Where is the graveyard of dead gods? What lingering mourner waters their mounds? There was a time when Jupiter was the king of the gods, and any man who doubted his puissance was ipso facto a barbarian and an ignoramus. But where in all the world is there a man who worships Jupiter today? And who of Huitzilopochtli? In one year - and it is no more than five hundred years ago - 50,000 youths and maidens were slain in sacrifice to him. Today, if he is remembered at all, it is only by some vagrant savage in the depths of the Mexican forest. Huitzilopochtli, like many other gods, had no human father; his mother was a virtuous widow; he was born of an apparently innocent flirtation that she carried out with the sun.
When he frowned, his father, the sun, stood still. When he roared with rage, earthquakes engulfed whole cities. When he thirsted he was watered with 10,000 gallons of human blood. But today Huitzilopochtli is as magnificently forgotten as Allen G. Thurman. Once the peer of Allah, Buddha and Wotan, he is now the peer of Richmond P. Hobson, Alton B. Parker, Adelina Patti, General Weyler and Tom Sharkey.
Speaking of Huitzilopochtli recalls his brother Tezcatlipoca. Tezcatlipoca was almost as powerful; he consumed 25,000 virgins a year.
Lead me to his tomb: I would weep, and hang a couronne des perles. But who knows where it is? Or where the grave of Quetzalcoatl is? Or Xiuhtecuhtli? Or Centeotl, that sweet one? Or Tlazolteotl, the goddess of love? Of Mictlan? Or Xipe? Or all the host of Tzitzimitl? Where are their bones? Where is the willow on which they hung their harps? In what forlorn and unheard-of Hell do they await their resurrection morn? Who enjoys their residuary estates? Or that of Dis, whom Caesar found to be the chief god of the Celts? Of that of Tarves, the bull? Or that of Moccos, the pig? Or that of Epona, the mare? Or that of Mullo, the celestial jackass? There was a time when the Irish revered all these gods, but today even the drunkest Irishman laughs at them.
But they have company in oblivion: the Hell of dead gods is as crowded
as the Presbyterian Hell for babies. Damona is there, and Esus, and
Drunemeton, and Silvana, and Dervones, and Adsullata, and Deva, and
Bellisima, and Uxellimus, and Borvo, and Grannos, and Mogons. All mighty gods in their day, worshipped by millions, full of demands and impositions, able to bind and loose - all gods of the first class. Men labored for generations to build vast temples to them - temples with stones as large as hay-wagons.
The business of interpreting their whims occupied thousands of priests,
bishops, archbishops. To doubt them was to die, usually at the stake.
Armies took to the field to defend them against infidels; villages were burned, women and children butchered, cattle were driven off. Yet in the end they all withered and died, and today there is none so poor to do them reverence.
What has become of Sutekh, once the high god of the whole Nile Valley? What has become of:
Resheph
Anath
Ashtoreth
El
Nergal
Nebo
Ninib
Melek
Ahijah
Isis
Ptah
Anubis
Baal
Astarte
Hadad
Addu
Shalem
Dagon
Sharaab
Yau
Amon-Re
Osiris
Sebek
Molech?
All there were gods of the highest eminence. Many of them are mentioned with fear and trembling in the Old Testament. They ranked, five or six thousand years ago, with Yahweh Himself; the worst of them stood far higher than Thor. Yet they have all gone down the chute, and with them the following:
Bilé
Ler
Arianrhod
Morrigu
Govannon
Gunfled
Sokk-mimi
Nemetona
Dagda
Robigus
Pluto
Ops
Meditrina
Vesta
You may think I spoof. That I invent the names. I do not. Ask the rector to lend you any good treatise on comparative religion: You will find them all listed. They were gods of the highest standing and dignity-gods of civilized peoples-worshiped and believed in by millions. All were omnipotent, omniscient and immortal.
And all are dead.
Tag: allah aztec celtic dead-gods egyptian graveyard norse welsh yahweh
The Celt, and his cromlechs, and his pillar-stones, these will not change much – indeed, it is doubtful if anybody at all changes at any time. In spite of hosts of deniers, and asserters, and wise-men, and professors, the majority still are adverse to sitting down to dine thirteen at a table, or being helped to salt, or walking under a ladder, of seeing a single magpie flirting his chequered tale. There are, of course, children of light who have set their faces against all this, although even a newspaperman, if you entice him into a cemetery at midnight, will believe in phantoms, for everyone is a visionary, if you scratch him deep enough. But the Celt, unlike any other, is a visionary without scratching.
