, songs, kisses and oh so much more. Speaking of Bacchus, did you know that Dionysus was also a sun god reborn and that his festival was on the winter solstice? Brumalia, was the Greek winter holiday associated with Dionysus and wine. It wasn’t only his, in early days this winter festival of rebirth and the “Waxing of the light” was also associated with the parthenogenetic (virgin birth) Goddess Demeter and her underworld daughter Persephone. Life meets death meets life again. Shall we go back even further? There we find the ancient death and resurrection of the Sumerian goddess of the light, Inanna. What sits between the powerful force of death and the ever-renewing spring of life? Sex, of course. And so when all gets upended on its head and the gifts have been given…when the songs have been sung and the wine all drunk, people kiss beneath the mistletoe and at the strike of twelve because: life. Life. Life. Life. In the face of dark winter’s death, we insist on life.

10th Day of Yuletide: Elves

The mid-winter festivals aren’t just for honouring ancestors and celebrating the light. They are also a time for the fey folk. In pre-Christian Europe, the feast days occurred during key points in the seasonal calendar. The equinoxes and solstices were always considered powerful days of magic. It is on such days that reality is less distinct: ordinary and non-ordinary reality, or what the Celts call “the veil between the worlds” is mutable. The veil becomes thin and fairy folk are often seen.

In Scandinavian cultures, one of these fairy creatures is the tomten. The tomten is a short, gnomelike old man, often dressed in red with a white beard and a pointed cap. You’ve probably seen felted versions of tomten on Christmas trees. The tomten are general benevolent Swedish gnomes, who share relations with the Danish Nissemen and Finnish Tonttu. It is the gnomes who bring gifts at Yuletide. Tomte means “homestead man”. These fey folk are the spirit of the home and offer both protection and company during the long months of winter. They are usually friendly, guarding the home or farm against evil, but they are also known to respond to bad behavior with their own mischief. Does it sound like any red-dressed elf you know? These elven creatures had a great deal to lend to our modern day commercialised version of Santa Claus. This is also where the story of Santa’s elf helpers comes from.

The myths and legends behind these gnome helpers are often associated with the very practical job of running a farm and keeping things clean and orderly. One of the surest ways to upset a tomten and bring down his mischief is to be messy, untidy or rude. On Christmas Eve, the tomten is left butter for his porridge, just like the bees are left a candied cake.

The Germanic, Slavic, Norse and Celtic myths are full of otherworldly creatures who visit during “thin” times like winter solstice. It is a time for great blessing and honouring of the land and its otherworldly inhabitants, so that life may return to thrive in the green of summer once more

Art: Nasjonabiblioteket Norway 1885

9th Day of Yuletide: Mumming

Do you go on costumed capers over the holidays? Because you should. Don’t leave your masks and revelry to Halloween, there is still time to join in with Celtic winter tradition of Mumming. Although, you may need to invite at least one friend to dress as a ghostly horse. Rules are rules.

Similar to wassailing, mumming has had a resurgence in Ireland and Britain. Mummers would typically dress unrecognisably, swap clothes, wear masks and go about the village singing, dancing and performing plays at each house. These revelries often happened within the twelve days of Christmas. Traditionally it was done in silence or “mum”, although singing and rhyme became a major part of the plays as the tradition continued. The word mum means silence. This is where we get the phrase “mum’s the word”. Mumming and wassailing often overlap, but there is a third tradition worth mentioning here as well: The Grey Mare. In Wales the Grey Mare is called Y Fari Lwyd or Mari Lwyd. As it goes, the skull of a horse is placed on a pole with a white hood hanging behind her. Often she is decorated with ribbons and adornments, but her skull is usually left bare. In this Welsh tradition, folk carry the hobby horse to pubs and homes where they perform a rhyme game with the owners in exchange for entry. The mummers offer a verse of playful insults and the folks inside the house have to reply with a rhyming insult. This goes on until one of the sides falters on the rhyme. If the mummers falter, they leave, but if it’s the home owners, the mummers are invited in for drinks, food and mischief.

Why a horse? There is a Christian story about a lost horse and Mother Mary, but the practice is markedly pre-Christian. In Celtic culture the horse was considered sacred as was white animals. White or silver (grey) animals were emissaries of the Celtic Otherworld: the white hind, raven, hounds of Annwn, and Rhiannon’s horse, to name a few. It was a way to carry the spirits with you. Yuletide is a time when the veil between this world and the other is thin, and brings both tricker energy and blessings.

