“I have had a most rare vision. I have had a dream, pass the wit of man to say what dream it was.”
Shakespeare, from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”
A few Celtic stories about encounters with fairies, to celebrate the solstice and midsummer, and to consider the need for healthy skepticism and making room for magic.
“The Celt in all ages of his long history, like the ancient Greek thinkers with whom his ancestors were contemporary, has always been inclined, unlike modern scientists, to seek an explanation for the phenomena of evolutionary life by postulating a noumenal world of causes as the background to a phenomenal world of effects. Today, the rapid march of scientific pioneers, chiefly those in psychical research, is bringing our own cold and exact science very close to that indefinable boundary which separates the two worlds […]”
Walter Evans-Wentz, The Fairy-Faith in Celtic Countries
Transcript of Make Room for Magic
Hello, and welcome to Myth Matters, storytelling and conversation about mythology and why myth matters to your life today. I’m your host and personal mythologist Dr. Catherine Svehla. Wherever you may be in this wide, beautiful, crazy world of ours, you are part of this story circle.
We crossed the threshold of the solstice earlier this week, summer solstice here in the Northern Hemisphere, the day that the Sun reaches its highest position in the sky as seen from the North Pole, and the daylight lasts the longest. The word Solstice is derived from the Latin it means that “the sun stands still.” The sun stands still. There is a pause at the apex. I love this idea of a little pause, a pause to take a breath maybe before we begin our annual descent back down in to the darkness.
This notion of a pause contains the image of opening. A pause is an opening isn’t it? And the solstices have been understood as times when there is an opening, an opening into liminal times and spaces. This is a theme of pagan and indigenous rituals around the solstice. In the West, the summer solstice has been called midsummer. When I use the word midsummer, that may call to mind Shakespeare, and the play “A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” In this play, Shakespeare uses stories and ideas that were commonly known at the time, that drew on these pre-Christian traditions and ideas.
In this play, Shakespeare famously says “The course of true love never did run smooth.” Also, “I have had a most rare vision, I have had a dream, pass the wit of man to say what dream it was.”
I’m not going to go into the play. What happens for those of you who don’t know, is that several pairs of lovers end up in the dark woods at midsummer. They go there to enjoy the long evening and while they are in the woods, they encounter the local fairies. These fairies cast a series of magical spells that almost bring disaster from the point of view of the young men and women. But they put everything all right by morning, and the lovers are properly partnered up and in their human forms in the end. Or, as Shakespeare writes, “All as well, that ends well.”
Today, I have several Celtic folk tales that describe encounters with fairies. But before I tell you these stories, I want to talk a little bit more about fairies and belief and making room for magic.
I want to do this by referring to the work of an American anthropologist who was writing in the early 20th century, Walter Yeeling, Evans. Wentz, better known as W.Y Evans Wentz. You might recognize his name. He was a pioneer in the study of Tibetan Buddhism and he published one of the earliest English translations of the Tibetan Book of the Dead. His translation has many flaws and yet, Evans Wentz introduced this Eastern tradition to the West and his work is part of the early Western scholarship of Tibetan Buddhism. According to his personal journals, Evans Wentz had some experiences as a young man that inspired him to study reincarnation and listen to those who taught this doctrine.
I appreciate the tremendous energy and the open mind that Evans Wentz brought to his work. He got his doctorate at Oxford and his dissertation is now available in book form. It’s titled “The Fairy Faith in Celtic Countries.” This is a scholarly attempt from the early 1900’s to explain the phenomenon of the Celtic belief in fairies. Evans Wentz looked at the history, he looked at the folklore, he looked at the anthropology. He also travelled extensively in Wales, Ireland, Scotland, and Brittany, and he collected firsthand reports of encounters with fairies. Evans Wentz was willing to consider questions that other folklorist at the time–and since– have avoided. Questions that might have opened them up to possibilities they didn’t want to entertain.
At the end of his comprehensive research, Evans Wentz concluded that there may be fairies. May be fairies, manifestations of inhabitants of a higher reality that only some of us are able to view, let alone understand. Evans Wentz says, well, there doesn’t seem to be a tribe, or race or culture, or group of people who haven’t at some point in their history, at least, had a belief in the unseen world. And so are we now, in our self-defined Age of Reason, going to conclude that all of them are significantly different than us reasonable folks, that they’re living in a significantly different world or maybe kind of nuts? Is it accurate, he wondered, to just dismiss the fact that people all around the world have stories about unseen things, whether you call them gods, or demons or fairies or spirits of the ancestors or totem animals, what have you.
