Site of St. Trillo's Celtic Monk's Cell, Rhos-on-Sea, North Wales.
St. Trillo was a 6th century CE celtic monk who established a hermit's cell on this site. His original cell is long gone, likely constructed from wattle, daub and a wall of stones. The site was probably chosen as it is the source of a natural spring (under the altar in the current six person chapel). The current chapel is of an unknown age and has been repaired many times over centuries. It is likely that St. Trillo kept livestock in the marshes that once occupied the land which is now currently the town centre. Rhos-on-Sea gets its name from this site. The current chapel is thought to be the smallest in the UK.
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Beul-Aithris na Sean-Sluagh: Folkways of the Old Ones
I am feeling grateful tonight to my friend Alexis Douglas, who shared with me a post and resultant chat that brought back into my awareness the perennial necessity for having meaningful recourse to our ancestral folk traditions and their paths of origin in the living Land. It proved a gentle and very welcome reminder to connect back to something that’s intangible but always fundamental for me, albeit sometimes too easily forgotten amidst the more abstract philosophical and theological speculations of the sort I’m presently immersed in: that the folk traditions of our Ancestors (whomever they are) are just as valuable as their most ‘lofty’ philosophical pursuits and insights, and just as beautiful. Of course, these two expressions are by no means mutually exclusive, but we have a deep-seated tendency in Western societies to default to the ‘transcendent’ (which betrays a distinct mode of hubris) and forget the other principal aspect of our nature as embodied souls with ancestral inheritances (both gifts and burdens), made of soil and living waters from the River of Blood. Tonight I’m hearing that little whisper that periodically reappears in my heart when I get too heady and says, ‘Come back to the Earth, put your bare feet on the ground, connect again to the roots, remember the underground streams; don’t get lost floating out in the heavenly spheres.’
To be sure, the Holy Mother is everywhere—she is Anima Mundi, the soul of the cosmos: Natura, Shakti, Prakriti, she whose body is the universe, who holds the keys to our liberation, who mediates our access to Ultimate Reality—but in this incarnate human form, we can access her nowhere more readily than in and with the Land, in the forests, caves, and sacred waters, and in the ancestral stories that sprang from those deep instantiations of her divine poesy. It could not be otherwise.
Have you spent time lately with the folk traditions of your own Ancestors, and felt the particular ways they connected with the landscapes from which their bodies arose, and to which they have returned? Have you felt the ways their hands and eyes and memories traced the contours of that ephemeral but ever radiant sacrality?
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Recently, I borrowed several books from the LSAD/TUS library that featured advice about digital art on the iPad.
I always wanted to learn how to create digital at on the iPad as I found it very difficult to draw using a mouse on the computer. I used the app FlipaClip to experiment with digital art and animation. I drew a white Persian cat on my iPad as my theme is focused on humans interaction with the animal kingdom and how people’s treatment of animals varies depending on the culture and religion of an individual!✨💫🌻
I also felt inspired by the ancient Irish poem about a Celtic monk and his cat Pangur Bán which is written by a monk in Reichenau abbey. He narrates about the cat’s love of mouse hunting and their daily lives together! Here is the poem itself:
I and Pangur Bán, each of us two at his special art:
his mind at hunting (mice), my own mind is in my special craft.
I love to rest—better than any fame—at my booklet with diligent science:
not envious of me is Pangur Bán: he himself loves his childish art.
When we are—tale without tedium—in our house, we two alone,
we have—unlimited (is) feat-sport—something to which to apply our acuteness.
It is customary at times by feat of valour, that a mouse sticks in his net,
and for me there falls into my net a difficult dictum with hard meaning.
His eye, this glancing full one, he points against the wall-fence:
I myself against the keenness of science point my clear eye, though it is very feeble.
He is joyous with speedy going where a mouse sticks in his sharp-claw:
I too am joyous, where I understand a difficult dear question.
Though we are thus always, neither hinders the other:
each of us two likes his art, amuses himself alone.
He himself is the master of the work which he does every day:
while I am at my own work, (which is) to bring difficulty to clearness.
