This Friday afternoon I take you to the world of the Irish goddess Áine. Thank you to a local store who introduced me to Áine and to Aron Hegarty for his splend telling of Cnoc Áine – IRISH MYTHOLOGY STORYTELLING PODCAST – Ep 93 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOuvbwb1YtU
With this story I invite you to ponder:
Who in your world holds the grace, kindness, playfulness and sovereignty of Áine?
What lessons do you learn from them?
And we all know wannabe kings who deserve to be maimed incomplete for their brutal acts of cruelty.
(P.S no fancy graphics today, as I’m unplugged from the fallout of cyclone Alfred.)
Where the rivers keep flowing under hill, and time flows in unusual ways, lived the Irish goddess, Áine. And no matter what the weather brought, Áine, would always help those who asked. She taught how to love with an open heart. And her people followed her bright red curling hair and radiating yellow cloak with anticipation for what she could show them. For Áine laid bare a full life of blessings and opportunities imbued with bountiful love.
Before they went under hill, these folk proudly walked across the green hills. Áine was fond of the mountain ranges which looked over open expanses of fertile soil that reached out towards the sea. With her sisters, Aillen and Fenen, they wandered the hillsides together, spreading joy, mischief and mayhem with delightful pleasure. Smiling with glee, Áine’s savage, sharp teeth glistened as her green eyes glinted with delight. For those who were fortunate to receive Áine’s love under the moonlit sky remembered viscerally how to love deeply and truly ever after radiating loveliness from inside out.
When the sons of mill, with their steel and their iron and their magic of a making appeared, Áine and her family knew it was time to return under hill. Her father, Egobail, had hate in his heart for going below ground. His hate festered, as his heart became more and more resentful to mortals above ground. Then one day, another so called King arrived to claim the territory of the green hills. But he had no love for the land he was claiming and made no attempt to call for the help of the eternal, living ones. No respect was shown, no grace or graciousness, no permissions sort, no blessings given as was the way of the spirits of the land.
Áine could also see that this so-called king, was not worthy of ruling her beloved Cnoc Áine. But she also knew he would not be the last unworthy ruler. He was not the first, at any rate, and her way was always to lead with love and hope for better days to come, helping those less fortunate. But Egobail had had enough. He made his plan, his people would retaliate, to teach this so-called king a lesson. They waited till the veil of this world was thin between theirs, and he was at his strongest, and he led with fire and rage out of the underground cave, and they came to Cnoc Áine with a great many of the fae. They went around torching the fields, leaving nothing but ash, burning for all the years he had been underground and not respected. But Áine knew the people hurt were the people of the poor, the people of the land.
This went on for years, till the so-called king held counsel. He was confused at the goings on, yet he tried not to give heed to foolish superstitions. He knew to rule with strength, authority, cruelty. And so one eve, he went to Cnoc Áine. The Darkness was lit up as these fires ruined every crop in every field surrounding. The night was eerie. He climbed to the top of the hill, and there he saw three standing stones marking graves of three men that had fallen. And the whole hill opened wide as a faction of the Fae went walking in, all of them, tall and pale and sharp, leading their way down with fire burning in their hands. At the end of the solemn line, a red-haired woman, pale of skin and beautiful and bright, wearing a yellow cloak stood with her father standing beside her.
The so-called king was furious to see these faes. He thought if they were to come to wreak havoc across his land, he would teach them a lesson. He emerged from the shadows and struck Egobail down with one strike. The Hill seemed to close. Áine froze alone to see the so-called King filled with so much hate, glaring at her, and knew he was looking at the bright face of a goddess of a race he did not believe in. He was struck by her beauty, and dark thoughts crossed his mind. He could put her in her place below him and show the rest who was their rightful ruler. He moved towards her frozen form and grabbed her, not for love but lust and longing and desire to show his power over her. He took from her that she did not graciously give nor consent to, and when he had spent his energy taking his pleasure out from her, he lent his head down, sweating, satisfied, satiated. Áine whispered in his ear, ‘You have taken from me, what was not given, but it will be regained, what I’ll take from you, you’ll never again claim’. She snarled at him, bearing her viciously sharp teeth, and ripped his ear from his head. He raged in pain, alone on the hill.
Áine disappeared from underneath his arms. He went to strike her, but his sword went through the ground. She had vanished. He was now imperfect, blemished, tarnished from Áine. He could no longer be king, for no king of Ireland could take his seat if he was not complete in body.
Whilst Áine, bathed herself in the healing waters of a close by loch, another pain dissolved into the depths of the deep currents.
Adapted from Aron Hegarty’s telling of Cnoc Aine – IRISH MYTHOLOGY STORYTELLING PODCAST – Ep 93 https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XOuvbwb1YtU
Who in your world holds the grace, kindness, playfulness and sovereignty of Áine?
What lessons do you learn from them?
And we all know wannabe kings who deserve to be maimed incomplete for their brutal acts of cruelty.