Celtic Wheel Series

Reflections on the eight turning points of the Celtic year

#1 Samhain Reflections Part 2: Surrendering to the Cailleach

You may wish to read this piece (9 mins) and listen to a selection of my poetry (below) that goes with it or just listen to the poems and / or read the poems here

In Part 1 of Samhain Reflections, I wrote about letting go of the old so there is space for the new to emerge. As we approach mid-Winter and the next turn of the Wheel at Solstice, we are invited to let go fully of what no longer serves us, to surrender to the Cailleach, for this is her time. In the depths of Winter, as life rests in the Northern Hemisphere, the Cailleach keeps watch by her fire, into which she casts all that we wish to be free of; her cauldron, in which, she brews together seeds of the new; her spinning wheel, on which, she weaves into life, the threads of dreams.

The ancient Celts revered the Triple Goddess in the form of Maiden ~ Mother ~ Crone, representing the three stages of a woman’s life cycle from birth to death. The Cailleach (Crone), is associated with the end of fertility (menopause) and the transition to ‘Wise Woman’ phase. In many cultures, when a woman reached this stage, she was valued for her knowledge, experience and wisdom. Increasingly (and unfortunately) in the Western World, this is no longer the case.

A majority of women, now find themselves living in a culture that prizes youth above wisdom and experience. Thus, the onset of menopause can be deeply unsettling, with a loss of sense of self and a familiar role. Even without the cultural overlay, there is a personal grieving that goes with this chapter, too often unacknowledged. It is a death of sorts and one that causes turmoil for many reasons. Men can, of course, experience turmoil in surrendering youth and perhaps also libido. Menopause, however, carries the additional loss of fertility, the option of bearing a child or more children, should one so choose, whether this was an expressed desire or not.

It is a painful story and one I am familiar with, having been on an epic fertility journey, which ended with (relatively) early menopause. I fought long and hard with the Cailleach. I begged her to stay away long enough to allow me bear one child. Just one. When I realised she had not granted my wish, that she was in fact, fast-tracking me to the next life-stage, I raged with her for having allowed me to believe I could, for letting me expend all that energy to no avail. Now, I see that it was not to no avail. It was in service of my Dharma (see Part 1 ).

I was not ready to move into the next phase of my life, without first having felt the joy of motherhood. I railed, I cried, spat fury at her for depriving me of what I believed was rightfully mine. Now, looking back, I imagine her smiling at me as a mother would her impetuous child having a tantrum, knowing well that I needed to purge my rage and feel the grief of loss as deeply as I could bear. She knew that eventually, I would surrender, that I would submit to her as all life does.

It was not mine to be a mother of a human child in this lifetime. There were so many guides, so many signs along the way to let me know this but I was blind to them all, such was the strength of my will. And yet, in my heart, I knew. The heart always knows, even when the mind cannot see.

One such guide was a woman who approached me on a quiet weekday, in a small boutique shop, where, unsuspecting, I was eyeing up a red dress to add to my collection of red dresses. She looked exactly like I imagine the Cailleach might in human form - ancient lines criss-crossed her face, long-since grey hair was tied up though escaping at the edges and her dress might well have been woven from the elements. She moved across the shop purposefully towards me, using a blackthorn cane as a walking stick. Touching me on the arm, she told me quietly and kindly that red was no longer my colour, but rather purple. I grimaced, then laughed and told her purple was most definitely not my colour because my face assumed a deathly pallor when that shade was nearby, accentuating dark circles under my eyes. Or so my mother always told me and of course, mother knows best.  

She smiled, this old, old woman and said: “Soon enough”. Off she went then and left me standing there with a red dress dangling on its hanger in front of the red jacket I was wearing that day. Though some part of my tired and battle-weary heart knew what she was referring to (red for fertility / purple for its passing), my mind pretended bewilderment and laughed off the interaction. “She must be a bit gone in the head”, it told me.

As my menstrual blood became more erratic, eventually waning away, I tried every healing modality I came across; every supplement recommended by every practitioner I visited and some by Doctor Google; every mad-cap detox suggested by other women; prayers and spiritual practices…. I tried them all. I knew for a long time that the end to my suffering was acceptance but I could not accept, not until I had exhausted myself and depleted my health, fighting what I could not change.