W.B. YeatsTag: irish ireland superstition unknown supernatural celtic folklore celts
Trees are silent guards, they are the listeners and they hold knowledge mankind has long forgotten.” - The Wolf and The Druidess
Cornelia AmiriTag: celtic celtic-mythology celtic-romance
The Goddess has a fourth face. It is secret, and you should prey, as I do, as I do Igraine, that Morgause will never wear that face.
Marion Zimmer BradleyFinding her voice at last, she asked, “What dreams are you having, sir?”
“I dreamt I was in a spring field and a woman stands in the shadows just at the edge of the nearby forest. I haven’t yet seen her face, only her long beautiful hair. I always wake too soon.” He reached up to touch the hawk touchstone around his throat as he described his dream, rubbing it absently between his fingers.
Lily lowered her lashes to hide her astonishment. “When you see someone in a dream but cannot see their face, it means you haven’t met them yet,” she explained.
“Then perhaps I’ll dream of her again tonight and this time I’ll see her face.” He smiled, reaching across the table to take her left hand and lift it to his lips. “My name is Ian Kelly, and it would give me the greatest pleasure to know yours.”
“Lily Evans. Around here I go by Raven.” She raised a shoulder, indicating the gypsy tent.
“Lily--indeed, a most beautiful name. Now tell me,” he stared pointedly at her hand, “I see no ring that another has claimed you as his, so my confidence is strengthened. Look at your cards again, milady, and tell me if you see me in your future…
Tag: romance dreams irish celtic tarot gypsy renaissance
In the late afternoon, Lily approached Ian as he reclined on the couch sketching. “I’ve got something to ask you,” she said, the tiniest waver in her voice betraying her nervousness.
Ian went on high alert and placed his pad and pencil on the coffee table. “What is it, sweetheart?” he managed to get out, keeping his voice even.
Lily wrung her hands. “Okay. Now, you don’t have to if you don’t want to, okay? I
promise I’ll understand if you say no. Really, I will.”
His shoulders slumped in relief and he rescued her hands from each other before either was damaged. “Darlin’, you needn’t be afraid to ask. I would love for you to take me to bed and spend the rest of the day making wild, passionate love to me. Tonight and tomorrow too, if that would make you happy,” Ian assured her.
Lily blinked and frowned uncertainly. “Umm…tempting as that sounds, no, that’s not it.”
“Need an organ donated, then? I’ve got one in mind just for you.”
“This is serious.” She giggled, thumping him on the chest.
“Damn right it is. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve seen you naked?” he said, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “How the hell am I supposed to get better under these horrific conditions? I may end up in therapy yet. See, look, my eye’s already starting to twitch…
Tag: art love romance irish celtic sketching
Yan, tan, tethera, pethera, pimp,
Sethera, lethera, hovera, covera, dik;
Yan-a-dik, tan-a-dik, tethera-dik, pethera-dik, bumfit,
Yan-a-bumfit, tan-a-bumfit, tethera-bumfit, pethera-bumfit, figgit.
Tag: celtic nursery-rhyme rhyme counting-sheep traditional
As she peeked through the curtains with the phone in her hand, waiting for the police dispatcher to pick up, she realized there was one thing she did know about the naked stranger in her yard. He had, without a doubt, the finest butt on the planet.
Dani HarperTag: paranormal-romance celtic faery-paranormal-romance sexy-men
Submitted for your approval--the curious case of Colleen O’Brien and the
gorgeous time traveling Scot who landed in her living room.” – Rod Serling
Tag: love writing romance dreams sex relationships irish magic ireland mystery scotland memories erotic paranormal witchcraft contemporary celtic tarot florida book-reviews rogue blogging lyrical-press past-life goodreads gaelic cups rt-book-reviews shannon-macleod trs-featured-author astral-sex blog-tour celtic-hearts romance-reviews romance-writers-of-america
His deep voice drifted to her through the crowd of women. “…my lady when she returns. Och, there ye are, Blossom,” Faolán grinned, standing up and taking her hand so she could ease back into the restaurant booth. “These lasses were just asking if I was a stripper. I told them I doona think so,” he said, his face clouded with uncertainty. “I’m not, am I?”
The inquisitive lasses in question flushed scarlet and scattered to the four corners of the room at the murderous look on Colleen’s face. “No, you’re not, but I guess I can see how they’d think that,” she muttered darkly. “What you are is a freaking estrogen magnet.
Tag: love writing romance dreams sex relationships irish magic ireland mystery scotland memories erotic paranormal witchcraft contemporary celtic tarot florida book-reviews rogue blogging lyrical-press past-life goodreads gaelic cups rt-book-reviews shannon-macleod trs-featured-author astral-sex blog-tour celtic-hearts romance-reviews romance-writers-of-america rwa
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