The power of Myth and Storytelling; Part 1: the tradition of the Seanchai
Monday 2nd March, 2009
Along the western seaboard of Ireland there are known to be islands that hover between this world and the Other world. If a mortal man steps foot on one of these islands he might disappear. If he lights a fire or scatters ash, the island can become fixed in time and place.
This happened to the island we know as Inishbofin not all that long ago in the scheme of things. Many a fisherman has tales of glimpsing haunting visions of beautiful islands. This one could appear as if floating just above the water or at other times seem solid, rising from the north Atlantic dashed with waves before disappearing in the shimmering light of the late sun, or passing into a fog bank, or, as one story tells, all at once be gone. Inisbofin has the feeling that at any given moment it could slip between the mists and disappear once more, perhaps never to be seen again in my own lifetime.
One time, the story goes, an Omey Island man and his son were out fishing. They had a smouldering sod of turf resting on clay in the prow of their boat for protection and so they could broil some fish to eat. This particular night a strange wind blew up from the south east carrying the curragh out to sea toward an eerie fog bank. Then the wind grew still but the vessel drifted steadily into the fog, carried by strong undercurrents. The men tried in vain to bring their craft about, and in the scramble, the glowing sod of turf was knocked overboard. With that a beautiful island appeared before them. The mist swirled a little and the lowing of cattle and gentle lapping of waves could be heard carried on the now soft breeze. The men beached their craft and stepped cautiously ashore. Suddenly the moonlight seemed stronger, whiter, reflecting eerily on the low lying mist. Then, before their very eyes a pale and beautiful woman dressed in green and white appeared to them and by her side, a great white cow. Now any one with their wits about them knows that you don’t approach a beautiful woman who appears out of no where, especially on an island that has just popped up out of the sea - as the entire situation smacks of the Otherworld... but there’s no accounting for some and wouldn’t you know it, the younger, impetuous man caught the cow by the tail and in that moment the mist thickened to fog and to his dismay the tail came off in his hand. The old man foolishly tried to grab the woman but the fog grew even thicker and when it finally cleared all that was left was a lump of white quartz and the young man found that the tail had turned into seaweed.
There’s some say that the radiant woman was Bó Finn and that she fled into the nearby lake and emerges with her white cow every 7 years or when ever disaster is impending. The island became known as Inisbofin, Island of the White Cow, and from that night on has been disenchanted. And ever since it is known, along the coast, that at any moment other beautiful islands may appear without warning. A fanciful story? Perhaps. But where my people come from along the north west Atlantic seaboard, such stories are taken with a great degree of seriousness even by the skeptical for in the west the old ways still prevail. The sean nós tradition is alive and well and embraced in the communities by young and old alike, especially in the Gaelteacht areas. And so the land is alive and full of potential, for the story is the energy that keeps the flow of creation going. This the role of the Seanachie (traditional: Seanchaí). This is also true of all aspects of the Sean Nós tradition and this is a vital characteristic of it’s survival - for it is inclusive, embracing different languages of the soul as a means of expressing ones own spiritual nature.
Telling the story, singing it, dancing it, expressing it musically or through poetry, it is a creative movement that takes in and draws from all of life around - past, present and future - the young and old alike are involved. The special thing about the story is that it is also an experience known as shapeshifting - and to shapeshift in this reality we have to know the story. All story telling is a form of travel. The power of the story is that it scoops us up with it and transports us into other realities, as other characters, or archetypes, who live out the things we dream of, allow us to experience our own woes in heroic ways and find the mythic solutions. Myth is the larger than life experience, embracing the mystical, bridging to the spiritual. The myth carries the current of the land and all who have lived there, the archetypes that have been drawn from and the histories that have been made, as well as the potential of the future.
Myths also contain deep truths and truth is essential to life. Truth to me is the same as beauty, or love and is for me, walking the beauty way - to walk in truth. Ghandi said that truth is everything. That truth is God.
As we have lost our myths we have cast away from our communities and lost the stronghold of our commons - that which belongs to us as our birthright here on earth and this includes not just our land, our air, our water and food - but also our stories. This has been compounded in many indigenous communities by the waves of invasions of peoples who had already forsaken or lost their traditional communities. With the loss of our stories we have lost the magic in our lives. Magic that should be woven into the fabric of our everyday - an integral part of our spiritual practice. I remember reading in Carminagadelicia how the Highland people sang and blessed and prayed their way through everyday. In other words, they were joyful and expressive of their spiritual life as part of their physical everyday one. There was no real separation - they constantly gave gratitude and were open to receiving. Why did Harry Potter sweep the world away? Partly, at least, because it embraced the magic - much of it inspired by the English mystery traditions. We must embrace the stories and myths of our forebears - their journeys light the way for us, just as our cultural myths provide us with empowering maps to follow as we cross thresholds, face crisis, etc. And as we face new challenges in uncertain times we are realising that what is actually before us is an enormous shift in consciousness, changing times that call for new stories - new myths, as we traverse new landscapes, inner as well as outer, discovering new pathways.
This is exciting as well as scary, for as Joseph Campbell once said, changes in consciousness are terrifying. He believed that we do have a myth in our western culture - that being mythless is our myth. He felt that this has caused us to become spiritually bereft, diseased even. Myths are a record of a cultures wisdom - we must restore our continuity, owning and knowing and telling our stories will put us back in the narrative. New stories will enable us to thrive as they draw in the energy of the invisible realms we are related to, deepening our connections once more to the magic and mystery that our modern lives lack. They will provide our descendants with maps they can also use, assisting them in discovering, or creating, their own myths, their own unique pathways. Myths are our companions through uncharted territory, familiarising us with wilderness - in our inner world as well as our outer world. This year our programs focus on the Mystic, the inner journey and empowerment through myth and claiming the dreams that are calling you.
Footnote: My own telling of the tale of Inishbofin is drawn from various tellings: Local Connemara Archaeologist and story teller Michael Gibbons, author Patricia Monaghan, Tim Robinson, who has drawn from John O'Donovan who recorded the story as told to him in 1839 when he was surveying the island and Caesar Otway, a traveller to the island also in 1839.