Freyja

I have been writing short stories with Freyja, as main character.  She is Queen of Vanaheimr, one of the lands in the Realm of Asgard.  Here, I will share a collection of her musings and drabble as new tales are born.....
                                            
                                        

​This wasn’t the time to be nostalgic, it wasn’t the time to be alone and reminisce, even as Yule was upon them.   She hadn’t returned to her hall after the War with Hate and Evil.  She wanted to be in her fields, forest, rivers, and streams.  Vanaheim had been molested, and she was part of its healing.  She slept under the moon and on the seashore cuddled in her feathered cloak.  She ate like a rodent or fowl, the berries and nuts dried on bushes and branches.  But most important were her meditations. 

Long shadows were cast over the stone walk outside Sessrunmnir, a mist had come in from the sea, and the ferns and grasses were turning yellow. Autumn was not Freyja’s season. It made her sad. It had been a very unsettling day. She walked the fields reminiscent of last year when all Asgard gathered in the clearing near fires and the sea. ​

Freyja knelt in the center of one circle of stones, willing a prayer to come to her mind and heart.   Nothing.  She dug deep within her spiritual self, as she was a Vanir and her faith was solid among her people.  She was Queen of Vanaheimr, and her people relied on her to petition the ancient ones now as she had always done.  But she had no words.
   
In had been a month ago, since her brother, Thor, the emperor of Asgard had gone.  There had been no warning, and it was a mystery to all since he and Darcy were soon to be wed.  ​

Asgardian Moon
Deep in the twilight, a tenacious moon, cradled in pillowy clouds   sleeps… or though it may seem.  His brilliant influence is beyond powerful!  Hanging over the unruly Sea of Space it steers the ship and laps the sand.  It beckons a goddess to wake. 
Freyja feels its pull and its silence overwhelms her .
The whisper of the gull and rhythm of waves is Njord~ pulling her out. Her father opens his arms, the wind blows a wealth of blessings to fish, and sailors at sea. 
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                     Brigid
 I am the Celtic Goddress of Fire!  As a Sun Goddess, born at the exact moment of dawn, I bear the gifts of knowledge, inspiration, and the life force and healing energy of the sun.  
My fire burns hot to inspire poetry, learning, and prophecy.
I forge the fires for blacksmiths, gold smiths and aid in forging the metals for warriors.   As Goddess of the Hearth my vital energy aids in healing, medicines and fertility.    I rise to celebrate the Tuatha de Danan!
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Aes sidhe
 
First bean sidhe                           
Lament and sorrow                     
Maternal lover
Cry for the ‘morrow
 
Turning of Earth
Sod, dirt and coal 
Eternal healer 
Body and soul
 
Stone cross and grave site
Though it seems dark
Keening for lost souls
Black crow so stark
 
Prophet and bard
Harper and sooth
Saying the fortune
Keening the truth
 
Poets adore you!
Wisdom and care
Healing the sad heart
Secrets to share
            ~maggie
 
(The Irish Goddess Brigid was the original Banshee)

                      Diarmuid and Grainne

                                                     Musings about an Irish tale.
 
As you may know, I have been busily reading, organizing, and retelling myths and legends from Irish past.
The tale “Diarmuid and Grainne” has grabbed my attention because of the way it connects the myth with the legend.  Grainne, being the beautiful and selective daughter of King Cormac, who doesn’t take marriage lightly.  She snubs Finn mac Cumhaill, captain of the Fianna when he desires her.  She thinks him too old and turns her fascinations to Finn’s young, handsome warrior, Diarmuid, the loyal champion and foster-son of Aengus Og, Tuatha de Danann prince of love, who also gives Diarmuid the deadly sword once owned by the sea god, Manannan mac Lir.  Isn’t this magical?
 
Well, the story has me while Grainne delivers a geis on Diarmuid which he can’t refuse…causing him to rescue her, love her and flee from Finn who is insanely jealous.  But like so many Irish tales tend to do, it looses me in the drawn out adventures that follow.
 
I read a version of it, however, in the book, Celtic Mythology and Tales of Gods, Goddesses and Heros written by Philip Freeman.  I highly recommend it.
And am grateful to him from helping me when I got stuck.  I have read multiple versions and still can’t decide how to end mine.

