So, on Saturday 10th November: my friend at work posted this:
And the best thing is, they’re both true and yes, I was there on both occasions!
Both happened at work on Ascot Drive, in Derby, UK.
Sat 10th November 2017:
There are four of us in our team, three of us were in a meeting in the office, except for the third member, who was serving customers. Towards the end of the meeting, I elected to make a round of toast and as I was about to head out of the office, Mr. Dy headed his way back to the office, so we passed each other. I heard the kettle begin to boil in the kitchen next to the office. As I was getting the toaster ready I realised something slightly odd…. there were three of us in the office: myself, Mr. D and Mr. S had carried on the meeting without Mr. Dy as we could easily fill him in. Mr. Dy didn’t go into the kitchen and he wouldn’t have turned the kettle on (he’s one of those weird people who doesn’t like hot drinks….. ever!). So, to be sure, I shouted out ” Mr. Dy, did you put the kettle on?” He said he did not, puzzled I would even ask him this question. So I pointed out to everyone that the kettle had switched itself on….. and yes, I made sure that nothing had fallen on to the switch to activate it. Nothing had, it takes some force to actively move it. Even if you were to hit it accidentally, it would take an absolute gymnastic fail with digits sticking out to even make it work. If it was the old kettle, with its switch that was knocked easily, I would have simply discounted it to Mr. Dy calling into the kitchen and grabbing a cheeky biscuit and accidentally catching the kettle on his sleeve…. but the new kettle is a lot more hardy. So with the kettle boiling of its own accord, I did what any decent person would do: I made a cup of tea for the spirit and left it as an offering!
Friday 10th November 2017
Me and Mr. S were finishing up, I was at the counter, counting the till and Mr. S was in the office sending the evening figures (we only started being able to send figures automatically this year, before that we had to collate the figures ourselves, enter a form which we had copied and pasted and then email out to flagship store).
At some point, I heard Mr. S say something, and due to the echo of the store, I couldn’t hear him properly. I can’t understand echoey calls very well, so I approached the office asking what was up.
He asked if I had snuck in to the office and pressed the button on the printer to open up the ink cartridge door as a laugh.
I explained that I was at the counter the whole time, and had just completed the cash count.
Mr. S went on to explain he was completing the figures and felt what was like someone breathing down his neck, during which the printer had opened up. Now, the printer doesn’t simply open up. You have to pull drawers out to refill the paper trays, and if there’s a jam (even when there isn’t because printers are arseholes!) you would have to press the release button to open the cartridge door to remove the ink cartridge to get to the “jam”. We tried it then and I’ve tried it since, unless the cartridge door is clicked in fully, it will open up due to its own weight. It isn’t light enough to be ‘nearly closed but not’.
I found it funny that Mr. S thought that I had snuck in, pressed the button and scarpered. I thought he was having a joke on me at first, but he was quite perturbed at the time.
Apparently Ascot Drive is haunted, I’ll look at this in more detail in Part 2. Although, since discussing the subject of ghosts and writing my previous posts, both Mr. D and Mr. Dy have been more open in sharing their encounters in the store: something seen in their periphery vision and footsteps when there are no customers around, that kind of thing. In fact, in telling him about my cousin’s concerns in my ‘Dealing With Ghosts’ series, Mr Dy told me of the things he’s heard in our store late at night, this was another reason that prompted me to write about it.
Go and put the kettle on and make yourself a drink….. Locksley’s been offline a few months and now, he’s turned up and written this long post!
How I got involved (aka- ‘Oh boy was I suckered’…..)
BA: Locksley, auditions are next Thursday at…….. School for our new, original community theatre musical ‘The Last Revolution’.
Me: Thanks guys, but I don’t sing so I’ll have to miss this one out. Thanks for letting me know though!
BA: Locksley, what can we say to convince you to join in? We’re running low on men, we’ll even give you a non singing role!
Me: ……. Ok, when is it being performed? I have another project in the Summer that is tbc.
BA: 23rd-25th June.
Me: …….. Ok, I’ll do it. Where’s the audition, again?
Me: (looking around in the audition) Hang on, there’s a lot of men here!…….