Photo: wikimedia commons

8th Day of Yuletide: Sing to the Trees

I grew up in a town that was small enough to still have Christmas carolling. I used to love going from house to house singing tunes. We gathered before a house and sang until the owners opened the door. Sometimes they ignored us, but sometimes they would join in. If I had been doing this a few centuries back, perhaps the owners would have offered treats, money or gifts. Or, perhaps we wouldn’t have been singing to homeowners at all; we would have been singing to the trees.

Christmas carolling, in the old sense of going from door to door and singing, has roots in Wassailing. As in: “Here we go a-wassailing among the leaves so green…” Wassail is a drink and a folk tradition celebrated during the twelve nights of Christmas, or in early January. The word comes from Anglo Saxon “vesheil” meaning “be well” or “be whole”. As a drink, it is typically made from a spiced wine/ale or cider and sometimes an egg. In medieval England, where abundant apple orchards grew, and livelihoods depended on a bountiful harvest, folk would go down to the orchards with a large bowl of hot, spiced wassail. Often they dressed colourfully, wore feathers in their hats and even performed masked plays. Songs were sung to the trees while wassail was sprinkled over the branches. The bowl of wassail was also shared among revellers, and at the end, the villagers went to the largest tree in the orchard and poured the remaining wassail into its roots. Toast soaked in cider or beer was placed in the forks of the tree. Ever wonder where the term “toast” while drinking came from? Now you know. All this was done with the intention to wake the spirit of the trees and ward off an evil spirit that may harm the harvest.

Wassailing has recently made a comeback in parts of England and the US! You can go sing to the trees one of these winter nights. It doesn’t have to be an apple tree. Any fruit tree will do. Just remember to bring a piping thermos of spiced wassail and offer some to the spirit of the tree. Be well!

Photo cred: 1) public domain 2) @deans_court 3) @cornwalllive 4) @westerncider

The 7th day of Yuletide: The Christmas Witch

Ever heard of La Befana? She comes from an Italian legend connected to the birth of Jesus. La Befana's name is derived from the Greek word for Epiphany. The Epiphany is the day baby Jesus was revealed as the Son of God. The legend says the Three Magi stopped at La Befana’s home on their way to find the baby Jesus. She is described as an ugly, poor, old woman with a broom (recall the Cailleach of the Celts). The witch receives the three Magi. In some legends they asked her for directions and she points to the star of Bethlehem. In others, they are already following the star and invite her to come along. La Befana refuses because she has too much sweeping to do, but after they leave she changes her mind. She tries to follow them without luck, and to this day, she wanders the skies on her broom looking for baby Jesus. At each home she flies down chimneys and leaves gifts for good children or coal for bad children.

Prior to Santa Claus, the only gift-giver at this time of year in Southern Italy was La Befana. She too, has older roots than her encounter with the Three Magi. In pre-Christian Italy, there was a tradition burning an effigy of an old lady to bring in the new year. Pieces of that fire, as well as the sacred ceppo, or Yule log, were represented in her gifts of fertility now known as "lumps of" coal. Lift up any tradition and there is another one that is Earth honouring, and perhaps a little more female honouring hiding underneath it.

Midwinter was considered a time when witches and ancestral spirits could most easily be felt. It was at this time that stories were told and divinations were cast. It was time for magic and divination. Who better to represent this time than a benevolent witch who somehow found her way into Christian myth. The broom is one of the most powerful symbols of Old European women’s spirituality. It is the symbol of the spirit flight of the shaman, or witch, or seer. It is the world tree. It is the spine, the Axis Mundi, the sacred tool. It is a women's spiritual heritage hidden in plain sight.

6th Day of Yuletide: The Christmas Tree

that’s me (left) and my oldest friend at the ripe old age of 1.

If you’re following along with these posts, you have probably gathered that most of the Christmas traditions I’m sharing have older roots in Northern and Eastern Europe. There are some Roman influences, but overall, much of our winter celebrations come from the cold, snowy lands where sunlight is in short supply this time of year. The beloved Christmas Tree is no different.

As with most of these traditions, there is no hard and fast origin date or place for the Christmas tree. Decking the halls with boughs of holly and evergreen has been a practice among pre-Christian Europeans for centuries. Often branches of evergreens, symbolising the continuation and ever-renewing force of life on earth, would be placed over windows and doors, or decorating major festivals such as Roman Saturnalia. This Roman festival of wild revelry, celebrated during what is now modern day Christmas, was a festival of joy and merrymaking in honour of the God Saturn.