I came to it eventually of course, acceptance. I had no choice when my menstruation stopped altogether but it was a long, hard battle, not helped by people’s well-meaning though unhelpful advice to “Just let go and it will happen for you.” Mostly, this advice came from women and often from those who had also struggled with fertility issues themselves, successfully bringing a child into the world, only when they adopted this strategy. Just. Let. Go. I am somewhat embarrassed to admit that over the years of hearing this phrase, alongside insane jealousy, I developed an itch in my right hand to slap the next one who said it to me if they didn’t also give me a manual detailing precisely how to do that.

Once the blood was gone completely, acceptance came surprisingly easily. It was more than an absence of choice, however. It was also a recognition that motherhood was not my path in this life or at least not motherhood as it is generally understood.

Grey hair was a youthful event for me. The first of them appeared when I was in my early twenties. Still, I counted my blessings that they had not arrived quite as early as was the case with my older brother. In hindsight, I would not have started dying my hair with henna at the age of seventeen, had I known it would be almost fully grey in the not-too-distant future. When this indomitable colour began to show in force, I promised myself that once sufficiently grey, I would stop putting any colour on my hair and return to natural. In my forties, I revised that promise to ‘when I hit menopause or the age of fifty, whichever comes first’.

Menopause won and when I eventually accepted its onset, I asked my hairdresser to shave off my hair so I could let it grow back grey without going through the ‘roots’ phase. She was horrified and tried to dissuade me. I was delighted with the result, but also, with myself, for having taken the first tentative steps towards making decisions about my body and my life, that are not based on others’ opinions of what will ‘work’ for me – especially when one of those opinions was my mother’s.

The satisfaction of this baby step, hinted at the riches in store for me, when I finally surrender to what is and consciously choose to live from that place. As a life-long people-pleaser, this burgeoning exploration into the vast terrain of my inner world, my desires and passions, wants and needs, was as scary and trepidatious, as it is exciting and fulfilling to me now. Turning 50 a couple of years later, served as an accelerant to this process. I found my fire. It cannot be put out.

The more I practice the art of surrendering to (accepting) what is, the more in keeping with my Dharma, are the choices I make. With surrender, comes a sort of psycho-spiritual de-clutter; a falling away of extraneous matter – old stories and beliefs playing on loop in my mind; small talk; gossip; second-hand ideas, opinions and concepts; situations that bleed my energy. They simply do not matter anymore.

I want to dive deep into the heart of the matter, freed from that, which inhibits or weighs me down. I want to focus with crystal clarity on what matters to me and there is an urgency to this endeavour, now I have realised its importance. As I let go of what does not matter, my energy for what does matter, increases exponentially. It is a very intimate – and intricate – process of finding my ‘no’, so I can establish my YES! with sufficient passion and energy to manifest it.

Through all the trials and self-reflection engendered by the fertility journey, I have come to know myself so much better than I might have, had I slipped easily into being a mother of a child. In accepting that this story was not mine, my creative potential, thus freed from the single-minded pursuit of motherhood, blossomed. I see clearly now, just how powerful and necessary for healing and wholeness, is the journey inwards, towards the pearl, the essence of who we are when stories and roles are stripped away; when imagination is set free to roam.

As long as I was trapped in the past, in an idea, an old version of me, I could not embrace the full potential of the present. I was missing in my own life, wandering around aimlessly in another timeline. Now, by continually allowing myself a fresh canvas, free of the bonds that bind me tightly to a concept of myself and what I am supposed to ‘do’ in the world, my life becomes a moment-to-moment work of art. This is the gift of surrender.

Who are you when your imagination is free to roam?

Epilogue:

Recently, a Shaman told me that I was guilty of forgetting the stage in-between Mother and Crone. She said most women do not recognise this important phase of their lives, that is, in fact, a game-changer. She is: The Enchantress (!)

Oh, how I love the sound of this word and all it evokes! But that’s a story for another day ;)