Was pretty much how the conversation went via text message with me and Big Adventures, the theatre company I worked with last year on their comedy version of Conan-Doyle’s Hound of the Baskervilles. The conversation took place in January and the production finished three weeks ago.
Acting, I do. Dancing is how I got into the Performing Arts in the first place. Singing? No. Just no. I still remember when in college, my mate, Dwarfer turned around to me during one singing session and said “Sorry, but I’m going to have to move away. You’re putting me off…..” Any confidence at giving singing a go was shattered after that. So I never did. There were the couple (only two come to mind) of times I went on drunken karaoke (is there any other way?), and the one time Pipes told me not to ruin Metallica’s version of ‘Whiskey in the Jar’ the one time I was actually trying…. Thanks guys, fuck you very much. So, I was content with absolutely no singing in my life. Ever. I even mumbled lyrics in the shower.
So imagine my terror when I discovered I had to sing in my audition! Luckily, it was part of a male ensemble, but then we had to sing individual verses……. I hadn’t been that scared for a long time: my heart beat was bursting from my chest, my stomach no longer existed and my legs wanted to collapse underneath me. Oh! And my mouth dried up. And then I started thinking about singing in tune….. How did it go again? What the hell does an ‘E’ sound like (I still can’t tell you)? What about pace and rhythm? And so it came to pass as the piano was played and my turn came up, my lyrics came out as: dhdydjfndiaa!?#+$%#!?@$%$ but hey, I made the acting audition!
We were called the week after and found out what parts we were given, and what did I do once I was given my script? I do what any performer does, skim the pages until I find my bits….. ‘Hang on! There’s lyrics here! And there are a few lyrics I have to deliver all by myself! Shiiiiiiiiiiit!’
Over the next few months we met every week for rehearsal, sometimes twice a week. And as time went on, I learned how to sing. Or hold a note, at least. The Director took care of, well- directing. Whether it was setting the scene, offering feedback or helping everyone with how to deliver lines or try scenes in a certain way (community theatre has a mix of people from different performing backgrounds, some of which had none. There were more than a few for whom this was their first show- everyone did wonderfully!) The musical director made everyone comfortable, often by joking with the cast or about himself. But he was good enough to know if you were struggling and help you get through it by being patient, persistant, firm but fair. They had both created ‘The Last Revolution’ and steered us with patience and enthusiasm.
I learned two things that really helped:
1, As someone new to the singing lark, I found you don’t actively think about keeping the pace, after doing it a few dozen times, it becomes automatic. You still need to keep an ear out for the tune, but it’s not something you can read about on how to do, you have to just do it and find it. So I stopped worrying. I found this easier to do live rather than listen to a recording and sing the lyrics to it.
2, I have a problem with thinking and listening and the same time. You can tell me your most painful secret, but if my concentration wanders, I won’t take a word in. More than a few times, I’d be over thinking a song or so busy acting something and getting involved in that thing (such as background chatter in character) that I’d miss my cues. I found this also applies to everyday life, too. To listen to you, I have to 100% stop what I’m doing and take in everything you say. Because I had to balance this and act as well as listen out for my singing cues, I learned how to do this! The trick is to appear busy and active, but actually am listening out…… Cats do it all the time.
What was the musical about?
The musical itself was based on the real historic event of The Pentrich Uprising of 1817. An event you won’t just find in your everyday history book. The uprising was the last act of rebellion against the Crown and His Majesty’s Government in England. Back then, the Napoleonic wars had just finished leaving the country financially drained. Poor harvests meant crops were lost (due to a volcano sending dust particles into the air and obscuring the sunlight!), the Industrial Age had created machines that replaced manpower and living conditions for the poor were squalid. In short, England was in a dissatisfied place indeed. Various uprisings around the country took place, but the Government got smart. They employed spies to go into places of known dissent, get the local communities fired up and snitch the rebels in. And this is exactly what happened to the revolutionaries of Pentrich. A government informer, under the alias of ‘William Oliver’ was sent into Derbyshire to find traces of rebellion, which he did. He also became involved with the local rebels and urged their leader, Jeremiah Brandreth to press on under the belief that various towns and cities were joining in and all ready to storm Westminster….. All they needed was the right man to start it all off. The men of Pentrich, Wingfield, all other surrounding areas (apologies to any readers from Derby, I’m not a local lad) came together on the very early hours of the 9th of June and began their course to Nottingham. It was at Nottingham they were told they would be met with other revolutionary groups from The North, they would receive ale, meat and money then march all the way down to London. It was raining heavily as they went from village, to village, pressing men into service along the way, taking weapons and dealing with deserters. One young man was murdered, being shot dead and before the men even reached Nottingham, a whole military force was waiting for them…… William Oliver had done his job well. In November that year, Jeremiah Brandreth and the other ringleaders, Isaac Ludlum- the Elder, William Turner were hanged by the neck until dead and beheaded for treason against the Crown. It was this event that lead to the formation of workers unions that are in this country today.
