Memeplex: Incubus

"One of the most notorious historical instances of a woman tutored by her incubus was that of Magdalena de la Cruz, of the convent of Santa Isabel de los Angeles, of Cordova, which she entered when seventeen years old, in 1504. For thirty-nine years she successfully exhibited a series of phenomena, trances, visions, prophecies, which deluded well-nigh all of Spain, and caused her to be regarded with the utmost veneration by the highest and the lowest in the land. Some, however, were not deceived. St. Ignatius Loyola entirely distrusted these exterior marvels, and rebuked one of her followers with great severity. Blessed Juan de Avila, one of the directors of St. Teresa, and a profound master of the mystical life, refused to believe in the heavenly origin of these ecstasies and soothsayings. In 1543 Magdalena fell dangerously ill, and was given over by the physicians. Believing that she lay on her death-bed, the sick woman, with floods of tears, made a full and ample confession of her imposture, and acknowledged that almost from the first she had acted under the influence and by the help of two evil spirits, Balban and Patorrio. These incubi were not only her paramours, but had taught her all kinds of juggling sleights and instructed her in seeming prophecies and visions of future events. The tale was a long and terrible one. Magdalena recovered, and the ecclesiastical authorities began an examination into these extraordinary happenings. A vast number of witnesses were heard, so that the process did not conclude until 2 May, 1546, when judgement was pronounced. [...] Thus Baxter, in his Historical Discourse of Apparitions and Witches, 1691, p 224, speaks of 'the Witch Magdalen Crucia, who got the Reputation of a Saint...and confessed how from twelve years old the Devil had lain with her thirty years.'"
-Montague Summers, Witchcraft and Black Magic

So, filled with longing and unease,
Tamara would sit long and gaze
Engrossed in lonely meditation
All day, and sigh with expectation
Beside her window, staring out....
That he would come she had no doubt,
Why else then were her dreams so clear?
Why else then used he to appear
With eyes so infinitely sad
And speech so marvellously tender?
For many days on end she had
Been strangely moved - she knew not why....
She called the good saints to defend her
But in her heart she called on him;
And always, when the day grew dim,
Weary with staring she would lie
Down on her bed and try to sleep:
The pillow burnt her flaming cheek
Fear stifled her, she gasped for breath,
Then, from her pallet she would leap
With heaving shoulders, fevered breast
Trembling, a mist before her sight,
Her arms outstretched to clasp the night,
The kisses melting on her lips...

[...]










 I am he to whom you barkened
In the stillness of the night,
He whose thought your mind has darkened,
He whose sadness you have felt,
Whose image haunts your waking sight,
Whose name the end of hope has spelt
To every soul with whom I treat.
I am he no man may love,
A scourge to all my mortal slaves,
The ill in nature. Enemy
To Heaven and all the powers above.
Lord of knowledge, liberty.
And, as you see, I'm at your feet.

-Mikhail Lermontov, "The Demon."










["Night Visit," by Mark Ryden; "Dreamtime for Toby," by Gary Baseman; "Demon and Tamara," by Mikhail Vrubel]

Spare at the Cuming Museum

For you folks across the pond, London's Cuming Museum will be having an exhibition of Austin Spare's work this September. For those of you with disposable income, this illustrated monograph is being released to accompany the event.

(All right, I've gotta say it: "Cockney Visionary?" Really? Isn't that kind of like saying "Southie Guru?")

Moonlight Densetsu

I'm sure some of you are sick of this particular obsession of mine - the Sailor Moon obsession, that is - but until Faust figures out Wordpress some more, I'm stuck here twiddling my thumbs and listening to Japanese pop music from 1992. I have serious topics up my sleeve, I promise!

Some of you may remember my first post on "magical girls." Having had Sailor Moon on the mind recently, I realized that the most basic premise of the show is this: a girl is visited by black cat, who speaks to her, and grants her powers and magical objects. Gee, that sounds awfully...familiar. (See what I did there?)

Then I happened to come across some of the original openings for the show, which I had never seen in the English adaptations. The first thing I was struck by was that every opening began with a night sky, and the sound of a clock tower. It strikes three.

I don't think most of this stuff is intentional. But judging by these sequences, it shouldn't be surprising that witchcraft motifs should show up in a series that is basically about teenage battle-mages. And look: her boyfriend - who begins as a mysterious "man in black" at the beginning of the series - rides across the night sky on a flying horse.



