The Dog Days

The Dog Days of Summer are upon us, and down here on the Gulf Coast, Sunna is working overtime. Late July/early August is also the time when Sirius becomes the morning star, rising at dawn before the Sun and twinkling with extra vigor due to the unsettled summer weather.

Sirius A, also known as the "Dog Star," is the brightest star in Canis Major (the constellation forming one of Orion's two hunting dogs which help him fight his adversary, Taurus the Bull). Burning brightly at a temperature of about 10,000 Celsius, it's about twice as heavy as our Sun and a relative spring chicken as age goes (only 230 million years old compared with our Sól at 5,500 million). It's not really all that bright as stars go, but it has the advantage of being nearby the Earth (a mere 8.6 light years away), which makes it appear extra bright to us. Its companion, Sirius B (nicknamed "The Pup"), is a white dwarf, once a star more massive than Sirius but now cooling down into an eventual dead black orb in about 2 billion years or so.

The Greeks called it Seirios ("Scorcher") and were the ones who named these hot, humid days of late summer the "dog days," because dogs were thought to suffer and become listless in the heat brought by this star. The Zoroastrians in Persia called it Tishtrya and honored it as the divinity of rain and fertility. Chinese astronomers knew it as the star of the "celestial wolf," and it was also associated with dogs by a number of indigenous North American tribes. The Egyptians regarded its rising early as good news, because it was a sign that the Nile was about to flood and bring fertility and a good harvest to the surrounding lands.

In Norse folklore, however, Sirius was known as Lokabrenna ("Loki's torch" or "the burning by Loki"), a name reminiscent of the conflagration of the universe at Ragnarok. The name may also have referred to the summer heat rather than the star itself. In Iceland, it was associated with the ignis fatuus, or will 'o the wisp, a phosphorescent light sometimes seen floating over marshy ground at night. Certainly it's an appropriate time for Loki, when wildfires are rife and tempers are combustible.

It's also a good time of year to sit outdoors in the wee hours, enjoy the Perseid meteors and a few cold beverages, tell a few tales, sing some bawdy songs, and wait for the predawn hours and the rising of one of the brightest stars in the summer sky.

...resplendent as the star

Autumnal, of all stars in dead of night

Conspicuous most, and named Orion's dog;

brightest it shines, but ominous and dire

Disease portends to miserable man. 

Homer's Iliad (transl. William Cowper)

It's a little late for Midsummer (though we've got plenty of it to go down here on the Gulf Coast), but I was just looking through issues of Boreas, an old Pagan/Heathen journal I used to edit for my group back in New Haven (and later points beyond). Thought I'd post a few pages just for fun (and it only cost $1.00, so you can see how long ago it was)

It's not over till the pancakes...

Kind of hard to get going after Yule this year...and that's traditional, because in the past, festivities continued right up to Candlemas (Feb. 2). On old English estates the holiday was marked by music, dancing, games, and feasting, and even sometimes a "lord of misrule" figure:

        "The larder was filled with capons, hens, turkeys, geese, ducks, beef, mutton, pork, pies, puddings, nuts, plums, sugar and honey.... A glowing fire, made of great logs, the principal of which was termed the 'Yule log,' or Christmas block, which might be burnt till Candlemas eve, kept out the cold; and the abundance was shared by the lord's tenants amid music, conjuring, riddles, hot-cockles, fool-plough, snap-dragon, jokes, laughter, repartees, forfeits, and dances."

But when it's over, it's really over this time--by tradition, Candlemas eve was the date upon which all Christmas decorations had to be removed (or else you had to deal with a goblin infestation, and nobody wants that...)

The Yule Bear

As usual, getting ready for Yule has knocked me for a loop, so I haven't been writing anything much, except cards and letters and last minute projects. But as the Solstice approaches, I share with you a traditional Norwegian folk tale for the holidays--may you have frith and plenty all during the Twelves, and may you have a prosperous and productive new year.

