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"Come away, O' human child, to the waters and the wild; With a faery hand in hand, for the world's more full of weeping than you can understand."
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The Fumigation from Aromatics.

"Thee I invoke, blest pow’r of dreams divine,
Angel of future fates, swift wings are thine:
Great source of oracles to human kind,
When stealing soft, and whisp’ring to the mind,
Thro’ sleep’s sweet silence and the gloom of night,
Thy pow’r awakes th’ intellectual sight;
To silent souls the will of heav’n relates,
And silently reveals their future fates.
For ever friendly to the upright mind
Sacred and pure, to holy rites inclin’d;
For these with pleasing hope thy dreams inspire,
Bliss to anticipate, which all desire.
Thy visions manifest of fate disclose,
What methods best may mitigate our woes;
Reveal what rites the Gods immortal please,
And what the means their anger to appease:
For ever tranquil is the good man’s end,
Whose life, thy dreams admonish and defend.
But from the wicked turn’d averse to bless,
Thy form unseen, the angel of distress;
No means to check approaching ill they find,
Pensive with fears, and to the future blind.
Come, blessed pow’r, the signatures reveal
Which heav’n’s decrees mysteriously conceal,
Signs only present to the worthy mind,
Nor omens ill disclose of monst’rous kind.”

"Ὀνείρου, θυμίαμα  ρώματα.
Κικλήσκω σε, μάκαρ, τανυσίπτερε, οὖλε Ὄνειρε,
ἄγγελε μελλόντων, θνητοῖς χρησμωιδὲ μέγιστε·
ἡσυχίαι γὰρ ὕπνου γλυκεροῦ σιγηλὸς ἐπελθών,
προσφωνῶν ψυχαῖς θνητῶν νόον αὐτὸς ἐγείρεις,
καὶ γνώμας μακάρων αὐτὸς καθ’ ὕπνους ὑποπέμπεις,
σιγῶν σιγώσαις ψυχαῖς μέλλοντα προφαίνων,
οἷσιν ἐπ’ εὐσεβίηισι θεῶν νόος ἐσθλὸς ὁδεύει,
ὡς ἂν  εὶ τὸ καλὸν μᾶλλον, γνώμηισι προληφθέν,
τερπωλαῖς ὑπάγηι βίον  νθρώπων προχαρέντων,
τῶν δὲ κακῶν  νάπαυλαν, ὅπως θεὸς αὐτὸς ἐνίσπηι
εὐχωλαῖς θυσίαις τε χόλον λύσαντες  νάκτων.
εὐσεβέσιν γὰρ  εὶ τὸ τέλος γλυκερώτερόν ἐστι,
τοῖς δὲ κακοῖς οὐδὲν φαίνει μέλλουσαν  νάγκην
ὄψις ὀνειρήεσσα, κακῶν ἐξάγγελος ἔργων,
ὄφρα ἂν εὕρωνται λύσιν ἄλγεος ἐρχομένοιο.
 λλά, μάκαρ, λίτομαί σε θεῶν μηνύματα φράζειν,
ὡς ἂν  εὶ γνώμαις ὀρθαῖς κατὰ πάντα πελάζηις
μηδὲν ἐπ’  λλοκότοισι κακῶν σημεῖα προφαίνων.”

Hymns of Orpheus: In Translation by Thomas Taylor



2014 was one of those years that started out like “THIS IS GOING TO BE GREAT!!!” and its halfway through and we have a war going on, a deadly disease has been spread, countless shootings have happened, racism is alive, more people have been leaving living things inside of hot cars, and robin williams is fucking dead

That’s true, but you know what else is true?

Over 60 girls and women captured in Nigeria have escaped. We are so much closer to curing HIV and AIDS. Uganda has decriminalized homosexuality (which was punishable by death). Two US states have legalized gay marriage this year (making it 19 states with marriage equality in total), and 12 have struck down their bans and are awaiting approval.  We’re fighting racism and sexism as hard as ever, and more and more representation is available for us in the media. More young people are becoming aware of the great injustice in this world. This war is gonna end soon. An 8-year-old girl has become the first to beat brain cancer. Robin Williams is dead, but he left nothing but laughter and happiness and truth as his legacy. More and more soldiers are coming home to their families. More children are going to go college this year than ever, and that rate is only ever increasing. More girls in the Middle East are going to school, and standing up for their rights, thanks to Malala. Young girls are inventing more and more things that are fucking revolutionizing our world, from everywhere- even in places you don’t expect them to come from.

Today, millions of people will have babies, and kiss the loves of their lives, and get married, and hold hands, and sing in the shower, and have sex, and read books, and laugh (billions of people will laugh today), and tell secrets, and dance, and dream, and get promotions, and write, and draw, and fall in love. 