Bit of a stretch? Maybe. But you can take it further. Notice how Sailor Moon raises her wand to the sky, draws power into it, and takes on the aspect of the Moon Princess. (That is a plot point, not my own interpretation.) Conscious references to Greek mythology (especially the zodiac) are present in the show - such as the magical cats being named Luna, Artemis and Diana, and Sailor Moon's love interest being Endymion himself, essentially.

I kept trying to talk myself out of this, but the more I watched, the more intrigued I became. Like with this next opening: watch Sailor Moon descend into darkness, surrounded by clocks. Very "Alice," right? Then the central emblem from the Wheel of Fortune card keeps appearing. I don't believe there's any context for that in the show.

Usagi flies naked through the air around the symbol, and is shown once again as the Moon Princess. Notice how the bow of her dress is clearly reminiscent of fairy wings. The Wheel of Fortune appears a second time at the end after her consort approaches her.



And here's the one where they ascend from some Classical ruin and fly into the air towards the moon. Sailor Moon rises naked from a magical golden cup. (Yes, it's supposed to be the Holy Grail.) Then a procession of sparkling butterflies (Sailor Moon among them, as a fairy) arcs across the sky. By now, with all wand waving, the flying, the Wheel of Fortun(a), the fairy wings and the Grail, she's starting to look more and more like Diana of the Witches. (If that doesn't make sense, well...I'll have to write another entry about that, then.)



Not enough for you? Then how about this one, where, as we peer through bracken and thorns, the clock chimes and the girls all follow after a magic horse into the air - all of them naked. Oh, and then we see Sailor Moon's boyfriend flying across the moon in his tux like he's motherfucking Dracula.

And have you been noticing the little girl with the pink hair in these openings? That's Sailor Moon's daughter, Sailor Chibi Moon. (She's from the future. It's complicated.) I could probably devote a whole page just to her and her magical tools. Like the Key of Space and Time, or the floating cat-head-ball that can change into any shape at her command, and the bell she uses to call upon her helpful spirit - the aforementioned magic horse. In this season, Chibi Moon is visited by this spirit, who helps her become more powerful and gives her tools (such as the bell) and even aids in her magical battles. Not only that, but he's a sort of "celestial husband" to her as well; he appears later as a handsome young prince named Helios, and he even kisses her twice by the end of the season. (I know what you're thinking. But the first one was a magic kiss, and for the second one, he was a horse. So...it's okay.)

So, there we are. The Sailor Senshi: A coven of witches in futuristic school uniforms.

Fighting evil by moonlight.

So I doodled this in inauguration of my brand new digital tablet last night...

...and then my buddy P. Sufenas informed me that today is Natalis Dianae, the feast day of Diana. On top of it being Friday the 13th. Damn, I'd better do something witchy tonight. Can't let opportunities like this go to waste.

I'm too lazy to do accent marks today.

Just today I discovered a fantastic and well-informed article on Lugh and Lughnasadh that goes over the relevant myths much more comprehensively than I did in my last post.

I will point out that while they mention that Fomorian monsters were occasionally possessed of only one eye, one arm and one leg, the author fails to mention that this is a motif that occurs repeatedly in Irish myth. Lugh himself strikes a posture in which he stands on one leg, with one arm behind his back, and covering one eye with the other hand, as he speaks his curse against the Fomorians:

Havoc its strain of battles shared death there. In this a battle after foreigners broke (our) shared settlement by destruction of it. They will be defeated by hosts. O Fairy-hosts, land of men on guard, birds of prey rain down (on them), men without choice. Be hindered (the) foreigners. Another (the other) company fears, another company listens, they are very terribly in torment, dark (sad) men (are they). Roaring brightly ninefold are we! Hurrah and Woe! Leftward! O you my beautiful ones! Sacred will be the sustenance after cloud and flowers through its powerful skills of wizards. My battle will not dwindle until (its) end. Not cowardly my request with (their) encountering me with a land of rushes laid waste by fire death's form established, death on us given birth. Before (the presence of) the Sídhe with each of them, before Ogma I satisfy, before the sky and the earth and the sea, before the sun and the moon and the stars. O Band of warriors my band here to you. My hosts here of great hosts sea-full (of) mighty sea-spray (boiling) smelted golden powerful, conceived, may it be sought upon the field of battle. Joint death its strain. Havoc its strain.