And then he goes on to say that when something is hard to capture, and a culture’s, usual recognized methods of measurement and knowledge accumulation are not adequate, is that a reflection on the tools and the limitations of our exploration? Isn’t that a better way to understand some of these things? Evans Wentz thought that scholars in other fields, including the hard sciences would subsequently test and extend his findings as techniques got more sophisticated. And I think this was rather slow going for a while, but personally, I do feel that more and more people of skill and intelligence and imagination are looking into the esoteric and the paranormal. And our techniques and tools are getting more sophisticated.
I like this comment that he makes on page 493 of his book. Evans Wentz writes: “The Celt in all ages of his long history, like the ancient Greek thinkers, with whom his ancestors were contemporary, has always been inclined, unlike modern scientists, to seek an explanation for the phenomenon of evolutionary life by postulating a noumenal world of causes as the background to a phenomenal world of effects.”
A couple of other things that I think it’s worth mentioning before we turn to the stories. Evan Wentz observes that when an experience is very rare, then you probably don’t have words adequate to describe it. And it’s quite possible that one of the reasons why we have a hard time apprehending, and then sharing some of our more unusual experiences, is because we don’t have an adequate vocabulary for describing them.
Other thinkers have made the same point. At the moment I’m thinking of physicist David Bohm, and his book “Wholeness and the Implicit Order.” Bohm says that one of the challenges that we have in really grasping the underlying unity of the cosmos, is our inability to directly experience it. And then, if we do get a glimpse, do get an inkling, we don’t have the language to describe it. If you have a dualistic vocabulary, Bohm observes, you live in a dualistic universe. And it’s going to be hard to describe a unified cosmos, a whole, in that language.
Mythology and mythmaking involve the liminal edges of our existence. They raise questions about reality and fantasy, fact and fiction, literal and metaphorical truth. Fairy and folktales describe these edges as best they can, given our limitations. Your response to them can tell you something about your capacity to make room for magic in your life, and how you define or recognize the magical and mysterious.
This is important. Because if you decide that something doesn’t exist, if you close your mind to the possibility of things, you are much less likely to experience them. You are less likely to ask questions, to explore, to experiment. And when you let these skills atrophy, my friends, you risk getting trapped in your own views. It’s like living in a house and sitting by only one window and seeing only the view that is afforded from that one perspective. What are you missing?
Many of us are trained to adopt a posture of healthy skepticism. And that is how I would describe myself. But the thing about healthy skepticism is that it involves accepting uncertainty. It is not a place of naysaying. It’s not a form of thinking that rules out things that you know very little, if anything about it. It’s certainly not a posture of self-defined wisdom. As Lao Tzu observed, “Not-knowing his true knowledge, presuming to know is a disease. First, realize that you are sick, then you can move towards health.”
Or as I say on this podcast, keep the mystery in your life alive.
So how about a story? As always, I invite you to sit back and relax and let the stories take you where you need to go right now. Note the moment or details that catch your attention, as this can lead you to some new insight. Whether these stories are accounts or tall tales, I will leave up to you to decide. They are the type of story that Evan Wentz collected as part of his research.
Early in the 17th century, there was a man named John Smith who was a laborer on a farm. One day he was sent out to cut pieces of turf off of the green immediately behind a place called Merlin’s Crag. These chunks of turf or chunks of sod were used to rethatch roofs and they were also used as fuel. John labored for quite a time. He’d been out there for a while, chopping up grass basically, when there came around from the front of the rock, a little woman about 18 inches high.
She was wearing a green gown and red stockings, and she had long blonde hair that was hanging down to her waist. She came around the rock and stood in front of John and she asked him how he would feel if she sent her husband out to take the roof off of his house, which is what he was doing to her. “And so would you mind stopping,” she said and by the way, put all of the sod that you have cut up back in place and leave it as you found it please .Well, obviously, John was pretty shocked by all of this. And so, with a lot of fear and trembling, he put the sod that he had dug up, back as the little woman had instructed. And then he went to his boss and told him what had happened.
The farmer that he was working for just laughed because the whole thing seemed ridiculous. And since he was anxious to get the sod, and to cure his employee of whatever weird anxieties might be lingering from this experience, he ordered John to take the cart, and go back to the spot and pick up the sod that he’d already cut and bring it back like he was supposed to. John obeyed his boss and he went back, although he was reluctant to do that.He got the sod and nothing happened. He put it in the wagon, and he drove back and, Okay, done. Nothing happened.
Until that very same day, 12 months later, exactly. A year later, John left his master’s farm at his usual time in the evening and set out for home. He was walking along the road with a little can of milk in his hand and he just didn’t come back. He disappeared. For several years, no one had the faintest idea what had happened to him that night, or where he was; it wasn’t like him to just vanish. And then according to the story, well, we don’t know exactly how long he was gone. But then suddenly, on the anniversary of that very same day, John reappeared and walked back into his house at his usual hour, carrying the can of milk that he’d last been seen carrying all those years ago.