I know it doesn’t seem like it. I know that you’re tired of this. But have faith. Things are getting better. Believe in humanity. We have come this far. We’re not gonna give up yet. 

hahah shit I cried

(Source: dierwolf, via onehappynerdygayguy)

FĀTH-FĪTH: Celtic Shapeshifting and Invisibility


“‘FĀTH-FĪTH’ and ‘fīth-fāth’ are interchangeable terms and indiscriminately used. They are applied to the occult power which rendered a person invisible to mortal eyes and which transformed one object into another. Men and women were made invisible, or men were transformed into horses, bulls, or stags, while women were transformed into cats, hares, or hinds. These transmutations were sometimes voluntary, sometimes involuntary. The ‘fīth-fāth’ was especially serviceable to hunters, warriors, and travellers, rendering them invisible or unrecognisable to enemies and to animals.

Fionn had a fairy sweetheart, a daughter of the people of the mounds, but Fionn forsook her and married a daughter of the sons of men. The fairy was angry at the slight put upon her, and she placed the wife of Fionn under the ‘fīth-fāth’ spell in the form of a hind of the hill. The wife of Fionn bore a son in the island of Sanndraigh in Loch-nan-ceall in Arasaig. The mother possessed so much of the nature of the hind that she licked the temple of the child when he was born, but she possessed so much of the nature of the woman that she only gave one lick. But hair like the hair of a fawn grew on the part of the temple of the child which the tongue of the hind-mother had touched. And because of this patch of fawn’s hair on his temple the child was called ‘Oisein,’ the fawn. While still a boy Ossian followed Fionn and the Feinne to the hunting-hill to chase the mountain deer. In the midst of the chase a magic mist darker than night came down upon the hunters, blinding them from one another and from their surroundings—no one knew where was another or where he was himself. Hunt-wandering came over Ossian, and he wandered wearily alone, and at last found himself in a deep green glen surrounded by high blue hills. As he walked along he saw a timid hind browsing in a green corrie before him. And Ossian thought to himself that he had never seen a creature so lovely as this timid hind, and he stood gazing upon her with joy. But the spirit of the hunt was strong upon Ossian, and the blood of the hunter was hot in his veins, and he drew his spear to throw it at the hind. The hind turned and looked at Ossian and gazed upon him with her full wistful grey eyes, more lovely and alluring than the blue eyes of love. ‘Do not hurt me, Ossian,’ said the hind; ‘I am thy mother under the “fīth-fāth,” in the form of a hind abroad and in the form of a woman at home. Thou art hungry and thirsty and weary. Come thou home with me, thou fawn of my heart.’ And Ossian accompanied the hind step by step till they reached a rock in the base of the hill. The hind opened a leaf in a door in the rock where no door seemed to be, and she went in, and Ossian went in after her. She closed the door-leaf in the rock and there was no appearance of a door. And the graceful hind became transformed into a beautiful woman, like the lovely woman of the green kirtle and the locks of gold. There was light in the bower in the bosom of the ben like the light of ‘trath-nona la leth an t-samhraidh’—noontide on midsummer day. Nor was it the light of the sun, nor was it the light of the moon, nor was it the light of the star of guidance. His mother prepared food and drink and music for Ossian. And she placed food in a place of eating for him, and she placed drink in a place of drinking for him, and she placed music in a place of hearing for him. Ossian took of the food and of the drink and of the music till he was full satisfied—his seven full satiations. After feasting, Ossian said to his mother, ‘I am going, mother, to see what Fionn and the Feinne are doing in the hunting-hill.’ And his mother placed her arm around his neck and kissed Ossian with the three kisses of a mother, and then she opened the door-leaf in the door of the bower and allowed him out. When she closed it there was no appearance of a door in the rock. Ossian had been feasting on food and drink and music in the bower with his mother for the space of three days, as he thought, but he had been in the bower for the space of three years instead. And he made a song, the first song he made, warning his mother against the men and the hounds of the Feinne.


In his Leabhar Na Feinne Iain Campbell of Islay says that he had received fourteen versions of this song of Ossian. Six of these had been sent to him by the present writer. One of these versions was obtained from Oirig Nic Iain—Effric or Effie Mac Iain—lineally descended, she said, from Alexander Mac Iain, chief of the massacred Macdonalds of Glencoe. Effric Mac Iain was not tall, but she was very beautiful, intelligent, and pleasant. I obtained a silver brooch from her which, she said, had come down like herself through the generations from the massacred chief of Glencoe. The brooch is circular and beautifully chased, though much worn.





IF thou be my mother and thou a deer,
Arise ere the sun arises on thee.

If thou be my mother and thou a deer,
Travel the hills ere the heat of the hunt.

If thou be my mother and thou a deer,
Beware thou the men of the Feinne.

If thou be my mother and thou a deer,
Beware thou the hounds of the Feinne.