Interestingly, one other man was tried at the same time. George Weightman was sentenced to live out the rest of his days in the colonies of Australia….
What amazed me about the Uprising was the passion for it today from both the people of the areas involved and the descendants of those revolutionaries who were sentenced to Australia. There are societies in both countries taking great pride in their families involvement, as well as trying to piece together everything that happened. It turns out that the Government had kept this part of our history quiet, the only information released around the time were the newspapers, but the Uprising was brushed under to be forgotten. The families of those involved kept quiet so they could keep their homes and jobs, after all the excitement and failure what else could be done? Very soon, The Pentrich and South Wingfield Revolutionary Group will be granted access to the archives of the Duke of Devonshire. Perhaps more information of what happened will be revealed?
The Real William Turner
I had the pleasure of playing William Turner, a stone mason and ex-soldier. He was 46 years old when he was involved in the Uprising, ten years my senior! He was described as tall, but there are no other indications as to what he looked like. Neither were there any portraits. He was survived by his parents, siblings and his nieces and nephews, having no children of his own. The house he built for his parents still stands today! In the case files, he was described by witnesses as being keen for the march to proceed and knew of every weapon in his home village of Wingfield. He was one of the men who helped organise the Uprising and even led part of the force that made its way toward Nottingham (but never reached it due to the militia waiting for them). During his trial, Turner seemed to give in to the resignation of the fate that beheld him, he sobbed as he was charged ‘guilty’. In his last days, he was keen to show repentance before God and hoped to be spared….. That hope was dashed once he was sentenced to be hanged and beheaded for treason against the King. After days of despair, he put on a brave face for his family and prayed for forgiveness from God. Asking about the state of Jeremiah Brandreth, both he and Isaac Ludlum were distraught that Brandreth did not seek the repentance they wanted so much. Before his death, Turner cried out this was all the fault of the Government and William Oliver. Which, of course, they disapproved.
I played him as a frustrated individual who had come back from war to find there was no reward for those who returned, the countries money was tight, meaning the wages were considerably less than promised and once back home it was ‘Wham-bam-thank-you-very-much-now-off-you-pop‘. My version of William Turner was waiting for a chance to lash out at those who treated him and others as disposable, and was bitter until the end.
The real William Turner was, as mentioned, a former soldier. I can’t say why he wanted to revolt. Perhaps he saw something when he was at war? perhaps he was disgusted at the state of his country with the rich and poor divide? Perhaps he wanted to fight so his family could live without starving? Or maybe he just got caught up in the zealous energy of the idea of rebelling against the authorities. Whatever his reasons, Turner felt strong enough to make a stand to try and make the world better in some way. I was told by a cast member that one of his distant relations would be coming to see the show. I don’t know if they did or not, but I hope I portrayed their fated ancestor with the respect he deserved.
‘The Last Revolution’ is a proud moment in my life, I made some discoveries about myself and made many friends during the production. I did something I’d never thought I would and pushed myself out of the comfort zone. I also learned a piece of English history that seems to have been glossed over, when it was actually quite notable, even if it was ill-fated. The common people turning around and saying ‘No!’
It was an honour to be involved, an honour to perform and an honour to the memory of those who wanted “…. freedom and fairness for all!“
Back in 2015 I wrote this piece on exploring the concept of courage and bravery in a culture of fear. It was strange reading it as I was becoming a different person back then. I’ve grown since and become a lot more sure of myself.