When he was asked where he had been and what had been going on, this is what John said. He said that on the evening of that eventful day, when he was going home, that he passed Merlin’s Crag, and he suddenly felt sick. He sat down to rest just a little bit, and soon after that he fell asleep. When he woke up, he thought it was probably about midnight, there was a group of male and female fairies dancing around him. They insisted that he joined in the dance, and they gave him one of the most attractive girls in their group as a partner. This attractive young fairy woman took them by the hand, they danced around three times in a fairy ring.
This all made him so happy that he lost any desire to leave their party, so they continued to dance, and sing and amuse themselves, until just before dawn. Then he heard his master’s rooster crow in the barnyard, and suddenly the whole troupe of fairies rushed forward to the front of the crag. So, we’re talking about a big rock wall. They just rushed forward to it and a door magically appeared and opened to receive them. John was born along with them and just like that he was carried in this crowd of fairies through the door, which closed shut. And he was thereafter then, a prisoner until the day that he reappeared.
He said that on that anniversary evening, the very same woman who had first appeared to him, the fairy woman in the green dress with the red stockings, and the long blonde hair, came to him and said that if he would swear an oath, which she dictated, that he would never, ever tell anybody what he had discovered and seen in the fairyland, that they would let him go back home to his family. John swore the oath, and they let him go. And apparently, according to the story, he never ever, ever told anybody about it. No details beyond what I’ve just told you in this story, even though he was teased and teased and questioned by his friends, and also by his spouse, particularly about the very attractive young very lady that he danced the night away with on his departure. He never told anybody any details. He never revealed anything that he actually saw in the fairyland.
And he also never went past Merlin’s Crag again, not when the sun was below the horizon. Never again.
Now, according to the Irish and the Welsh and the Scottish and others who hold to the Celtic tradition, it is dangerous to encroach on fairy territory, or disrespect them. At the same time, befriending fairies can bring very good luck. Or so it said, Here’s another story.
There was a rather poor man who was going to the market at the time that they traditionally took sheep in for slaughter. He was taking his few sheep to the nearest market, walking along, when suddenly heard this really loud noise. He had no idea what it was, he couldn’t figure it out. It didn’t make any sense at all. So, he kept walking and he kept listening. And then it occurred to him that it sounded like a large number of female voices. But he couldn’t see anything. And some of these voices were really happy, and laughing, and sounding like they were having fun. But there was also some howling and wailing going on in the middle of that too.
He stopped to listen more carefully. He couldn’t understand anything that they were saying except he thought he heard the words “a newborn baby” and slowly pieced together the possibility that whoever these women were, they had a newborn baby and they didn’t have anything to clothe it with or to wrap it in. Once he figured this out, the man decided that he must have stumbled upon the birth of a fairy child, and that they were having some sort of a party and celebration about this except their celebration was marred by the fact that they didn’t have anything to wrap the baby in. So, in a state of astonishment over finding himself in the midst of this host of invisible beings in this wild place, out there on the way to the market, the man took off his jacket and threw it on the ground.
As soon as it hit the ground, it was snatched up by invisible hands and all of the wailing and unhappy sounds ceased. The man stood there for a minute longer, the party had a renewed energy, and being of the opinion that he had done what he could to satisfy this invisible crowd, the man rounded up his few sheep, and made the rest of his way to the market. Of course, all the way walking along, he’s thinking, Oh, this is amazing. Who would have thought that any of this was going to happen to me… He gets to the market and he sells what he has to sell, at surprisingly good prices. And then he purchases a few more sheep at a really, really good price. Then he went home. And the people say that from then on, every day after every day, after he gave that plaid jacket to the fairies, his wealth multiplied, and continued to multiply. This continued until the day that he died. And he died a very rich and prosperous man.
There’s another story along those lines, about something that took place at the beginning of the fall harvest.
There was a farmhouse where a woman was cooking. She had a very small amount of barley to use to turn into a meal, not only for her family, but also for the farm hands who were out in the fields, because most of the ripe grain hadn’t been cut yet. She got up very early in the morning, and we’ll call her Mrs. Beckham. Mrs. Beckham got up very early in the morning to bake bread with what she had to work with. While she was engaged in her baking, a little woman in a green costume came in and very politely asked her if she can borrow a capful of the barley meal. Mrs. Beckham thought it was a good idea to be polite and comply with the request, so she gave the woman a capful of meal. A short time later, the woman in green returned with another capful of meal in exchange and repaid the debt.
Mrs. Beckham took the capful of meal that she’d been given and put it into the barrel where she kept all the rest of her meal. And here’s the thing, she never ran out again. The barrel was never empty. She baked as much bread as she needed for her own family, and for the farm hands and everyone who helped throughout the entire harvest time. And even when all of that was over the contents of the barrel were still not exhausted.
