Whitsun
some thoughts at Pentecostide
A blessed Pentecost to you all!
On this feast, which observes the descent of the Holy Ghost upon the disciples of Jesus as they gathered around the Holy Virgin, it was common in ages past for (especially Catholic) parishes to hold “Whitsun Ales,” essentially great picnics with much feasting, lots of games, and not a little bit of ale! They were so popular, that once the busybody Puritans took over in England, they were banned. That is such a Puritan move, much like the secular Puritans of our own times who try to ruin everyone’s fun with the weapons of “social justice” and “raising awareness” while policing everyone’s behavior. O tempora, o mores! Some people aren’t happy unless everyone is miserable. Puritans were doom-scrolling long before the harnessing of electricity, not to mention the internet. A pox upon them all, ancient and modern both!
According to T. F. Thiselton-Dyer’s British Popular Customs, Present and Past: Illustrating the Social and Domestic Manners of the People (1876),
“In a Whitsun-ale last kept in 1854, the fool, in a motley garb, with a gridiron painted, or worked with a needle, on his back, carried a stick with a bladder, and a calf’s tail. Majordomo and his lady as the Queen of May, and my lord’s morris (six in number) were in this procession. They danced round a garlanded maypole. A banquet was served in a barn, and all those who misconducted themselves were obligated to ride a wooden horse, and if still unruly were put into the stocks, which were termed being my lord’s organist.”
Oh, to live in such civilized times.
In honor of the day, I will drink some of the spruce beer I recently crafted (spruce tips, sassafras bark, molasses, yeast, and water).
The End of a Cycle
I haven’t written much lately and that for several reasons (or excuses, as the case may be). For one, I have been going over the final proofs of my forthcoming book, Surely Some Revelation Is at Hand. Here’s the cover (artwork by the lovely and talented Joan Proudman):
The book should be out, I’m guessing, this week.
I’ve also been busy getting the garden in, but May has been uncharacteristically cold and wet this year (I think April was warmer) and, as you may have heard, the ticks have been INSANE. In a typical year, I might get one or two tick bites. So far this year I’ve had fifteen. It is not normal, nor is it natural (I’m looking at you, Bill Gates). I think the Archons are in overdrive trying to stop their ouster, so stop falling for their propaganda already. Is it too much to ask?
The completion of a book is, for me, something like the birth of a child—and I have quite a few of both, so I know what I’m talking about! When a new child arrives, the entire dynamic of the family changes—and everyone in the family changes as a matter of course. This also happens with the addition of a new animal or animals to a farm, even something as seemingly inconspicuous as the introduction of a new barn cat. Speaking of which, here are Doug and Percy (they are not related):
When bringing a project like this to completion, there is a kind of post-partum depression for the author. That’s the best way I can explain it. Part of my ending of this cycle will be when I give a lecture on June 2nd at The Congress of the Russian Byzantine Catholic Church at the monastery of Velehrad in the Czech Republic. As much as I dread travelling so far away (I have Sun and Moon in Taurus and leaving my farm feels like being torn out by the roots), I sincerely look forward to the Congress—and on the same day I speak Fr. Andrew Louth, a man who has been extraordinarily kind to me, is also speaking. It will be an honor to be in his company. Incidentally, speaking of endings, the lecture I will give, “Tabernacle and Eschaton,” is a version of the last chapter of my new book. The organizers wanted it early so they could translate it into Russian. Once I finished it, I said, “Wow. This would be a great last chapter to the book.” And now it is. And thus (I believe) will end my current cycle.
But the planet (“civilization,” if you will) is also at the end of a cycle, so I think the malaise we all feel right now is a kind of collective post-partum depression. The problem is they haven’t let us see the baby yet. Astrologically, I reckon this will persist for humanity until the trine of Jupiter and Neptune occurs at the same time as the trine of Uranus and Pluto in July—though the Mars-Uranus conjunction of the 4th of July has potential for a bit of explosiveness—and I’m not just talking about fireworks! It might be crazy that weekend (I imagine we might see some shenanigans from Antifa types coming out of their mom’s basement for one last hurrah in celebration of the Bisesquicentennial). Prepare accordingly. But the Jupiter-Neptune (very idealistic and hopeful) Uranus-Pluto (transformative and possibly unleashing almost unheard of prosperity) trines should prove very positive indeed.
The original Pentecost marked the end of one cycle and the beginning of another, a feature profoundly echoing in this season of passing and growth.
In parting, please enjoy this wonderful version of Béla Fleck’s magical “Big Country,” performed and recorded live for the amazing Transatlantic Sessions in 2011. It will lift your soul.
Before I went to Kefalonia, my friend toured Greece, and brought back dirt from each place in tiny film canisters. He also got an ivy cutting from Byron's house on Kefalonia, and got it through customs by turning over some apples and oranges, so they were taken up with that and didn't ask what was in his pockets haha. I got my share of my sister's ashes through on an airline by covering them with seashells, like it was a beach souvenir. Maybe you could stay rooted by taking some dirt from your farm with you to the Czech Republic? Place, and embodiment in our place, is our strength. Still, it may be that a wave from the future is breaking over us and, as you say, something explosive is coming. I so dread Pride month, and the 250th both, July being when the low IQ rich pedophiles of the Bohemian Grove saturate N. California for Bastille Day, the legacy of the French Revolution being nemesis. I took to looking up what could be attacked like the World Cup, which is a bad worst case scenario mind quicksand way to ruminate.
Charles Tart, the late parapsychologist, thought we, like animals, know a bit of the future, but what he called Trans-Temporal Inhibition, the need to keep focused on the immediate world, mostly prevents us from knowing what we all know and it only comes to us tangentially or in dreams. So maybe focusing on what's beyond July can lift our hearts. Here's a little hymn for missing Sophia. (I love this fiddler and how he destroys his bow. My parents once heard a virtuoso violinist, perhaps Jascha Hefitz, in concert, who broke string after string and kept playing until the end of the piece on one string, which might be a good metaphor for what we are all doing lol) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D6YyoEfN4cg
As a teacher, the end of the school year often leaves me with a case of blues as well. Such a relief that the season is over, but at the same time a sense of loss and being ungrounded.