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Write about your father
Mar. 9th, 2006 01:54 pm The Shield of the Dagda
I bind unto myself today, the strong name of the Dagda,
By invocation of the same, the Three in One, the One in Three.
I call this day to me forever, the Dagda’s many arts:
His mounting of the River Women, his siring of the God of Love
His fury on the field of battle, His druidry so strong
His majesty as High King, His sympathy for the despised.
I bind unto myself today, the Good God’s mighty seed
His eye to watch, His might to stay, His ear to harken to my need
His wit to teach, His hand to guide, His shield to ward
His fire to enflame my speech, His mighty club to be my guard.
Dagda be with me, Dagda within me
Dagda behind me, Dagda before me
Dagda to my left, Dagda to my right
Dagda beneath me, Dagda above me
Dagda in quiet, Dagda in danger
Dagda in the hearts of all that love me
Dagda in the mouth of friend and stranger.
I bind unto myself the name, the strong name of the Dagda,
By invocation of the same, the Three in One, and One in Three,
The mightiest of all the Gods, Father of the Queen of Arts,
The Supreme Knower, Lord of Fire, and King of Druids.*
My father...not just mine, of course. The Dagda, All Father of Ireland. Son of Danu, he was known as the Good God. Not because of his moral stature as it was, mind you, but because he was good at everything. He was all powerful, a father figure for the Celts and protector of their tribes. He had power like none other, carried a mighty club and of course, he had his bottomless cauldron capable of feeding his armies. He had Daurdabla, as well, a magic harp made of oak. When he played it, it ordered the seasons correctly, and kept them changing as they should.
He was the High King of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He married Breg, and had four of his children by her-- Bodb Dearg, Cermait, Oghma, Aine and Brigit. She was not my mother, though. When he needed battle strategy and plans, he went to the Morrigan. Her price was one night with him, for some reason. I like to think that it was to have me, but she's never said. Perhaps she just wanted him. Either way, I was the result, along with the defeat of the Fomorians. He was a good father, if sometimes distracted. Made sure I was educated, had land, gave me my position among our people.
Lusty bastard also had an affair with Boann, who was also married. When she found out she was pregnant, he stopped time for nine months so that her husband wouldn't know about the birth. Aengus Og was the result of that match. The god of love. Bastard through and through, taking in my Etain and never telling me he'd found her, letting me wander...but then. He always did want her for himself.
When Da decided to divide his land among his children, he gave me Bri Leith to rule as my own. Aengus got left out, by design or forgetfulness, I'm not really sure. He tricked the Dagda out of his home at the Brú na Bóinne, which you call Newgrange, however, and took it for his own. I told you he was a deceitful little brat. Sad because we used to be so close. Bodb Dearg is a bit of a bore. Aine is all about love and growth and her cattle. Brigit's a love, but terribly busy what with being the goddess of the flames and high places and wisdom, healing, craftsmanship, intelligence, poetic lyricism...basically she takes after Da. Cermait went and got himself killed for tumbling Lug's wife, but his sons, good lads, avenged him and ruled for a while. Oghma, bless his soul, is the scholar and while I've learned a great deal from him, he's not really the sort you take out for fun. That was Aengus.
...Not that that has anything to do with Da, I suppose. The legends will tell you he died at Brú na Bóinne, but let's be reasonable, here. The All Father of Ireland does not die. He lives in every stone, every hill, every tree, every person. But he did fade back from being a physical presence millenia ago, fading into the Shadowlands and walking there unless he is called on. He pops 'round for fun now and again, to check on things, but less and less as the years go on. He has his harp to play, of course, and his cauldron, and his people to care for.
Sometimes I miss just having him here as my father, though. It's hard to share with an entire people.
I wonder if the Martyr feels the same?
*Poem by Isaac Bonewits based on "Shield of St. Patrick"
I bind unto myself today, the strong name of the Dagda,
By invocation of the same, the Three in One, the One in Three.
I call this day to me forever, the Dagda’s many arts:
His mounting of the River Women, his siring of the God of Love
His fury on the field of battle, His druidry so strong
His majesty as High King, His sympathy for the despised.
I bind unto myself today, the Good God’s mighty seed
His eye to watch, His might to stay, His ear to harken to my need
His wit to teach, His hand to guide, His shield to ward
His fire to enflame my speech, His mighty club to be my guard.
Dagda be with me, Dagda within me
Dagda behind me, Dagda before me
Dagda to my left, Dagda to my right
Dagda beneath me, Dagda above me
Dagda in quiet, Dagda in danger
Dagda in the hearts of all that love me
Dagda in the mouth of friend and stranger.
I bind unto myself the name, the strong name of the Dagda,
By invocation of the same, the Three in One, and One in Three,
The mightiest of all the Gods, Father of the Queen of Arts,
The Supreme Knower, Lord of Fire, and King of Druids.*
My father...not just mine, of course. The Dagda, All Father of Ireland. Son of Danu, he was known as the Good God. Not because of his moral stature as it was, mind you, but because he was good at everything. He was all powerful, a father figure for the Celts and protector of their tribes. He had power like none other, carried a mighty club and of course, he had his bottomless cauldron capable of feeding his armies. He had Daurdabla, as well, a magic harp made of oak. When he played it, it ordered the seasons correctly, and kept them changing as they should.
He was the High King of the Tuatha Dé Danann. He married Breg, and had four of his children by her-- Bodb Dearg, Cermait, Oghma, Aine and Brigit. She was not my mother, though. When he needed battle strategy and plans, he went to the Morrigan. Her price was one night with him, for some reason. I like to think that it was to have me, but she's never said. Perhaps she just wanted him. Either way, I was the result, along with the defeat of the Fomorians. He was a good father, if sometimes distracted. Made sure I was educated, had land, gave me my position among our people.
Lusty bastard also had an affair with Boann, who was also married. When she found out she was pregnant, he stopped time for nine months so that her husband wouldn't know about the birth. Aengus Og was the result of that match. The god of love. Bastard through and through, taking in my Etain and never telling me he'd found her, letting me wander...but then. He always did want her for himself.
When Da decided to divide his land among his children, he gave me Bri Leith to rule as my own. Aengus got left out, by design or forgetfulness, I'm not really sure. He tricked the Dagda out of his home at the Brú na Bóinne, which you call Newgrange, however, and took it for his own. I told you he was a deceitful little brat. Sad because we used to be so close. Bodb Dearg is a bit of a bore. Aine is all about love and growth and her cattle. Brigit's a love, but terribly busy what with being the goddess of the flames and high places and wisdom, healing, craftsmanship, intelligence, poetic lyricism...basically she takes after Da. Cermait went and got himself killed for tumbling Lug's wife, but his sons, good lads, avenged him and ruled for a while. Oghma, bless his soul, is the scholar and while I've learned a great deal from him, he's not really the sort you take out for fun. That was Aengus.
...Not that that has anything to do with Da, I suppose. The legends will tell you he died at Brú na Bóinne, but let's be reasonable, here. The All Father of Ireland does not die. He lives in every stone, every hill, every tree, every person. But he did fade back from being a physical presence millenia ago, fading into the Shadowlands and walking there unless he is called on. He pops 'round for fun now and again, to check on things, but less and less as the years go on. He has his harp to play, of course, and his cauldron, and his people to care for.
Sometimes I miss just having him here as my father, though. It's hard to share with an entire people.
I wonder if the Martyr feels the same?
*Poem by Isaac Bonewits based on "Shield of St. Patrick"