If thou shouldst go to hurtful corries,
Beware thou the deeds of the hounds,

Hounds of uproar and hounds of rage,
And they in battle-fury before thee.

Avoid ‘Caoilte,’ avoid ‘Luath,
Avoid black ‘Bruchag’ of the banks,

Avoid the bitch of the black tail,
‘Bran’ son of ‘Buidheag,’ foe of deer,

And little ‘Geolaidh’ keen of stags.
Shouldst thou go to low glens,

Beware thou of the ‘Baoisge’ Clan,
The ‘Baoisge’ Clan and their hounds,

Twelve hundred of numbered men,
His own blade in each hero’s hand,

His own hound after each man,
And they on the thong of ‘Lide’ son of ‘Liannan,’

And a little manikin in shade of a rock,
While twelve dogs he has on leash,

And he fears the hunt will not come to him.
Shouldst thou go to the great bens,

Beware thou of the ‘Morni’ Clan,
The ‘Morni’ Clan and their hounds,

Twelve hundred of numbered men,
His own blade in each hero’s hand.

Shouldst thou go to the high bens,
Beware thou of the ‘Gaisge’ Clan,

The ‘Gaisge’ Clan and their hounds,
Twelve hundred of numbered men,

His own blade in each hero’s hand.
Shouldst thou go to the haze-land forest,

Beware thou of the ‘Frithir’ Clan,
The ‘Frithir’ Clan and their hounds,

Twelve hundred of numbered men,
His own blade in each hero’s hand.”

The Charm:


"FATH fith
Ni mi ort,
Le Muire na frithe,
Le Bride na brot,
Bho chire, bho ruta,
Bho mhise, bho bhoc,
Bho shionn, ’s bho mhac-tire,
Bho chrain, ’s bho thorc,
Bho chu, ’s bho chat,
Bho mhaghan masaich,
Bho chu fasaich,
Bho scan foirir,
Bho bho, bho mharc,
Bho tharbh, bho earc,
Bho mhurn, bho mhac,
Bho iantaidh an adhar,
Bho shnagaidh na talmha,
Bho iasgaidh na mara,
’S bho shiantaidh na gailbhe.”

"FATH fith
Will I make on thee,
By Mary of the augury,
By Bride of the corslet,
From sheep, from ram,
From goat, from buck,
From fox, from wolf,
From sow, from boar,
From dog, from cat,
From hipped-bear,
From wilderness-dog,
From watchful ‘scan,’
From cow, from horse,
From bull, from heifer,
From daughter, from son,
From the birds of the air,
From the creeping things of the earth,
From the fishes of the sea,
From the imps of the storm.”


– From The Carmina Gadelica V.II by Alexander Carmichael

The Yarrow



"BUAINIDH mi an earr reidh,
Gum bu cheinide mo chruth,
Gum bu bhlathaide mo bheuil,
Gum bu gheinide mo ghuth.
Biodh mo ghuth mar ghath na grein,
Biodh mo bheuil mar ein nan subh.

Gum bu h-eilean mi air muir,
Gum bu tulach mi air tir,
Gum bu reuil mi ri ra dorcha,
Gum bu lorg mi dhuine cli,
Leonaidh mi a h-uile duine,
Cha leoin duine mi.”


"I WILL pluck the yarrow fair,
That more benign shall be my face,
That more warm shall be my lips,
That more chaste shall be my speech,
Be my speech the beams of the sun,
Be my lips the sap of the strawberry.

May I be an isle in the sea,
May I be a hill on the shore,
May I be a star in waning of the moon,
May I be a staff to the weak,
Wound can I every man,
Wound can no man me.”

– From The Carmina Gadelica V. II by Alexander Carmichael

Malediction from the Carmina Gadelica



"THAINIG dithis a mach
A Cathrach Neobh,
Fear agus bean,
A dheanadh nan ōisnean.

Mallaich dha na beana bur-shuileach,
Mallaich dha na feara fur-shuileach,
Mallaich dha na ceithir saighde, guineach, guid,
Dh’ fhaodadh a bhi ’n aorabh duine ’s bruid.”

"THERE came two out
From the City of Heaven,
A man and a woman,
To make the ‘ōisnean.’

Curses on the blear-eyed women,
Curses on the sharp-eyed men,
Curses on the four venomous arrows of disease,
That may be in the constitution of man and beast.”

– From The Carmina Gadelica V.II by Alexander Carmichael

Inanna (on her Descent to the Underworld)

(Source: synful-self, via wizardofgrand)

I went there of my own free will.
I went there in my finest gown,
With my rarest Jewels
With my Queen of Heaven crown.
In the Underworld
At each of the Seven Gates
I was stripped Seven times
Of all I thought I was
Till I stood bare in who I really am.
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