The Irish movie by Cartoon Saloon also features these two characters in the movie entitled “The secret of Kell’s” which is a beautiful animated movie that features ancient Irish Celtic culture!✨💫🐈🐾🐁🐱
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En attendant que les prochains livres sortent enfin dans le commerce, on continue avec les Saints Bretons (avec Erwan Chartier à la plume).Ici Saint-Efflam qui a vaincu un dragon en compagnie du Roi Arhur...Avec l'aimable autorisation de l'hebdo "Le Poher"UK : Saints of Brittany, written by Erwan Chartier :While I'm waéiting for my new books, here is St-Efflam who killed a dragon with the King Arthur...By courtesy of the newspaper "Le Poher"
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Daily reminder that Celtic Christianity was a pure ✨bub✨ and those nasty Roman benedictines ruined European Christianity by 💫 taking over 💫 British monasteries
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From my readings about her, the Scottish Brigid is essentially the same as the Irish Brigid and St. Brigid in that she has rules over poetry, bards, justice, healing, blacksmithing, wells & springs, the spring season, livestock and fire. The major differences seem to be A) obviously, she doesn’t have her connections to her sacred places in Ireland to my awareness, B) Aengus is her lover and not her brother, C) She is associated with snakes, 1/?
D) Brigid is placed in opposition to the Cailleach, a primordial winter goddess, since Brigid was considered mother of all and Queen of the Summer. Brigid ruled the earth half of the year, the Cailleach the rest. However, the exact relationship between Brigid and the Cailleach seems to deviate here. In some stories, Cailleach takes Brigid hostage because her son Aengus has fallen in love with Brigid and forces her to do chores until Aengus rescues her and they bring spring to the land 2/?
In other stories, Brigid and the Cailleach seem to be more of a Two-Face situation, where Cailleach drinks from a magical spring and becomes Brigid, ushering in the spring. Of course, this mythology will vary from region to region. Even then it might not be completely accurate since the ancient Celts seems to value memorization and oral tradition over written records, Christianity, and the fact that there can be a lot of misinformation, misrepresentation, and 3/?
sanitization, and contradictory accounts when it comes to folklore and Neo-Pagans. I will say it is interesting that one through line between Aengus’ Irish love story and his Scottish one is that he dreams of his lover well before meeting her and his wooing of her is about either meeting her where she is or a liberating her, and both cases allowing her to shine. Aengus is just an overall good bean, real husband material. 4/4
that’s really interesting, i didn’t know there were so many similarities between the irish and scottish myths! we have a cailleach in irish mythology too (the cailleach bearra) who’s also associated with winter, but she isn’t aengus’s mother and she’s known as an ancient hag. i love that dreams feature in both myths too, big jb energy!!
and yes aengus is 100% husband material and tbh it’s unfair that everyone obsesses over hermes and dionysus or whoever and he gets no attention!!! i would be lying if i said i didn’t go into the tomb from time to time hoping to see him in there lmao (it IS his house after all)
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i ALSO had a castlevania self insert oc who was almost the same exact character except she could do magic too LOL
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the Spotify algorithm was getting a little Too Familiar so its time to listen to 11 hours of Gregorian chanting to remind it that It Does Not Know Me
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Round Towers of Ireland
Round Towers of Ireland
All over the island of Ireland there are ruins from past ages spread everywhere, which give us all a wonderful insight into the mysterious lives of our ancestors who built these monumental structures. There are few of these structures, however, that are more remarkable than the round towers that are found in almost every historically renowned locality. At one time there were a great number of…
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St. Seiriol's 6th Century CE Sacred Well, Penmon Priory, Anglesey, Wales.
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North-easterly: A Final Grace
North-easterly: A Final Grace
“…Manifest thy light for my regeneration, and let the breadth, height, fullness and crown
of the solar radiance appear, and may the within shine forth!”
Abbe de Villars, ‘The Comte de Gabalis’
“We’ve just got to the top of the slope by the castle,” said the voice on the phone, in answer to my query. We had been a few minutes late arriving on Holy Island, and our companions had begun to stroll out…
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This was a really spot on video on early Celtic Christian spirituality by John Michael Talbot, who is a more progressive Roman Catholic monastic leader.
On August 31st 651 AD, St. Aidan of Lindisfarne, among the greatest missionaries of the early medieval period, died while on one of his frequent preaching missions in Northern England.
I better explain a couple of things first, Aidan may have been most associated with Lindisfarne, and yes I said Northern England, but, not only was the border less aligned in the seventh century, there was no England or Scotland as they exist now. If you know you’re geography Lindisfarne is only about 12 miles from Berwick upon Tweed, as you will know from a recent post, the town was part of Scotland for many years.
As well as the geography, St Aidan began his life of service on the Isle of Iona and is thought to have been born in Ireland. The monastery at Iona was established by Irish monks under St. Columba, another great Celtic missionary during the so-called “dark ages.” About a century later, in St. Aidan’s time, the monastery had become a major centre of Gaelic Christianity and was receiving and sending monks across Europe.