-a translation by Seán Ó Tuathail in The Excellence of Ancient Word.. Badass, right? Or as Donna would say, "Real wizard."

I was also intrigued by this remark from the author: "In modern times, he has been known to take an interest in computing and the internet." This is the only bit of "Unverified Personal Gnosis" mentioned in the piece, but it's something I happen to have observed myself. It's nice to be reassured of one's sanity.

Remember, technically there's four more days of Lughnasadh left. Play some sports. Or, if you're a nerd, play some online chess. Lugh will be pleased either way!

So I fibbed.

A couple of entries ago I promised artwork within 48 hours. We know how that turned out!

But I have this one thing I've been working on.

Am I just like Aubrey Beardsley yet? (The answer is no, because I fucked up on the leftside cheekbone.)

That's Antinous of Bythnia, the lover of Emporer Hadrian. Apotheosized. Red lotuses were his flower. Your typical puer aeternus, but gay-friendly. Drawn for my friend, P. Sufenas Virius Lupus.

I try not to be one of those artists who never has anything to show for their supposed talent. Yes, I have obstacles like neurosis and empty pockets to deal with, but these really aren't excuses. I should be doing a lot more with what I have.

In that spirit, you can find the poet Julia Balbilla after the jump.

Lúgh: Why Not?

Since today was the height of Lúghnasadh - historically it was celebrated for fifteen days before and after August 1st, so there's no reason not to prolong your merrymaking - I thought I'd take a moment to share a few thoughts concerning the man of the day.

And just as a note: Searching Google for images of Lugh results in hilarity. Not as much as when you search for Cernunnos. But still.

Both among Reconstructionists and the more casual Celtic Pagan types, Brigid/Bride is probably the most popular deity when it comes to Irish and Scottish business. Which makes sense; aside from the fact that she's a very approachable lady, historically, her cult has been more than enduring. After that, the Morrigan probably comes in at a close second. Another strong woman for the goddess-oriented ladies to look up to, as well as the folks in the armed forces. (Though I hope any civilian who worships the Morrigan is trained in some kind of martial skill, or I can't imagine the relationship would be very reciprocal.)

Then you get a couple of the fellas - Manannan, and sometimes the Dagda. Though it seems that the latter only gets the occasional name drop in your average eclectic ritual, and in all likelihood, that's solely due to his giant club. (Har har twinkle har.) Among those who actually take the time to learn anything about Celtic legend, Manannan is a surprisingly popular individual. I guess "Magical Sea King" is a type of character that sticks in one's mind, especially when you're interested in an island culture. And many Celtic Recons today happen to live in coastal areas, so again, it makes some sense.

But you know who's name I rarely see come up outside of a community ritual in June? Lúgh. And that doesn't make a lot of sense to me.

Lúghnasadh is said to be a festival the god himself founded to honor of the memory of his foster mother, Tailtiu, at the hill where she was buried. She died after having single-handedly cleared the plains of Ireland for farming. He instituted similar festivals in other areas in memory of women with similarly agrarian powers, such as the witch Carman, who threatened to destroy all the fruit in the countryside. Her grave was dug by Bres the Beautiful, the Fomorian tyrant from whom Lugh had gained the secrets of agriculture. All in all, it makes for a convenient picture of a Summer King who rules over the crops. But to stop there in his characterization would be ill-considered and ill-informed.

As Alexei Kondratiev tells us in The Many-Gifted Lord, "Of all the divinities known to have been worshipped in the Celtic world, the god whom the Continental Celts called Lugus and the Irish called Lúgh is one of the best documented and best understood. The sheer volume and widespread range of evidence related to him testifies to the importance of this god in Celtic tradition." Caesar himself commented on the eminence of this deity among the Celtic nations, though "Mercury" was the only name he and his countrymen could give to him. "Well over 400 dedications to 'Mercury' or one of his common native titles have been found: his importance in Gaul and Britain far exceeded anything that the role of Mercury in Roman religion could have warranted. Clearly 'Mercury' was the new, 'modern' disguise of Lugus, and because the two names were seen to be precisely equivalent the native one was virtually never used in the Latin of official inscriptions."