I had taken the title quote so inspirational that it has actually become part of my being. Back in that year, I was so sick of being scared that I leapt at every chance I was presented with, sometimes the courage paid off, other times…. I hurt people.
Courage alone is of no use unless it is reflexive to do something in that moment. Where there and then you can make a difference. Courage sprung from lying to yourself and impatience is stupid; it ends up with other people being hurt and you being a dick!
However, courage born from something to make a difference or to put right a situation where inaction and silence will lead to something worse is worth those twenty seconds of crazy!
Very recently, I dared to ask a complete stranger out for a date.
I was looking at a food menu through the glass window of a sandwich shop when, in my peripheral vision, a customer walked in then a few moments later stuck her head out of the door telling me to “Come in, it’s lovely!” Invitation by a cute blonde wearing hipster glasses? How could I resist? So I went in and placed my order. Blonde Hipster Girl turned around and flashed me a smile (she was very cute) and I started conversation by asking if this was her regular place to go. She told me she used to come here all the time until she got fat. She wasn’t fat at all, curvy, sure- I love curves on a woman! And so I laughed along with her, thanked her for her advice, collected my order (hers was taking longer to prepare) and went for the bus to get me to work. It wasn’t until I reached the bus stop and was halfway through eating my sandwich I thought to myself: “You idiot! You should have said ‘Fat? No way, you’re as cute as hell and I want to ask you out for dinner.’ So I kicked myself over that Friday morning encounter as a missed opportunity.
Over the weekend, I made a plan.
On Monday I went back.
With a letter in an envelope labelled “To The Cute Blonde With Glasses.” In it, I explained that I was thankful for her giving me the push to go into the shop, that I wanted to ask her out for a date and that her next meal at the shop was on me (I paid for it in advance) and signed it with my name and mobile number. This I passed on to the ladies behind the counter. Job done, and like a spell once cast….. I let it be. It’ll either work or it won’t.
She replied the next day!
Through the medium of Whatsapp, I received a message from the ‘Cute Blonde With Glasses’ kindly explaining she had just started seeing someone. She also told me the letter was cute and that things like this only ever happened in movies, and I should keep doing what I do as it made her year. Oh, and that she gave the money back for the lunch I bought her as she felt guilty.
And you know what? I was fine with that. Totally and truly. It wasn’t the outcome I was hoping, but I knew it would be one of the few that came to mind. I’m still glad I took the chance and feel the better for it. What happens now? Simple, I let it go and should I come across another opportunity, you can be damn sure I’ll give in to those crazy 20 seconds. It all comes down to the fact if you don’t ask, you don’t know. Would I rather have left it and wondered what would have happened if I never did something about it? I’ve wasted far too much of my life making that mistake.
Go out there step out of your comfort zone and do something amazing and even if it doesn’t work out, you’ll feel great for daring to take a shot!
The week before had seen sunshine and wonderfully warm weather in the UK. Typical then that on the week me, the Parental Units and Bro flew out, the grey clouds had returned. But, whilst waiting for our flight at Manchester Airport, we saw the scarlet Sun rise from one bank of grey and fade into another….. As if it was on an elevator in the sky.
And off we flew to Malta then caught a ferry to Gozo.
Gozo is an island of mainly farmers, limestone houses and a laid-back and friendly demeanour. It also has history mixing of Phoenician, Roman, Arab, Christian (Knights of St. John), French, Sicilian much like the Maltese language.
It is also home to the Azure Window down at Dwerja near San Lawrenz. It is a limestone arch formed after two caves collapsed. Hurry and see it whilst you still can…. It only has another 1000 years or so before it collapses completely!
The second day we were there, we saw the horizon surrounded by a haze, being British we just took it for granted this was a cloudy morning that will surely be gone by the time the Sun is at its peak. Not so.
We were informed by an ex-pat resident that the haze was in fact sand being blown across from the Sahara Desert, I mean wow! And yes, after paying attention, you could see it settling on everything. Windows were closed and doors shut, but the shops, bars, cafe’s and restaurants whose doors were still open were forever sweeping and wiping tables down. “Have you seen the discarded wings dotted around?” Say what now?