Most decorated evergreens were set up in village squares or paraded from house to house. It wasn’t until the Victorian era that the indoor Christmas tree decorated with candles became popularised. Queen Victoria’s husband, Prince Albert, was German and introduced many of our most popular Christmas traditions to the royal household and thus to England and the United States. In parts of Poland and other Eastern European countries, the top of a fir tree or a large branch was hung suspended from the ceiling, usually over the table. These were decorated with fruits and nuts. In Germany in the 16th century, there are records of trees also being decorated with dates, apples and other foods, as well as cut paper flowers.

The tradition of tinsel on the tree also comes from Eastern and Northern Europe, where strips of silver were hung from the tree. There is even a legend of a Christmas spider who weaves strands of silver and gold to decorate the tree as the family sleeps. In some places it is considered good luck to find a spider and her web in the Christmas tree.

4th Day of Yuletide Deer Mother

 4th Night of Yuletide: Deer Mother

Once upon a time, a great forest blanketed the northern lands. It stretched from Scandinavia to the British Isles, and from Siberia over the land bridge into North America. Moving through that forest were those who knew the silver tracks of the old ways: the deer and their people.

Today, this great forest has diminished, and the way of life for its indigenous guardians is threatened. We call this forest of the north the Taiga or the Boreal forest and out of it’s depths comes one of our most beloved winter fairy tales.

It was always the reindeer that truly captured my childhood imagination: a sleigh of flying deer, spinning their way through the stars to land on my rooftop where I left carrots and cookies? How marvellous! But Santa’s reindeer have a much older origin and so does the elf himself.

The story of the reindeer came from the snow covered lands of Northern Europe where the people honoured Deer Mother. The reindeer is the only deer where the female is larger than the stag. Both male and female reindeer have antlers, but only the female retains her antlers in winter. Much like elephants, the oldest matriarch leads the herd. For the Sami people in northern Scandinavia, life depends on following the herds. There is an ancient marriage between the deer and the people. Deer bring life. On winter solstice, Deer Mother takes to the skies, carrying the light of the sun in her antlers, bringing rebirth to the land.

The cult of the deer stretches back 14,000 years and reaches across Asia, North America and most of Europe. There were a number of goddesses associated with the deer. One of these is Saule the sun goddess from Latvia and Lithuania. Saule rides across the sky at midwinter in a sleigh lead by reindeer. She weeps her tears (sacred waters) and each tear is forged into amber which she throws down to the people along with apples (often associated with fertility and eternal life). Deer mother is so enduring that she found her way into our modern myths and stories, even if obscured behind the Patriarchal wash over her most holy act.

3rd Day of Yuletide: Mistletoe

“The Druids held nothing more sacred than the mistletoe and the tree that bears it, always supposing that tree to be the oak….They call the mistletoe by a name meaning, in their language, the all-healing.” - Pliny

It has not been so very long that we have lived as if our lives did not depend on the crops, the seasons and the forces that move determine them. When dark winter reigned, people looked to that which brings life. They looked to the sun deities of rebirth. They looked to the fertile promise of life held within the female form, honouring traditions like mother’s night. They also looked to that which lasts even in the heart of winter. This is where the tradition of bringing the ever-green into the home to deck the halls and the mantle. The holly, ivy, pine, fir and of course, mistletoe. It only makes sense that this sacred all-healing herb of fertility found its way into our modern traditions, without losing its essence of the promise of life. For what does a kiss under the mistletoe represent at its heart? The promise of love, life, and renewal. As a side note, mistletoe wasn’t the only green associated with kissing. In parts of England, there was also a “kissing bush” made from evergreen and holly, and filled with red apples or red paper “roses”.

While popularised as a kissing sprig for the hopeful, it has other folk customs associated with it. In France it is given as a gift on New Year symbolising peace and luck. In Sweden, similar to the Yule log ash, the mistletoe was placed on doors and mantles to protect from lightning. In England it was given to athletes because it held all the distilled “soul” or power of the Oak tree it grew up.

Whether you are decking the halls with sprigs of mistletoe for fertility, for luck, for peace or for strength, remember it is an utterly pagan tradition that remained strong, despite the Church trying to ban it. I would like to think that’s because nobody wants to get rid of a tradition that involves kissing in the darkest time of the year. This was the time of year that the wild revelry of Roman Saturnalia took place after all.

2nd Day of Yuletide : Yule/Winter Solstice/Midwinte

Today marks the shortest day of the year, followed by the longest night. Back when calendars followed the season and cycles of the stars, the solstices were times of lasting festivals and holy observances. In some places like the Celtic Isles, Winter’s Night was a time when the flame or light of the previous year was burned through the night, to usher in the dawning of the light on the following morning. In this way, the flame of the old year ignites the new year.