Looking at Lúgh's central myths, an identification with Mercury seems natural. He is, after all, Samildánach, master of every skill and trade. Building, medicine, sorcery, music - he did it all. (He could even cast Sleep and Remove Fear.) And, when one reads between the lines and pays attention to the oral folk traditions surrounding him, a certain cheeky, tricksy personality emerges that isn't immediately apparent in the medieval texts. He is not a Herculean divinity. He is a figure who, though he possesses great strength, wins the day through cunning, swiftness and magic, rather than brute force. His major act of heroism was defeating a terrible giant with only a sling. Sounds familiar, doesn't it? (...Did I mention that the giant had a lazer?)

All this, I would think, makes him far more relevant to your average city Pagan, whether you're the type who crafts his own armor on the weekend or not. Rather than being some ambiguous sun god who's only concerned with "quickening the fields" (his supposed solar attributes have long been debunked, and in the Irish tradition it seems that strategic shagging was more about winning wars than making the flowers grow anyway), he served as the patron of just about every function one could have in society, and his festival reflected that. "In modern times 

this agricultural core of the festival is all that has survived, but formerly, when Celtic lands were under native rulers, Lúghnasadh was the occasion of major assemblies where legal matters were settled, political problems were discussed, craftsmen, artists and entertainers got a chance to show off their talents, and sporting events brought scattered communities together." I put that in bold for a reason. Modern Pagans sometimes suffer from this notion that people in Olden Times (whether they mean the Bronze, Iron, Dark or Middle ages is unclear) were devoid of any culture or sophistication and just spent all their time fucking in the hay. No. They had parties and concerts and ball games and important meetings and court settlements just like we do. They had historians, artists and poets, lawyers and judges. It was more than just pig farmers. (Though even the pig farmers were capable of wizardry in Irish legend. I theorize that the pigs were the source of their power.)

But I digress. The point I would like to make is that His Majesty is a swashbuckling jack-of-all-trades, and I'm baffled as to why he isn't more popular. For a subculture that's so crazy about ravens, you'd think folks to gravitate to him right away. I invite you to take a look at Kondratiev's essay, hit Ctrl+F and search for "raven." The results are intriguing. This, along with his likely function as a god of oaths, has invited more than one comparison with Odin. Though...did I mention that Lugus was represented by the mistletoe?

Hell, he's even got a little bit of Thor thrown in. In oral traditions, L

úgh defeats Balor by casting his emblematic spear into the giant's eye, rather than a slingstone. Kondratiev contends that this paints him as a god of thunder. "Lúghnasadh is a day on which thunderstorms with plentiful rain are expected and welcomed. They provide a respite from the fierce summer heat that endangers the crops and encourages insect pests. The pitiless sun is Balor's scorching eye, and the spear of Lúgh is needed to tame its power. Lúgh is called Lonnbeimnech ('fierce striker') as well as Lámhfhada. Celtic 'Mercury' is sometimes shown not only with his spear but with the easily recognizable Indo-European thunder-hammer. In Mayo the Lúghnasadh thunderstorms where seen as the battle between Lúgh and Balor: 'Tá gaoth Logha Lámhfhada ag eiteall anocht san aer. 'Seadh, agus drithleogaí a athar. Balor Béimeann an t-athair' ('The wind of Lúgh Long-arm is flying in the air tonight. Yes, and the sparks of his father [sic]. Balor Béimeann is the father'). From these and other examples it is abundantly clear that Lugus has his domain in storm rather than in sunlight, and that if his name has any relation to 'light' it more properly means 'lightning-flash' (as in Breton luc'h and Cornish lughes). This is the principal function of his invincible spear."

As in the Welsh myth of Pwyll and his battle against Hafgan, "Summer White," it seems that solar figures, on the rare occasion they do turn up, are not often the "good guys" in Celtic folklore. So if you've spent your life imagining L

úgh as some kind of sunny Jesus figure, rest assured that this isn't necessary. If you've spent your life assuming that there's nothing more to him than corn, rest assured that this isn't true.

He's a young sorcerer with a magic bag, standing on one foot at the crossroads. He could tear the roof off your house, but he'll sweet talk his way in. He can make anything, and sell it too. He gives power and he takes it away. Victory is his bride. The spear he wields thirsts for blood, and his harp sings a stately song. He'll make you a promise. A phantom frenzy.