                  Drumlane Abbey

Here is my entry....

Sacred Stones of Droim Leathan
                            By Maggie Logan
 
Evolving through the ages   
Reflecting spiritual need
Built on a ridge of limestone
And growing from a seed 
 
Eons of geo travel
Brought us to this place
Long ago and stewardship
Keep it a worthy space.
 
Saint Colmcille, our native son
Left his footprint on it
Searching for his calling there
Spoke to God upon it
 
Take a wander through it
The gravesite and remains
Walls of stone stand ruined
Whooping swans and cranes
 
Ancient voices beckon
Hear the druids’ drone
Manuscripts and relics
Tower tall of stone
 
Nature’s tranquil morning
Verdant grasses grow
Hills and trees surround it
Sheep in pastures low
 
Solar rays on Garfinny Lough
Reflections even still
Pull at hearts the memories
Pray they always will
 
Not always, was there silence
Dynamic heat and cold
Bloody wars from earthen core
The tale is very old
 
Wars of nature, wars of men
Raging wars~all sorts
Warriors fighting to the end 
O’Reilly’s and O’Rourkes
 
Drumlane Abbey lives on still
A witness to man’s story
In the village of Milltown
A secret of Earth’s glory

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​​Recently, I talked with a lady who works at a Geopark in Cavan County Ireland.  Her name is Bee Smith.  She is working on a project to identify sites in the park and add poetry to each.  I entered the contest.  If you want to know more about the contest contact me.  
The site I chose to write about was the Drumlane Abbey.  It dates back to 500AD and of course that is my wheelhouse for medieval writings in the past.











 

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      Back to Celtic Lore...

"​Faerie Feelings"









​​I listen and read these Irish faerie tales and attempt to retell them with my own voice.  I am the first to admit that my ideas are not original, because my love of learning are constantly pulling at me to read and hear other thoughts on these tales.  Recently I read an article in the Enchanted Living magazine by Grace Nuth.  She is a artist/writer/model living in Ohio,USA.  The article was about one of my favorite Fairy Queens, Etain.
It wasn’t until I heard Grace’s passion about her that I could really explain my fascination with her.
Etain was Midir’s queen and both were fairies in the Tuatha de Danaan tribe.  Grace spoke of how Aegnus, the Celtic God of Love created a “bower” for Etain when she was in the form of a fly trying to stay alive.  Midir’s human wife wanted Etain dead.
This jealousy called to mind some of my own, yet I could sympathize with Etain.
The bower was a beautiful safe, and leafy abode which was described like a secure paradise away from the wife.
Grace wrote of “hiraeth” which is an ethereal state which many of us who are faery lovers.  Grace describes it as “a bittersweet, melancholy feeling we get when we smell something that conjures up a memory not of our own, not graspable…in the shadows, following across the trees.  It breaks our heart and we don’t know why.”
Etain, Tatiana, Fand and Brigid  are all like this for me.  Thank you Grace for putting words to my inner thoughts.

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"The Banshee". This poem is in "Waves of Love"
Woman of the faerie hills
Bansidhe, seer, filidh
Keeping oral tradition alive
Brigid, Goddess, mother, friend
 
Underworld quests and sacred kings
Heroic myths she brings us these
For she cares about human potential
Inspiring and encouraging us.
 

Loving and fighting for her children
Nourishing them with milk
 Harbinger of warmer days                                                                                                            
 Eternal flame of enduring life                                                                                                            

 The Poet
                                      by maggie

                  
White covered morning 
Airy mists of snow
Tapers in the window
Fiery flame aglow
 
Enduring flame of wonder
Cheers a needy soul
To unleash the power
Of an unknown goal
 
The old bard weaves a story
Of learned magic so
Its meaning and the wisdom
Cause unity will grow

 



 

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                                                   "The Book"

​(This will be in the new "Irish Myths and Legends Book")

​Isolde's voice...talking to her daughter, Aine

A gentle summer breeze ruffled the maple leaves and warmed the damp earth which remained after the rain.
It was a hot day by Irish standards, perfect for a walk in the forest, then through field and across the lands kept by the Dunlace kingdom.  Isolde, wearing a sleeveless frock and bonnet, carried a satchel of books and pens to share.  This had become a ritual for mother and daughter ever since Aine was small, so today her young daughter would think it not strange, when they reached their favorite knoll by a tree to spread their blanket to be.
“I know that we usually tell stories or write them, Aine….but today I have brought with me something to share.” 
 