Whatever you think about the invisible realms and the beings who may reside there, the old stories offer us some incontrovertible truths about good character and good living. The reciprocal nature of life, for example, what comes around goes around, right? We say this in a karmic sense. And it’s true of the matter of this world, which breaks down and disappears and reappears in new forms, in the transformative action of fire, mirrored in the chemistry of eating in our bodies, and those of the Others. It’s also true of memory, emotion, inspiration, and the synchronicities and everyday miracles that remind us of the fluid boundaries between visible and invisible, past and present, and future, and the many other polarized categories that we employ, to structure our understanding of the world.
Understanding reciprocity, being willing to participate in the give and take, in our world of mutual interdependence is the key. And this requires humility. Self-importance and arrogance, the fantasy that you know what you don’t know, all of these are a form of blindness, and they don’t take you very far in our old folk and fairy tales, or in so called real life.
I have another story for you before we part ways, but first, I want to give a big welcome to the new subscribers, Marissa Holly and Maitry. Welcome to Myth Matters! If you’re new to Myth Matters, I invite you to head over to the mythic Mojo website, where you’ll find information about the podcast, and a variety of ways to subscribe so that you don’t miss any episodes.
I also want to give a big shout out to the patrons and supporters of this podcast whose financial contributions keep it all going. In particular, a heartfelt thank you to Sara and Katherine in Santa Barbara, California. If you are finding something of value here in Myth Matters, and you have the means, I hope that you’ll consider joining me on Patreon. Myths Matters is a one woman operation my friend, and every little bit helps more than you may know. If you feel better leaving a one-time tip rather than making a monthly commitment, you’ll find a tip jar on the Mythic Mojo website as well.
Now I live with two wise old cats and Wilt has taken to joining me at my desk when I record Myth Matters for you. He recently asked me about Celtic folk tales involving cats. There are cats among the Sidhe and/or fairies who sometimes take the form of cat. Some folks think that the stories were inspired by the kella cat, a wild cat in Scotland that’s the size of a dog, it’s all black with a white spot on its chest. For a time, some people thought that the kella cat was merely fantasy. But these wild cats were found in 1984. Kella cats do exist and are a protected species. So, this next story is for Wilt and all the other felines and their human companions listening to this program. There are many variants of this story, which is called “The King of the Cats.”
Many years ago, long before hunting in Scotland was conducted in the same way that is now, there were two young men who spent the fall in the very far north, living in a lodge far from other houses, with an old woman to cook for them. Her cat and their dogs formed all the rest of the household. One afternoon the elder of the two young men decided that he would not go out and the younger one went alone. He followed the path of the previous day’s sport looking for birds that they had missed, and his plan was to return home before sunset.
However, he did not return and the elder man became very uneasy as he watched, and he waited, and waited till long after their usual supper time. Finally, the younger man returned, wet and exhausted. He didn’t say a word. He did not explain his unusual lateness until after supper.
They were sitting seated by the fire with their pipes. The dogs were lying at their feet. The old woman was doing some mending, and the old woman’s cat was sitting with half shut eyes on the hearth between them. The young man said, “You must be wondering what made me so late. I have had a most curious adventure today. I hardly know what to say about it. I went as I told you, I would along our yesterday’s route. A mountain fog came on just as I was about to turn homewards and I completely lost my way. I wandered about for a long time not knowing where I was till at last I saw a light and I walked towards it, hoping to get help.”
“As I got closer, it disappeared and I found myself standing next to a large old oak tree. I climbed into the tree to better look for the light and, behold, it was beneath me, inside the hollow trunk of the tree. I seemed to be looking down into a church where a funeral was taking place. I heard singing and I saw coffin, surrounded by torches, and it was all carried by…. But I know you won’t believe me, if I tell you.”
His friend begged him to go on and lay down his pipe to listen more carefully. The dogs were sleeping quietly. But the cat was sitting up and apparently listening very attentively to the man. Both of the young men involuntarily turned their eyes towards the cat. “Well,” said the young man, “the coffin and the torches were both being borne by cats, and upon the coffin were marked a crown and a scepter.”
He got no further because the cat started up shrieking. “By Jove” said the cat, “old Peter is dead, and I am now king of the cats. And he rushed out the door and was seen no more.
I don’t think that we can end an episode about midsummer and fairies and the other world without invoking William Butler Yeats. Yeats met with Evans Wentz during his travels. Here’s his poem, “The Song of Wandering Aengus” (by William Butler Yeats)
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.
When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.
Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
The Silver apples of the moon, the golden apples of the sun. Let’s make room for magic, my friend and pluck those silver and golden apples. And that’s it for me, Catherine Svehla and Myth Matters. Thank you so much for listening. Take good care of yourself and until next time, happy mythmaking and keep the mystery in your life alive.
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