In continuation with my 12 days of Yuletide exploration, I give you the Yule Log. All across old Europe, it was customary to fell a tree, usually Oak, Spruce or Pine, and drag it through the village to eventually be placed upon the hearth and burned through Solstice Night and sometimes beyond. The ash from the log was often saved and used in various cultures to bless the crops, aid in fertility, protect against storms, and heal the sick.

I’m calling it the Yule log because that is how it was popularised by Victorian Era England, but it has many names and many customs tied to it. Yule is derived from Juul, a Scandinavian midwinter feast when a Juul Log was burned in honour of the Lightning God, Thor. In France, the Tréfoir de Nöel was burned for all 12 nights of Christmas, and the ashes were saved to protect against lightning strikes. In Italy, the log was laid upon Juniper boughs, which coins were placed upon it. In England, a branch from the old log of the year before was saved to light the new.

One of my favourite associations is the connection between the Yule log and the snake, described by 

archaeologist Marija Gimbutas She discusses how the log is a representation of the snake, or the “life force” of the earth and symbolises renewal. In the Scottish Highlands, the Yule log is the Cailléach, the Old Hag/Woman who was burned to make way for the renewal of life. As such, the ash, once again, had the healing powers of fertility.

You may not have a hearth, but you can follow the footsteps of folk traditions by lighting a candle at dusk or greeting the sun at dawn.

Art by Harriet M. Bennett

Mother’s Night and the Twelve Days of Yuletide

For the next twelve days I am going to be doing a series on some of the Old European traditions associated midwinter. We begin with the twelve days themselves.

We all know the popular song, but what are the twelve days of Christmas? If you go looking, you’ll likely be told the 12 days of Christmas begin on Christmas Day and end on January 6th. From the birth of Christ to the coming of the three wise men. Twelve days plucked from the people who celebrated the Earth and handed in a neat little package of Christian theology, avoiding old traditions like Mother’s Night.

So what are the original twelve days of Christmas? To understand this, we must first recall that prior to Christianity there were centuries of celebration at midwinter. In fact, in the Roman Empire, 250 years after the birth of Christ, the people celebrated the 25th of December as the rebirth of the Sol Invictus, the “Unconquerable Sun”. In early Christianity, there were even some who claimed the Nativity was on summer solstice. It’s important to remember that what’s in the Bible we know today was decided upon. There is actually no biblical evidence of Christ being born at midwinter, but since midwinter is a time when people celebrate the return of the the light (literally, the sun), it only made sense to meld the birth of the Christian saviour with pre-existing rituals. Christianity couldn’t quite do away with long-standing folk traditions, so it absorbed them, making slight alterations.

One of those alterations was to change the dates of the twelve days of Yuletide, and give each day to a Saint. Nice and tidy. The original twelve days actually begin on Mother’s night, the eve of winter solstice. Today. December 20th.

Mother’s Night comes from Scandinavian and Anglo-Saxon traditions. In the Norse tradition, this night celebrated the Dísir or ancestral mothers. The Dísir were the Old Ones: ancestral grandmothers who blessed, protected and provided prophetic counsel to the clan. This is a night for holding vigil through the dark.

Respecting the Sovereignty of a Body

Happy Friday the 13th, a day long associated with women’s bodies and women’s cycles. Did you know that a woman has her moon cycle about 13 times a year? Funny how a number associated with women’s potency, power, magnetism and fertility was conveniently turned into an “evil” number.⠀
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As we do the incredibly tenacious work of teaching the world to honour women’s bodies, we are doing so much more than supporting female bodied humans. There is a direct line from subjection and abuse of women’s bodies to the abuses done to the Earth and it’s creatures. With the advent of Patriarchy, the act of imposing power over a woman’s body led to the skewed world view of man’s dominion over the Earth rather than partnership and stewardship with the Earth. The inherent fecundity of the Earth has long been associated with woman and the power of the womb. Despite ages of misogyny, the Earth is still called Mother Earth. Even after the arrival of Patriarchy, there continued long-held beliefs associated with the Goddess of the land. In Celtic nations, to earn governance of the land, the King had to wed the land, known as Sovereignty. It was only she who bestowed sovereignty upon him. ⠀
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The suppression of a woman’s voice, the denial of climate change, and modern day beekeeping practices are all related. They all source from a belief system that is both threatened by and in direct opposition of the sovereignty of the body. When we started placing more power in the As Above, ignoring the So Below, we forgot our own birthright as beings woven into the fabric of life. One of the most radical things you can do to disrupt the broken system of our times is to listen to the body. Yours, the bees, your children’s, your beloved’s, the Earth’s.⠀
You want to be a beekeeper? Start with hearing and respecting the inmate language of your body.