Friday, June 15, 2007 Oracle: ! Tinne, or Holly, is the plant of the Forest King. It is an ever green bush in the midst of winter, and represents male mysteries, warrior energy, vitality. To balance the very male energy, I drew the Nine of Pentacles, which connotes relaxation, luxury, enjoying earth’s pleasures. A very healing card. I’ve included my pentacle with this shot, which helped to keep me “grounded”, and in touch with my physical needs. The stone pentacle is made of quartz crystal. The pentacle represents the element of Earth, and this particular one embodies the “star within the stone” because it is a stone that gives off a starry light. The journey: Skye Mara’s Notes: The connecting thread through all the islands are legends of Brighid and the Cailleach. Skye has its own Brighid legend: In the southern end of Skye, near Loch Isart, three children fell asleep in a boat that was moored to the dock. A high wind rose and the rope loosened, and the boat drifted to the center of the loch. The children awoke to a dilemma – they had no sail, no ores, and were too far from shore for their cries to be heard. They huddled together, cold and frightened, fearing that they would not survive. Two birds heard their mournful cries – they were oystercatchers, the sacred bird of Brigid. These birds flew straight to Kilbride Hill, where the saint resided, and reported the dire situation to her. Brighid came immediately, and miraculously stepped on the waters of the loch, as if they had turned to solid ice. She brought with her a sack of bog cotton, which she spread over the children to keep them warm. Then she beckoned the boat to drift towards the shore and it began to glide along the surface of the loch. A lone fisherman saw the boat drift to the dock in a blaze of fiery glory, and fell to his knees in reverence. Another legend of Skye is that it was once the training school of an incredible warrior woman called Scathach, after whom Skye is actually named. Among the heroes that Scathach trained was the legendary Irish hero – Cuchulainn. Field of Bog Cotton Today, Mara told us, we would experience Faerie energy directly, by visiting the Fairy Flag of Dunvegan. Skye is shared by two powerful Scottish clans, the MacDonald (my own ancestors) and the McLeods. They have often battled over this island, but neither gave way to the other, and members of both clans occupy this magical, Fairy island. Mara told us the legend of the Fairy Flag, which by the way, we were not allowed to photograph (but I’ve included a website at the end of this chapter where you can view it). The son of a MacLeod chieftain fell in love with a Faerie princess, and asked to marry her. But her father absolutely refused, knowing well the heartbreak when an immortal married a mortal, only to watch them age and die. But his daughter would not relent, and at last he granted conditional approval – they may be married, but for a year and a day only, then she must return to the Fairie realms. Joyfully, they married at Dunvegan Castle, and soon she was pregnant and gave birth to a healthy, vigorous boy. Their joy was short-lived, though, as the time for parting came upon them, and she was forced to obey her father’s demands for her return. Sadly, they parted at a stone bridge that marked a spot where the two worlds met, and she disappeared over the bridge and into the mists. This stone bridge still exists, and if you listen carefully on a still day, you can hear the Fairy music. The Fairy Bridge on Skye The young laird fell into a terrible depression, and his clan decided to throw a ceilidh (party) to lift his spirits. He left his baby son in the care of a nursemaid to attend, and enjoyed the music and dancing for the first time since his wife departed. The young nursemaid left the cradle on the upper floors to gaze at the party below, wishing she could join in the festivities. She did not notice the child begin to wail as he was left alone in his cold room, after having kicked his covers off. But his Faerie mother heard his cries, and crossed the threshold back into the mortal world to comfort her son. She brought with her a Faerie shawl to swaddle him, and sang to him until he fell back asleep. When the nursemaid crept back into the room, she saw the child wrapped in an amazing silk shawl, and could hear the invisible Faerie voice singing to her son. The next day, the honest nursemaid told the Chief what had happened, and showed him the shawl. They were so mystified by the treasure, that the nursemaid went unpunished for the remission of her duties. The Faerie Flag became the most treasured possession of the clan, and still is to this day. They subsequently learned that it was more than a Faerie shawl, or a swaddling cloth for a bairn. It was, in fact, a great talisman of power, which could be used only three times in a dire emergency. It has been unfurled and flown twice in history – once at a great battle with the MacDonald clan, in which they were greatly outnumbered, but prevailed nonetheless. Once again when there was a terrible plague destroying their cattle, on which the clan depended. It is rumored that the Chief of Clan MacLeod offered Winston Churchill the final spell – unfurling it at Dover, during World War II, but fortunately, it was not needed. Perhaps Churchill held back to use it as a last resort. Mara told us that Clan MacLeod has the most Faerie stories associated with them. The MacDonalds have their own faerie story: According to Sorcha Nic Leodhas: “Among the seals that dwell in the western isles of Scotland is a race of selkies that can change their shape to human men and women at will, and it is from among these magical beasts that the seal clans choose their chieftains and kings. Fisherman, who went out to sea in the early dawn, sometimes saw the great king, Ron Mohr, in the man-shape of a mighty giant, and they could hear the wild sweet voice of his beautiful daughter, Fionna. Long ago, there lived a young chieftain, MacDonald, the Lord of the Isles. He was a large, handsome man, a mighty warrior and canny ruler. His clan loved him well, despite his arrogance and youthful follies. The young Laird was old enough to marry, but he loved none of the fine young women he knew. But his people put pressure on him to provide the clan with an heir, so he decided, at last, to write down the name of all the eligible women on the isles, and draw lots to decide which one would become his wife. Before doing so, he went down to the quay to his boat, and set sail one last time before resigning himself to marriage. Lost in thought, he was started to hear a sweet voice from a rock call out to him as he sailed past, “Man! If you do not turn your boat, she will break up on the rocks!” Startled, the young man looked up and saw a lovely seal maiden lounging on the rocks. His heart turned over three times in his breast, and he could not take his eyes from her. “Bide there till I come to you!” he begged as he turned his boat to find a place to moor. He sailed around the rock three times, and at last saw a narrow stretch of sand to moor his boat. He scrambled up the rock to sit beside her. “Who are you, and how did you come here?” He asked her. “I am the daughter of Ron Mohr, and I live here.” The young chieftain knew who the Seal King was and looked at her, astonished, unable to decide if she were teasing him, or was daft. But she was so very beautiful and her voice was so sweet, that it did not matter at all. He could not help but ask her, “Will you marry me?” “That I cannot say, until my father returns.” “And when will that be?” “In a week’s time.” “Then I will be back in a week’s time and ask him myself.” He declared, and left his beloved on the rock. In a week, Lord MacDonald returned, and sure enough, Fionna was sitting on the rock waiting for him. “Has he returned?” He asked anxiously. “Not yet,” but she pointed out to sea, “But look, here he comes now!” And the young lord turned to see an enormous gray seal swimming toward their rock. It swam around to the other side of the rock, then emerged in the shape of the great Ron Mohr, King of the Seals. The King was huge, dwarfing even the tall and powerful highland lord, and the Selkie King’s royal face looked like the gathering thunderclouds of a powerful sea storm as he glared at the young chieftain. “And who are you to trespass in my realm?” He thundered in his wrath. Undaunted, the brave young man stood his ground and declared, “MacDonald, the Lord of the Isles am I, and I have come to ask your leave to wed your daughter!” The King was silent, frowning, then turned to his daughter and said tenderly, “Fionna, what have you to say to that?” Fionna, frightened, said nothing, but stood closer to her beloved and stared with pleading eyes at her father.