It turns out, when the sand is blown across, the flying ants drop from the air and detach their wings in order to burrow into the ground. How cool is that? Not so cool when you’re spending an evening in a nice restaurant, trying the local dish of rabbit and you have ants dropping on to your table!
Sister Madly, if you ever read this, remind me to send you the recipe for Gozitan Rabbit!
Doing some research, I had found out that Gozo, is supposedly the island residence of the Nymph, Calypso. It is thought to be Ogygia, where Calypso kept Odysseus for seven years. At the falling of dusk and the waxing crescent moon in the sky, I offered my respects to the spirit of the land, even if it wasn’t Calypso. Either way, I didn’t feel any connection. The spirit of the land was either too alien for me to interpret, or it simply wasn’t interested in me giving libations, or…… It had given way to the Christian belief set of the Gozitan people.
And yet, there are tales of Giants! The main attraction for me were the Ggantija (Giant’s Grotto) Temples. They are supposedly 5800 years old, which makes them younger than Göbelki Teppe and older than both the Egyptian Pyramids and Stonehenge. One local myth has it that they were built by a giant who had a child by a common man, she built the temples whilst carrying the baby and eating only black beans and flax. The smaller of the two temples was preserved quite well, it also supposedly had a groove made by metal before the rest of Humankind had discovered the revolutionary material. The larger one was surrounded by scaffolding and tourists.
We did nip across to Malta for one day, seeing the catacombs at Rabat and the ‘Silent City’ of Mdima. There are parts of this city where you could forget you are in the 21st Century.
The catacombs were quite humbling as they were dug into the rock, more than a few of them were for children, which brought to mind the reality of mortality.
There were a mixture of native, Roman (Pagan), Christian and Jewish, some were even credited to the Phoenicians.
My favourite moment? Standing on a cliff, the arid gravelly soil beneath me, the vibrant sea before me, the Azure Window to my left, down below. And an open blue sky holding aloft both the sun and the moon in the late afternoon.
When Western Paganism was ‘outed’ back in the 1940s and 1960s, it came with a trend towards going back to the Goddess. There were people then as well as now who broke away from the conventions of the Patriarchal God and sought (or heard) the calling of The Goddess, The Earth Mother, The Mother of All. And that was no bad thing. The only down side to this is when people took this as a knee-jerk reaction, a rebellion if you will, and see any form of the God side of things as anathema. Misogyny is a two bladed sword, it turns out. And when there is so much material and Modern Pagan practice that focuses already on the Goddess, the God became…. less. Until eventually He is only recognised as an image, a symbol. No doubt there will be readers thinking “Ha! Well that’s what happens when you take the power away from Women and the Goddess…..” And in many ways, they are right. However, that particular stance isn’t going to do anyone any favours, all that’s going on there is focusing one sort of sexism for another and is counterproductive.
What we think we need is balance, what we actually need is harmony.
What have we learned from the Masculine Principle? What does it teach us?
To have courage in all that we do.
To do the right thing when no one else can.
To draw strength from our ‘Bands of Brothers’ or our spouses or both.
To express wisdom as well as learning it from others.
It taught us an important lesson for all, that reason can be clouded, be it by fear or anger. If we take the time to think, then we don’t have to go into a situation all guns blazing.
It also teaches us that to be kind-hearted is not weakness. In another story, Niall was the only one of his Band of Brothers to kiss the hag guarding the well for the water they so desperately needed. Doing as the hag requested transformed her into a beautiful young woman who gave him sovereignty to become king. The warriors have their part, so do those who have gentleness.
So what is the Masculine Principle? It is the animalistic part of us that wants us to survive, not only us but our ‘family’ in whatever form that takes. It’s the part of us that wants to declare our territory, to take action when a situation presents itself, to defend our friends and claim our mates as ours. Its bestial, it’s tribal and it’s in all of us. In fact, throw the labels out of the window we all have the creature inside.
Masculine Principle, Feminine Principle, we are capable of both their qualities, we have all seen men cry and show love, we have seen women take charge and fight. The Quest isn’t for the Masculine Principle to become an effeminate dandy like some might misinterpret; it’s to find our place in the world. Whoever and whatever we are. If we are talking masculine and feminine qualities in all of us, then we all have them in various degrees within ourselves. Men can be camp, women can be butch. There are those who identify with one bunch of qualities more than the other and there are those who don’t identify with ANY of them. These people, you, me and them, we are what we are and there is nothing wrong with that- they all natural. We are all capable of being emotional, of being logical, of being strong in our characters as well as our physical muscle. I have written this entire series in a certain way because I wanted to show how these principles apply to everyone.
