The Mythos - an answer to a question
Margaret:
The mythos I find very hard to understand. I get the impression that it uses as its basis the agricultural and natural rhythms of the year. But superimposed on these natural rhythms is the worship of various aspects of the natural rhythms; for example Our Lady is the Maiden, the Mother, the Hag but she is also the Green Lady, the Enchantress, the Ice Queen. The mythos is complicated for novices and I do not understand the reasons behind a lot of it yet. I know that the Mother brought the Divine Son into the world at Solstice - Yule time - but why at sunrise?
Tony:
This is the sort of question, Margaret, which shows just how urgent a pagan course really is. There are, I suppose, two rhythms basic to the pagan sentiment, one being the rhythm of wild nature (on which an agricultural cycle can be, but need not necessarily be, superimposed) and the other being our own cycle of growth from baby to adult responsibility, to death and rebirth. We can see our own struggle portrayed in the changing moods of the wild, and we can, if we are worshipful, see our own growth as part of the grandeur of the wild. In our own mother we can see, to greater or lesser degree, the All-mother, the all-provident Earth, the bountiful and inexhaustible Goddess. In our own father, again to greater or lesser degree, we can see the Great Father Sun, the greatest light of all in the heavens, the surest guide on the path ahead, the hand of support, but also the challenge. The Earth is so soft and warm and green and peaceful, and in her we find our own peace as we find our food. The Sun is so magnificent, so impartial, so grand and powerful and his might is our own inspiration. If these correspondences are arbitrary (and to some extent they are indeed arbitrary) it's the purpose of a mythos to give them meaning and coherence.
At the risk of being overbearingly dogmatic, here's a very brief summary of the God-forms. We know the Goddess as Maiden, as Mother and as Hag, and these three forms are basic. They correspond to the Earth in Spring, in Summer and in Winter. The Maiden is a Queen, the Enchantress, the Seductress. Whether she is the green-clad Queen of the May or the snow-dusted and sparkling Ice Queen of the Winter, she is all of these - Queen, Enchantress and Seductress. To court her as the Ice Queen is peril for she has no love in her heart and her embrace is death. This is her way. She's not cruel, but uncaring. But to touch her is to freeze. She's Mistress of the ice-locked lake, of the snow-bound fields, of the freezing air, of the ice-encrusted tree. She's beautiful, awesome in her beauty, but her passion is alien, and deadly. To court the Queen of the May is also peril, lest we court her badly. Her passion is unbounded and her Lover must be unbounded too. Hold back, and she'll wither him with scorn. She too is uncaring. She has no love in her heart, but a fierce passion. She's deadly as the Ice Queen if thwarted or denied and left unfulfilled. She is the Ice Queen, but in Summer dress, as the Ice Queen is the May Queen, but in her winter jewels. But her embrace is life, where that of the Ice Queen is death. But win her embrace, by admiration, by strategy, and not by pleading and not by love. Show her passion, and she'll respond with passion and take you for a worthy lover. Such is the Maiden-goddess, the Queen, the Enchantress, the Seductress. She is also the Green Lady when she puts on her green gown, and as the year grows deeper from Spring through the May and into Midsummer her magic grows deeper. She is still the Maiden-goddess, but a more powerful woman still, a more imposing Queen, she wears a darker green and wields a subtler magic. But as the year wears on her mood changes and her breasts are ripe and full, and she is a mother. All the mysteries are in her bosom as precious secrets. She's gentle and loving and full of mystery, and giving. She is the Mother-goddess, a Queen still, but no longer a woman of challenge. The Green Lady she is still, though hints of gold are in her dress, and her hair takes on a red-gold hue. She is full of love. She doesn't scorn passion; indeed, she has no scorn for anything. She is all love, and the night itself finds its home in the deeps of her bosom. But the year grows old and the Goddess' hair turns to grey. Her arms are bare and withered and the wind is cold about her. Now she is the Hag, old and bent, withered and grey, empty and insatiable. Can we call her the Green Lady now? Yes, but only in memory, for she once was green. It would evoke sadness to do so. Is she a Queen still? She's a Queen of the deserted land, of the empty hole, of the desolate bog, of the windy moor. She's a Queen without subjects, a wraith without meaning, a hollow pitiful mockery of a Queen. But she's a Queen for all that; for she holds existence itself in the hollow pit of her hand. Is she the Enchantress still? The Seductress? That I can't say since the truth would look like the lie, and the lie would look like the truth, even though I say as much. In her awful emptiness, the signpost is deprived of its arms. She's desolation and destruction. She's the end of all things. Even the mighty Sun bows his head in her awful presence, in deference to her awful need.
Why is it that the Earth-mother brings the New Sun from her womb at sunrise? Her womb is the Earth, the hills, and its out of the hills that the New Sun rises. At midnight he's still asleep in the deeps of the Earth-mother's womb, for why otherwise should it be so dark all around? Let the Earth cast her veils aside on the Solstice Day and we can see the Sun himself rise out of her womb as the light streams in fiery golden rays out of the east. This is the birth of the Divine Son, crowned in glory as he emerges from the blessed womb on the Solstice morning.