By this time, Christianity in what is now Norhumerland, was largely replaced by the paganism of both native Britons and the Anglo-Saxon conquerors. The Kingdom of Northumbria compromised of northern England and south-east Scotland, had just been reconquered by King St. Oswald of Northumbria. Oswald took back his father’s throne at the Battle of Heavenfield, where he prepared by praying before a wooden cross, said be a relic of the cross Jesus died on. Next, Oswald beheld a vision of St. Columba who promised victory if his generals would be baptized. At council, all agreed to be baptized the night before and victory came to Oswald. After his victory, and the vison of St Columba the victorious king asked the monks of Iona to send him a missionary to be an Apostle to Northumbria.
Aidan wasn’t the first Monk to be sent, a previous one was disliked by the population for being ”harsh”, and had some trouble with the languages, he found that the people refused to listen to him. e made no progress in converting people and returned to Iona, reporting that the people of Iona were too barbarous and stubborn to be reached. Aidan on hearing the report is said to have chastised the man and volunteered to venture south himself.
St Aidan would walk from village to village speaking to people he saw and slowly interesting them in Christianity. He would engage with the people on their own level by taking an interest in their lives and their communities. Through this approach he slowly restored Christianity to the Northumbrian countryside.
He founded a monastery on the island of Lindisfarne known as Lindisfarne Priory and served as its first bishop.
In his years as bishop St Aidan was responsible for the construction of numerous churches, monasteries and schools throughout the north east. He also earned a reputation for all of his tireless charity efforts and dedication to the poor.
After his death in 651 St Aidan was buried at Lindisfarne, beneath the monastery that he helped found and his feast day is celebrated on the anniversary of his death every year on 31st August.
Pics are of a modern statue of St. Aidan beside the ruins of the medieval priory on Lindisfarne, which I think is very impressive.
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[The artist] wrote the small letters in Insular Majuscule, a striking script invented by Irish monks. It derives ultimately from the uncial script invented by Christian scribes in Egypt who used curving Greek penstrokes to write Latin letters. Uncial was the first peculiarly Christian handwriting; the faithful throughout the Latin-speaking world adopted it to distinguish holy manuscripts from pagan literature.
The display capital letters of the Lindisfarne Gospels have an unmistakable resemblance to Germanic runes. Runes were known at Lindisfarne; they were even used to carve the nomina sacra on the reliquary casket of St. Cuthbert. Patterns of knots, spirals and keys; and interlaces of elongated beasts and birds decorate the manuscript. These are motifs from Celtic and Germanic art that predate the Christian missions.
The pages depicting the four Evangelists, however, resemble mosaics from Rome or Byzantium or Antioch. Eadfrith likely based their composition on pictures in an illustrated manuscript brought by missionaries from one of the Mediterranean urban centers of early Christianity.
It was through small, portable objects such as books that iconography spread; a missionary, obviously, cannot carry a basilica decorated with mosaics with him into the wilderness. He can carry a great many books containing a great many pictures. In the monastic art of Northern Europe, fascinating combinations of Hellenistic, Syrian and Byzantine traditions are encountered. The influences can be distinguished as late as the twelfth century, and vary from monastery to monastery. This is because their libraries held books from all over the Christian world, which served as models for the resident artists.
Cruciformally arranged ornament fills five pages of the Lindisfarne Gospels. Art historians call these carpet pages; one, Volkmar Gantzhorn, has proposed that they were inspired by actual carpets woven in Christian Armenia. Carpet pages appeared in Northumbro-Irish manuscripts about the time that Theodore of Tarsus arrived at Canterbury to become its archbishop in AD 669. Perhaps he carried, either in his memory or in his baggage, the tradition of the Oriental carpet as far as Lindisfarne.
Other scholars see in the carpet pages an imitation of Coptic art; several intriguing early medieval documents mention Egyptian monks living in Ireland. A Psalter from this time, lined with Egyptian papyrus, was pulled intact from an Irish bog eleven years ago.
The Lindisfarne Gospels is thus a work of sacred art to which Germanic, Celtic, Roman, Greek, Hebrew and possibly Armenian or Coptic Christians contributed. It pages illustrate the universality invoked by St. Wilfrid, whose words would have been fresh in the memory of the monks at Lindisfarne; here, at one and the same time, is the art of Africa, Asia, Egypt, Greece and all the world, wherever the Church of Christ is spread abroad, through the various nations and tongues. It was never more beautifully made than in a corner of the remotest island.