When I write we need harmony, it’s because there is so much focus in the Western world on equality that we forget one simple thing: Not everyone is equal. Not everyone can read, some have dyslexia, not everyone can walk, not everyone is good at public speaking, not everyone is suited for physical labour, but everyone is good at something and like the aspects of the whole genderised spectrum within ourselves, we can harmonise these to the best of what and who we are and what we can do. Like our individual skill sets, the sex we are born with, the gender we identify with we must seek to harmonise all of them. The principles aren’t and shouldn’t be limited to simply binary, the degrees into how we are more like one thing and another are wide and vast, just like all of Humanity.
The question isn’t ‘What is the Masculine/Feminine Principle?’ the real question is ‘What is the HUMAN Principle?’
Questing Knight, artist unknown, but I get a Games Workshop vibe….
Cormac was probably expecting he and his men to travel all the way to the West, the direction of death and the Blessed Isles, that’s where he’d find Tir na n’Og. There he’d find The Stranger and his family. He was more than likely all fuelled up on adrenaline and anger as he prepared for the long journey from his fort. He must have been quite surprised, once the fog had cleared, to find he was in a strange land. Stranger still must have been the sights before him as he steadily rode on in wonder at the horsemen putting feathers on a roof only for them to blow away, at the young man who kept refuelling the fire as it burned its insatiable appetite for wood. He must surely have realised he was no longer in his own realm as he approached the pool surrounded by nine hazel trees, this pool was only ever heard of in legend!
It is not without irony that Cormac, after drinking from the pool gained understanding, as was revealed later, the pool he drank from was the waters of the heart.
Cormac’s quest had actually led him to himself. As most quests do.
Quests are great plot devices to move a story forward. They are an entertaining way for us to follow the protagonist as they go and look for something or someone. An adventure to be had as the audience is taken on a journey of the search for some MacGuffin or the rescue of a person (not always a lady, this could be a family member or someone who can help the main character in some way- provide a cure for instance). For some quest’s that’s all there is to it. The monster is dead, hero gets made leader, marries, the end. For others, the protagonist often discovers something about their self or from their tribulations manages to become more in themselves in some way.
The Welsh Peredur leaves his mother in order to become a knight for Arthur, only for him to go on a series of adventures where he sets out to right the wrongs that are occurring in the land. In so doing this he discovers, through his own innocence, that he is better in strength and bravery than any of those knights he sought to become. He also learns that some of his acts had been engineered in order for him to fulfil a prophecy of avenging his uncle’s death.
The Scottish hero Diarmuid, a member of the war-band known as the Feans (Scottish version of the Irish war-band the Fianna) is summoned to the underwater realm of the Fomorii in order to use his healing skill on their princess. To retrieve the healing cup she needs, Diarmuid travels to the Plain of Wonder. It is with the help of a Brownie he gets to the Plain of Wonder, but he uses up the power of the Cup of Healing in order to heal the gatekeeper he killed. The Brownie helps him again and takes him to the Waters of Healing on the Island of Death. The Brownie also gives Diarmuid the advice of refusing whatever the King of the Fomorii offers as reward for healing the Princess. Once this is done, he asks for only a boat to take him back above water. In all of this, Diarmuid discovers that pride clouds reason, that a true heart can make friends in any realm, that his skill is to be given to the world, not traded for, and that what seemed like three nights for him was but minutes for his companions!
Cormac rode with his men only to be separated in the fog until he alone emerged in Tir na n‘Og. His quest was one of self discovery. Diarmuid’s quest was not for himself, but for helping his friend. Although it was only his skill of healing that qualified him to take part. It was for him to learn the lessons he discovered which he would not have done if his band had been with him.
Sometimes, we must undergo the quest to find ourselves and this can only be achieved alone. Once we get past the cloud of fear and doubt, if we take the time to listen to our own hearts do we know what we really want or need. To go onto the quest for ourselves is to have an outcome in mind, but we must not take this quest lightly. For by the end of it we will emerge a changed person. And the outcome might not be what we expected. To be a more complete and whole version of ourselves- that is the quest.