 She looked into the curious face of her daughter.  Feelings of pride and love cursed through her, as she saw both herself and Tristan.  Isolde knew they had been truly blessed.  Her daughter loved hearing the stories of her ancestors and culture.  She would keep them in her heart as she grew and pass them along to her children’s children.  How this pleased her mother as the world around them was ever changing.  She feared that especially the old ways would be lost. 
Reaching into her bag she pulled out an old hard- cover book, golden and tattered.  On its cover were the letters to spell…
 
         Tuatha de Dannan
  
“This is an ancient treasure, Aine….it is not written in our language, but the pictures will help me to read it to you.  
“We have talked of them before, mum. They are the gods and goddesses the faeries in the mounds!”
“Yes, Aine.  You were named for one of them,” Isolde smiled.  “Goddess of Love”  
Aine beamed, but then returned her attention to the book.  
“Is Brigid in there?”  she asked.  Isolde laughed and opened the book to her favorite page as well. 
“You love her as I do, Aine…the Goddess of Fire, the Hearth and Healing.  She is our mentor always, but there are more.”
They turned through the pages admiring their Mother, Danu, the Sun God, Lugh, and Goddess of War, Morrigan.  There were at least 20 of them and Isolde named each one with pride.
 
This book will be yours, Aine. Your father and I know how you have taken an interest in Ireland.
Someday, you will pass this on to others and they will do the same so that it will not be forgotten.
 
“Oh!  They will never be forgotten, Mother.”  Her eyes then fell upon the smaller book which was in the satchel.  She thought she had seen it before.
 
“This book is my journal, Aine.  I will keep it till I pass into the next life.  But I wanted you to see it close up.
Isolde opened it up.  She had started writing in it as a young girl shortly after her father, the Viking chieftain, had died in battle.  She had just returned from Avalon, where she had learned reading and writing and religion.  It was where she had met Guinevere and grew close to Vivianne and Merlin.
In her journal she had told of her wanderings to other lands and realms.  In it she told about loving Tristan.
 
Aine reached for the diary just as Isolde handed her another.  It was the same size, hard covered, with gold trim.  The front was rose, decorated with celtic knots.  She took it into her hands and flipped through the thin unlined pages.  
“It is beautiful, mum…I will treasure it.”
“I know you will, tearma deiridh.(my darling). 
Isolde thought about how both their children had attended school at Cill Dara.  Her Christian friend, Brigid had founded the monastery which featured all the arts; music, poetry, literature and especially the skilled crafts.  Talented monks and druids had transcribed and using quill pens and ink made from holly berries and oak apples.  Both children were mesmerized by the sacred calligraphy in the scriptorium there.  Isolde would find them a book just for illustrating as well.

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....more about the Tuatha de Danann

More and more I'm becoming interested in writing about this magical tribe who live beneath the mounds in Ireland.
I have created a new page for this new book called Irish Myths and Legends.  You can find out more about it under books.
​ Here is a site I'm studying as of recent:  https://www.aliisaacstoryteller.com​

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​Hawthorns and Hedges
 
Soft Irish mornings, of faint, earthy musk,
Then lingering layers of amber, at dusk.
Misty drops of ocean spray,
Weathering cliffs along the way.
 
The Hawthorne blossoms white in May
The Burren in Ireland is rich today.
Ferns growing over walls made of stone.
The tiniest geraniums, and wildest known.
 
The road is a lane of the narrowest kind.
This is adventure like you never will find.
Songs of the birds fill the warm quiet air.
And nothing in the Burren gives slightest of care.
 
An obsidian cow raises his large lazy head
Happy to come to the fields to be fed.
While a milky white horse with some lambs
lowing near
Are welcoming us to a land with no fear.
 
Later its finding our bed in the town
And hoping there’s food and some craic to be found.
Listening to music and drinking some beer.
People to join us and bringing the cheer.
 