It annoys me to know that, upon seeing this page, most people would simply say: Oh, how Irish. A few would call it Celtic instead. And while that is not an inaccurate description, it is a meager one. This art is popular in the present day, not as an expression of universal Christianity, but of Irishness or (more commonly) pseudo-Irishness. You often see it on pub signs and knickknacks and other bits of paddywhackery; you rarely see it on sacred artwork. I cannot imagine a new church being decorated in this manner, unless it were intended for Irish immigrants. Certainly I am grateful to see this art linger at all, but I lament the loss of the idea that it belongs to everyone.
Icon painter Daniel Mitsui, commenting on the Lindisfarne Gospels
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Today we also celebrate the Venerable Hilda, Abbess of Whitby. Saint Hilda was the grandniece of Saint Edwin, King of Northumbria. Turned from the pagan faith by Saint Paulinus, she was baptised as one of the first Christians of the British Isles. At 33 years old, she was tonsured a nun and under the guidance of Saint Aidan, Bishop of Lindisfarne, Hilda founded many monastic communities, the most famous one being Whitby, of which she became abbess. From the beginning of her monastic life, the Bishop Aidan saw her already-apparent spiritual gifts which flourished as time passed. Within 30 years, she had become a beacon of Christian life throughout the British Isles. In her monastery at Whitby, Hilda was not only the spiritual head of the female monastics, but also the male ones. It is said that this monastery was a “training ground” for both priests and bishops who went on to spread the Gospel throughout the Isles. Christianity, however, had already been spread to the Celtic peoples well over 100 years prior to entering Britain. Because of this, the Celtic and Roman traditions differed (although not in doctrine), especially when calculating the date of Pascha. Saint Hilda convened the Synod of Whitby to address this issue, and it was resolved that the Roman calculation would be used. (It must be noted that at this time, Rome was under the unified Orthodox and Apostolic Church.) Peasants, noblemen, kings, and even bishops would come to Abbess Hilda to seek her spiritual counsel, as she was considered the mother of Christianity in Britain. After many years of intense spiritual labour, she fell asleep in the Lord in 680 AD, and at the time of her repose, the Holy Begu was granted to see a vision of the Holy Abbess Hilda’s soul being carried up to heaven by angels. May she intercede for us all + #saint #hilda #whitby #abbess #nun #monastic #monastery #britain #britishisles #isle #monk #nuns #church #aidan #bishop #lindisfarne #edwin #king #northumbria #mother #holy #spiritual #faith #prayer #love #angel #angels #soul #orthodox (at Whitby) https://www.instagram.com/p/CWWSi4FM-cz/?utm_medium=tumblr
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Structure of a Celtic Monastic Town
The words “monk” and”monastery” conjure up all sorts of images for us. Most come from medieval monasticism, and some are very romantic and stereotypical. You should not, however, picture a large medieval stone monastery, a huge church, and a quadrangle cloister in its midst when you imagine a Celtic monastery. No, the latter was more a “monastic village” than a huge complex of buildings. The village had a stone wall around it to keep animals in and thieves out. Within the walls were many small huts, whether wooden buildings or crude structures of mud and wattle. Later, especially in the west of Ireland, stone buildings were erected. Many remains of stone clochans, called “beehive huts” in English, are scattered over the countryside of Kerry. Some common buildings such as small oratories were part of the enclosure. These monastic villages were the closest social reality to towns that existed. They were the centers of religion but also of commerce, trade, agriculture, recreation, and education. Paradoxically they were often built “on the edge,” that is, in remote places, but at the same time seemed to be accessible and near crossroads of trade routes.
It is the human dimension of such villages that particularly fascinates me. These “monks” included men and women, priests and lay persons, and even a bishop or two as part of the community. The old Celtic forts had men and women living in respective men’s and women’s houses, except for the married, and this tradition continued. An abbot or abbess was the administrative leader of the community, leaving the sacramental and evangelical functions to bishop and priest. The latter would both serve the community and also go outside to preach Christianity to clans who had not yet accepted Christianity. There is no indication that any large buildings were ever built, and it is probable that the Eucharist and communal acts of worship continued to be celebrated outdoors as had formerly been done in oak groves.
- Timothy Joyce, OSB (Celtic Christianity: A Sacred Tradition, A Vision of Hope, pages 36-37).