*         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *         *

The Yule Bear

Once upon a time there was a man up in Finnmark who had caught a large white bear. He decided he would take it to the King of Denmark as a gift, so he set out for that country. When he reached the Dovrefjell, it happened to be Christmas Eve. He came upon a cottage and decided to stop and ask for lodging for the night.

The man who owned the house, Halvor, told him they couldn't possibly take any guests that night because every Christmas Eve a large band of trolls took over their house, and even the family was forced to move out.

"Oh," the man said, "if that's all, you might as well let me stay in your house. My bear can sleep by the stove and I'll sleep in the pantry." The man begged and begged and finally got leave to stay the night. When it got dark, the people of the household moved out, just as Halvor had said, but before they left, they got everything ready for the trolls. They set the table with the cream porridge and fish and sausages and everything else needed for a proper Yule feast.

After everything was ready and the people had gone, the trolls arrived--some large, some small, some with long tails, some with none, and some with very long noses. They sat down at the table, and they ate and ate and drank and drank, until they had tasted everything there.

Then one of the younger trolls happened to notice the white bear lying beneath the stove. He put a piece of sausage on a fork and went over and poked the bear's nose with it, shouting, "Here, kitty, kitty, do you want a sausage?!"  The bear, whose nose was burnt by the hot sausage, did not like this at all. He got up from beneath the stove and rumbled and growled, and then he chased all the trolls, large and small, around and around the room, until he finally chased them out of the house altogether.

The next year Halvor, the householder, was outside on Christmas Eve chopping wood for the feast, because he was once more expecting a pack of trolls to arrive. While he worked, a voice shouted out of the woods, "Halvor! Halvor!"

"Yes?" answered Halvor.

"Do you still have that big white pussycat of yours?"

"Why, yes," said Halvor. "She's at home now lying under the stove, nursing her seven kittens, who are all even bigger and fiercer than their mother."

"Then we'll never come to your house again!!" shouted the troll in the woods, and since that Yule, no trolls have ever again eaten their porridge at the house of Halvor on the Dovrefjell.

In Scandinavia, as well as in many other cultures, the burial mound was an important aspect of death. Used since the Stone Age, they continue to show up well into the Viking Age, along with the better-known cremation rituals. Many sagas and other lore depict scenes where a person would lie or sit on a grave mound and there commune with the dead and sometimes receive gifts from them. Drink offerings were sometimes poured on the clan's mound to honor the ancestors at certain times of year.

In these modern times, not many of us have a family grave mound on our property where we can make such observances. My mother's family is buried in a Lutheran cemetery which is on land originally given to the local church by my great-grandfather--since about 2/3 of the people there are related to me, it's about as close as I can get to a real mound. However, sitting out overnight on one of the graves would probably be frowned on (especially since some teenaged vandals tried doing some weird stuff a few years back--it's now illegal to be there after dark, and if I got caught, it would get back to great-great Aunt Someone once removed and third cousin What's-His-Name, and I just don't want to go there...)

So, my alternative for the mobile 21st century--I have a a little earth from each of the graves of my significant relatives on both sides of the family--parents, grandparents, great-grandparents--as well as small rocks from Norway and from Yorkshire, England--in a small antique glass medicine bottle that belonged to my father. I have it on a dresser where I keep pictures of my departed relatives and the rocks I make drink offerings to the álfar and dísir. 

That is my portable "mound." I can't lie down on it, but it functions pretty well for family rites and for magical workings. It also makes me feel connected to my family when I look at it. And some days, when things are getting me down, it makes me happy and comforted to see it while getting ready for bed.

The Generations of the Clan

What follows is a part of a longer ritual for the dead and the gods and goddesses of death. Close to the beginning of the rite, light a large, long-burning candle, preferably putting it in a glass container so it can burn down safely. In the candle, you can carve (in rune staves, if you know them) the initials of those kinfolk who have died during the past year, and the names of the major family groups on both sides of your family. After the rite is ended, share the two libations with your kin, and then end the ritual by bidding them farewell. You can then leave their candle burning all night, if you have a safe place (the bathtub can work, if it's made of metal), or at least throughout the feast that follows.