The mythos I find very hard to understand. I get the impression that it uses as its basis the agricultural and natural rhythms of the year. But superimposed on these natural rhythms is the worship of various aspects of the natural rhythms; for example Our Lady is the Maiden, the Mother, the Hag but she is also the Green Lady, the Enchantress, the Ice Queen. The mythos is complicated for novices and I do not understand the reasons behind a lot of it yet. I know that the Mother brought the Divine Son into the world at Solstice - Yule time - but why at sunrise?
Tony:
This is the sort of question, Margaret, which shows just how urgent a pagan course really is. There are, I suppose, two rhythms basic to the pagan sentiment, one being the rhythm of wild nature (on which an agricultural cycle can be, but need not necessarily be, superimposed) and the other being our own cycle of growth from baby to adult responsibility, to death and rebirth. We can see our own struggle portrayed in the changing moods of the wild, and we can, if we are worshipful, see our own growth as part of the grandeur of the wild. In our own mother we can see, to greater or lesser degree, the All-mother, the all-provident Earth, the bountiful and inexhaustible Goddess. In our own father, again to greater or lesser degree, we can see the Great Father Sun, the greatest light of all in the heavens, the surest guide on the path ahead, the hand of support, but also the challenge. The Earth is so soft and warm and green and peaceful, and in her we find our own peace as we find our food. The Sun is so magnificent, so impartial, so grand and powerful and his might is our own inspiration. If these correspondences are arbitrary (and to some extent they are indeed arbitrary) it's the purpose of a mythos to give them meaning and coherence.
At the risk of being overbearingly dogmatic, here's a very brief summary of the God-forms. We know the Goddess as Maiden, as Mother and as Hag, and these three forms are basic. They correspond to the Earth in Spring, in Summer and in Winter. The Maiden is a Queen, the Enchantress, the Seductress. Whether she is the green-clad Queen of the May or the snow-dusted and sparkling Ice Queen of the Winter, she is all of these - Queen, Enchantress and Seductress. To court her as the Ice Queen is peril for she has no love in her heart and her embrace is death. This is her way. She's not cruel, but uncaring. But to touch her is to freeze. She's Mistress of the ice-locked lake, of the snow-bound fields, of the freezing air, of the ice-encrusted tree. She's beautiful, awesome in her beauty, but her passion is alien, and deadly. To court the Queen of the May is also peril, lest we court her badly. Her passion is unbounded and her Lover must be unbounded too. Hold back, and she'll wither him with scorn. She too is uncaring. She has no love in her heart, but a fierce passion. She's deadly as the Ice Queen if thwarted or denied and left unfulfilled. She is the Ice Queen, but in Summer dress, as the Ice Queen is the May Queen, but in her winter jewels. But her embrace is life, where that of the Ice Queen is death. But win her embrace, by admiration, by strategy, and not by pleading and not by love. Show her passion, and she'll respond with passion and take you for a worthy lover. Such is the Maiden-goddess, the Queen, the Enchantress, the Seductress. She is also the Green Lady when she puts on her green gown, and as the year grows deeper from Spring through the May and into Midsummer her magic grows deeper. She is still the Maiden-goddess, but a more powerful woman still, a more imposing Queen, she wears a darker green and wields a subtler magic. But as the year wears on her mood changes and her breasts are ripe and full, and she is a mother. All the mysteries are in her bosom as precious secrets. She's gentle and loving and full of mystery, and giving. She is the Mother-goddess, a Queen still, but no longer a woman of challenge. The Green Lady she is still, though hints of gold are in her dress, and her hair takes on a red-gold hue. She is full of love. She doesn't scorn passion; indeed, she has no scorn for anything. She is all love, and the night itself finds its home in the deeps of her bosom. But the year grows old and the Goddess' hair turns to grey. Her arms are bare and withered and the wind is cold about her. Now she is the Hag, old and bent, withered and grey, empty and insatiable. Can we call her the Green Lady now? Yes, but only in memory, for she once was green. It would evoke sadness to do so. Is she a Queen still? She's a Queen of the deserted land, of the empty hole, of the desolate bog, of the windy moor. She's a Queen without subjects, a wraith without meaning, a hollow pitiful mockery of a Queen. But she's a Queen for all that; for she holds existence itself in the hollow pit of her hand. Is she the Enchantress still? The Seductress? That I can't say since the truth would look like the lie, and the lie would look like the truth, even though I say as much. In her awful emptiness, the signpost is deprived of its arms. She's desolation and destruction. She's the end of all things. Even the mighty Sun bows his head in her awful presence, in deference to her awful need.
Why is it that the Earth-mother brings the New Sun from her womb at sunrise? Her womb is the Earth, the hills, and its out of the hills that the New Sun rises. At midnight he's still asleep in the deeps of the Earth-mother's womb, for why otherwise should it be so dark all around? Let the Earth cast her veils aside on the Solstice Day and we can see the Sun himself rise out of her womb as the light streams in fiery golden rays out of the east. This is the birth of the Divine Son, crowned in glory as he emerges from the blessed womb on the Solstice morning.