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UNCIAL SCRIPTS AND THE CAROLINGIAN MINUSCULE
The upper and lower case letters we are used to today, along with spaces between words, punctuation, and enlarged initial letters, were a development of the late 8th century known as the Carolingian Minuscule. This manuscript hand not only established a uniform book hand that would be used throughout Charlemagne’s sprawling empire, but it also established the kinds of letter forms that would serve as the models for every Western typographic design to our current day. Today, we essentially read and write in the Carolingian Minuscule.
The Carolingian Minuscule itself developed from the insular uncial scripts and partly from the Roman half uncial that were used at Irish and Anglo-Celtic monasteries that had been founded all over Europe by the late 6th century. The insular monks who founded these monasteries also brought the traditions of word spacing, punctuation, and initial letters with them to the continent. The uncial scripts themselves derived from the late imperial Rustic Capitals, which themselves seem to have been based on Roman epigraphic letter forms.
The main characteristic of the miniscule is the breaking of the x-height with large capital letters and the characteristic ascenders and descenders found in such letters as b, d, f, g, h, k, l, p, q, t, and the rounding of capital letters into forms we know as “lower case” today, such as a, e, i, m, n. The precursors to these can be seen clearly in the first set of examples of the Irish half uncial from our facsimile copy of the Book of Kells (Luzern: Faksimile Verlag, 1990) and the Anglo-Celtic uncial form found in our facsimile copy of the Lindisfarne Gospels (second to last image; Olten and Lausanne, Switzerland: Urs Graf, 1956-60). The original manuscripts were produced at the monasteries of Iona in about 800 CE, and Lindisfarne around 725 CE, respectively. The difference between these and the Carolingian Minuscule is that the letter forms in these manuscripts are all majuscules, i.e., formal capital letters, not the informal miniscule hand that we associate with “lower-case” letters today.
The last example is that of the Roman half uncial, a majuscule hand, also used by Anglo-Celtic scribes on the continent. This example is from our facsimile copy of the Lorsch Gospels ( New York: George Braziller, 1967), a Carolingian manuscript originally produced at Aachen around 810 CE. Here, no spacing between words or punctuation can be seen.
It is said that Charlemagne tasked his main Anglo-Celtic scholar Alcuin of York with devising a new, uniform, manuscript book hand. Alcuin, but more likely others, turned to the informal versions of the uncial letter forms they were familiar with and the Carolingian Minuscule was born! With, of course, profound implications for how we read and write today.
View our post on the early use of the Carolingian Minuscule.
View our other Typography Tuesday posts.
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I think a lot about what it means to be a Celticist, what it takes, how I ended up in this area, what led me here, what my relationship is with it. Most of the time, terrified of accidentally leading someone into being in over their head, I emphasize the hard work, and it’s true -- the field is notoriously strenuous.
But there are times, just times, especially when I see people’s ideas of what it’s like, usually filled with misty forests and insufferably easy translating work, when I want to talk about the emotion behind it, the love. As terrifying as it is, as raw as it is, because it’s so much easier to talk difficulties. You’re not putting as much out on the line, it’s more detached, more clinical. Talking about the love is inherently personal, it’s inherently terrifying and vulnerable, especially when you’re in such a position that people have, in the past, voiced a belief that you have no business studying it in the first place. It isn’t what people who are invested in notions of dark academia or overly aestheticized visions of the Celtic peoples think, it isn’t particularly mystical or effortless.
It’s almost the opposite, really.
It’s when I was working at home over the summer, my head bent over my notebook, my brow knit, working through some Old Irish paradigms, and one of my cats would paw at my pen, and I would think of the poem Pangur Bán, about the monk and his cat and, for a moment, I wasn’t sitting in a disheveled desk, littered with books and bits of paper, lit with a cheap lamp that made my face look absolutely ghoulish in morning Zoom calls, I was a medieval monk, carrying out my studies in the dead of night, a small candle burning at my side, my trusted cat beside me, as we worked to turn darkness to light.
It’s when I’m working on some line or the other from the Mabinogi and, for one moment, one magical, golden moment, I figure out how all the verbs and nouns and adverbs and particles fit together perfectly, and, in that moment, the text sings, and I can step back and appreciate how good the writing is, the fine use of Middle Welsh, the attention to pacing, the delicate characterization, all the better part of a thousand years later.
It’s looking at a manuscript and seeing all the little ways that a scribe’s hand could differ, all the little things that make them unique, at the little notes in the margins, in the way that the symbols can change. (And sometimes, being furious at a scribe with a particularly bad hand or bad vellum to work with, when you have to cut off a transcription partway through.) It’s wondering whether, when they were writing this down, they knew it would reach quite so far into the future, by people with such different lives from them in so many ways.