Singing the words of our favorite tunes.
Watching the people filling the room.
This is the reason we came all this way.
This is the reason we’ll come back some day.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

            💜My Reading about Gwenhwyfar💜
                               In all my writings past, I held to the belief that the Lady of the Lake was one Lady and that she was spiritual, ethereal. It was kind of a combination of a feminine apparition that emerged from the Lake with the sword she had created for the High King of Britain, and the Lady that walked the roads with Merlin supervising the Royals and common people as well about the “Old Ways”. Probably, my conception of her grew from listening to friends and watching movies and reading “The Mists of Avalon.

Now I’m reading the version by Persia Woolley, who has her one of many. When one dies another emerges. Morgan Le Fey is one. The Lady of the Lake is the High Priestess who teaches young men and women about the Old Religion and the magics of the warrior, healing, and knowledge. I had always envisioned this place where Vivianne raised Lancelot to be a misty isle, somewhere off, beyond the veil in the north of the Atlantic. Woolley has her Sanctuary in the mountains off the eastern coast of northern England almost as far north as Scotland. I have been charmed by her description and the connections this place has with the people, who are described as Cumbri…but also take in Picts, Irish, Breton, and Roman.

Recently, I started a project to study the character, Guinevere. Her name alone got me thinking about how I could give her a slant in my writing. There are so many spellings because of the multitude of tales that have been told in different cultures about her. My favorite spelling, Gwenhwyfar is Welch, and means White Phantom, or white shadow, white shining, or white spirit. In all forms it is a blend of meaning “fairness and beauty.” I hope to write her with a touch of ethereal because of her pull toward the “Old Ways”, but with the strength of a warrior. Neither of which she really was, but I could portray her to be.

Maybe sometime soon I will continue breathing life into my Gwenhwyfar. I do have a starter in my blog on the page.

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Who Was Gwenhwyfar?




It is curious that Gwenwhyfar is associated with the Goddess Persephone. She was Goddess of Fertility and Grain but was Abducted by Hades and lived with him in the underground….tragedy? 



 Gwenhwyfar is Celtic, originating in Wales, Scotland, Ireland, and Britain. It has many meanings ranging from Queen of May, White Shadow White Lady, White Wave, White Fay to White phantom, ghost and Ethereal Spirit. I believe the legendary figure lives up to all of them.

The name is also related to the Grail Queen and an Earth Goddess. The character, Gwenhwryfar, from the lore of Camelot has always intrigued me. You might think it would be how she is portrayed a romantic, beauty in the role of Queen of Camelot. Or her role as a woman warrior protecting medieval Britain, riding her horse alongside her King and his knights. That may have been how I felt about her when I started this study. But since then I have found her a bit of an enigma…with hidden qualities, much as her name implies. Why is it that so many see her as the fairest maiden of them all? Why are others repelled by her actions of adultery and seduction? Is it her hidden qualities and the mystery which ultimately made her story a tragedy.

When I first came upon the meaning of her name, in Welch, for instance, I was charmed. Usually, a shadow is dark… which caused me to dig deeper. For those who study the phenomenon of white shadows, the meaning is beautiful. A white shadow is a spiritual being or ethereal fae. They have the power to guide others toward a better version of ourselves. Sometimes we hide our feelings. Feelings such as love, and sorrow seem better kept personal. Stories help us to learn that others have these feelings and that it is human to have them.

Gwenhwryfar lost her mother when she was young and felt she had to be there for her father, a king, in difficult times. She helped him make decisions and encouraged him when he was weak. This helped her become a strong, confident woman. She cared for yet was assertive when dealing with the people of her realm. She was loyal and loving to her father in everything, as he was to the rightful leader in the south. All of these are admorable qualities, yet selfless. It is good to be selfless and make sacrifices for others. Might it be that as she was so determined to serve others and be the White Lady, the dark side of her was hidden? While she was brave, curious and adventuresome might she had happened upon this phantom spirit which, if not reigned in could lead to tragedy?

As I continue on with my study of Gwenhwyfar, I will be searching out her hidden qualities, and maybe, in the process learn something about myself.