The other tales and their protagonists had people helping them and giving advice along the way, in another tale, Culhwch and Olwen, Culhwch would have failed miserably if not for the help of his friends. Culhwch’s story teaches that a quest need not be one taken alone. He acquired a band of brothers.
Band of Brothers
At times, we need others we can fall back on. Others we can confide in and trust to have our backs when we need them; to keep us going when we cannot. This is where the Band of Brothers comes in. For Culhwch, it was a handful of Arthur’s knights and a cousin. For Arthur it was his knights and Merlin. For Robin Hood it was his ‘Merry Men’. For Diarmuid it was his fellows of the Feans. For Bendigeidfran it was his brother and step-brothers.
The Band of Brothers isn’t simply a gang to beat seven levels of crap out of anyone who looks at you wrong, but a fellowship of support and faith in each other. It doesn’t have to be a seasoned group of warriors, ex-soldiers or gangsters. Your own Band of Brothers can be your friends, family members, and people with a common interest that trust each other. My very own ‘Band of Brothers’ includes women in it and others I can trust to help me when I need it, as well as who I trust to turn around and tell me when I’m being a dick! There’s that saying that ‘True Friends will tell you exactly what you don’t want to hear.’ Stop right now. And think. Who in your life do you trust implicitly? Who do you turn to when things go wrong? Who tells you the truth even though you didn’t want to hear it? Who are you there for when they need you in return? These are the people who can be regarded as your ‘Band of Brothers’.
Cormac was separated from his soldiers to go on his quest alone, but his band wasn’t his men. His band was his family, they were his heart. Cormac learned they were his true source of strength and his true wealth. Cormac wasn’t a raging warlord, he sought peace and negotiation (let’s not fool ourselves into thinking there were never any ‘aggressive negotiations’) and at the same time he was strong and wise. It was a moment of folly that took him to learn what was most valuable to him; there are times in all of our lives where a moment of folly takes place.
Cormac was prepared to do whatever it took to get his family back. His rational and calmer side now gone, it could be said he went on the quest for his Feminine Principle.
The Quest for the Feminine Principle
If we go along with the idea in Part 3, that the Masculine Principle needs the Feminine Principle to balance and compliment it, then this is the real deep meaning of The Quest: It isn’t about rescuing a damsel in distress, it isn’t winning the girl’s love and affection, it’s about coming into contact with something within that makes us whole. We know what happens when the Masculine Principle becomes too much: It becomes base, shallow and aggressive. It will assert itself any damn way it wants and if you don’t like it, it’ll tear your gods-damned head off and stick it on a spike!
I could say that by touching the Fairy Branch (Phallic device, anyone?) it had already ignited the fire of over ‘manliness’ in Cormac. So much so, that he abandoned reason altogether and never thought to ask what the price would be. Only when it was too late did he regret his actions, spurring him on to make things right…. in the headstrong, avenging manner.
The Quest took him onto a journey of discovering what it meant to be a good king, a good person: to not be led by his own vanity, to not burn out all of his energies for others and to look into the heart of things by paying attention to the world around him. It was with patience in listening to the small company and what truths they shared did he finally say aloud the truth of himself: He was a vain fool and would only be happy once he had his wife and children back. That was when he was reintroduced to his family. That was when he was reconnected with his Feminine Principle, and we can see this in the last gift that ever so crafty Manannan Mac Lir gave to him: The Cup of Truth (Vaginal device anyone!?)
So, am I saying that for a mortal man to become the best at what he could be, it took the orchestrations of a masculine deity of a feminine energy (God of the Sea) to teach him how?
Yes. For Cormac to become the High Chief, the King he was meant to be, he had to find the harmony of both Principles in himself.
The quest to seek either the Masculine or Feminine Principles is the quest to find the truth about ourselves, what is our strength? Where are our values? What gives us meaning?
To follow the Masculine Principle is to follow our heart; from it we know our own truths. It is also to know your inner strength (once you have found it) for it will give confidence, fortitude, discernment and resolve.