The "Cup of Mortality" and the "Cup of Rebirth" included in the ritual were intended to represent the two sides of death. To be born, to live in this world carries with it the ultimate destiny of death--and yet, isn't life worth it? The drink representing death is usually contained in a dark cup or a rough drinking horn, which contains a dark, yet sweet, beverage--a sweet red wine to represent blood, or a mellow, dark ale, for example (you can also use nonalcoholic drinks, if desired, fruit juices being best).

The drink representing life, on the other hand, is held in a beautiful, bright metal or glass cup, or a decorated horn. Despite its lovely appearance, it is a clear but sharp or bitter drink--a dry white wine, very dry mead, or a sharp beer. This represents the fact that death, which we usually fear and loathe, often contains comfort and beauty, while life, although we love it, has a touch of bitterness to it.

Here, then, is the text of the ritual:

(The candle for the dead is lit)

The generations of the clan

Are like waves on the ocean.

For a moment they touch the Earth,

Then return to their beginning,

To be followed by the next,

Each separate, yet part of the whole.

Oh mighty dead, 

Who are with us always,

You whose names

Still live in our hearts,

We call you now

From beneath that sun

That shone on you,

That shines on us,

That will shine on the children yet to come.

Be with us here

Within this circle;

Share our rite

And share our feast.

We light this candle (these candles) in your honor;

Know that you are still remembered.

(Pick up the cup of death)

This is the Cup of Mortality

Which all on the earth must taste.

This is the caesura of life,

The end and the beginning;

For as life is the passage to death,

So death is the passage to life.

Let us drink to death;

Let us drink to the passage. (all repeat)

(All share the "Cup of Death" and pour a libation)

(Pick up the cup of life)

This is the Cup of Rebirth,

Which all who are mortal will drink.

This is life's motion and meaning,

The destination of all journeys;

Each cycle returns to where it started;

The wheel continues to turn.

Let us drink to life;

Let us drink to the beginning. (all repeat)

(All share the "Cup of Life" and pour a libation)

(at the end of the rite)

Oh mighty friends and kinsmen,

We big you farewell now.

Return to the realms from which you came,

But know that you are forever here,

Living in our memories.

The ritual may be followed by a feast and, if desired, a sumble to honor the dead. In that case, the last stanza would be performed at the end of all activities.

Winter Nights

In the Old Norse calendar, mid-October marks the beginning of winter, and that period was known as the Winter Nights (Vetrnætr). This time is associated with the álfablót and the dísablót. Both of these were more private, household-oriented festivals honoring local and family deities and spirits.

The dísablót was a ritual or sacrifice held in honor of the female spirits or deities, and its purpose was to enhance the harvest and ensure continuing fertility. It was presided over by the woman of the household. The dísablót was also celebrated in spring, and the sacrifice at Gamla Uppsala in Sweden, where it became a great public ritual.

The álfablót was a ritual held in late autumn, when the crops were in and the herds were fat and ready to be culled for winter. It was a local, private celebration held in individual homesteads and as such, little is known about it. It was probably in honor of the ancestors and the local spirits and land wights and strengthened the life force or luck of the family. The poem Austrfararvísur tells the story of a Norwegian skald sent on a diplomatic mission to Sweden who was rebuffed at numerous homesteads when he tried to claim guest-right along his journey. The people refused to let him in and told him they were making the álfablót there and strangers weren't allowed. It is possible that the fact that the skald was Christian may have been part of the reason the people didn't want him at their holy rites.

It's a little early down on the Gulf Coast to be ready for winter, but the idea of ancestor worship certainly blends well with all the Halloween celebrations going on. And historically it does manage to get a little cooler around the end of October, which is something to be thankful for in a hot climate.