It’s walking by a river or lake or bit of rock and thinking of the Dindshenchas, of how the Irish heroes carved their identities into the landscape and thinking about how, no matter where you go, people have looked at the same rivers and lakes and woods for thousands of years, and I’ll wonder what people saw a thousand years ago.
It’s when I delve into the historical side, looking deeper into the people who are otherwise just names in the annals, all these people with names like “the short”, “the fair”, “the dark one”, and realizing that each one of them had lives and loved ones, all these lives spread out across the years, just names to us now.
It’s reading bardic poetry, listening to all these great poets from close to a thousand years ago -- Their loves, their heartbreaks, their fears, about one princess’ love for her favorite lapdog and another’s love for her pet goose, and feeling this connection to people who are long since gone.
It’s finishing a paper on some character or person and being overwhelmed because, after hours and days and weeks and months and, God help you, sometimes years, it’s done. And you feel, if not totally happy with it, because there are always going to be little things, that you did them some amount of justice, after all these years, and for a second, they’re there with you, whether they were chieftains or slaves, whether they even ever existed in any tangible way.
It’s being able, if you’re very lucky, to visit some spot or another associated with a character that you’ve done research on, and being overwhelmed because it doesn’t really matter if they never existed, what matters is that you have something of them that’s solid.
It’s sometimes looking at when a text references some work that’s been lost and feeling this overwhelming sense of loss and fury, not just for the stories or the books, but for everything. All the lives lost to the greed and cruelty of colonialism. All the things we can’t know because they were destroyed. All the things we can’t get back. And then it’s going right back into it because there’s nothing else to do but to fight like Hell for everything that’s been preserved.
It’s looking at the historical scholars who did everything they could to preserve these things, often at great cost, and just wanting to reach out and tell them that it was all for something. That we’re carrying on what they started, and that we know what they did, that we’re grateful.
It’s being worried each time some new ordinance passes against a Celtic language, every time another comes within a knife’s edge of extinction, every time someone writes a thinkpiece about their lack of relevancy, every time Celtic Studies programs are cut, and wondering whether we’ll ever see a day when everything we’ve done, all of us, all of it, is for nothing. And it’s wanting to reach out and SHOW THEM, take them by the hand, let them read the literature, let them understand the greatness that these languages produced. (As an American Celticist, it’s wanting to SCREAM “If I can love this, why can’t you?”) And it’s knowing that it wouldn’t matter to anyone whose mind is already closed to anything outside their own experience, especially as I think back to everyone who told me I was wasting my time doing this work, that I should go somewhere important, someplace useful.
It’s feeling an immense debt to it all, because it did give me a life, it’s saved my life multiple times at this point, while knowing that there’s an awesome responsibility to make sure that it’s all passed on, that it can keep living, the modern and the medieval alike.
It isn’t easy. It isn’t effortless. And, frankly, most of the time, it isn’t particularly #aesthetic or romantic. But it’s worthy.
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Mór, a city home not only an excellent Hungarian wine: Mór is a town in Fejér County, Hungary. It is among the smaller towns in the Central Transdanubia Region . The historic roots of the present town go back to the Celtic and Roman period. TThe development of the town began with the arrival of ethnic German settlers and Capuchin monks in 1697, who started to cultivate also wineyards, though according to chronicles winemaking here dates back to the Roman times. #Mór's main sights include the Lamberg Castle, the Capuciner church and monastery, and of course the historical winecellars.
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Scotland Fix of the Day: Candles have been burning in various sacred buildings and churches here on the Isle of Iona since Saint Columba came here in 563 AD -- and probably before. It was probably a Celtic sacred site before arrived. Since then various churches (at first just tiny cells of the monks, probably) have been built and rebuilt. What we see today, the stone Abbey, was begun around 1164 and substantially enlarged in the 15th century. After falling into ruins it was rebuilt in the 20th century by the international Iona Community in the form we see now. Still, a remarkable story of religious observance on a small Scottish island. #scotland #iona #hiddenscotland #ig_scotland #visitscotland. #scotlandgreatshots #scotlandmagazine #highlands #scottishhighlands #scotland_greatshots #scenicbritain #uk_greatshots #igersscotland #scotland_lover #bestofscotland #lovescotland #unlimitedscotland #scotlandgreatshots #scotlandtrip #scotlandtravel #scotlandtrip — view on Instagram https://ift.tt/3kr1FyY
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